Tuesday, February 08, 2005

The bassmaster

Somewhere in my neighborhood, there's a nitwit who loves his bass. At night. And while the rest of us are sitting here enjoying suburbia and our $7500 tax bills, he's pumping it up. It's not even rhythmic. It's just banging and jamming and it gets to my teeth.

If I knew who it was. . . well, I wouldn't do anything about it. What does one do in these situations? Ring the bell and say "hello, your sorry-assed excuse for music is too damn loud?" Uh, no. For one thing, who would hear the bell?

And for another, this is New York.

My husband would probably suggest we retaliate with bad opera (and we have plenty) but then the other neighbors would probably come after us.

No wonder my parents insisted that we grow up in the woods. What gets to you there? Raccoons? Nut-hurling squirrels?

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