Ramblings of a Misanthropic Geek

It Was the Fourth of July

Hi all,

I know it's been a while since I've updated.  I'm sorry but I've been busy and I'm working on other projects right now.  Today is, obviously, July 4th.  In America this means lots of fireworks, partying, and beer (but not for me).  So here I am, sitting at my town's festivities in the drizzling rain.  After watching a torturously slow parade of 200 kids on their seemingly identical streamer-riddled bikes, the games began.  

Once upon a time, the games were well-planned and seamlessly executed.  Now, whether by a shift in management or the filter of age, they seem much less interesting.  This year was no exception.  Forgoing the ritualistic Hunger Games style cornucopia massacre of a peanut scramble, a series of races began in which overly competitive parents forced their disinterested 3 year olds to run a hundred meters in the hope of winning $5.  

For the teenagers, the wheelbarrow race was traded in for a tug of war.  Of course, it had to be girls vs boys.  The management had an overly optimistic and distorted view of girls, warning the boys to 'watch out' and 'get ready to lose' to a ragtag group of girls half their size.  Adding insult to injury, a large group of illegally young boys joined the race to increase the body count on the male side of the rope (not sure why this is annoying me as much as it does).

Not surprisingly, the boys won.  The tug of war was over fifteen seconds after it began.  I tried to dig my heels in, being the competitive person I am, but found no purchase in the muddy sludge.  Before I could let go of the rope, it burnt two long scrapes into my hand.  Now I'm sitting on a bench desperately holding my brother's cold Pepsi and watching people throw eggs at each other.

Maybe I'm  being too critical and pessimistic, or maybe it's just the rope burns talking, but I don't enjoy the Fourth of July.  We used to dress up in the parade, marching through town in a series of humiliating, most likely historically incorrect costumes.  However, after we didn't win for the sixth time in a row, my frustrated mother called it quits.  With that, the festivities lost any appeal they had.

In other news, I'm kinda pissed at my family.  Any time anything goes wrong (with happens with surprising frequency), my brother Nate and I are the scapegoats.  I don't know if it's because blaming a smaller child would seems morally wrong, or because as the oldest kids we're supposed to take a large amount of the blame for anything, but my parents continually find Nate and I at fault for everything.  The 2 year old didn't eat because he wasn't hungry?  My fault.  The 6 year old borrowed my dad's phone without asking?  Nate's fault.

So this has been a pleasant rant, but my hand is killing me so I'm going to go and find some ice.  See you guys later!