July 02, 2005

It’s Canada day. Put a bottle of wine in your backpack and bike down dusty country roads towards New Hamburg to find Laura. There’s no better way to celebrate confederation than by getting drunk and naked with her.

In the summer heat your bike is a quivering animal, hungry for asphalt and death. By the time you reach New Hamburg you’ll be sweaty, thirsty, and barely alive. Her sister will give you shooters to drink and burgers to eat. And when you’re feeling dizzy from all that, grab Laura’s hand and go watch fires in her backyard — stand close enough to the flames to feel your flesh sizzling.

And later, when it gets dark, whisper things in her ear and drag her across town to see fireworks. The bigger the city, the more it can afford to spend to blowing shit up on Canada Day. Toronto has over 4 million people and on Canada Day the whole sky goes up in flames; New Hamburg, a thriving city of ten thousand souls, can only afford fifteen minutes of mediocre fire power.

“I don’t understand Canada day,” say. “In Spain they have month-long fiestas and public drunkenness to celebrate everything; here people gather in a darkened field to watch fireworks for fifteen minutes and then head home to sleep.”

Watch fireworks for fifteen minutes, then head home to sleep. Lie naked in her arms and talk about fiestas and things that go boom in the summer sky.

All important events should be celebrated with naked girls.