Before you get your suspenders all twisted up in an uncomfortable, constricting knot (and that goes for both the over-the-shoulder variety as well as the around-the-calves-to-hold-up-my-Mad-Men-esque-black-socks), there will be no history lessons associated with this post. Which is not to say it won’t become some kind of lesson for the children of tomorrow, a cautionary tale warning against the nonsense of free-form, topic-less, rambling bloggery. But at least if that happens I’ll be able to rest happily in my future cryogenic vat, secure in the knowledge that Puddintopia eventually proved to be worthwhile to someone somewhere other than me.
Well, me and that guy at the mall “in the chair” beside the ladies’ fitting room that needed something to read while his wife tried on shirts (blouses? tops? I can’t tell ‘em apart). I guess it’s useful to him too.
Also, this post will not, in any way, shape, or form, reference the 1996 Roland Emmerich movie, Independence Day.
Anyway, by primer, I mean “to use or make ready for a particular purpose or operation”. What I’m taking the long way to get at is that it’s July 3rd, which means we’re less than 24 hours away from four glorious days of traditional summertime joy. Ninety-six hours of shiny, sweaty family fun is all teed up and just waiting for the clock to tick it’s way to the holiday.
Okay, so, look, I know I’ve ranted in the past a bit about being not terribly fond of the processes and procedures that go along with Independence Day. I believe last year I complained about the ambient air temperature making me look like a soggy Wicked Witch of the West. And the year before, I got all rant-tacular and frothy in the mouth, raving like that one guy outside the laundromat, while laying out my dislikes of this particular holiday’s obligations.
But these days, I’m a kinder, gentler, less whiny Puddin. Or, at least, that’s what I’m suppose to say to myself in the mirror every morning. You know, to help build my self-esteem and give me a more shiny, happy people kind of glow as opposed to just a sheen of sweaty irritation.
Kidding aside, though, with four days outside the normal routine coming up, I’ve decided there will be no complaining this year. From this evening until Sunday night, I’m going to take life as it comes, even if it’s an antiperspirant obliterating 95 degrees. And, should I somehow end up attending a (gasp) parade, no matter how many politicians that couldn’t care less about me or my problems chuck hard butterscotch candies at my head from the back of a borrowed convertible, I’m totally gonna be cool about it.
Yep, rather than grunt in complaint, I’m going to find a nice patch of lawn and a cold, dewy beer, and just enjoy these few days for what they are: time to be with my family on no one’s clock but my own.
Maybe that’s not what Independence Day was originally about, but, if you ask me, in today’s crazy hectic modern world, it damn sure probably ought to be.
Plus also, homemade ice cream.