Last night, Raegan and I thought we might have a few private moments in front of the television while my folks were out at their extra-posh party somewhere in Winchester, the hosts of which, they bragged, were devastatingly wealthy.

But by nine p.m., long before any fireworks left the barge, they called to issue a five minute warning. The party was boring. They were coming home. It came as quite a shock and I'm hoping it taught my father a valuable lesson. That, despite the irresistible draw of being around people with money, the feeling of being 'in' with the rich crowd, a confirmation of having made it in the world, entertaining secret hopes of ones profile appearing somewhere in the background of a Parade Magazine photo-shoot, most of the time it is far more interesting to be around regular everyday people with regular everyday problems just like your own.

But that wasn't our concern. What was our concern was that my parents would be home in five minutes. This left us with several uninteresting options, the most promising of which was: run for our lives. Probably to Arlington, where, from the water tower, one could just make out the fireworks from ten miles away. But we couldn't get out of our chairs. In spite of the threat of incoming parents we found we could not leave our seats. For we were stuck there by the force of incredulity. That's right. The power of disbelief. We simply could not believe what we were seeing on the television. The Boston Pops, playing with Big & Rich? And then, after the announcer announced: "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you a woman and a black guy!" Look out, here come a Ms. Wilson and a Cowboy Troy. Who the hell are these people? Does Boston have some kind of Yankee complex all of a sudden? Are we trying to prove that we're as country as the rest of the country? And who is the person who put this thing together who thinks that's a good idea??!!?

What happened to the Boston that I loved? The Boston where people throw tea into the harbor! The Boston where women are willing to get their eyes shot out and die for their World-series-winning baseball team!

Cowboy Troy didn't even sing, for crying out loud. At one point he ejaculated some random patriotic phrases in-between random patriotic verses, but as far as I could tell, that was about it. Is that what he does for a living? Is it enough of a novelty to be black and wear a cowboy hat that you can make a music career out of it??

Aren't we supposed to be honoring the Fourth of July with some dignity and respect? We might as well have gotten Art Garfunkel! Has anybody in Boston ever heard of any of these people? The only reason I had even heard of Big & Rich at all was because my sister-in-law likes them. But she lives in Illinois and has every right.

We're Bostonians, we're not supposed to like country music! We have a long-standing history of hating country music, everybody knows that! What are they trying to do to us? I feel just like that guy in Clockwork Orange, when they got him strapped down to the chair with his eyes propped open. They're trying to make me like country music, and dammit, I won't!!!! I don't care if the band is singing about how we should all love each other, if their name is Big & Rich and one of them is wearing a giant glittery top hat, I draw the line.

And then, when one of them (I think it was Rich, judging by the hat) stepped over and started CONDUCTING the BSO, with wild and unabashed gesticulations, I took it to be a historical moment, ripe with metaphor. Here we go, the wild country star, the new leader of our genteel classical Orchestra. I shouted at the television (joining, I'm sure, thousands of other home-shouters): "No! You don't get to conduct the Boston Symphony Orchestra! Especially not in that hat!"

I felt for the symphony musicians, who, having sweated their whole lives in desperate isolation, for years battling the limitations of their instrument at institutions like Julliard until they could comfortably play things I don't even know how to describe in words, were now being asked to sit there and engage in a ten minute two chord jam with people who, just two short years ago, were neither big nor rich, nor cowboys; musicians who feature ringtones and buddy icon downloads on their website.

Why couldn't they have gotten somebody like Allison Krause and Union Station or Gillian Welch, Raegan asked. They would've sung something beautiful and interesting and would have sounded amazing with by the BSO. But apparently nobody wants beautiful or interesting. They just want a guy in a glittery hat.

But Steve, you're saying, they're all about peace and love! Didn't you hear Big and/or Rich saying all that stuff about how we should all love each other? Have you no heart? Have you no feelings of camaraderie on this, our nation's birthday? No. Not when one of them goes by the name "Cowboy Stevie Wonder" I don't! And I don't care that their band slogan is "Music Without Prejudice!" You know what kind of music is without prejudice? Ever other type of music besides country!!

So while Raegan and I, and the rest of America, were being assaulted by the unprejudiced Country-crossover sounds of Big & Rich, my parents were being bored to the point of leaving, by the Big and the Rich out in Winchester, party-capital of Massachusetts.

Before too long, my parents came home and we argued over whether the Pops had ever played while the fireworks were being shot off. In the past, it seemed they were always trying to enhance the Pops performance with fireworks, providing a light show to go with the music. But last night's fireworks didn't make any sense at all. The music selection sounded as though they had hooked the whole thing up to somebody's ipod Shuffle and just let 'er rip. Looked nice though. That's the thing. Everything looked pretty nice. It would have looked better in hi-def, naturally, but still. It served its purpose. It did exactly what it was supposed to do, which is to distract everybody from what's actually going on.