I'm a little slow today. I just switched to Sanka. So...have a heart?

Monday, January 26, 2009

An Open Letter to my Downstairs Neighbor Who Loves Cheesy Dance Music With High Bass:

Dear Downstairs Neighbor:

Hi. I'm the guy upstairs.

You remember me -- the guy on the Condo board. I accidentally implied you were a nurse and not a doctor, and then I basically kicked the legs out from underneath Scott, my co-board member, and your neighbor to the left, when he grilled you if you were a noisy neighbor. I did it because I thought, "She's an emergency room doctor she'll never be home, and when she is, I'm sure she'll be like me, comatose with exhaustion, so, she'll just want some peace and quiet when she gets home. Yay! Quiet new neighbor underneath me! Scott's just being wacky!" Yeah -- that was me -- I'm a real prize sometimes.

I admit, sometimes I'm dismissive with Scott. But you have taught me a very important lesson: don't dismiss Scott.

See, I don't know if you got the Memo or not, but three things: you're in your mid-to-late 30s, and, um, it's not 2000 anymore. Also, you rent. I own.

All of this adds up to the following: the thumping Club-Space bass music that shakes my insides, giving me the sensation that I'm having a panic attack (constantly) that you insist on blasting the entire time I'm home? I hope you've enjoyed it, because you're going to be stopping it. Tomorrow. Or today, if it persists much longer, and I totally lose my shit.

I'm not really sure how your bass is so loud that it goes up THROUGH my floor. Both through my floor, and out your windows and through mine. That's some strong bass; it sort of makes me want to learn about soundwaves...but no matter. It ends tomorrow.

Remember the other day when someone pounded on your door at 3:40 a.m. (on a WEDNESDAY)? That was me. Who you woke up. From a dead sleep. With your bass.

The bass has to go.

You didn't answer the door, but you shut off the music, which was... neighborly. I would have let it go, but you didn't get the hint, and for the last WEEK I have enjoyed the deep rich tones of BOOM!BOOM!BOOM!BOOM! reverberating through my lungs.

My point is this: other people can hear you. And you're bothering them. And when you're a renter in a building full of owners, that's not a good thing.

You like to have fun -- and that's a good thing. The cheesy disco ball that you have going all the time -- it's... it's your thing. And you go do what-cha-wanna-do.

But when your "thing," wanting to re-create the experience of living in Studio 54, impinges on my "thing" which includes sitting in the place I paid 300K for and getting some peace and quiet, well, let's just say that my "thing" is bigger than your "thing," and I'm going to win.

You weren't here for the 7th-floor Dog Fiasco, but if I got rid of the renter with the barking dogs, I can certainly get rid of you.

So, tomorrow, I'm going to knock on your door with a bottle of wine, a smile, and an apology for being an asshole, and a request that you turn down your bass.

I don't want to hear it. Ever. And I shouldn't have to.

We live in a building built like a bunker - the bass shouldn't travel through several inches of concrete.

You'll get a day to implement the necessary changes, at which point, I bring it before the Board.

And the certified letters start.

We don't want to have letters. Surely, you can have your wacky by-your-self dance parties, and I can have my 28-year-old-curmudgeon time, and we can all get along like hunky dory neighbors. You just do what I want, and we'll all be happy. Sound good?


See ya tomorrow!