So Now Then.

Hey neighbor, how's it going? You may not know my name, but I'm the tenant that occasionally exchanges niceties in the hallway with you. But hey, can I talk to you about something? It can't wait any longer. So, come in and take a seat. Maybe you can shed some light on a number of burning questions I've had for almost three (!) years:

• Do you enjoy bowling? More specifically, do you enjoy bowling inside your apartment? Are you buying vast quantities of grapefruit and then hurling them on the ground to perhaps knock over stacks of incredibly heavy books? Because from this angle, directly below you, it sure sounds like you're having a hell of a time up there. I can even wager you've gotten all strikes since starting this small hobby of yours. Also, is Sunday morning the only time you've found to do this? Is that when you're the most lucky? If so, then who am I to say to stop while you're ahead?

• You're a musician. Awesome. Listen, I'm all about artistic freedom, and completely understand the importance of rehearsing to get that song just right. However, is it necessary to employ 10 of your closest friends (and all of their instruments) for impromptu jam sessions at, say, Saturday at 11 a.m.? I mean, really? If that's the best time, then I certainly don't want to disrupt your flow - but if I can tell you one thing, just between you and me? Every time the band strikes a chord, it feels as if my forehead has been tightened into a vice then shoved with force into the hollow belly of that lucky kick-drum of yours. It may be music to your ears, but buddy, it's agony for my still-forming young mind to handle. Especially when somebody (yours truly) has had a little too much to drink the night before and doesn't need to be reminded of this fact with such brutal force.

• You've been living in that very apartment for almost three years. So why am I not entirely convinced you've finished moving in your stuff? There hasn't been a day that's passed where I haven't experienced the grunt and gruel of that hellacious big move of yours. Heavy boxes drag their heels on the ground. Large tables seemingly come crashing down from the ceiling. Chairs are being rearranged every five seconds. And your movers - are you hiring people or doing this yourself? - they tend to be wearing snow boots. And the sound they make - you know the one I'm talking about - is eerily similar to a horse's hooves on gravel. That's quite a wake-up call on a Wednesday morning, I'd say. Actually, If I had to guess, you're a man in desperate need of an Interior Decorator. Maybe I can provide you a number of someone to call - a way to finally realize your compulsive addiction of re-arranging your living room furniture every day. Pick a scheme and go with it, buddy. Your couch (and my nerves) will undoubtedly be grateful.

That's all I've got. The next time you hear muffled screams or the sound of a wrench banging the side of a radiator pipe, that's me - sending my encouragement of your artistic endeavors and your ultimate demise.

Best,
3B