The War is Over?

Wow, seems like it has been some time since I've put anything into this blog o' mine. Perhaps I've not been up to update? Yes, that is it; I have not been very diligent lately and have strayed from the blog flock. But I'm here now and am going to tell you the tale of the noisy neighbors; a sordid affair that began quietly enough, culminated to a fiery middle, came back down a bit, and now I think it might be over.

Let us begin. Me and Sarak's neighbors are old, baby-booming, burnt-out ex hippies. When I moved into my apartment in 1999 they were pretty much non-existent. They never made noises, and were generally friendly, if a bit spacey and loopy when I first met them. They became sorta friends with Leslie, an old roommate. It was actually Leslie and Tony who originally found the Albany dwelling in 1999. The upstairs neighbors, Mike and Jackie, were not around the apartment building much back then, and I never really saw or spoke to them on a regular basis, but I was friendly and respectful to them when I did see them. It always seemed weird that this couple lived right above us and we never heard or saw them much. But that was all just a matter of time.

We had our fair share of parties and gatherings at the apartment. Birthdays were celebrated that usually ended up with a few of us outside smoking and talking loudly, or jumping around inside the apartment wrestling chairs and letting out loud *Tek Calls. All the while the neighbors upstairs never complained, and I wasn't even sure they were around, because I never told them we were going to have a party and be sorta loud. I just didn't care, I guess. But one time when our band played at the apartment, I let the neighbors know beforehand, just because there was going to be drums and semi-loud guitars. They even showed up for a bit, and I'm pretty sure I saw them smiling and having fun. They didn't complain about the noises we made, and I know we were pretty noisy back then.

Life went on like this at the apartment for years. People moved out and new people moved in. At some point all the people, except myself, with original ties to the apartment were gone. Sarak moved in and a couple years later we were married. All the while the neighbors were upstairs, probably listening to all of the adventure and drama taking place downstairs. They remained somewhat quiet, except for the bumping around and occasional moving of things in their apartment. But, as time grew longer, they became louder; they suddenly went from being nothing to one of the all time greatest annoyances in my life.

It started with their moving around up there. They were (and still are) so loud when they walk around up above. I could sit on a chair and pinpoint where they were in their apartment at any given time. The floor would squeak and I'd here bump, bump, bump, bump and I'd know that Jackie just went over to the kitchen to get some water. Oh, what is that I hear? Just Mike walking over to the bathroom, taking a piss, flushing, and then slamming the toilet seat back down. I would hear this all evening. And there was also the mysterious sliding sound heard almost every night around dinner time. Sarak and I would always wonder, "what the hell is that sound?" Yeah, they were getting loud and then the wanker guitar playing started. Mike is some kind of Cal music grad, and he plays this awful shit on his guitar. It's so funny; he won't play during the day or any other reasonable, normal time, no, he decides to fire up his Wankmaster 3000 sharply at 9:30 pm on a Tuesday night when Sara and I are quietly reading or watching a film at normal volume. Man, it's a good thing we didn't hear them screwing each other up there, that would've put me in some sort catatonic shock.

So I'm stating all of this in a past tense form, which seems kind of weird since a lot of this is still happening. But it is the way the past and the present meld together, culminating into some kind of hybrid monster that eventually runs out of control leading to something really bad happening. And that bad thing was the final blow, the cu de tah, if you will. The upstairs neighbor's television set was slowly killing me, or driving me insane, which is worse than actually killing me. The damn thing was on all the time! Night and day, day and night. They would never shut it off, and the volume seemed to increase daily. Soon it was all I heard and focused on when I entered our apartment. I couldn't escape it. Even when it wasn't on I still listened for it. It was as if at any given time, BOOM, there it was; sinking into my head, rattling my nerves, making me obsess on the noise. Sara was getting upset with me, more than with them. And she is kind of right; she does not have to actually see them up close, but here I am going nuts down below, raging all the time and fat-tonguing my nights away. I feel badly for upsetting Sara, she's the very last person I want to make angry, or feel sad.

