This week’s quiz:
What happened on the Fourth of July and in what year? (No, not 1782 as my daughter once insisted after I had dropped many thousands of dollars on her college education.)
What’s the story behind Labor Day?
How about Veterans Day? (hint: it used to be called Armistice Day)
What are we memorializing on Memorial Day and why is it not the same as Veterans Day?
Even if you know the answers, which I assure you, more immigrants studying for their citizenship test can answer than can the typical native born American, tell me this: How often do you stop to reflect on the meaning of these holidays? Even the president takes only about twenty minutes out of the day to make some gesture such as laying a wreath or to deliver a few hackneyed comments. He then, presumably, heads for the Rose Garden to imbibe a tall frosty or two and scarf down a couple of dogs.
It’s no coincidence most of these celebrations happen during warm months. The really important part of them, the barbecue, is best enjoyed outdoors.
One July 4th I attended a formal reading of the Declaration of Independence at a historic site. To be frank, I was bored out of my gourd. Bring on the beer. Bring on the burgers. Bring on the fireworks.
To my mind, what these big holidays demonstrate more than anything else is that we human creatures, like all others, are less interested in high flung concepts and ideals than we are in our stomachs. Thus, the holidays center around the truly quintessential American values.
Greed, sloth and gluttony.
I say this without judgement. It is merely an observation.
Nothing, therefore, could be more American than the hot dog eating contest. In a nation characterized by conspicuous consumption motivated by financial reward, an eating contest is consumerism in its most fundamental form. Accordingly, the act of stuffing one’s face with greasy, garlicky cylinders is hyped as the essence of patriotism by the master of ceremonies of the Nathan’s Famous hot dog eating contest. Whether or not that’s true, one thing’s for sure. Hot dogs bear testimony to the fact that the traditional American diet is among the most unhealthy in the world.
The winner of Nathan’s Famous (in typical American style, the fame is self-proclaimed) contest receives $10,000. Not bad for 10 minutes of work. To be fair, the “work” involves much more than 10 minutes. Competitive eaters must train just as all competitors do. For weeks in advance they stuff themselves with 60 or more dogs a day to stretch their stomachs up to three times normal size. I watched a video of Joey Chestnut, the world record holder and many times winner of Nathan’s July 4th event, downing 75 hot dogs. Actually I bailed out at 50 because I started to feel nauseous just watching him cram those puppies down his throat. Joey ate, more correctly, snakelike, swallowed whole, more hot dogs in those 10 minutes than I have probably downed in my lifetime. In the process he imbibed more salt, preservatives, refined carbohydrates, saturated fat and carcinogens than nutritionists tell us can be safely consumed in a year.
I’m not a fan of patriotic celebrations with their repetitive rituals and sanctimonious bloviation, but I do enjoy a nice backyard barbecue. (Even more so because I no longer have a back yard. The kids are saddled with all the work.) As far as I’m concerned, since the real point of these commemorations is the food, why should it be necessary to concoct some high flung excuse to party? The feasting is more than justified by the simple pleasure of kicking back with friends and family, getting on a little buzz and indulging some guilty food cravings.
As for fireworks, they lost their novelty for me decades ago. The last time I made a special effort to see them was when my daughter was about three. For her sake more than ours, we took her downtown for the festivities, but soon into the fireworks display she insisted on leaving. It seemed the noise and the crowd were too much for her. As we wheeled her umbrella stroller toward our car she scolded, “Next time you want to see the firecrackers, get a babysitter.”
As I recall, she didn’t complain about the hot dogs.
An Author's Inner Mind 