On the weekends, our next-door neighbor pops open his garage door in the alley and cranks up the stereo inside. I'm pretty sure it's audible for at least five blocks. He plays a mix of classic soul, some R&B, and Spanish music.
This, apparently, is the caveat, the asterisk to my awesome porch. The music is completely inescapable. But I can't even get mad about the numbing volume level, or the blatant intrusiveness of it all (forget about trying to play my own music—my wussy computer speakers don't stand a chance).
All of the backyards of our city block meet up in the middle, so I can look out at the backs of houses from the streets to the east, north, and south from my porch view. People come out from their own yards, chatting it up with each other. With the tunes, and the intoxicating smell of BBQ all day long, it's like a block party every weekend out there.
(This must be a best-of-the-80s CD: 'Eye of the Tiger' just finished playing, and now 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' is on.)
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