This Saturday my roommate, Dean, and I will be throwing our sixth annual Winter party in our apartment.
This has always been the most delicate of balancing acts considering that we live in just a regular old apartment building and we pack enough speaker power to shake it to the ground if we ever turned the system to eleven. Despite this yearly massive noise violation we’ve never been shut down by the cops and have always gotten along with our neighbors who seem to be an ever changing palette of “urban pioneer” type hipsters who come for the cheap rent, but leave when they realize that yes, the projects across the street are real and not a set piece from The Wire.
In fact, the not quite white person palatable nature of our neighborhood has always been our chip in trade used in justifying our noisy parties. We figure that anyone who moves into a place where the weekly window entertainment is homicide has more pressing things to worry about than thumping house beats once a year on a late autumn Saturday night. The same goes for the local police force, which we think has been a factor in our never getting shut down.
“911, how may I direct your call?”
“Um, there are some people having a party in my building and it’s loud! Make them stop having fun!”
“Where is this?”
“________ and ________ in Brooklyn.”
“Sure, I’ll tell the local units to swing by after they finish up cleaning brain matter off of Union Street.”
So we’ve been lucky. In all things, really. Neither my roommate nor myself have ever been mugged, harrassed or bothered, in six years. Some entitled douchewaddle who moved in a few months back tried to get us to sign a petition for 24 hour a day security. Seriously.
We’re convinced that it was this scrotneck who took one look at our very gracious sign informing the building of our impending party and who then scratched two big sharpie marker slashes through it and wrote the word, “NO.” We also think it was this magnificent taintlick who took our second note that again asked for those with problems with this not as of yet happened inconvenience to come visit us personally and crumpled it into a little ball and then threw it on the ground.
We’re pretty sure he also saw the uncrumpled note that was retaped up and wrote the phrase, “311 works too.”
Can you imagine?
People who lodge noise complaints should inhabit the circle of hell directly between child molesters and sheep fuckers. Yes I understand that noise can be a pain in the ass, yes we live in close quarters here in New York, but guess what, it’s New York and fun is loud. I live in the former and want to have the latter.
Once a year! Saturday night! Super polite note! Plenty of time to come and talk to us like an adult.
Come this Saturday we’re turning up the volume and should someone come knock at our door, we’re only going to get louder. If that gets us a ticket, so be it. We consider ourselves the last little bastion of Bohemia in this fucking tomb before it gets punched in the ass by the NPR tote bag carrying faux hipster societal herpes sores that would turn us into another coop board dungeon of repression and organic cooking.
Augh, so MAD!