J & I Sat in starlet plantations Top of the roof And watched the fucking fireworks And listened to Jimi Hendrix And felt so fucking proud to be American Living in -- voices smoking over a barbeque carcass -- living in The Great Experiment If it's still all right to call it that. I remember: Driving, and she was a picnic basket Taking on the world in all its lugubriousness and Running around like bottle rockets Too swift to be stalled by mere friction. And inside it was nothing but Mel Torme and the Boston fucking Pops and day-glo Walmart buy-one-get-one-free patriotism dot the i's and cross the t's. And we wondered why anyone would shut off Jimi Hendrix playing the Star-Spangled Banner, when it's the greatest fucking tribute to this country we've ever heard and if you listen it's fireworks, not fucking cheese Mel Torme and the yankee fucking doodle dandy whitebread supermom safe man, it's safe. He said: I love America because of Paul Simon and Jimi Hendrix. I love America because of Jim Morrison, bloody red son of fantastic L.A. And it was all about Los Angeles and through the haze we could see the smoke from the fireworks dancing through the streetlights and Saabs and a million half-eaten potato chips. Drunk on California wine and California life and lilting on the possibilities of art and something about the human condition and laughing out loud to Ginsberg because it was just so funny so funny to hear them read it like a prize and a matching autograph when right then I didn't need anyone to tell me what it was like to be an American because I was one and I was in the middle of it all. And the secondhand citizens looked deep within themselves and pulled a plastic fork from somewhere in the depths of their soul (and called it macaroni) and and and.