2004-07-02 - 2:26 a.m.

Independence Day, better known as July 4th, really kinda creeps up on you, don�t it?

Most holidays are mid-to-end-month. Which aren�t? Thanksgiving? Christmas? New Years Day is the first of the month, but you knew about that one a mile away.

But July 4th and that's the first holiday in a stretch of not that much for a few months, it always catches me off guard.

Today is July first, and the Roommate and I went to Trum Field tonight to watch Mayor Joe's fireworks.

And they were fireworks. The actual field was closed off (I had envisioned a bunch of people sitting in a field watching fireworks, which makes no sense now that I realize the fireworks were being shot from the field). The Roommate and I held each other as the fireworks exploded against the full yellow moon, and I was glad that the Roommate and I were both wearing glasses--I've never been that close to fireworks.

The best part was the grand finale--there hasn't been a firework show in Somerville for many years, so nobody knew what to expect--and then they lit off a few more and that, I guess, was half-time, or an intermission, or, I honestly believe, a joke. A really good joke.

The real grand finale was spectacular, which I guess is the word that everybody uses to describe firework grand finales, but I guess since Somerville was able to pull off a real firework grand finale, it really was spectacular.

I mean, those things were exploding against our noses and in our ears. This was no Pops on the Esplanade bullshit. This was a deejay who knew half the folks there urging the folks in attendance to sing the Star Spangled Banner as led by the Somerville marching band and then before anyone can sing a goddamn word the first explosion happens and everyone cheers at the sky instead.

When it was over, the deejay played a few songs, and the Roommate and I danced through the cups thrown on the pavement to Crazy, and I footed the curb towards the end of the song to make the height gap a bit more traditional.

We drank a beer at what was Hannah�s after, and we liked the new, non-creepy bar. Mulligan�s is apparently done, and we really liked that place, so it�s nice that we have a place to watch the game or snag a beer if we wind up in almost that part of town.

Sox lost. We wound up at Devlins after the game went into extra innings. I�m not gonna talk about that. It was a weird night there. You�re definitely on your own at Devlin�s--I�ll say that much.

But fireworks. F-I-R-E-W-O-R-K-S. Fireworks. Awwwing babies that just got the shit scared out of them. Summer is upon us.

Oh--one more quick thing the Roommate keeps hounding me to include. After the Sox game that the Roommate and I are in debt and gratitude to the Big Company for the opportunity to see, as we drunkenly strolled down Boylston, we passed a certain upscale establishment for fine dining, and the Roommate overheard someone saying that Trot Nixon was entering. The restaurant was not outdoors, but the front was open and you could see in, and gawk at the elegant gourmands if you wanted to. She saw Trot, Boston�s right fielder, at a table, and pointed this out to me.

It took me a very, very long time for me to pick him out. To the point where the people sitting with him started waving at me to get my attention and then tried to point in his direction, but I hadn�t seen them. The restaurant sent a hostess out to help me. Trot himself came out and brought me inside to his table, introduced me to his party, and then explained how to find him once I made my way out.

Okay I made that last one up. But when I did see Trot, he returned my jumping jack with a little wave, and the rest of the people at his table breathed a sigh of relief, and the Roommate and I headed off on our way, knowing, but not very much caring, that we�d probably be seeing fireworks in our near future.