For those unfamiliar with it, Nextdoor is a social media site for neighborhoods. In order to get in, one must prove that one lives in a given area. It’s another brainchild of Nirav Tolia, of Epinions fame, someone I have at least spoken with on the phone. One can see in its concepts certain commonalities, including the farming out of moderation to community leaders.

What’s Nextdoor like? You’ve all seen just how phallic people can get when hiding behind a keyboard. (If you haven’t, create a Facebook account and despair for humanity.) Nextdoor offers the same pleasures, but with a bit of a reality show vibe because you might meet these people. For those in your neighborhood, you can see their real names and addresses. There’s one lady in mine that I muted long ago, but every time I drive past her house, I think less than kind thoughts about the canine components in her DNA.

About two-thirds of Nextdoor posting concerns lost and found pets. No joke. I call it Lostcatsdoor in my mind. I sympathize with everyone who loses a pet, though I think everyone who says ‘fur baby’ needs a bucket of cold water. I never say anything about those posts, unless I think I spotted the animal in question, but at least lost pet searching is a productive purpose. It boggles my mind how so many people can be so urgently bothering deities every single day over someone else’s pet, but it’s harmless, so okay.

Right now is prime time for the most important tradition in Nextdoor’s young history: The Great Annual Fourth of July Alienation and Verbal Brawl. Ours is already in full swing, with everyone piously choosing up sides. The battle concerns fireworks, and whether they should be detonated, and what sort. Here’s a scorecard:

• Team Pet Trauma: demands that everyone else stop celebrating because it scares their pets.
• Team Murrica Fuck Yeah: demands that everyone stop bitching and start blasting, the more the merrier. Will set off dynamite sticks if he (it’s always a he) can find any. Would probably fire howitzer salvos if he could.
• Team Law & Order: reminds everyone that all fireworks more interesting than a kitchen match are illegal here in Oregon, therefore everyone must be obedient. Ve muscht nicht disobey der rules!
• Team Veteran PTSD: points out that a holiday celebrated by traumatizing the nation’s past defenders is Doing It Wrong. They have a point.
• Team Rectum: doesn’t particularly care about the issue, just trolls people up real good. If need be, brings up politics and accuses some people of being on the wrong side. Without them, this verbal brawl might peter out.
• Team Incendiary: dismisses all safety concerns, telling people they should sit out all night with a hose if they worry about someone else starting fires.

And every year, by this time, they are in full swing having the entire fight all over again. It’s usually even the same people. I’ve lived here for three years now. I think they look forward to it. It never seems to occur to them that if this is the way they feel about and treat each other, maybe we have less to celebrate than we might imagine. Maybe we should call it Division Day, to reflect how we really feel.

Watching people bicker over Independence Day fireworks is like watching several doctors and nurses have an all-out brawl over patient care. “No, you pill-pushing hillbilly, he does not need a goddamn MRI!” “Go soak your head in a filled bedpan! He needs an MRI and if you don’t get out of the way I will run your ass over with this gurney!” “Bring it, Doc Holliday. This scalpel will sort you out.”