Okay, so I live near an airport. It's not a huge airport, LA doesn't HAVE huge airports. It's a two-runway four gate one building sorta runway, having as it's past a military base for A-10s and, before that, A-7s. Before that it was a B-17 base, but that's back in the mists of time, and is not important to today's story.
What IS important is a signal light on top of a water tower out there. This joker is one of those mega lumen aircraft signal lights, two of them, actually, mounted front-to-back, one white, and one with a green lens. It rotates so that one face shines every two seconds, and the entire back of my house, especially in winter when all the intervening five miles or so of trees are dead, is right in it's path.
What does this mean, I hear you ask? Let me tell you. This means that every two seconds at night each window on the back of my house lights up, green or white, in order; the master bedroom, the master bath, my daughter's bath, the living room, then the kitchen, where it stops, fortunately because my mother's house blocks the rest of my house. I think if it could reach the den, my fish would be insane. There's no wonder my mother is insane, living here for all those years with that idiotically flashing light. I feel sometimes that the Green Lantern and the Silver Surfer are alternating efforts to contact me.
My only survival technique when I grew up here? My bedroom was on the front of the house. My current technique? Thick roller blinds.