Nothing says "not cool" like earnestness. For the current generation of young people, to be eager about anything, whether it be paying art school student loans, protesting a decade-old war or admiring one's parents — is a guaranteed ticket to social extinction.

And no other event calls for unnecessary enthusiasm like the Fourth of July. The fireworks, the sparklers, the rancid tasting lime-flavored beer — calm down, guys. We're celebrating the signing of a piece of paper here, not the reappearance of a deity or the release of a new "Sassy Gay Friend" video.

In case you didn't know, the legal separation of the American colonies from Great Britain occurred on July 2, 1776 — not July 4 — so celebrating two days late is double lame. John Adams wrote his wife Abigail on July 3, "The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America." (Abby showed me the letter over cocktails.)

And remember all of those regrettable Facebook pics of the signers of the Declaration of Independence wearing those nappy white wigs and ivory stockings? Don't allow yourself to be even more outmoded than those squares.

Simply the pressure of creating a fabulous Fourth is enough reason to give up the holiday entirely. The level of expectation for an epic pool party or miraculously memorable barbecue are near the level of planning required for a New Year's Eve night as if there isn't a New Year every single year.

At least that holiday allows for making out with strangers at midnight.

Also — why don't we get presents from our parents on Fourth of July? After all, I've declared my own independence in the past year (meaning, I really need some new clothes). Sadly, this is not so much the summer of abundant allowances as much as it is the first season of You're Cut Off!

Most importantly, nobody looks good in an ensemble of bright red and blue (you're not above this).

Original hopes of hosting a midsummer blowout have been dashed (I recently signed a new lease on the townhouse with an added, handwritten clause, "NO MORE PARTIES!!!"). Finding another party to crash becomes such a task that simply sneaking into the pool at Richmont Square is sometimes the best one can do.

My negativity comes from experience — last year after a six-hour spree at a trashy Midtown apartment complex pool (and my own six-pack of Lone Star), I found myself at an evening party with a premature hangover and no energy left to celebrate the two-day delay of Independence Day. Instead, I tried making small talk before a pitcher of sangria was spilled on my person from a balcony (I come with my share of detractors).

In a recent conversation with a barista at Brasil — an accepted authority on all outmoded matters — I probed into the current stance of Fourth of July commemoration among her community:

"I don't see why it's a really big deal. I mean ... what is it even celebrating?," she replied.

"So you really think the holiday's passé?," I asked, to which she responded,

"Look, I stopped taking Spanish in high school. Please speak English."

Which got me to thinking — if naturalized French descriptors are barely recognized among hipsters, then perhaps I could capitalize on the culture, making it the next big thing in Houston. Now, I'm as much a Francophile as the next aspiring yuppie — but how many locals commemorate the summer revolution holiday of Bastille Day?

Attributable to the fact that "Texas is bigger than France," the holiday has gone largely unrecognized here. Ever since the advent of "Freedom Fries" during the Bush administration and delicious drama at the World Cup, the French have been held with mounting contempt by the general public — meaning that fetishizing their culture is a smart tactic for the avant-garde of alternative circles. The July 14 holiday provides opportunities to flaunt one's indie authenticity — wearing ironic pencil moustaches, not showing up at work in the middle of the week, and testing out French phrases remembered from intro courses at a small liberal arts school.

Best of all, nobody will judge you for ordering a glass of your favorite 2005 Burgundy over a plastic bottle of Bud Light Lime.