March 31, 2009

This Is Dave Beeth Oven

As long-time readers may recall, I have often had less than the best luck with loud neighbours in my various apartments. And even here, in my quiet Cambridge bachelor pad, I am sad to report that things are no different.

Granted, there are no loud frat boys attempting to set world beer pong records directly above my head. No, what I wish to complain about today is my downstairs neighbour, who has recently bought a piano and decided to teach herself to play it by practising the same four bars of the Moonlight fucking Sonata over and over and over again. (A method that, after four weeks, does not seem to be working.) Even that might be quasi-bearable if she restricted her recitals to reasonable hours, but let me answer one of those timeless existential questions for you: there is something worse than waking up to a screeching alarm clock at 7:30 a.m. It's waking up to the same four bars of the Moonlight fucking Sonata over and over and over again at 7:30 a.m.

Still, it could be worse. She could be playing Chopsticks.

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