My Fourth of July weekend has gone very well. Going all out two nights in a row always makes me feel a little bit like I’ve wasted time when I could have been productive… but on the other hand I totally deserve to have unproductive party time. And while non-productive, sipping on sparkling rum in my backyard with a full view of fireworks certainly has a therapeutic and wholly necessary unwinding effect. The Summer of PSY entered it’s seventh week, and while the attic was short one Xanax Cat, Mario Kart, K-Pop, drink-spillage, and sporadic bursts of singing continued nonetheless. On the Fifth of July I was treated to the traditional Italian, Infinite-Course-Meal, and managed to not explode. My World-Cup consumption hit a saturation point when I realized just how many hours I’ve spent over the last week or two watching games, only so it would boil down to a penalty-kick shootout between The Netherlands and Costa Rica. Still had a load of fun watching, but it just seems a shame for it to come down to that.
Most recently, the Fourth of July weekend was characterized by Formula One. I started today by watching yesterday’s qualifying for the British Grand Prix at Silverstone, as the proper race was delayed by a horrific opening crash for a complete hour. The race was a disappointment as somebody rooting for Nico Rosberg, who did not finish today’s race because of a crippling gearbox problem. However as somebody who loves a bit of a fight, Sebastian Vettel and Fernando Alonso’s vicious fight for fifth place kept me rather glued to the screen, and nervous about a collision. And while Lewis Hamilton came in first, and I don’t particularly like him, I suppose it’s really cool to win your home country’s Grand Prix… and besides Daniel Ricciardo podium’d again! That dude is pure happiness.
There’s still a good twelve hours left in the weekend – and, well, despite all I’ve enjoyed so far – it’s a Sunday, before work; traditionally a rather low-energy affair. Cool things could happen, but I’m setting expectations low.