Back from the Fourth partially intact. Shimmied down the Green River yesterday on a lounging pool float, the kind that sits below the surface of the water for maximum cooling comfort and rock-rumping pleasure. I kissed every rock in that river, but I had on my Captain America, beer-soaked one-piece bathing suit so nothing hurt. We filled up on salty ribs and sweet five-bean salad and played croquette until we screamed at each other. I slept through most of the fireworks, which means I stayed out of trouble. I don’t like explosions, anyway.
Now as I’m reading the latest headlines, I’m noticing that this great country is built on whimsy and money. Justice flitted across the Fourth for one maniacal girl- Casey -like a finch in a thunderstorm. Last night I said, “Don’t worry, this isn’t like O.J.,” but consequently, this is just like O.J., and it makes me wonder about the freedom we hold in such high esteem, how we give and take it freely. Freedom-the word itself is an abstraction of what it stands for. It hangs out in the realm of Plato’s Forms, nebulous and idealized to death. Freedom and subjectivity form an interchangeable binary, depending on how you want them to mean what you say.