All night long

30 08 2012

Labor Day weekend is here. Unfortunately.

Every year I think, Oh good! A three-day weekend! Every year I forget, Oh shit, Caribbean Carnival.

The first year I lived in lovely Prospect-Lefferts Garden, I was surprised by the Sunday-midnight parade down the avenue next to my building. The music and whistling would rise, then fade, then rise again as another contingent made their way down the street.

All fucking night long.

The next year, the parade began before midnight, but on the avenue over someone shot a police officer, which meant the neighborhood went into lockdown (complete with hovering helicopters and spotlights) and the parade dissipated.

Call me a bad neighbor, but I was not unhappy with this turn of events.

Last year the party again began before midnight, went on all night, but unlike in previous years, the goddamned noise went on throughout the day. This was most unexpected and unpleasant.

You see, the Caribbean parade is an annual Labor Day—and may I emphasize DAY—festivity. It starts on Eastern Parkway and makes it way eventually down Flatbush. Since I live, oh, maybe a half-mile from Flatbush, I generally don’t hear the celebration—which, given that I am crabby from the lack of sleep—is just fine with me.

Anyway, I had forgotten, once again, that the Labor Day weekend sucks. Until tonight.

Tonight is Thursday. Thursday. Five days before Labor Day, and there is a steel-band and chorus in the lot across the street from me, playing what sounds like the same goddamned song over and over and over again. Even if I wanted to listen to Romney’s speech, I would be unable to do so because of those fucking steel drums.

Have I mentioned that I am not a fan of steel drums under the best of circumstances?

I know, this is a Caribbean neighborhood, and given that in New York people like to throw parades and parties, it is not uncalled for that this community wants to celebrate.

Which is fine. During the day. Away from my apartment.

Now, honestly, I like this neighborhood. I wish there were a few more bourgie elements—a coffee shop hangout, a bistro, a few laid-back pubs—but overall this is a decent place to live. It’s also generally pretty quiet (except for that one asshole who’ll park his SUV on the avenue and boom out his mediocre hip-hop for all to hear—I swear to the entire pantheon of gods and goddesses that if I had a gun I would be sorely tempted to shoot out the radio), and I can usually both leave my windows open and get a decent night’s sleep. But not this weekend.

I’m hoping for rain Sunday night. Heavy, heavy rain.




4 responses

31 08 2012

ah you need to get someone to teach you how to channel one the loa to make the drums sing through you.
I can’t take the noise pollution in my little city don’t know how folks make it in an actual metropolis I don’t even like it in the background when I call my friends in NYC, but as I like being able to walk most everywhere I need to go such is life.

31 08 2012

No one ever told us we had to study our lives,

make of our lives a study, as if learning natural history

or music, that we should begin

with simple exercises first

and slowly go on trying the hard ones, practicing till strength

and accuracy become one with the daring

to leap into transcendence, take the chance

of breaking down in the wild arpeggio

or faulting the full sentence of the fugue,

–And in fact we can’t live like that: we take on

everything at once before we’ve even begun

to read or mark time, we’re forced to begin

in the midst of the hardest movement,

the one already sounding as we are born.

Adrienne Rich, “Transcendental Etude”

31 08 2012

1 09 2012

I’ve adapted, so much so that if I’m somewhere outside which is completely quiet, I get nervous.

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