Moose in the Kitchen

Living in the Mission is a lot of fun, especially on the Fourth of July. Assuming you can fall asleep to the sweet sound of bottle rockets, M80s, and teenagers yelling “OH SHIT!” and diving behind the nearest car when the fuse they’ve just lit accidentally explodes six inches off the ground. On July 4th, Mission residents are required to 1. display a certain insouciance about their eyebrows and pinky fingers, or 2. stay inside.

The dog didn’t have the stay inside option, as we got rid of her personal indoor toilet in early January. She was not thrilled by this walking around outside with the booms and pops and loud noises. She’s scared by the dustbuster (not because I chase her around with it, no, THAT WOULD BE CRUEL) so this Fourth of July thing does not meet with her approval. She shivered like a seal cub next in line for a bludgeoning until we finally took mercy on her poor furry soul and guided her back home. This was in direct contrast to the hours before the bottle rockets started whining toward the moon, when we were trying to leave for our barbeque, bag of chicken wings and cans of limonata in hand. She wiggled out the door as we closed it and sat down on the step, tail waving in hopes of softening us up. I’m easily softened and was ready to bring her with us, puppy dog eyes were made for suckers like me. But Catwalker’s cats would have found themselves roasting on the grill with the rest of our meal, same puppy dog eyes staring eagerly up, a bottle of barbeque sauce held between her paws. So the dog stayed home.

By my count, there were five people at this barbeque and six different kinds of meat (not including the cats). Hot dogs, ribs, fish, chicken wings…chicken wings…fine, that’s only four. Forget it. But there was lots of cheese and Bonnie’s special guacamole. I have never met Bonnie but Bonnie, I hear, is awesome. I only know five people who live in Danville – two of whom are named Bonnie. This has no bearing on my story, but I am amused. And if this blog isn’t for my personal amusement, then MY GOD, WHAT DO I HAVE LEFT? Besides chasing the dog with the dustbuster, I mean.

We took our multiple meats and the liquor (vodka and limonata is recommended) and went downstairs to grill in the driveway and discuss our many and varied business ventures. Come to think of it, they’re not that varied. They all seem to involve some version of a chain restaurant, from opening a Coldstone Creamery (ice cream at work!) to a strip joint with a McDonald’s inside (french fries!). We’re less interested in opening franchises than in quitting our jobs and being lazy – with free polyunsaturated fats. All it takes to fire up the entrepreneurial spirit is laziness and an open bottle of beer. Business schools, take note.

(Mere’s latest idea is a winner, I think.)

After polishing off the meat and licking the bottom of the guacamole bowl (I only did this AFTER everyone left the room. Because I have class.), we tromped downtown to watch the fireworks. Which weren’t half as entertaining as the dipstick who threw a bottle rocket out a car window as people were leaving. It flew right over our heads and landed a few feet away, almost nipping off the end of a girl’s nose. Her boyfriend – a rather imposing young black man – not sure which of the cars was responsible, started shouting at all the cars in general. “Expletive! Expletive, expletive! Implication of unlawful activity with a goat! Expletive, expletive! Expletive!”

It was a heartwarming example of the first amendment in action.