How the Grinch Stole Independence Day

I got this idea from a post from a Facebook friend who described the town of Independence, Oregon, as what Whoville would look like if the Whos celebrated the Fourth like they did Christmas. I hope you enjoy, even if it may be a day late.

Every Who Down in Whoville Liked July Fourth a lot...

But the Grinch,Who lived just north of Whoville, Did NOT!

The Grinch hated The Fourth! The whole Patriot season!

Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.

It could be he was tired of left vs. right.

It could be that he wished that the Brits won the fight.

But I think that the most likely reason of all,

May have been that his 'Murican heart was too small.

Whatever the reason, His heart or his shoes,

He stood there on the Third,  staunchly hating the Whos,

Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown,

All the red white and blue banners streaming the town.

For he knew every Who down in Whoville beneath,

Was busy now, thawing their ribs, dogs, and beef..

"And they're flying their banners!" he snarled with a sneer,

"Tomorrow’s The Fourth! It is practically here!"

Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers dastardly drumming,

"I MUST find some way to stop this day from coming!"

For Tomorrow, he knew, all the Who girls and boys,

Would see all those parade floats, and other parade joys!

And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise!

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

All the Bands and the Crowds with their NOISE!

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the Whos, young and old, would all gather to feast.

And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST!

FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!

They would feast on Who-fruit pies, and barbecued beast.

Which was something the Grinch couldn't stand in the least!

And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!

Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,

Would stand on their sidewalks, Francis Scott Key’s words crooning,

They'd light all their fireworks, with their shrieks and their booming!

The rockets would fly through mid’air and would BOOM!

BOOM! BOOM!  BOOM!

And the more the Grinch thought of the fireworks’ boom,

The more the Grinch thought, "This day must meet its doom!"

"Why, for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!"

"I MUST stop July Fourth from coming! But HOW?"

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" The Grinch laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick star-spangled hat and a coat.

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grinchy plan!"

"With this coat, beard and hat, I'll look like Uncle Sam!"

"Then I’ll ride in on an Eagle..." The Grinch looked around.

But, since eagles are scarce, there was none to be found.

Did that stop the old Grinch? No! The Grinch simply said,

"If I can't find a Eagle, I'll make one instead!"

So he called his dog, Max. Then he took some white thread,

Tied wings to his paws, and painted white his head.

THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks,

On a ramshackle saddle he sat upon Max.

Then the Grinch said, "Giddap!" And his steed started down,

Toward the homes where the Whos lay asnooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Summer breeze  filled the air.

All the Whos dreaming Patriot dreams without care.

When he came to the first little house on the square.

"This is stop number one," the old Grinchy Sam hissed,

And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.

But, if Sammy could do it, then so could the Grinch.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.

Founding Father’s faces he saw, all hung in a row.

"These Fathers of Liberty are the first ones to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with his Communist smirk

Around the whole room, snatching e’ry Firework!

Spinners! And Aerials! Sparklers! and Snaps!

Firecrackers! Rockets and Candles And Caps!

And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly,

Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Whos' feast!

He took the Who-Fruit Pies! And marinated beast!

He cleaned out their coolers as quick as a wham.

Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Who-Spam!

Then he stuffed all the food up the flue with a gag.

"And NOW!" grinned the Grinch, "I’ll take that Grand Ol’ Flag!"

And the Grinch grabbed the flag, and he started to shove,

When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!

Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

The Grinch had been caught by this Who ’Murican daughter,

Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

She stared at the Grinch and said, "Uncle Sam, why,”

"Why take all our Stars and our Stripes, Uncle Sam? WHY?"

But, you know, like a Fascist, so smart and so slick,

He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!

"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Uncle Sam lied,

"There's a star on this flag that is skewed on one side."

"So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear."

"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the child, his lies got in her head,

And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.

And when Cindy Lou Who went to bed with her cup,

HE went to the chimney and stuffed the flag up!

Then the last things he took were their lighters of  fire!

Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar.

On their scrawled un-american drivel and  ire..

And the one speck of food that he left in the house,

Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then He did the same thing To the other Whos' houses

Leaving crumbs Much too small For the other Whos' mouses!

It was quarter past dawn... Town still sleeping like goats,

All the Whos, still asnooze When he stole the parade floats,

Piled on food and fireworks! The Flags from their Homes!

All their Marching Bands’ Instruments!  All their drums and Trombones!

Three thousand feet up! To the top of the mountain!,

To destroy all he found in a freedom-fire fountain!

