It's the first Monday in September, which means it's time for silly Yanks like me to celebrate Labor Day, a national holiday that is supposed to honor the American labor movement and the contributions stateside workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country.
And there's no better means to that end than throwing a dead animal over a grate of glowing embers.
Labor Day, at least in my neck of the woods, means the last barbecue of the season. Sort of the unofficial end to the summer now that kids are back in school, pools are being closed for the winter, and shitty mattress sales are popping up at the local strip mall.