I have a neighbor, The Scrodfish, let's call him (I have before) with a penchant for early morning and late night, all-fucking-day-long "Reggae" listening. On his cheap-assed 5.1 channel sound system, cheap little "cube" speakers mounted on walls and way too high up near the ceiling, which, turns his entire one bedroom place into a giant speaker enclosure. He also doesn't understand (or "care") that bass, by nature, is all mono and also "goes looking for a place to reproduce itself," if not properly processed. That secondary "home" is my apartment, as well as the one above his domicile. The guy's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He will spend hours telling you that he IS, however. We all know the type.
Anyway...I ramble. "Somebody" seems to have finally made an impression upon him that his shit was simply too damned loud. Probably the Landlord. Maybe the New Guy that just moved in above him. Certainly not me. I've been telling him to knock it off for a couple years, but treat it case-by-case. I will simply walk over and ask him, as politely yet forcefully as possible to "turn it down." I'm "done" with that approach. I'm also not going to declare an "Audio War" upon the hapless bastard. My rig is just TOO POWERFUL for this building. (It's a solid, 4" thick walled, Oak Building that's 60 years old) I could rattle the china out of everybody's cabinets. Then again, I could fire up the 300w system and a 4x10" Fender Bassman cabinet and REALLY GO TO TOWN. But, I'm not THAT much of a Dick.
Instead, now, Scrodfish gets the Silent Treatment. "The Perma-Shine," I like to call it. A holdover from Alaska Days Gone Past when there was an asshole in a bar I didn't want to talk to. That vacant look in the eyes that asks the silent question: "WHY are you even talking to me?" Then, a quick spin on the heels and a vanishing act. People tend to "get the message" and respond by either becoming combative or compliant. It's a win-win for me in either situation.
William S. Burroughs' advice was to: "Not give the mentally impaired the time of day." Scrodfish has "impaired" in spades. I have the same in: "No time of day." I'm kind of a Dick when I finally reach the end of my rope with someone/something. "When it's OVER, it's OVER." Turn the page. Walk away. Don't look back.
Enough about this crap though. Even I'm not that invested in calling attention to idiots. If the din stays at a reasonable level, I can function. On the other hand, if it gets all fucked up again, the Landlord's getting a call. I don't: "Call The Cops." Not unless there's gunfire and it gets out of hand.
The Robins are back. Actually, allot birds are starting to show up. We're smack dab in the middle of the Pacific Flyway for migratory birds of all kinds. The Aleutian Geese are still here. Some actually stay all year round now.
Spring is on its' way. Trees are doing their "early bud" thing and certain insects and animals are trying to decide "what's really going on" out there. It's raining most of this week around here. Also in indication of Spring. Northwestern California is back to 90% of its' usual rainfall total for this time of year. We still have a dozen or so years of drought to catch up upon.
I bought a knife this morning. It was too good of a deal to pass up. A $95.00 retail Titan Damascus Steel (1095) with a Camel bone handle, fixed blade, 3.25" fixed blade with bolster scabbard affair. $27.00 after a 72% discount from a joint I do online business with: Dvor. I collect knives, guns, knick-knacks, hardware, curios, weird stuff, T-Shirts, musical equipment, tools, all kinds of stuff. It will all come in handy at some point. Some of it gets given away as gifts.
So. A blousy gripe, a few words about Spring and some more words about junk collecting. That's "enough" for this morning. I have stuff to do. More food shopping, put some cash in my pocket, etc..
Coffee, cigarettes and Warren Zevon. I like Warren in the mornings. It sets the tone for the day's morass of "Reality." Or, whatever passes for Reality out in the so-called: "Real World" these days.
Out,
-Doc
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