I’m back! The temporary loss of an Internet connection and my move out of hell may have given you a sense that I’d given up on my little blog. No worries friends, we're all settled in now and back to blurt out the obvious.
Last Friday’s move went quite well. My first experience with movers was a good one and I would definitely recommend them. They were an interesting group of men in varied sizes and shapes with great nicknames like Slim, Big Daddy and Hound Dog. I’ve never been called m’am so many times in my life.
On my way out I let both birds fly in silent reproach for the four months of squalor I was leaving behind. It looked like a bomb had gone off behind me. The floor finally split open after the furniture was no longer there to hold it down. I forgot what it was like to live in a home that’s warm, mold free and with floors that lie flat.
I have a bit of a crush on my new apartment. We're still friends. Getting to know each other. But, I think, it could really be THE one. I found a place for everything -- and that makes it close to perfect. I love being in this part of the neighborhood -- a bar next door and a market across the street -- and having so many good friends within single blocks is very comforting.
I’ve had several encounters with one of my neighbors. The first was on Sunday evening when he -- not a dude, or a guy, but a 60ish man, in socks -- upstairs came down to ask me to turn down my music. Keep in mind, it’s around 6:00 p.m. and, if you know the type of music I listen to, you know the the bass levels are anything but thumping. The sound of acoustic guitars and harmonicas don’t traditionally cause people’s windows to rattle. I apologized more than I should have and thanked him for letting me know it was too loud. I’d rather my neighbors tell me when they are bothered by these things than suffer in silence (and then rage, because that's how I handle loud neighbors -- I'm as solid as a rock like that). After that, I became more conscious of the volume at which I played my music, but on Tuesday evening, he was back.
I realized when I saw him through the peep-hole that this was not an issue of loud music. Rather, he was one of those neighbors whose hearing is so super sensitive their head might explode if volumes reach certain levels. I was again apologetic and he went about his way. Immediately, my paranoia set it. How loud is too loud? What does this mean, I can never play my music at volume levels humans can actually hear? I was starting to panic. I know, it sounds extreme but that's what's great about music. Playing it at volumes allowing you to hear everything -- every nuance of the song and how it was built. I've never had a neighbor complain. Now, I listen to everything on the lowest level of bass my stereo will allow and at volumes most people would fall asleep to.
After all of this, though, I think about the little crush I have for my apartment. I take a deep breath of mold free air and go hammer a nail.
Oh, PS. I finally got the new Magic Numbers album
Those the Brokes in the mail today from the UK. No idea why they don't release it in the states -- a track off their last, sefl-titled album was a free iTunes download. I kept that album on steady rotation for months. They're fun to listen to on Saturday mornings. Saw them at Starr Hill last spring, missed them at Bonnaroo (damn those early, noon shows). I've been listening to it all evening and there is this lovely song with strings
Take Me or Leave Me that I want to listen to on repeat.
