Saturday, October 23, 2004

Schmultz in the Night

I recently turned my landlord onto bootleg music recordings. It was an effort to ensure myself that each time he comes home at 3:30AM after work, where he lives in the apartment below me and begins to blast his stereo at volumes that would make even Pete Townsend green with envy, he’s going to be at least playing something fucking cool!

I am convinced that for some people either alcohol kills off, or they just lack altogether, some vital chromosome or strand of DNA that enables them to maintain their good judgement when slipping into DJ-mode after a a joint and about a dozen Mai-Tai's. Suddenly, they're struck with this incredible insight that everybody needs to be reaquainted with their love for Jimmy Buffet's 'Cheeseburger In Paradise'. Why else do you keep your copies of Tone-Loc's 'Greatest Hits' if not to share with your buddies ten years from now and heartlessly keeping them from comfortably passing out at three-fucking-thirty in the morning?

"Hey guys! Remember Harold Faltermeyer's 'Axel F' in 'Beverley Hills Cop'? Man, he really SMOKED that synthesizer shit up on that tune! Doo doo doodoo doo, doo doo doodoo doo, doo doodoo doo doodoo dooooooooo..."

I accept that my landlord is one of these kinds of guys as well, that will forever relive his Golden Years on his couch in the middle of the night in an alcoholic splendor to his blasting power ballads until he passes out in a puddle of drool. That's just the way he is wired. But having to try and get back to sleep while listening to ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ is just pure unadulterated torture. Anything but fucking Wham!

That's crossing the line!

At least by feeding him classic live performances from all the worlds musical genres, chances are that I can now look forward to being awoken at 3:30AM to a crispy David Crosby soundboard of ‘Yes I Can’, instead of ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Around the Old Oak Tree’ being played so fucking loud it sounds like Tony Orlando himself is playing at the foot of your fucking bed!

Call it the lesser of two evils. Or maybe it’s taking a high road to somewhere. At the very fucking least, it’s managing to successfully stem me off from committing a ritual homicide at the crack of dawn each morning.


“You put the boom boom into my heart,
You send my soul sky high when your lovin' starts.
Jitterbug into my brain,
Goes bang bang bang till my feet do the same.”

Good God, what man deserves to be woken from his precious slumber with that? It’s enough to stop your heart midverse right there! At the very least, it’s going to instantly leave your poor morning wood limper than Ricky Martin at a Playboy photo shoot. It’s just not humane!

Also, I don't know about you but I wouldn't particularly want either these princesses jitterbugging, tangoing, fox-trotting, or waltzing into my brain, heart, or any other body part for that matter. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't want them having so much as an epilectic fit anywhere within three city blocks near me. Let me also make it perfectly clear that if anyone even so much as tries to box-step their way onto or into any one of my precious organs, that the only "banging" going on will be from the muzzle end of my 12-gauge shotgun!

“But something's bugging me
Something ain't right
My best friend told me
What you did last night.”

I’d rather be forced to listen to my grandmother being gang-raped by a herd of water buffalo than have to even contemplate knowing what kind of uber-kinky perversities these two fagpie’s were up to last night! Fuck, why don’t you just shoot me between the eyes right now!

“Left me sleepingIn my bed.
I was dreaming
But I should've been with you instead.”

Pardon? Well thanks a lot! Now I’ll never be able to sleep peacefully again you fairy motherfuckin’ fruitbars! Christ, now every time I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, all I’m ever going to do is worry about waking up to George Michael’s sweet man love sticking in my back. Christ, give me the horses head any day!

“You get the gray skies outta my way,
You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day.
Turn a bright spark into a flame,
My beats per minute never been the same.”

Fuck, this sounds like something Kermit the Frog would write after popping off two hits of amyl nitrate! I wonder if this was actually stolen from some lost script left on Jim Henson’s editing room floor? Besides the fact that this couldn’t be any more disturbingly gay, but now I’m also going to be picturing Doris Day in my minds eye while I’m trying to sleep as well. Have you seen Doris Day these days? Yeesh!

“Cuddle up baby,
Move in tight.
We'll go dancing tomorrow night.

It's cold out there
But it's warm in bed.
They can dance,
We'll stay home instead.”

Okay, now if at 3:43AM you still haven’t managed to blow your brains out, then you’re probably at least rushing to the bathroom to vomit up the entire contents of your stomach. I’d rather volunteer as a back scrubber at a Turkish prison than either cuddle up or dance with one of these Sally’s. Jesus! I’m trying to SLEEP here!

And then of course there’s the big schmultzy chorus that leaves you wanting to hammer wooden stakes into your eardrums:

”Wake me up before you go go,
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo.
Wake me up before you go go,
I don't wanna miss it when you hit that high
Wake me up before you go go,
'Cause I'm not planning on going solo.
Wake me up before you go go,
Take me dancing tonite.
I wanna hit that high...”

I don’t know about you but I may never sleep again. For the rest of my days, I am going to have sissy dreams of two quaffed men with five o-clock shadows and pink collars getting all giggly on amyl nitrate before going off to "yo-yo" one another at the Disco.

Sweet dreams? Go fuck yourself.

So, before slipping these live bootlegs to my landlord, this was the equivalent of my own personal Hell on Earth. Now, at least I’m going to be rudely awoken in the middle of the night and instead be pleased to be entertained with beautifully articulate masterworks of musical brilliance and things will remain tolerable and my sleep will not be forever damned. Hey, I like loud music in the wee hours as much as the next guy. I just make sure it’s something within ethical musical boundaries. Something that has…taste.

My landlord may be a loud drunken boob; but I’m going to see to it that he’s the most fucking musically cultured loud drunken boob in the whole fucking universe!


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