Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Chinese Water Torture
Our upstairs neighbors purchased an air conditioner for their living room this summer. They must have gotten it second hand, because a constant stream of water leaks out of it. Those incessant drips don't fall harmlessly down to ground or on some poor sap's hair. They land on our window sill where they randomly richocet into our living room. Our curtains have water stains and the paint around the window sill is warped.
I'm really tired today. Sick Baby kept me up from 2:00 to 3:30 am last night, and I just spent a spaced out half hour on the sofa mapping out the trajectory of the drips in my head. How far can the drip enter into our living room? Wow that energetic guy made it all the way to the green chair!
Why don't we just go up and complain? Well the parents don't speak English, and the son is a member of "Da Boyz" who hang out selling drugs in front of our building. It's best to just shut our window despite the 90 degree weather and go to the park.
Someday I will write about other apartment dramas that we've lived through -- paper stealing guy and na*ed guy. (I have learned to not actually write out the word na*ed after people started arriving at my website with interesting search terms: "na*ed pictures of Gwen Steffani" "na*ed next to the washer/dryer". My personal favorite was "trampy trailerpark princess". Highly amused.)
Last night, Steve and I watched two hours of I Love the 70s on VH1. It's not as funny as the 80s series. I was a little young to remember the early part of the decade and so were most of the commentators. And at some point in the 70s, my parents highly restricted our TV viewage. Not only in terms of total hours, but in terms of shows. The Flintstones were on the banned list, because Fred was a poor male role model. The Bradys were also on the list, because Marsha dated too young. My Catholic, intellectual parents really interfered with major TV watching.
I think VH1 went through 1972 without mentioning Watergate, which is amazing. I distinctly remember my parents watching the congressional hearings for hours and hours. In fact, my parents even had us memorize a little speech about Watergate, which we would have to recite at their gatherings. Hey, thanks for warping us!
Unlike my virtuous parents, I have just flipped the tube on again. (More Chinese water torture -- kid's shows.) Ian has a hacking cough and an oozing nose. Rather than face angry looks from other parents at the playground, I am keeping them inside. Also I'm feeling a tickle in my throat right now; I'm not sure if I'm up for the schlep to park either. I am having envious thoughts about a backyard right now.
Our upstairs neighbors purchased an air conditioner for their living room this summer. They must have gotten it second hand, because a constant stream of water leaks out of it. Those incessant drips don't fall harmlessly down to ground or on some poor sap's hair. They land on our window sill where they randomly richocet into our living room. Our curtains have water stains and the paint around the window sill is warped.
I'm really tired today. Sick Baby kept me up from 2:00 to 3:30 am last night, and I just spent a spaced out half hour on the sofa mapping out the trajectory of the drips in my head. How far can the drip enter into our living room? Wow that energetic guy made it all the way to the green chair!
Why don't we just go up and complain? Well the parents don't speak English, and the son is a member of "Da Boyz" who hang out selling drugs in front of our building. It's best to just shut our window despite the 90 degree weather and go to the park.
Someday I will write about other apartment dramas that we've lived through -- paper stealing guy and na*ed guy. (I have learned to not actually write out the word na*ed after people started arriving at my website with interesting search terms: "na*ed pictures of Gwen Steffani" "na*ed next to the washer/dryer". My personal favorite was "trampy trailerpark princess". Highly amused.)
Last night, Steve and I watched two hours of I Love the 70s on VH1. It's not as funny as the 80s series. I was a little young to remember the early part of the decade and so were most of the commentators. And at some point in the 70s, my parents highly restricted our TV viewage. Not only in terms of total hours, but in terms of shows. The Flintstones were on the banned list, because Fred was a poor male role model. The Bradys were also on the list, because Marsha dated too young. My Catholic, intellectual parents really interfered with major TV watching.
I think VH1 went through 1972 without mentioning Watergate, which is amazing. I distinctly remember my parents watching the congressional hearings for hours and hours. In fact, my parents even had us memorize a little speech about Watergate, which we would have to recite at their gatherings. Hey, thanks for warping us!
Unlike my virtuous parents, I have just flipped the tube on again. (More Chinese water torture -- kid's shows.) Ian has a hacking cough and an oozing nose. Rather than face angry looks from other parents at the playground, I am keeping them inside. Also I'm feeling a tickle in my throat right now; I'm not sure if I'm up for the schlep to park either. I am having envious thoughts about a backyard right now.
