Wednesday, April 11, 2012

"No man can worship God or love his neighbor on an empty stomach."
~Woodrow Wilson

Back up nort', I had some interesting neighbors.  They lived right above us (us being my roommate Z and me and my old man dog Hans).  They also had a dog, but being too lazy to bring it outside, they simply laid a tarp on the floor of their patio and let it pee there.  Z and I never sat on our own patio--too high a chance of being dripped on.


They did everything loudly.  Arguments, videogames, movies, music, and sex were all conducted at top volume.

So was cooking.  How can cooking be loud, you ask?  Good question.

Early one summer evening it began.  The incessant pounding from above.  It sounded just like a hammer hitting something only sort-of solid.  After a moment's worry that one of my neighbors was in the process of murdering or dismembering the other, I decided at least that would half the noise and tuned out.  After about an hour, though, other neighbors started getting irritated.  Every so often, I heard someone pounding on the upstairs neighbors' door, asking them to keep it down.  Some of them just shouted it through the walls.  It was a classy joint like that.

After about four ignored pleas for silence, I hear the upstairs neighbor dude shout from his kitchen.

"Shut up!  I'm making fucking smashed potatoes, all right?"

(True:  Some of Mr. Roger's sweaters are at the Smithsonian.)


  1. My grandmother's favorite time of day to cook is from 2-3 in the morning. And every morning that she cooks, she ends up using at least two of the following: blender, hand mixer, stand mixer, crank eggbeaters (rubbing metal, sounds worse than nails on a chalkboard!), rubber mallet, meat/cheese slicer, etc. The only good thing is that the heat has time to dissipate before the sun comes up in the summer. Well, and she usually is done by 4 so she can go back to bed and sleep (and so can the rest of us).

    1. No joke--I would have a hard time deciding which one I loved more: food or sleep. But since I'm such a singularly awful person when I first wake up, I have the feeling grandma would get some words...

  2. My daughters were NOT thrilled to live in the basement apartment of our house before we lost the farm. I'm on the loud side myself during um, shall we say - intimacy? You'd think they'd be happy to know their parents have a great sex life even in to their 50s! That should bode well for their own futures, right? So NOT THRILLED!

    1. Oh, I hear you on that. Not literally, of course.

      That sounded weird.


      I give up. :D

  3. How many potatoes could possibly need, um, "smashed?" And was he using a baseball bat???

    1. One thousand, four hundred and twelve. Approximately.