Nothing is more patriotic than July Fourth. The very day our nation was born. Oh hey, does anyone remember when that happened? I mean the year of course, what year did our great nation spring into existence? If you responded by saying the date that is printed on all those Centennial Quarters you have stashed in your sock drawer I argue that you are incorrect. In fact, I am certain that no one knows for certain what day our country started. If you ask David McCullough, we were born in 1776, David Stewart will tell you it was 1787 and I just read in Leviathan that the war was over in 1783 when Franklin, Adams and Jay accepted the surrender at the Treaty of Paris.

Whenever this place was born, we have picked July Fourth to have the party. These little parties take place in all corners of the nation and normally involve the roasting of something dead over open flame and the consumption of vast quantities of light beer. These parties will not exclusively revolve around the roasting of flesh, this is only something to be done in the afternoon between government sponsored activities. The morning time is taken up by staking out territory on some stranger's lawn at the crack of dawn where we hold a space with blankets and lawn chairs so other people can't take our prime, parade-viewing spot. The smart ones bring sun block, the rest court skin cancer with rolled up sleeves while they watch the local cheerleaders, city authorities, and Veterans of Foreign Wars preform a dehydrating, 32 mile march along the gooey asphalt of main street. The evening is spent in a semi-drunken stupor on another blanket fort while explosions rip the sky overhead. After this 16 hour, sun soaked orgy of light beer, roasted pork products, and ear splitting public firework display some people feel like the only way to top this off is to set fire to the neighbor's house with an assortment of legal and not-so-legal explosive devices.

The Fourth has now come and gone. Here in DC, about 300 thousand people went down to watch the local high school cheerleaders march. I went fishing with my brother in stead of fighting that many souls in the City. We did partake of the roasted dead animal fest in the evening right about the time the sky opened up and Mother Earth expressed her displeasure toward the Mid Atlantic. I wasn't on the Mall, but I heard the tornado warning and that people were being evacuated into the Smithsonian buildings. I think someone was trying to send a message. . .Did we listen? No. We waited until the skies cleared a little and then fired volley after volley of black powder and wacky chemicals up into those angry skies. That is the American way. Fight back at all costs.

What sort of cool things are going on in DC now that it is 200 degrees and humid? Lots of good things! This week we have Chuck Klosterman at Lansburgh on Monday, and again on Tuesday at the Wonderland Ballroom, both events start at 7pm. A great new author named Mike Carey will be joining us out in Courthouse. You may recognise his name if you are a reader of comic books. He has been writing for better comic houses for years. His work on "Lucifer" got him nominated for an Eisner Award, he has written over 40 issues of "Hellblazer" as well as being the longtime writer for "X-men" (Sans Modifier) On top of all that he was boon in the same town as those four guys that wrote music and started a bit of a ruckus when they came to America and went "wooooo." With any luck, Mike will sound a bit like Ringo Starr. For all the big fun, come out to see him and check out his new book "The Devil You Know" on Thursday, July 12th starting at 7 pm.

That is all for me this week. I took three days off last week and still ended up with over 30 hours. I swear I have some sort of illness. I am taking applications for interns if anyone wants to learn how to be an event coordinator. I can promise hard work, a difficult computer system and all the free galleys you can read. If anyone is interested please email me at events@olssons.com.