Shame on me, I suppose, for not spending at least part of the last 25 years that I've lived in South Florida trying to decipher what grilling a pig has anything to do with the birth of Jesus. Here all along I thought it was all about a virgin and immaculate conception and the Son of God.
But I need to put that all aside because right now, in the middle of zero-lot line South Florida suburbia, my neighbor, who I now clearly know likes Latin music, is celebrating Christmas in his backyard by filling the humid tropical air with smoke and salsa. I suppose he believes all of his neighbors should share his desire for roast pork and heavy bass beats, because, as is often the case with these type of people*, the world revolves around them.
It's a good thing that I'm in such a Chrismassy mood because if I hadn't listened to Brenda Lee sing Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree 10 times today, I swear I would throw open the window, point my speakers in the general direction of Mr. Suave and crank Van Halen's Runnin' With The Devil.
Because doesn't he deserve the same amount of much disruption to his night as he feels comfortable doling out to the neighborhood?
I hope Santa gets here quick and resolves all of this.
*Before anyone cries "racist!" as is often the case around here, "these type of people" refers to those who tend to blast their music at inappropriate times of the day or night.