July 28, 2011
Mr. Louderstill
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I am trying to be a better person/less judgmental asshole.
Mr. Louderstill has lived in the house next door since before I became his neighbor. He is younger and that makes me wonder if I am sometimes being a stick-in-the-mud old fart when I get severely annoyed by his penchant for activities of advanced decibellàge. I may be a curmudgeon, but you’ve got to know the man is a menace to peace and quiet.
Think of any noisy mechanical apparatus and chances are he owns one. Monster truck with glass-pack exhaust – check. Four-wheelers (several, none street legal, including a two-seater that he was letting his eight-year-old drive) – check. Chainsaw, pressure washer, power blower – triple check. He also has jet skis, which of course don’t affect my household, but I bet if it snowed here more often he’d have a snowmobile that he could race up and down our road. He owns an auto body shop and so occasionally has side projects going in his garage, complete with an air compressor and several vwip-vwip-vweeeeeearr tools that it runs. Then there are the fireworks. New Year’s Eve and July 4th without fail, and usually at annoying intervals into the post-midnight hours instead of just doing as the pros do and lighting them all off in quick succession (they’re illegal in our state but available in startling abundance in two adjacent ones, split between roadside kiosks and ballpark-lighted supermarkets of sparkly danger nicknamed with the premise of some certifiable proprietor).
There is some relief in our son having overcome most of his problematic sensory overload from the noise, and now that the dogs are gone we don’t have to worry about puddles of pee caused by abject fright.
But that’s not all we get. Mr. Louderstill recently installed a widescreen television and surround stereo speakers out on his deck to add to the fun of his redneck friends (a.k.a. the Smokersons) watching NASCAR races or some CMT tripe. They’re pointed in our direction and even that’s not usually too bad if we stay indoors, but when they get the subwoofers cranking, boy, I’ve felt my kitchen wall vibrating. He has a pool and his guests’ young children can often be heard screaming with aquatic delight until well past any halfway responsible bedtime. Adding to the fun two doors down are the Methicks, from whence Mr. & Mrs.’s drug and alcohol-fueled disagreements come. They’re hard enough to tune out, becoming intolerable when their yappy dogs get worked up with either them or any random breeze.
Essentially, Mr. Louderstill has little and often no regard for his neighbors. Not long after we moved in he told us that he didn’t plan on staying in his house forever. It was Mrs. Louderstill #1 that got to move out (said she couldn’t take the degradation anymore), and she was pretty nice and sometimes even sheepish about her boorish then-spouse.
We have some pity for him because we’ve suspected his work and party ethic are fueled by a hyper-recreational use of drugs. For several reasons we would prefer to simply (or even complexly) just not be his neighbor anymore. That’s the easiest way.
How do you reach out to people that make your skin crawl?
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Labels: anger, Assholery squared, don't mix, humour, madness, NASCAR, neighbors, rants, rednecks, words
November 15, 2007
So long, old friend
.
Since we acquired a more suitable car for baby transport and need neither three vehicles nor three insurance payments, I'm letting go of my beloved pickup after more than five years and 80,000 miles. It's been a great tool for the obvious things that a pickup is good for, and in some ways a source of bemusement for local 4WD fans who spied the Dirt Rag and purple dancing bear stickers affixed to it.
I've driven this truck to Chicago in January (a trip where the snowy weather was in Kentucky, go figure) and to the mountains of Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee nearly as many weekends as not. It's been four-wheeling through snowy Michigan cornfields and tire-deep mud on Lookout Mountain.
I will miss it, but I will see it around as I sold it to a fellow just a few doors down the road. Part of the transaction includes his expert masonry skills to help me build a retaining wall behind a patio I installed this summer. I do love the barter, and I take comfort in knowing an honest working man will have a reliable new friend.
I hope to have another truck someday, but for now I'll have to suffer looking slightly more distinguished, and possibly Republican, in my four door Buick. I can usually assuage my middle-aged inferiority complex by cranking the subwoofer, opening the sunroof and hammering down on the supercharged engine that mocks most big boy trucks. I'm still up in the air as to whether putting a "Kucinich 2008" sticker on it will have the desired effect - one that does not involve vandalism.
Since we acquired a more suitable car for baby transport and need neither three vehicles nor three insurance payments, I'm letting go of my beloved pickup after more than five years and 80,000 miles. It's been a great tool for the obvious things that a pickup is good for, and in some ways a source of bemusement for local 4WD fans who spied the Dirt Rag and purple dancing bear stickers affixed to it.
I've driven this truck to Chicago in January (a trip where the snowy weather was in Kentucky, go figure) and to the mountains of Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee nearly as many weekends as not. It's been four-wheeling through snowy Michigan cornfields and tire-deep mud on Lookout Mountain.