"Death to ‘Murican Pride!!" he was grinchishly humming.

"They're all finding out now that The Fourth is not coming!"

"They're just waking up! They’ll be furious, to boot!!"

"They’ll go straight for their guns, but have nothing to shoot.”

“Or cry for Regulations, but their cries would be moot!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Grinch, "That I simply MUST hear!"

So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising up through the town.

Like Freedom itself, the sound rang all around.

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded . . . Cheery!

Like American Pride, Freedom rang out so Merry!

He stared down at Whoville! The Grinch popped his eyes!

Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who down in Whoville, both leftists and the right,

Was singing! Without any parade floats in sight!

He HAD NOT stopped July Fourth from coming! IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"

"It came without Flags and It came without Bands!"

"It came without fireworks, or floats small or grand!!"

And he puzzled this fervor, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!

" Independence Day is about our Declaration."

"not fireworks or grills, but the start of our Nation!"

And what happened then? Well...in Whoville they say,

That his Patriot’s Heart Grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,

He returned to the town in the bright morning light,

Bringing back the Parade! Bands and Fireworks and Meats!

And he, HE HIMSELF! The Grinch! Raised the Flag in the Street!

Awareness: Knowing your standards, and when you will break them

Having grown up in a religious community, and still maintaining the religious beliefs of which I have grown up with, I find myself among a robust minority segment of my generation. As an American male in his 20's from a strong Christian background, I am well aware that this is the time where I'm supposed to be, as a linguistically-pretentious Mennonite might say, rumspringaing about, and I've always felt a bit behind the social game with people my age in many aspects of my life, from learning how to speak to dating and driving (more on those subjects in later posts), but in this regard I feel a bit ahead of the game: whereas most people aren't supposed to realize that they are complete idiots and that their parents were right about everything all along until they've reached 30 with two bratty kids and a crumbling marriage of their own, I feel that I've dodged that bullet early and come to acknowledge my parents for who they truly are: dubiously imperfect individuals who, despite their various quirks and defects, actually know how to navigate this world to an extent that I have not even come close to realizing in my own life.

(that being said, though, it could still possible for me to end up in a spoiled marriage with horrible children. I am still single, after all . . . ladies . . .)

Now, this is not to say that I've completely skipped over all of the deviant behaviours I'm supposed to experience in my twenties, especially since I still have five  years left to find new things to be a complete idiot about. For example, I am currently in the process of coming out of the closet to my parents as a Nordic-style Democratic Socialist (or maybe I should say coming out of the DOMBÅS?), a process that almost makes me wish I was gay instead, because that just might be easier to explain.*

*I am required by conscience to inform you that the aforementioned claims have been made from a position of overwhelming Heterosexual Male White Privilege

One of the facets of my generation's cultural perpetuation that I've been fortunate enough to steer clear of is the flagrant use and abuse of psychotropic substances, the subject I wanted to go into in this bit of self-indulgent bloggery today.

For you see, I believe that a person should know their limits. It is one thing to tell yourself that alcohol is bad and you should not drink. It is much more effective, however, to recognize the times and places where you would most likely succumb to your deviance and actively steer clear of those situations. Those of us of the Mormon persuasion may know of this concept as 'Standing in Holy Places'. But I believe it goes deeper than that: knowing where you would be most vulnerable to the vices of the world, at least in my experiences, requires a bit of strategic imagination. In the same way that Utah youth love Zombie Apocalypse fiction and all invariably have their own plans for surviving the onslaught of the undead in a bizarre culmination of popular culture and the Mormon drive for disaster preparedness (barricading a Costco is my favorite choice, if only to capitalize on the post-apocalypse demand for Kirkland Signature™ brand Salted Cashews and 33.5oz jars of Nutella©), I've had to put myself in a state of mind to think about what conditions would have to occur to get me to compromise my standards. For some of these vices, I did not need too much imagination. But for substance abuse, I had to go out there.

Way out there.

Eventually, I did come up with a scenario, barring cases of medical necessity or threat of coercion, that would render me tempted to use drugs recreationally. It is oddly specific, and very unlikely, but I felt that I'd reached a breakthrough by even getting that far, and as such would like share that scenario with you.

