Another Independence Day is upon us and it’s a fine time – amidst the hail of illicit bottle rockets, cherry bombs, flaming knuckle busters, and popping eye removers – to examine the American holiday spirit. Or what’s left of it.

Washington at the Battle of Princeton (Wikipedia)

The American holiday is now a husk of its former self, its rites and reasons long ago dispatched. There are many possible, but several probable, factors for this: the loss of community-centeredness, increased cultural heterogeneity (considered good or bad depending on whom you talk to about it), and the stranglehold of commercial enterprise on holiday activities. Although these are likely culprits, another influence (possibly exacerbated by the previously mentioned) is the great command alcohol and marketing have over our celebrations. Hence, the Alcoholiday.

The American Alchoholiday is promoted well in advance of the actual event thanks to a surfeit of tequila posters and beer commercials depicting youthful and happy inebriates. This, of course, also gets the party started some time ahead of an Alcoholiday. For instance, fireworks, and their attending celebration begin several days prior to the Fourth of July in my neighborhood and continue for several past that, at all hours, triggered by the antics of a few celebrants who possess a need for perpetual revelry.

Independence Day (“The Fourth!” in marketing terms) is only one of many Alcoholidays, but a clear winner, considering the tragicomic pairing of alcohol and explosives at raucous events. Of course, it was also the historically ideal candidate – seeing how American independence was won through such violent means and tremendous personal sacrifice, impassioned revelry by the victors and veterans was an appropriate response, and the perfect stimulus for boozy mischief. So we go back in time…

July 4, 1791. Two neighbors convene in a backyard in an unnamed New England community.

Bushrod: Good evening, Francis. I see this day of mirth and jollity commemorating the end of British tyranny finds you in gay repair.

Francis: Happy Independence Day, Bushrod, good neighbor! Indeed there is a certain buoyancy that this day brings, yes? Having served under General Washington defending the common rights of American men during the Revolution, I am often wistful on this day for the intensity of the battlefield, particularly the bloody skirmishes I encountered with Cornwallis’ infantry.

Bushrod: Though, were you not a mule skinner, Francis?

Francis: Therefore, I thought an annual symbolic recreation of cannon and musket fire on this holiday would perpetuate the memory of the patriots who gave so much for American independence.

Bushrod: You smell of ale, good companion.

Francis: The fruit of my inspiration, Bushrod. As you see here, I have procured several pounds of black powder that I have placed in these tobacco tins. They are connected by this hemp fuse I have laid among them. Come nightfall, only moments away, I will set the fuse alight and we shall have quite the display.

Bushrod: Should we not have notified the constable or, at the least, your closest neighbors?

Francis: Twaddle (quaffing a helping of ale from his mug). ‘Twould only dampen the celebration. I say we get this going.

Bushrod: I think I shall stand back.

Francis: Understandably, Bushrod. Having not served in battle, you probably will find the concussive experience a bit formidable. (Lighting fuse) Here we go!

(A moment later)

Francis: Hm. It appears the fuse is perhaps faulty. I will light closer to the tin…

(KABOOM!)

Francis: GAH!!!! Ghost of Crispus Attucks, my thumb!!!!!

Bushrod: Francis!! Help us Lord! The devil himself has had a hand in this!

Francis: Almighty God that hurts!! I will not be able to shoe my horse again on my own. Please, Francis, bring me Dr. Paine. Only now do I see the irony in that name…

Voice from the house next door: What is that disturbance?? Who goes there?

Francis: Mind your own affairs, Williams!! This is none of your concern.

Williams: Miller?! I should have known you to have a part in these doings. Damn your daft ideas!!!

Francis: Shut your gob you hoary old scoundrel! Oh, the blinding pain! Please, Bushrod, make haste.

Williams: Fool!!

Francis: Loyalist!!!

Bushrod: Leaving hither for my horse, Francis! I would recommend trying a less injurious activity next year.

Francis: I think it was merely a miscalculation. I will have to work on timing and placement and a better quality fuse. Please hurry (quaffing ale)…

(Bushrod departs to fetch his steed. The dawn of the American Alcoholiday begins.)

(Fade. Curtain.)