'Tis the season for jovialities and... barbecues. The house with the sexy elf standing in the front yard is where we are headed, to a "Christmas in July in December" party. After scoring some Christmas bourbon—it's already been a long day—my plus one and I walk through the kitchen to the backyard. There's a suckling pig on a spit and fake palm-tree leaves everywhere. The summery accoutrements are almost enough to make you believe it's July, except for all the cold partyers huddled under a tent to stay dry from the rain.
Out on the neighbor's front lawn, the Yellow Hat Band is making a musical ruckus. Their cymbals guy is dancing around, biding his time between beats. (He's really just killing time, waiting for another drink.) "Let me know if you see any upset-looking neighbors," a girl shouts. A man in a red Santa hat and a green sequined jacket is dancing in the street. Now the party is getting started! It's time for a refill on that drink.
Unusually for a party in December, there are very few Christmas sweaters or Christmas cookies on display. Someone named Summer tells me to never walk through Seattle Center at three in the morning, which seems like sound advice. Hey Marseilles and Pillow Army will perform later, but for right now, the Christmas Belles take to the dining-room alcove and play pleasant (one might even say "Christmas-y") melodies. It's unclear if they're singing about our generous host or the little baby Jesus in the song that goes, "He's too much... HE'S TOO MUCH!"
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