Pump up the Noize

So, my neighbors suck. Big time. In fact, the current residential situation is a big blemish on the overall trajectory of scholastic completion. Looking forward: recital in 2 weeks, Brandenburg in 2.1 weeks, papers due, shit flying everywhere-it's crazy. So what time is better than now to tell a tenant, who has lived in the same apartment for 1.75 years that now is a great time to completely stop practicing in her apartment. Yes folks, now is that time for me. And frankly, I just want to kill the self-absorbed hyper sensitive thievish wench that lives below me. This shit is her fucking fault.

I never had a single noise complaint in the first year of living here. Seriously. Since this particular couple moved in downstairs, a whole new host of weird began to unfold. The woman likes to come upstairs every now and again and tell me how loud I'm being, either in my footsteps, toe-tapping, occasional dancing, or when I have guests over and they move the chairs. Frankly, this woman is the ultimate killjoy, and to make it worse, she's youngish and a huge hypocrite. The couple smokes pot often, and stinks up the whole building with a tangy aroma of marijuana mixed with cheap repulsive air freshener. They pump up the bass on their music, and I can hear them yelling at each other. But god forbid I walk across my apartment with shoes on. Or practice. Because I don't count and I am a selfish creature, like all people in their twenties.

Basically, this woman has completely ruined my current living situation, and I know that her behavior now legally qualifies as harassment. I've had enough and I'm conflicted about the best path to solve it. On one hand, I want to bitch her out next time she comes up here, since she basically bothers me every time I'm having an important musical day or social gathering. With my recital coming up, she'll surely come and tell me that I might have walked across the floor with heels on, right? Oh wait, she already did that on "Harold in Italy" day.

I want to take the moral high road on one hand, and stop a conflict. (That's the voice of buddhism telling me to not get angry.) On the other hand, I want to tell her how awful she's made me feel. (These leads to ideas about running the food processor on the floor of my apartment, or sending them "depends" samples.) Either way, she sucks. Management called on Friday to tell me that I have to practice in the Billiards room on the fifth floor and that the complains were not just from downstairs. I'd like to know how that's possible, since one of my neighbors was out of town all last week, and the other one plays drums and doesn't seem to mind. Either way, this shit sucks. I'm afraid to have people over, because she surely will come up and be a pain. I'm afraid to practice anywhere now, because I'm sure that some snotty person will come tell me to keep it down so they can still inside all day and watch television. Sorry to keep you from your daytime shows, folks! It's not like I pay anything to live here. I don't have rights.

Anyway, I'm going to go practice. In the billiards room. I'm still thinking about which samples to send for. Adult toys? Drug addiction? Super creepy Christian literature? Anything's game. I just have to hope that next year, I'll live in a truly haven for musicians.

listening to: the new mgmt album "Congratulations"