I will miss it, but I will see it around as I sold it to a fellow just a few doors down the road. Part of the transaction includes his expert masonry skills to help me build a retaining wall behind a patio I installed this summer. I do love the barter, and I take comfort in knowing an honest working man will have a reliable new friend.
I hope to have another truck someday, but for now I'll have to suffer looking slightly more distinguished, and possibly Republican, in my four door Buick. I can usually assuage my middle-aged inferiority complex by cranking the subwoofer, opening the sunroof and hammering down on the supercharged engine that mocks most big boy trucks. I'm still up in the air as to whether putting a "Kucinich 2008" sticker on it will have the desired effect - one that does not involve vandalism.
December 31, 2006
Of pending parenthood, vol. 1
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Many of you know that my wife and I are expecting our first child, a son, in March. Of course we are very excited and of course like all newly expectant parents we have a great deal of trepidation about the whole affair - after all we waited through 13 years of marriage before hopping off the fence.
A few years before our child-rearing future became apparent - about the time we bought our first house, I began noticing myself becoming the curmudgeonly man who complains about “kids these days.” Various incidents cropped up that put me in the unenviable position of being the keep-the-hell-off-my-grass kinda old fart, the guy who gives the Archie Bunker wave and exclaims that yute is wasted on the wrong people. Every time I caught myself doing this it gave me pause, thinking, “Man, that guy’s a dick!” Honestly, there are some other aspects of my personality that could have and do still lend to that assessment at times, but with regards to the kids I’m still thinking that I’m not that old, for crying out loud. Of course phrases like “for crying out loud” don’t help that perception – some in my circle use that mostly as a parody of our parents, but at times it seems closer to self-parody.
I am noticing myself standing at a distance from youths of today, and I take that mostly as a reassuring sign of progressive adulthood. But when my thoughts cross over into ones like “just look at who is going to be running our country in 20 years” well then I feel like I’ve been suckered into some evil status quo of adult muckedy-muck that I would’ve chortled at mightily in my youth. I was a smart kid who enjoyed engaging with adults if they would suffer their ear to listen, and now I want to be that adult. What I realize now is that it will take some effort, as (and I know this sounds grousy) finding the smart kids seems to be getting harder. I realize I am about to have my hands as full as I can handle, which I say so that when my wife reads this she doesn’t freak out and think I’m going to run off being a full-time mentor. But I'm ready to be father and a father-figure.
The other side of the coin is that I wonder and stress over what kind of parents we are going to be. I’m fairly lazy by nature (which surely has me headed for a rude awakening, in fact several), but so many other parents infuriate me with how lackadaisically they seem to be raising their kids. In the immediate sphere we have our neighbors on either side.
The first is a couple with a boy toddler. The dad is a self-employed redneck dude in his early twenties who is hardly ever home. He has a history of drug abuse (according to his wife), works 16-18 hour days, and his friends are teenagers who hang out at his house at all hours. They love to make noise at their pool and squeal the tires, for which I try and cut them some slack, although I admit to calling the sheriff once when they decided to light fireworks off at 2:30 a.m. His wife has next to no idea how to discipline their little boy, and the kid seems destined to become a redneck hellion. One day Jennifer was out in our yard and the boy called to her from his second story bedroom window, leaning precariously against the screen and repeating, “Ha’yew sahne mah mawmmy?” He has mastered the art of doing exactly the opposite of what his mawmmy tells him, like "come over here," "stay away from that," and "do NOT throw that rock." Yep, it’s a mess. My nightmare scenario is that this kid will be like the unstable tormentor from “Toy Story” right about the time my son is hyper-impressionable with regards to the joys of destruction and disobedience. I should have a little more faith, eh?
On the other side is a single mom with a fifteen-year-old daughter. Now the mom is really nice but is a bit of a hoochie, with a revolving door of boyfriends and frequent weekends leaving daughter on her own. The poor kid could use a good, stable father figure but first on the list would be a more attentive mother. Mom recently bought the girl a car. Mostly she sits in it with her friends and thumps the subwoofers enough to vibrate their inner ears and cop a free buzz. And although she only has a very restrictive learner’s permit, Jen and I have both witnessed her taking it out on occasion past the state’s teen driver curfew (set for kids who actually have a license) and likely without any qualified accompaniment. I’m a bit of a night owl, and the other night before I hit the sack at about 1:45 a.m. I poked out the back door to unplug our Christmas lights. Over on the back porch next door was a group of about eight or nine kids, not making much noise but standing out there smoking. I know it’s school vacation, but I realize now that for those kids to be out there at that hour, our neighbor must be “the cool mom.” For her part the mom has said she’d rather have them there than out making trouble, which has wisdom as long as she keeps her eye out against that trouble showing up at her house. The point is that while I scammed my folk’s car when I was underage and I stayed at the house of my friend with the permissive parents as much as I could, I think me and my friends turned out just fine. We were perhaps reckless but we weren’t rank stupid (a bit lucky I’d have to admit). So I hope the girl turns out OK – she’s a good kid though I am suspicious of some of her friends. They better stay the hell off my lawn.
