We hold these truths to be self-evident: The Fourth should be nixed
by Beth Teitell

Wednesday, July 4, 2001

Am I the only person who considers the Fourth of July a nuisance?

Apparently not.

For years, I've secretly dreaded the holiday, with its pressure to go outside, stay up past dark, eat mayonnaise-based salads that have been improperly stored. But this year I came clean about my feelings to a few trusted friends, and it turns out I'm not alone!

``I know it celebrates the declaration of our nation's independence and all that,'' a woman invited to a party said, ``but why does something that happened back in the 1700s mean that I have to get up early to bake angel food cupcakes?

``Tonight,'' she added, ``I have to rush home after work and make dip. It's a Tuesday. Something's wrong.''

I'll tell you what's wrong. It's a holiday that floats. From now on, the Fourth of July should be on a Saturday. The Fourth-ish of July. And maybe make it in May, when it's cooler out, and less likely to thunderstorm.

And another thing: There should be no parties. By law.

``The pressure to do something impressive is worse than it is on New Year's Eve,'' another reluctant reveler said. ``At least if you stay home on December 31, you can denigrate the evening as `amateur night.' But what can you say about the Fourth?''

I saw her point, but a person opts out of the Fourth at her own risk. All around you people are going to clambakes in Marblehead, flying to the Vineyard, ``going out on the boat,'' listening to old-timey bands.

And you, meanwhile, are landlocked, watching ``Bewitched'' reruns on cable or, worse, the Pops on the small screen. I mentioned to a friend that there's nothing more depressing than taking in the fireworks on television, but she disagreed.

``Yes there is - it's going to the Esplanade,'' she said. ``You camp out for a good spot, then you get one, but you have to spend all day defending it. If you let down your guard for even one minute - you go to the Handy House, or you close your eyes - someone inches your blanket back ever so slightly, and then another person does, until your patch of turf is down to just your chair. Finally, when night falls and all you want to do is go home, you have to get in a party mood.''

And, she continued, ``what makes it worse is knowing that high above you, on roof decks lining the river, the rich are living it up.''

I didn't mention David Mugar's roof deck party, at 100 Beacon Street, where people like Keith Lockhart and Cyndi Lauper will be dining in comfort on grilled salmon salad, North Carolina pulled pork (Mugar's favorite, according to The Catered Affair), couscous with sugar snap peas and radishes, lemon-accented bread pudding with blueberry sauce, and coffee blond brownies.

``It's a fun menu,'' The Catered Affair's Holly told me.

Yeah, right. Fun.

``You know what I hate,'' a colleague who's working on the holiday said, ``are those cheerful signs on all the ice cream stores and dry cleaners and bakeries telling you they're closed. You're stuck in town without any plans, but you're supposed to be happy for them because their employees have something to do.

``All you want is some mocha almond ice cream. Is that too much to ask?''

She snarled as she recalled a Brigham's sign: ``We will be closed on the Fourth of July so that our employees can spend the holiday with their families.''

Three cheers for the red, white and blue!