So what happened? The night before Sara left to the Greenbrier Resort in WV, the neighbors were blasting their shitty television. I couldn't take it anymore! I stomped and cursed up a storm around the apartment. This was really affecting me in a bad way. Sara came out of the room and yelled at me. I felt even worse then. So I finally marched outside and went up to the neighbor's apartment. I stood there at the door and tried to compose myself. Breath deep, act calm, and nicely tell them to turn down the television. So I knocked and waited. I knocked some more, rang the doorbell once, and continued to wait. No answer. I could hear the television blasting from outside the door. I knocked pretty damn loudly on the door. Still no answer. I finally yelled through the closed door, "PLEASE TURN DOWN YOUR TELEVISION!". Still no answer. Livid, I walked away while yelling, quite audibly, "FUCK YOU HIPPIES!!". Not sure if they heard that. But I didn't care, and it felt kind of like a nice cathartic release saying it. I stomped loudly back downstairs and slammed the door shut. The TV had been silenced, I could hear footsteps above, muffled voices. What did I just do? I don't know. Sara came rushing into the room and the terrible, stupid guilt began to set in.

I always feel guilty for things that I do, when at the time they feel justified and correct. Even if I do something good, there is still the nagging notion that I did it bad. Like my father used to say, "I can't win for losing". The neighbors were pretty quiet the next few days, but I know they heard me yelling and screaming the night before. It was they who are causing it! Not me, I'm not crazy! The hippies upstairs are crazy, old, loud burn-outs. They are driving me crazy. They didn't even open their door to speak with me. The next step would be to go and tell the landlord about them. But I wanted to see if they would actually turn the television off/down before I involved any other parties. It seemed to be working, but I needed to get rid of this guilty feeling from yelling and acting like an asshole. After all, they might not even know that they are making so much noise. But I feel like they are doing it to torture me, to spite me. I always think people are out to get me.

Sara and I decided to write a nice letter, to give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this will work, maybe this is the right thing to do. I'm no good at face to face confrontations. My emotions take over and I just go wild, absolutely no self control. Just read the previous blog posting of mine about the fight with the homeless man in SF. It was an ugly scene. Writing a letter would be nice. I could say that I was sorry for the outburst the other night, and articulate to them that they really do need to turn down (not off) their TV set after 10:00 pm. Sara and I wrote the letter and I left it by their front door when nobody was home. I anticipated them reading it together and laughing in unison some sadistic hippie laugh. They couldn't stop the big war and now they were taking it all out on me. Or so I thought.

Ragged Jackie came down to our apartment shortly after I had delivered the letter to their door. I swear she always looks like she hasn't slept in the past 5 years. Big bags surround her dopey eyes sucked into her bobbing head. She is overweight and always wears big, flower print hippie dresses. When she speaks she is always stressed and exhausted sounding. I didn't expect to see her so soon. But here she was. She told me that she liked our letter and apologized for the television set being so loud. She said her and Mike had no idea that we could hear it so clearly. She said that she is pretty much deaf these days and can't even hear the kids at the school where she teaches (I can't believe she is a teacher. Those poor kids). I felt kinda bad for all of my past raging, but shit, that TV was fucking loud and even if you are deaf, you don't go blasting your TV at 12:00 am every night of the week. She should have known better, or her weird old husband Mike should have noticed it and said something to her. She said that they would be mindful of the TV volume from now on. And I told her that if Sara and I are ever too loud, just call us or come down and tell us to be quiet.

I still really don't like them, and I believe that Jackie was lying about her not hearing very well. She could hear me just fine at the door while I spoke to her. I still think they are out to get me for some bad thing I did to them, but I can't seem to recall what it was? I think that in a few months time the television will be back to the same annoying volume. I don't think these people are very smart, just dumb old burn-outs from a bygone era. The only thing left is to move, and move we will soon enough. I wonder if this pattern will follow me for the rest of my life? Anywhere we move there will be noise; whether it be the neighbors, cars passing on a highway, planes flying overhead, or strange bumps in the night. It's all noise, noise, noise...now I'm gonna make a little noise myself. The drum kit is idle and waiting, I can't wait to pound out a beat and make the hippies upstairs shake a bit. Ha!