1776 And All That

Yesterday I experienced my first Fourth of July. It was really great, both as a day off spent with friends, and as a holiday. People seemed to be genuinely happy and excited to be celebrating Independence Day, although it might have something to be with the fact that, including me, four of the people I spent last night with were non-Americans for whom all of this was new.

A few days ago I went to Rucker Park, known locally as 'The Ruck'. Rucker Park is probably the most famous basketball/streetball court in the US, the breeding ground for dozens of NBA players including Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Dr. J, and Wilt Chamberlain. Two summers ago Kobe Bryant played a few games there, as did Keven Garnett. The Ruck has also just been the subject of a new documentary made by Beastie Boy Adam Yauch. The game was fantastic, really entertaining and fun to watch, and there was also a very local feel to the place; one had the impression that everyone knew everyone else, and the MC/commentator was constantly interacting with the crowd.

155th is a pretty poor area, not to mention quite unsafe (although, as usual, everyone I spoke to was very friendly, and I didn't feel at all unsafe, in spite/because of being searched for weapons and drugs before entering the park) and I wondered how the people living here perceived or thought of July 4th. As my friend and I left the subway stop we were handed 'Anti-Fourth of July' leaflets, which didn't surprise me much. But what was surprising was the disdain with which the protesters were met by the vast majority of locals. It seemed like even here, in one of the most deprived areas of the city, July 4th meant something. Exactly what it meant wasn't clear; I can't imagine that it meant a holiday for most people in the area: those with jobs probably had to work, and for those without it's a moot point anyway. Maybe it was just apathy or tradition or the need to conform to social norms - Bourdieu's 'habitus' - which caused the reaction to the protesters, but I get the impression that, in spite of the disasters of the last eight years, Americans are generally proud to be American. Not academics, of course, but that's because academics don't actually like or support anything (tangible) and, besides, academia as a whole must maintain its position of being out of step with everyone and everything around it.

Yesterday's festivities began in the afternoon (the morning was spent reading/finishing The Dialectic of Enlightenment - as Adam and I observed whilst watching the fireworks, it is difficult - not to mention amusing - to imagine Adorno's reaction to all of this) when my friends and I went down to Battery Park to see a free Sonic Youth show. Despite being very overcast, the rain was brief and the big storm we feared never came to pass. Sonic Youth were excellent, closing their 90-minute set with Schizophrenia and, much to my glee, a brutal version of 100%. Realizing that we were all very hungry, we took the subway and went for that most quintessentially patriotic of American foods, Korean BBQ (at the hilariously-monikered KumGang BBQ), followed by Pinkberry. After a debate about our next move, we chose dancing over karaoke and, after bidding farewell to Frank and his friend Raul, took a cab to Alphabet City. As we were driving down 12th the fireworks suddenly began, so we all jumped out and went to find a good viewing spot. We ended up on 12th and Avenue C, the huge factory in front of us imbuing the whole scene with a paradoxically Soviet feel. The fireworks were spectacular and, even after Sonic Youth, incredibly loud. At one point, following a brief lull, two enormous fireworks went off like thunderclaps, causing every car alarm in a two block radius to suddenly wail into life, much to the amusement of everyone, even the police.

Following the fireworks, we headed off to find the bar/club I'd heard about. Unfortunately, I had failed to make a note of either a) the name of the place, or b) its actual address. Nor had I really made any kind of effort to memorise these pieces of information. So, unable to find it (it was actually on 3rd and C), we headed to a different bar. Because I was looking for the other place, I arrived a few minutes later than everyone else, at which point Mary promptly chucked her drink all over me, her, and the floor. After finding out that they didn't have any milk for a White Russian (a recurring problem...) and that the jukebox was broken, we left and went to a bar on Houston. Therein Mary, Adam, and I picked 26 songs on the jukebox (highlights included Sonic Youth's Teenage Riot, Adam's dissection of the lyrics to TV on the Radio's Wolf Like Me, and the VU's Waiting for the Man. Also the misunderstanding between me and Mary regarding her query about the band X) before we all proceeded to get very thoroughly drunk. Then we headed back up to Morningside and, on walking into 1020, we ran straight into Frank and Raul. We left at about 3:30. I woke up this morning feeling shockingly grim but, happily, my usual equilibrium has quickly reasserted itself.

Now begins my movie marathon: Sword of Doom was, sadly, scrapped as a result of my hangover, but later today I'll be seeing Samurai Rebellion followed by Wall-E, and tomorrow it's Kurosawa's Kagemusha followed by La Regle du Jeu.

Other things I've done since last posting: went to see Sigur Ros at the MoMA; had my sister to stay for a very happy week; went to see Pearl Jam (twice!); went on the world's fastest and tallest (not to mention uncomfortable) rollercoaster; saw Kurosawa's 'High and Low' and Herzog's fantastic 'Encounters at the End of the World'; played a lot of basketball; babysat for Matt and Kendra; read.

Songs for the Deaf: 'Ante Up' - M.O.P. feat. Busta Rhymes; 'Discipline' - Nine Inch Nails; 'W.M.A.' - Pearl Jam; 'Dies Irae' - Verdi

Quotation of the Day: when I inexplicably and in all seriousness referred to the Capra-Stewart classic 'Mr Smith Goes To Washington' as 'Mr Chips Goes To Hollywood'.