Sunday night and here I sit, shaking my head and laughing to myself.
Neighbors. Pfft.
Four hours! Can you believe it? Four hours. Every Sunday like clockwork - and loud. Soooo loud.
I'd be happy for them if it was four hours of loud, gleeful, boisterous lovemaking or even good, old-fashioned fucking, but it's not.
They fight.
Then they fight some more.
Like spoiled children, they fight.
It gets even better when the weather merits the opening of windows.
Most Sundays, they serve as a great excuse to leave the house and concoct a little adventure for myself. This Sunday, however, I'm a bit under the weather and wasn't going to attempt anything more ambitious than reading a book and maybe burning some CDs.
Normally, I can just tune them out, but today's exchange was especially compelling. I was left with no choice but to sit here and contemplate ways in which I could turn a negative into a positive.
How could I let them know that enough was enough? How could I tell them that I don't even take their fights seriously anymore?
And so the exercises began.
Using only the raw materials found within the confines of my apartment, I set about concocting a series of demonstrations; ways in which I could both amuse myself and drown them out. Above all else, they would have to know that my efforts were entirely for their benefit.
In the name of fighting fire with the same, I confined my strategy to aural displays. Here's what I came up with:
Arrange, produce and record, track by track, punk, dub, bluegrass and jazz fusion covers of the Looking Glass classic 'Brandy (you're a fine girl)' including vocals.
Along the same lines, I thought about sitting in the stairwell with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a box of glazed krispy kremes alternately singing and crying my way through the collected works of Glen Campbell.
If I was feeling really nasty, I'd try and teach myself to play slide guitar. Have you ever heard anyone learn to play slide?
*shivvver*
Since both apartments are on the third of a possible three floors, I could head to the roof and set up a make-shift bowling alley. Every time the ball dropped from the roof to the street, I'd stand over their air vent and shout
'L'il help!'
I had the option of parading up and down the stairs whistling Henry Mancini's 'Baby Elephant Walk.' If I had, and could play, an accordian, that would have already happened.
There's an audio collection of great speeches of the 20th century that would have come in very handy. I could have heckled the 'I had a dream' speech, or had Hitler freestyle to the natural rhythms of porn!
Imagine the possibilities.
Yes, it was a good Sunday.
Neighbors. Pfft.
Four hours! Can you believe it? Four hours. Every Sunday like clockwork - and loud. Soooo loud.
I'd be happy for them if it was four hours of loud, gleeful, boisterous lovemaking or even good, old-fashioned fucking, but it's not.
They fight.
Then they fight some more.
Like spoiled children, they fight.
It gets even better when the weather merits the opening of windows.
Most Sundays, they serve as a great excuse to leave the house and concoct a little adventure for myself. This Sunday, however, I'm a bit under the weather and wasn't going to attempt anything more ambitious than reading a book and maybe burning some CDs.
Normally, I can just tune them out, but today's exchange was especially compelling. I was left with no choice but to sit here and contemplate ways in which I could turn a negative into a positive.
How could I let them know that enough was enough? How could I tell them that I don't even take their fights seriously anymore?
And so the exercises began.
Using only the raw materials found within the confines of my apartment, I set about concocting a series of demonstrations; ways in which I could both amuse myself and drown them out. Above all else, they would have to know that my efforts were entirely for their benefit.
In the name of fighting fire with the same, I confined my strategy to aural displays. Here's what I came up with:
Arrange, produce and record, track by track, punk, dub, bluegrass and jazz fusion covers of the Looking Glass classic 'Brandy (you're a fine girl)' including vocals.
Along the same lines, I thought about sitting in the stairwell with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a box of glazed krispy kremes alternately singing and crying my way through the collected works of Glen Campbell.
If I was feeling really nasty, I'd try and teach myself to play slide guitar. Have you ever heard anyone learn to play slide?
*shivvver*
Since both apartments are on the third of a possible three floors, I could head to the roof and set up a make-shift bowling alley. Every time the ball dropped from the roof to the street, I'd stand over their air vent and shout
'L'il help!'
I had the option of parading up and down the stairs whistling Henry Mancini's 'Baby Elephant Walk.' If I had, and could play, an accordian, that would have already happened.
There's an audio collection of great speeches of the 20th century that would have come in very handy. I could have heckled the 'I had a dream' speech, or had Hitler freestyle to the natural rhythms of porn!
Imagine the possibilities.
Yes, it was a good Sunday.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
darklis:
Your little comment made my day. 
darklis:
I like the Duff man idea. 