The long Fourth of July weekend has come and gone. And while I managed to get more sleep than usual—during daylight hours, anyway—I wouldn’t exactly call the experience relaxing. PTSD is a lot more accurate.
Somehow, the holiday that celebrates independence managed to turn my hood into the setting for a low-budget war movie—minus the special effects team and basic safety precautions. Just add fireworks and set ‘em off…
FIREWORKS: LA’S FAVORITE ILLEGAL PASTIME
A few sparklers? Totally fine. But several of my neighbors—right here in the middle of fire-prone Los Angeles—chose to light up the skies with mortar shells, screamers, and firecracker bursts loud enough to make a drill sergeant flinch.
And to make matters worse, the fireworks free-for-all started days before the Fourth.
On July 1st, just as I was settling into what should have been a peaceful summer dinner on the patio, the first round of fireworks went off—like the opening salvo of a war I hadn’t enlisted in. From there, it escalated nightly, peaking on the Fourth with what can only be described as shock and awe.
MORE BANGS, MORE WHIMPERS
What the revelers don’t seem to realize is that their festivities come with collateral damage. I know at least one sweet pooch who spent the weekend glued to her human, trembling like a leaf in a wind tunnel.
Each boom sent her into a panic spiral—pacing, panting, and whimpering as if the sky were falling. My friend tried everything: calming chews, thunder shirts, white noise machines. But the explosions were relentless.
And it wasn’t just pets. Babies cried. Veterans winced. And adults like me quietly seethed behind blackout curtains and earplugs, hoping no one and nothing got destroyed by a rogue Roman candle.
There’s a difference between celebration and siege.
By July 3rd, that line had been thoroughly crossed.
By July 5th, the barrage slowed—but didn’t stop.
Like a bad hangover, the noise lingered all weekend in random, jarring bursts. A full fireworks show at 2am. An encore at 6.
Thankfully, I hadn’t made big plans, so I managed to squeeze in some rest—mostly short, uneasy naps, each one shattered by what sounded like a demolition derby just outside my window.
Rested? Sure, technically. Relaxed? Not even close.
ONE FOOT OUT THE DOOR
The irony in all of this is that I’m moving in just over a week.
Boxes are already packed, taped, and labeled. My brain feels halfway relocated, too. And yet here I am—still weathering one final round of sonic assaults.
There’s something almost poetic about it: this neighborhood is making sure I never forget it. One last eardrum-rattling farewell before I move somewhere quieter.
THE SOLIDARITY OF THE SLEEP-DEPRIVED
There was one silver lining. On my morning walks, I passed neighbors who looked just as bleary-eyed as I felt. We exchanged the smallest of nods—the kind that says, You too, huh? It’s not much, but it’s something. A brief moment of camaraderie among the shell-shocked.
Next year, I’m hoping for a celebration in my new neighborhood that leans more toward sparklers—and less toward sonic booms.
Until then, I’ll stock up on calming treats, charge my noise-canceling headphones, and count down the days until I move away from the bang-bangers…
Keep calm and carry on!
Clint 🌈✌️
SHORT BUT SWEET
KISSING A FOOL
MUSIC = Hara Noda / Tides
Courtesy Of Epidemic Sound
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ON THIS DAY = JULY 7
BIRTHDAYS
1860 = Gustav Mahler, Austrian composer and conductor
1899 = George Cukor (1899-1983) = American film director 🌈
1901 = Vittorio De Sica, Italian actor and director
1909 = Bruce Bellas = American physique photographer 🌈
1909 = Gottfried Von Cramm (1909-1976) = German tennis player 🌈
1927 = Doc Severinsen, American trumpet player and conductor
1933 = David McCullough, American historian and author
1940 = Ringo Starr, English singer-songwriter
1943 = Joel Siegel, American journalist and critic
1949 = Shelley Duvall, American actor
1959 = Billy Campbell, American actor
1963 = Vonda Shepard, American singer-songwriter and actor
1966 = Jim Gaffigan, American comedian, actor, producer, and screenwriter
1972 = Kirsten Vangsness (1972- ) = American actor 🌈
EVENTS
1907 = Florenz Ziegfeld Jr. staged his first Follies on the roof of the New York Theater in New York City.
1928 = Sliced bread is sold for the first time (on the inventor's 48th birthday) by the Chillicothe Baking Company of Chillicothe, Missouri.
1975 = Ryan’s Hope premieres on ABC.
HOLIDAYS + OBSERVANCES
PORTRAIT + QUOTES OF THE DAY
“People who aren't complicated in real life come through as pretty bland on the screen. Most great performers are not very happy and well adjusted. Perhaps that's the price they pay for being originals.”
George Cukor
“Looking for love is tricky business, like whipping a carousel horse.”
George Cukor
Oy, the treacherous "Independence" weekend! Our sweet dog, Daphne, suffers even from one not-too-loud blast, so we drug her with Trazadone supplied by our vet. It only mildly calms the panting and creates restlessness. She was quite hung over yesterday, but the havoc is over for another year. In other words, Clint, I feel you. ALSO: Thank you for the lovely Cukor tribute, my fave classic Hollywood director whose Sunday salons and hubba-hubba all-male afterparties were legendary. I got to meet him once in the early '80s, and it's quite true that one shouldn't meet one's heroes. This was at a master class at NYU he led for the grad acting and film students. Dapper, he clearly enjoyed working with some of the handsome young men, but such a short-fused temper! (Perhaps that ties in with the noise of the weekend?) Hugs to you, Clint!
Relating to this hardcore, Clint. There is a big, mostly vacant parking lot behind my building, and there was an unofficial fireworks extravaganza that went on forever on the 4th, with both pre-game poppers on the 3rd and random reverb on the 5th. So much smoke, so much noise, so much nervous system dysregulation. And, I'm guessing, so much disruption to wildlife habitats in this area. What a weird way to celebrate, for so many reasons.