Some background: I am a musician, currently working towards a Music Education degree at Utah Valley University, known to the nation for texting-only lanes in our hallways, Noelle Pikus-Place, that basketball game brawl in 2014, those guys from Shark Tank who invented KissStix, and, of course, the poop bandit. As a musician (both a singer and Trombonist, to be exact), I've always had a fascination with Richard Wagner, a German composer in the 1800s who was well known for his rich orchestrations and rampant anti-semitism. You may recognize him as the guy whom everybody says influenced all film music ever (especially Star Wars). You may also know him as Hitler's favorite composer, but to be fair, you don't have to not be a genocidal maniac and art school reject to enjoy good music. You've definitely heard some of his stuff, like the Wedding March from his opera Lohengrin to The Flight of the Valkyries, used famously in every Vietnam movie EVER.

It's Ride of the Valkyries, or rather the larger work that it belongs to, that takes main stage in the scenario for substance abuse I have running through my head. And by 'larger work', I pretty much mean 'largest work' of Wagner's, or most other composers for that matter: Der Ring des Nibelungen, or, The Ring Cycle.

For the Uninitiated: The Ring Cycle, a set of four individual operas written to be performed end-to-end, constitutes 16 HOURS of unabated Norse mythology, complete with Gods, Dragons, Enchanted Swords, Valkyries, Dwarves and glorious amounts of heroic Incest on the part of all of its protagonists.  It is, basically, Lord of the Rings if all of the main characters were replaced by the Lannister Family.

It is also a meticulously-composed masterwork featuring a vast patchwork of musical motifs matching every plot cue as it happens, weaving a tapestry of rich artistry whose impact has literally shaped the world, for good and bad, following it's composition.  Not only did Wagner write, compose, and orchestrate the entire 16 hour ordeal, but he also designed the theater where these works were to be performed, a venue that still stands in its original location in the Bavarian town of Bayreuth, where a festival of his works is held every summer, usually including a full production of Das Ring.

This festival is famous for being nigh-impossible to get tickets for:  In order to attend, you must submit a letter of intent to the festival organizers (the descendants of Richard Wagner himself), just to get an application.  Once you have received the application, you may wait anywhere from 2-10 years on a waiting list before getting the opportunity to purchase your passes, if you are even selected.  Buying your tickets secondhand is strictly prohibited, and will result in you being denied access, or even being forcibly removed from the theater if you somehow were able to get past the box office in the first place.

And thus, my scenario takes shape:  If I somehow got tickets to see all 16 hours of Der Ring des Nibelungen, in the Bayreuth Festspielhaus designed by the composer for the composition of his works, featuring an orchestra that included instruments that he himself designed for the sole purpose of performing that work, then I would be tempted to use some sort of Amphetamine to keep me wired up so high for that entire festival.  For me, it would be a matter of necessity:  there is no way, no matter how awesome the music or spectacular the staging, that I would be able to endure the entire cycle under my own power.  Even in a theater with the seats designed to be just uncomfortable enough to prevent people from falling asleep, I would find a way.  I always find a way.

It is frighteningly easy for me to fall asleep in public.  Most of the time it is a curse, especially as far as my academic career goes.  It has served me well, though, as I was able to fall asleep 10 minutes into Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull on opening weekend, thus sparing me from having to watch the vast majority of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, a blessing for which I give thanks through prayer every day still.  But in this situation, I would be tempted, because I would want to experience this masterwork of human ingenuity and ostentatious meticulousness at the height of my senses.  Even thinking about that sensory overload, being hopped up on a ridiculous level of Adderall or Benzedrine, or even maybe Speed (though not the local Utah Valley favorite Methamphetamine, because I have standards) as the entire theater rumbles from the orchestra hidden from view below the stage roars into life, is enough to get me shaking with giddy fanboyish glee, before I stop myself and realize that a limit has been identified.

There is a catharsis that comes from coming to grips with your God-given mortality and penchant for doing stupid shit.  Being able to know thyself is a gift and a process that I am immensely grateful for, no matter how excessively far down that senseless rabbit hole I tend go.  But it is important, even if that person who you are is a total douchenozzle, to get to know them.

As many people know, your worst enemy and harshest critic is often yourself.  As Sun Tzu once said,

"Know your enemy and know yourself, find naught in fear for 100 battles. Know yourself but not your enemy, find level of loss and victory. Know thy enemy but not yourself, wallow in defeat every time."

Proverbs 20:5 also says that:

"The purpose in a man's heart is like deep water, but a man of understanding will draw it out."

With any luck, hopefully reading this has made you more aware of your awareness, and by extension, more aware of your awareness of awareness, and so on and so forth . . .

Awareness:  the first value in an upcoming exploration of humanly virtues that I will be exploring here, on Big Blue Cheese.