Today is Bastille Day. It celebrates the liberation of prisoners from some humongous French prison, setting the stage for a succession of head-chopping and general mayhem that probably figured in the decision of my ancestors to come to America. Merci beaucoups, guys!
[UPDATE: Matthew the Holy Whapper writes on the significance of this day in Catholic history, in a way that even the history texts in Catholic schools before the 1960s managed to gloss over, in a piece entitled "From the London Times, January 25, 1793".]
I didn't realize so many people would take this day off, but the commuter traffic into Washington this morning was rather light, even for a Friday in the summer. Perhaps it's just as well. Robberies seem to be up. With any luck, some of DC's Finest will catch on. I hope they do in Georgetown, as businesses there are suffering after a fatal mugging in the residential area last week. This includes the restaurant where my son works. The Washington City Paper reports that "A guy who gets mugged, fights off his attacker, then gets mistaken for the assailant and arrested. Then, after the cops figure out he's not their man, they let him go and he's mugged again!" When I lived in that neighborhood for three years, my experience with the police was actually pretty good, though it was not uncommon to see their cars go through stop signs as if they (the stop signs) weren't there. But you can bet only the finest of the Finest get assigned to that neighborhood, the biggest source of tax revenue for the city, and the place from which complaints will be heard the loudest. Apparently not loud enough.
But tonight there is dancing to be done, as Leroy Thomas and the Zydeco Roadrunners hit the stage at the Surf Club, my favorite roadhouse, across town in Hyattsville. C'est bon, oui? Yeah, you right!
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