It’s the Fourth of July, and apparently a few people in our neighborhood believe that means it’s time for drunkenness, playing with dangerous explosives, and generally being a huge nuisance to their little corner of the world. No wonder so many people from other countries hate us.

I got to call the cops at 2 am, not because of illegal fireworks or gunshots (although I’ve heard plenty of those, in this normally-quiet neighborhood, over the last few days), but due to the drunk staggering around the track of the high school that my yard abuts. A handful of kids — well, neighbors ranging in age from 15 to early twenties — were hanging around outside my townhouse, and one of the idiots actually encouraged the drunk to meander up the hill from the running track and have a conversation with him. So, great, there’s a foul-mouthed drunk right on the other side of the fence that separates my home from the high school track & field.

And have I mentioned that part of the fence has been wrenched open, so local brats can take a shortcut to the track & field through my goddamned yard? I really need to get myself some steel cable and a bolt-cutter-proof padlock, and “sew” the fence closed where it’s been bent open. *sigh*

Luckily, the cops showed up promptly (and this is, happily, a common occurrence in Portland) and took charge of the situation. Three officers spoke to him, ascertained that he was quite intoxicated, searched him, found drugs, informed him he was trespassing, and took him away. One of the cops had clearly interacted with the guy before, as he said to the suspect, “Yeah, the last time I talked to you, you called me an idiot then, too.” The Portland Police have gotten a lot of bad press in recent years, but I’ve always been very pleased & impressed by their professionalism. (No, that was not sarcasm.)

And now to the other joy of our nation’s birthday — I don’t like amateur fireworks. I’m fine with the large professional displays, but professionals have training. Also, they’re damned careful because of a little something called liability laws. Selling fireworks to the general public (who don’t give a crap about liability laws, and/or hold fast to the delusion that “nothing bad will happen to me“) is a recipe for burning homes, fields, children, and anything else in the way of an illegal bottle rocket or other combustible. Especially after people get done tampering with their fireworks to make them more dangerous.

Oregon has some of the strictest fireworks laws in the country — state law only allows those which “produce only smoke, sparks or fire and which do not explode, eject balls of fire, fly into the air, or travel more than 6 feet horizontally and/or 12 inches vertically from the point of ignition.” I like this law. Of course, the idiots who aren’t happy with these limitations simply drive the handful of miles to the state of Washington, buy lots of fireworks which are illegal in Oregon, bring them back here and try to immolate themselves or (more likely) others.

Considering that Oregon has some of the most liberal laws in the nation on pornography and strip clubs, I think the message is clear: Sex = good. Explosive fire = bad.

Normally I would spend my Fourth of July holiday watching the traditional celebratory film Independence Day and enjoying the culinary delights of a barbeque, but we’ll see. I just hope the freaking neighbors don’t scare my cats too much with their illegal-fireworks hijinks.