Just came back from that exercise in gluttony and inebriation, otherwise known as Eyes to the Sky.  Lisle suffers from small penis syndrome – that malady where bigger must always be better and since Naperville and Downers Grove aren’t going to stand down anytime soon, it’s up to this town to show ’em.  And considering we’re not even large enough for home rule, that’s a tall order.

Started about 30 years ago and every year the festivities got larger and larger:  More days, higher prices, has-been bands you’d actually heard of until one day they declared bankruptcy.  So it was reborn last year (or the one before – time blurs) as an earlier incarnation; a more family-friendly celebration with high school garage bands and parade floats tossing candy unearthed from basements.  This year they had good music (Think Pink [as in Pink Floyd]), good food and lots of vendors trying to take my money.  hahahahaha- good luck with that.  Then everything stopped for what was supposed to be a huge fireworks celebration accompanied by a patriotic soundtrack.  Started with a recording telling us to stand up, remove our hats and place our hands over our hearts for the National Anthem.  Whitney Houston came back from the dead and screeched her way into my brainstem.  then silence.  Then Whitney Houston came back from the dead and screeched her way into my brainstem…for seven or eight friggin’ more times!  I swear, someone must have wanted to pump royalties into the estate. There was a blessed period of silence…while you waited for the other shoe to drop.  And then good old Bruce came on singing “Born in the USA” which is, as far as I know, the only song ever written with only a chorus.

As with Jose Feliciano and Christmas, where would we be without Bruce and the Fourth of July…