America 250 is Overshadowing My Birthday

Even though my actual birthday is July 6^th, I always have my fête on July 4^th, when my friends are free to attend. This year, I’m enraged that my ritual celebration is on the same day as America 250’s Block Party. I deserve something bigger and better.

Granted, I’m turning 74, not 250, although there are days when I feel as old as our democracy. I do share a birthday with the 14^th Dalai Lama, so I, too, have history on my side. So here, fellow Americans, is what the retired event planner who wobbles next to me in Senior Tai Chi classes, has planned for my big day, known as Candy74.

Remove the pseudo King’s signage everywhere, replacing it with CANDY in any color except gold. Such as: CANDY LOVES THE JOHN F. KENNEDY CENTER FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS and THE CANDY LIME GREEN REFLECTING POOL AFTER THE SWAMP WAS DRAINED.

Redesign the I  NY shirt with I  Candy. Bootleggers on Canal Street will make their own counterfeit versions, and I’ve bribed the NYPD not to chase them away for my one joyous day of the year.

Taylor Swift and the Haim sisters are expanding their Knicks fans’ shirt business by creating tees for my guests in natural indigo with licorice red logos: CandyLand, CandyNation, RockCandy, EconomyCandy, and SugarDaddy.

The venue will be The Garden. No, not that one, I don’t want to imitate Tay’s wedding day. It’s the Elizabeth Street Garden in Nolita, which has been facing eviction threats for years. This Garden is small for my 1,000 person guest list, but they’ll spill out onto the streets, merging with the Feast of San Gennaro and creating gridlock to the Holland Tunnel. My 1,500 classmates from Lincoln High School (’69)—those who are still alive—will have a watch party near our alma mater on the Brighton Beach Boardwalk. Free cotton Candy for all!

Page Six is already leaking the guest list. Think the Obamas, my Buddhist meditation teacher, the owner of my local legal dispensary (who has promised to bring edibles), the Knicks, and Chuck Schumer, because I kinda feel sorry for him.

My birthday gala will start at 5 PM, because the guest list is full of Boomers, who must eat four hours before bedtime to avoid acid reflux.

A team of RN’s will be at the entrance to offer every guest a vaccination of their choice.

Barbra Streisand will send a video of her singing “Free Again,” followed by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys performing “Empire State of Mind.”

I’ve hired my favorite subway musicians to serenade us. Instead of taking the R train downtown from Times Square, they’ll arrive in a party bus with an NYPD escort. Their playlist consists of just two jazz improvs of The Chordettes “Lollipop” and Lesley Gore’s “I Want Candy.”

Elon Musk is too busy to attend, as he’s trying to figure out how to bring the first Tesla to the moon on a newly designed SpaceX Starship. To share his regrets, he’s going to pay for universal health care.

I grew up on Nathan’s hot dogs, so it’s fitting that we’ll serve them on gluten free buns and offer a seitan alternative. A sommelier at four-star Le Bernadin insists the best pairing is all American Bud. I’ve been studying a YouTube of Travis Kelce guzzling straight from the can.

The gala will culminate in a Hochul/Mamdani “declaration” making a national holiday called JULY 6^THCANDY IN AMERICA, GRANDCHILD OF IMMIGRANTS WHO ARRIVED HERE IN POVERTY AND WORKED HARD FOR THE AMERICAN DREAM.

Guests will go home with a goody bag of nostalgic delights that describe me best: Nerds, LaffyTaffy, and Air Heads; a pamphlet of the Declaration of Independence in every language spoken in Queens; and home Glucose test kits.

Since one party is never enough, I’ll celebrate my actual birthday with others, living and dead, born on July 6^th: George W. Bush, The Dalai Lama, Giorgio Armani, Frida Kahlo, Sylvester Stallone, Nancy Reagan, and 50 Cent. I can’t wait to video our conversation and post it on TikTok. My birthday wish is for Mary Trump to make it go viral.