.
Many of you know that my wife and I are expecting our first child, a son, in March. Of course we are very excited and of course like all newly expectant parents we have a great deal of trepidation about the whole affair - after all we waited through 13 years of marriage before hopping off the fence.
A few years before our child-rearing future became apparent - about the time we bought our first house, I began noticing myself becoming the curmudgeonly man who complains about “kids these days.” Various incidents cropped up that put me in the unenviable position of being the keep-the-hell-off-my-grass kinda old fart, the guy who gives the Archie Bunker wave and exclaims that yute is wasted on the wrong people. Every time I caught myself doing this it gave me pause, thinking, “Man, that guy’s a dick!” Honestly, there are some other aspects of my personality that could have and do still lend to that assessment at times, but with regards to the kids I’m still thinking that I’m not that old, for crying out loud. Of course phrases like “for crying out loud” don’t help that perception – some in my circle use that mostly as a parody of our parents, but at times it seems closer to self-parody.
I am noticing myself standing at a distance from youths of today, and I take that mostly as a reassuring sign of progressive adulthood. But when my thoughts cross over into ones like “just look at who is going to be running our country in 20 years” well then I feel like I’ve been suckered into some evil status quo of adult muckedy-muck that I would’ve chortled at mightily in my youth. I was a smart kid who enjoyed engaging with adults if they would suffer their ear to listen, and now I want to be that adult. What I realize now is that it will take some effort, as (and I know this sounds grousy) finding the smart kids seems to be getting harder. I realize I am about to have my hands as full as I can handle, which I say so that when my wife reads this she doesn’t freak out and think I’m going to run off being a full-time mentor. But I'm ready to be father and a father-figure.
The other side of the coin is that I wonder and stress over what kind of parents we are going to be. I’m fairly lazy by nature (which surely has me headed for a rude awakening, in fact several), but so many other parents infuriate me with how lackadaisically they seem to be raising their kids. In the immediate sphere we have our neighbors on either side.
The first is a couple with a boy toddler. The dad is a self-employed redneck dude in his early twenties who is hardly ever home. He has a history of drug abuse (according to his wife), works 16-18 hour days, and his friends are teenagers who hang out at his house at all hours. They love to make noise at their pool and squeal the tires, for which I try and cut them some slack, although I admit to calling the sheriff once when they decided to light fireworks off at 2:30 a.m. His wife has next to no idea how to discipline their little boy, and the kid seems destined to become a redneck hellion. One day Jennifer was out in our yard and the boy called to her from his second story bedroom window, leaning precariously against the screen and repeating, “Ha’yew sahne mah mawmmy?” He has mastered the art of doing exactly the opposite of what his mawmmy tells him, like "come over here," "stay away from that," and "do NOT throw that rock." Yep, it’s a mess. My nightmare scenario is that this kid will be like the unstable tormentor from “Toy Story” right about the time my son is hyper-impressionable with regards to the joys of destruction and disobedience. I should have a little more faith, eh?
On the other side is a single mom with a fifteen-year-old daughter. Now the mom is really nice but is a bit of a hoochie, with a revolving door of boyfriends and frequent weekends leaving daughter on her own. The poor kid could use a good, stable father figure but first on the list would be a more attentive mother. Mom recently bought the girl a car. Mostly she sits in it with her friends and thumps the subwoofers enough to vibrate their inner ears and cop a free buzz. And although she only has a very restrictive learner’s permit, Jen and I have both witnessed her taking it out on occasion past the state’s teen driver curfew (set for kids who actually have a license) and likely without any qualified accompaniment. I’m a bit of a night owl, and the other night before I hit the sack at about 1:45 a.m. I poked out the back door to unplug our Christmas lights. Over on the back porch next door was a group of about eight or nine kids, not making much noise but standing out there smoking. I know it’s school vacation, but I realize now that for those kids to be out there at that hour, our neighbor must be “the cool mom.” For her part the mom has said she’d rather have them there than out making trouble, which has wisdom as long as she keeps her eye out against that trouble showing up at her house. The point is that while I scammed my folk’s car when I was underage and I stayed at the house of my friend with the permissive parents as much as I could, I think me and my friends turned out just fine. We were perhaps reckless but we weren’t rank stupid (a bit lucky I’d have to admit). So I hope the girl turns out OK – she’s a good kid though I am suspicious of some of her friends. They better stay the hell off my lawn.
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Labels: curmudgeon, neighbors, parenthood
