2002-11-25 - 1:16 a.m.

Can't sleep, fuck you very much (I think I'm stealing that phrase from MPR but I'm not sure at this hour) to my downstairs neighbor, who for some reason is blasting old Russian folk music or something. At least, about an hour it was. I could hear it loud and clear, and I pictured a big bearded Bolshevik down there, merrily belting out the tune, oblivious to the fact that I was upstairs, trying not to let it bother me. I put on some music of my own (Cowboy Junkies, PJ Harvey, Gary Jules) to try to drown it out, and it worked for a bit, until I was awoken again, this time by a man's alto in Italian or French. I pounded on the floor a few times -- as if my neighbor could hear me, over the din of this fuckface music he's playing. I wouldn't say that; if it were 1:20 in the afternoon, rather than the morning, I'm sure I would find it quite lovely, but I can't help thinking of the little sleep I've gotten this weekend and the assload of work I have to do tomorrow and tuesday before I go home for Thansgiving.

Why, you may be thinking, don't I just go down there and ask my neighbor to turn it off? Because I don't know my neighbor, and the only guy I see from this particular apt. is the silent creep who always has his window open and stares at me whevener I come or leave the building. I'm picturing him answering the door, and I don't want to deal with that. Plus, i'm not sure what shape the person who is blasting the music is in, because what person in their right mind would blare music after 1 on a monday morning? So I'm writing this while I work up the courage to call the police, hoping that, as I stall, the creepezoid will turn off his stereo.

say what? - mas y mas!

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