The Interconnectedness of All Things

Just got off the phone with D again. He called to tell me, amongst other things, that he is enjoying my blog. This makes me happy because D is a connoisseur of cool shit so if he likes my blog then I am honoured. He tells me about a lot of interesting films or books that I should see or read. He knows all the authors and directors and their interconnectedness. I really listen because I don’t know very much about anything interesting. I often have actually seen the film or read the book but either forgot the plot or author or didn’t know enough to even take note of its interestingness, hence coolness. In short I am fairly oblivious most of the time. I tend to read very quickly but retain very little. Actually I have to read a book over and over again before I can recall the plot with any kind of accuracy. Don’t ever ask me to remember the character names as I rarely do. Is this uncommon or do others get halfway through a book and suddenly realise they have read it before? Half way, people! D also pointed out a spelling error in my blog. Quelle horreurs! I too am a terrible speller. Really bad. Thank GOD/insert the deity of your choice here for spellcheck. Interestingly, spellcheck DID NOT pick up this error even though no such word exists. That is often how mistakes escape me - when the misspelled word accidentally is a real word. Apparently fast readers are often terrible spellers. Not that it makes me any less culpable. However, somehow I fooled spellcheck and can’t be blamed for that.

Recently I joined up with a mail-out DVD rental company called Zip. I figured that I might not feel up to going back and forth to the video store during my treatment. Let the DVDs come to me with no due-back times. Normally I shell out a lot in overdo fees while perfectly healthy so I thought I’d better not tempt that kind of fate. D is also signed up with Zip so we traded some good suggestions about what to watch. I told him I was eagerly waiting for Logan’s Run. He is too. I saw this movie in my childhood and it impacted me enough to remain in my brain as a good film to see. D told me they filmed it here in town at Simon Fraser University. He said they were looking for the most bare, cold and soulless location around and picked this place. He actually went to SFU so he would know. The university was designed by some famous architect, but of course I cannot remember his name. I can guarantee D will know this, too.

He was telling me that his cat is a total princess (his word) and won’t poo in the litter box unless it is as clean and perfect as a Zen garden (once again his words) including rake marks. Instead the cat poops in the bathtub. I suggested he fill the tub with a couple inches of water and then see what happens. He replied that he was actually OK with the cat using the tub as it was easy to clean. Who knew where the cat would go if thwarted by water. Good point. I said, “The Evil You Know!”

I use this phrase a lot even though I can’t remember where I heard it or if it is part of some bigger and more famous phrase. I recently posted a dialogue I had with my upstairs neighbour when she was moving out and making unholy noise in the wee hours. I often equate my little phrase with my living situation, as my ‘situation’ with my neighbours is very interesting. I live in a very old house that was converted into apartments. Actually it may have always been apartments so I shouldn’t say that. I believe it may have been something in between like a boarding house. Hell, I don’t know for sure but anyway…. The walls are lathe and plaster and thus have anti-soundproofing qualities. So even though we are all in self-contained little units we are acoustically privy to everything that goes on in each other’s places. I HATE THIS! I am not a voyeur. I do not want to know what my neighbours are doing. I ESPECIALLY don’t want to know what they are doing at 4 am in the morning. I have to say if anybody is doing anything at 4 am I will hear it. In the middle of the night I can hear the upstairs neighbour’s piss hit the bowl. I am not kidding.

This crappy old hovel I call home is located on the corner of two very busy streets so a lot of the everyday house noise is covered by the traffic noises. This is good. At night things quiet down and all bets are off. I category noise in 3 ways:

-Noise that wakes me up.
-Noise that keeps me up.
-Noise that rises above the everyday noise to intrude upon my sanity.

If any or all of this criteria is met that I get grumpy, nasty and really mad. That means my neighbours have gone, in my mind, too far. Unfortunately this happens more than it should. For instance my downstairs neighbour is an asshole. Nobody in the rest of the house likes him either. I literally had to sic the landlord on him because he would hit on me every time I complained about his subwoofer vibrations that caused my furniture to move around on its own. Not a good idea when I am grumpy, nasty and really mad. I so do not find you attractive when I am complaining about your inconsiderate habits! His noise falls into the last category; noise that rises above the everyday noise to intrude upon my sanity. Honestly, for him especially I should have a sub category that reads:

-Noise that I can feel through my ass as I sit on my couch.

I am not kidding.

He is the fourth occupant of that suite since I have lived here and the first one I have even heard a peep from. Until he moved in I didn’t even know I could hear anything from below me. That realization, for me, was a sad day.

Now my upstairs neighbour and I have a very special relationship as they have a hardwood-floored kitchen directly above my bedroom. I have to say that in the past I have had some really truly heinous upstairs neighbours. I have heard stuff that no human ear should ever have to listen to. This is where I insert my phrase “The Devil You Know” because I have had terrible upstairs neighbours move out and instead of being happy I would be scared, as it was entirely possible the new neighbours could be much worse. Only once has there been a time where I didn’t think it could get any worse and would have gladly moved in a marching band with my very own hands. I will blog about that time and those tenants later. It is an epic unto itself. Let me just say one of those tenants felt it was perfectly acceptable to flaunt her vagina in the common hallways. I wish I was kidding.

So the point of all this? There is no point. I would love to be able to bring this post around full circle in some clever way but I can’t. I went too far. My present upstairs neighbour is new. So far he isn’t too bad. Only, I can hear and have become quite familiar with his nocturnal bathroom habits. He is “The Evil I Know A Little Too Well.” See? I went too far.