I don't know how you spent your weekend. Maybe you watched your kids' soccer camp or lounge by a pool until you couldn't take the heat any longer and jumped in. Both of those would be considered reasonable things to do. I went to an island and roasted a pig; it took 'going native' to a whole new level.
This wasn't a first-time event. In fact, pigs and lambs have been gracing this spit for quite a few years now. But it's not a small undertaking and required the occasion of my little brother's birthday to merit getting it organized and then following through under the Saharan sun. Beer may have been involved. Jury's out on whether it helped out hindered.
A lot of time and planning went into the whole ordeal: order the pig; go on a boating adventure to pick it up; stock up on charcoal and haul it onto the island; spend a couple of days making BBQ sauce; dig out a pit and make the surrounding area fire-safe; make the world's largest bowl of coleslaw. But when it came down to it on the day, it's like the pig had a plan: everything fell into place with the seamless ease of professionals (which we are not).
Keeping in mind that the whole time this was happening there was a gaggle of drunken 20-somethings watching and making (unhelpful) comments, it went a little something like this...