In honor of our nation’s independence, I now leave the blogosphere indefinitely to start the celebration a day early: Top-down driving to play some tennis momentarily, as the ribeyes and plump shrimp marinate, awaiting varied treatments over hot coals later, and there are a couple of compelling Wimbledon matches on the TV. A stirring men’s seminfinal it is, much of which I’ll miss owing to my own recreational attempts at the sport.

Heard some good live country music, drank some good wine and observed some “girls in their summer clothes,” to quote a Springsteen line, at Hillcrest’s festive First Thursday celebration last evening. These are hardly the best of times, but, sometimes, they somehow manage to seem nearly that.