Picture Us Coolin' Out on the Fourth of July...

...and if you heard we was celebratin', that's a worldwide lie.

Actually it's not. That's just a little Public Enemy reference. I couldn't think of anything else to reference July 4th with. Anyway, Bubba and I had an interesting, fun Independence Day. We were slated to hang with Big Saul, and old friend of Bubba's, fresh back in town. His apartment complex was having a pool party/bbq jam, so we figured we'd head on up and cook up some grub. As such, I headed on out to the Whole Foods to pick up some eats. Whilst roaming the aisles amongst the young and beautiful set, who do I see at the butcher next to me but Zach Braff. Now, relatively speaking, he's no big deal to me. I don't watch "Scrubs," but, he's from like several doors down from me back in the old South Orange. A little after my time, but I remember his brother from around the way. Given our bond of representing the 07079, I toyed with saying something to him. I don't really like bothering celebs, nor do I care for stroking this ego. I was like, "back in the day he would've been a little rug rat to me, some annoying little kid in the 'hood. Now I'm gonna go kiss his ass? Not bloody likely." So I opted against it.

Armed with the choice vittles, Bubba and I made our way towards Saul's new pad, up in the Hollywood Hills. Believe it or not, this represented our first actual Hollywood Hills party. I don't really party to much these days, and when I do, I no longer party like it's 1999. I party like it's 2008, and I'm 37 years old.

We wind our way up the hills, and come upon the party in full swing. Nothing but young, hip cats, having a good old time out by the pool. I half expected it to play out like a scene out of "Boogie Nights," but at no point in time did I see a porn star having sex in the yard with a perfect stranger in front of her husband. That not withstanding, I have to say, the vibe was pretty chill. Everyone there seemed to be peripherally related to the biz in one way or another, and we met some pretty nice people.

Come sundown, folks made there way up to the rooftop terrace to take in the fireworks. At this point, a GLARING difference between New York and L.A. revealed itself. Namely, they just don't do fireworks like Nueva York. They just don't. We were treated to a panorama of so-so presentations, spanning probably 25 miles worth of L.A. Each one, even the downtown show, or the ones I believe were coming from the L.A. Colliseum, seemed small-time to me. You have to understand, I used to the New York stylie, 30 shells going off at once, smell the smoke all up in your face, variety show. Across the board, I couldn't even tell when these shows were over, they were so, eh.

When the dust settled, we ambled back to the main area. What do we see but a bunch of folks playing volleyball in the pool. Forget "Boogie Nights," this was now playing out like straight out of "Three's Company." I half expected Mr. Roper to come break up all the "hanky panky," and force us to take off for the Regal Beagle for a nightcap with Jack, Chrissy, Janet and Larry. Come the end of the night, a quality time was had by all. Bellies were full, skins were tanned, and faith in America was at least temporarily renewed.