Celebrated a lovely fourth of July yesterday, that one day when all Americans put aside their differences and come together as one to celebrate what we as a nation, regardless of socio-economic standing, religion, or political affiliation, hold to be of the highest importance: Meat.

Meat, beer and blowing things up. Truly this is our greatest holiday.

Erin and I spent the morning recovering from the evening previous, which was her going away party. Someone who knew a lot of Uncle Tupelo songs brought a guitar and someone else who knew a little something about liquor brought some whiskey. It was a high evening, but one that required some recovery time.

After french toast and a couple of episodes of the Tick we went to one of Osaka's largest parks, Shinkanaoka near Abiko, and played some disk. Despite the 34 degree temps we had a good game or two, and then as the sun began to sink, the weather began to cool, and the ultimate just got better. I made a couple good plays, dropped a few because my sweat slicked hands couldn't hold the disk. Jumped. Ran. Threw. Caught.

As for the yaki-niku, there was a bounty. We grilled eggplant, onions and broccoli, and thin-shaved meats marinated in spicy sauces. Sausage was also on the menu; I estimate four or five hogs gave their lives to fill our bellies with their sweet, spicy, gut-wrapped flesh.

The setting sun found us still running and throwing disk, our passes getting shorter in the failing light and the number of players slowly dropping out of sight to stand by the grill, until just a few played on, hurling their frisbees high into the darkening sky, catching by blind instinct.