once upon a time 9 years ago the nice lady and i moved in together and started our lives together. at under one roof that is. it was quiet, despite being on a main drag. we had a balloon shop nearby. in 1999, they went belly up and now there is this italian restaurant that shall remain nameless and at this point i have to urge the dub to keep th ename out of this. i try to keep everyones name out of this to preserve some illusion of anonymity for my limited readership. i do not want this jerk (pictured here with either his sign maker or his rent boy. either way i hope he's a rent boy because his signs leave alot to be desired)to receive any manner of free publicity whatsoever. anyway i will share his name. this special asshole is named danny and he is a terribly inconsiderate man that doesn't have a clue about how to run a restaurant. we live in the last death throes of an italian neighborhood so there are 3 italian restaurants on this block alone before he showed up and what did he open up...you guessed it, romanian food (you get it right?) anyway, danny installed tin ceilings that reverberate sound off of them. doors that open to the street, so that one can hear awful caterwauling amateur pianists cover celine dion tunes...badly. on top of that danny charges alot of money for crap portions from what i understand (i won't eat there). and according to my polish neighbors accross the street, they don't know how to serve vodka. so with this brilliant formula you'd think the restaurant would do well. nah. so danny started a karaoke night to boost his sales. it essentially his most money making night of the week. it has everything that you'd ever need:
old folks who sing badly, and re-enforce bad italian stereotypes,
i reiterate old folks who sing badly
let's not forget this big fat joe bag o donuts here. he thinks he's tony soprano,
oh yeah and middle aged losers making out under the boys window. now when the boy wants to find out how babies are made i can just tell him to look out the window.
and this is the special, special asshole who brings all the thumping bass equipment for this extravaganza. sometimes he takes loose women out to his car while some silver haired guido chucklehead whose best days are behind him sings "knights in white satin" (tone deaf with your best brooklyn accent) and share some weed with her jet trash looking self (you know how much the bastard loves a mini skirt on a 60 something, ewwwwwwwwwww). nothing helps old guys get their swerve on like a little grass.
okay, the bastard's gotten used to this stuff. why did i bother with this little song and dance? it's like this. when it was 1999 the nice lady and i were expecting the boy and we thought about a house but we couldn't afford 1999 house prices. and now that we can afford 1999 house prices...well...you know. i have become accustomed to all of this racket and i have accepted it. it's a routine. the bastard never goes to bed on tuesday before 12:30 anymore and i can deal with it. but i wanted to try and capture how i felt when this started. when i was out of work and sweating out how i was going to make ends meet without a job (truth to tell, i lucked into something quickly) and feeling absolutely helpless because there was no 311 at the time (not that filing a noise complaint with them gets you any satisfaction). it was just you and the owner and the police. and the police here do NOTHING. well not entirely. one time the bastard hung his head out of the window and shamed a passing patrol car into asking them to turn it down. yes you heard it right. i had to SHAME THEM. he shook his head and begrudgedly got out of the car to do his job. anyway, i wanted to remember the helplessness the bastard used to feel which has given way to apathy unitl tonight when the boy asked me what hat racket was at 10:30 tonight. i am a very petty man when i want to be and truth to tell is that these fat old jerks are the face of many of our futures to come one day. but their escapism is my insomnia so screw them. i think the bastard has a new hobby. good night shiteyes, wherever you are