Cinco de Mayo
Right now, as you read this, I am banging my head on my desk. "Why are you banging your head on the desk?" you ask.
Because I just realized that it was Cinco de Mayo. Here I am worrying about applehead people and scientific abstracts and buildings blowing up in NYC when there are more important things going on. It is that time of the year when tacos, sangria, and pupusas (alright, they are salvadorian, so kill me) dance on tables adorned with sombreros and bright-pink tissue paper flowers. Saint Patrick's Day can't touch my beloved Cinco de Mayo. So what if I'm a Welsh/British/Lithuanian cross breed (the word "pumapard" is priceless); no one can escape the beckoning of the mariachi band. Let us bow our heads in honor of its very essence.