Have I told you how much I hate my new neighbors? I really hate them.
A few posts back someone misunderstood what I was saying about the influence of American culture on Brazil and the rest of the world. How it is heavily marketed, how easily the illusion of prosperity and the American dream is sold and in Brazil at least how it has cause many of the MTV generation to undervalue their own culture. But I didn’t go so far as to say American culture is the cause of the world’s problems. Even being the liberal scum that I am, I would consider that a stretch, what with aids and poverty and women’s rights and religious fanaticism clearly trumping Brazilian teenagers love for blasting Ludacris from the tiny speakers of their cellphones.
But selfishly, my personal sanity is starting to reconsider the definition of world problem now that we have new neighbors who have a singular obsession with 80’s pop. It seems these people just can’t stand to have silence around them nor are they capable of listening to any other type of music. Since this couple moved in a month ago, they haven’t spent a moment at home, and certainly not a weekend, without having their apartment rocking with Barry White, Heart, Whitney Houston, Bonnie Tyler and Anita Baker (Yeah, I’m giving you the best that I got, baby…). I almost got suicidal the other day when they cranked up Phil Collins (Oh, think twice cause it’s another day for you in paradise….) Sorry, but I’m going to make you suffer thought this with me.
The really annoying thing is that while it’s loud and I can always hear exactly what song they are playing, it is also somewhat muffled because they are on the 3rd floor and we are on the 5th. But the bass always makes its way up through the floorboards and I start to feel like the princess and the pea. Driven to distraction and constantly rattled by a low grade but chronic irritation, it's like I’m rolling round on my hundreds of mattresses all the way up here on the 5th floor while the pea thumps out familiar bass lines of Hall and Oats from down below.
The worst part is while I’m usually about to climb the walls, I sometimes catch myself humming along. (No, I can’t go for that nooohoo, no can do, no I can’t go for that…can’t go for that can’t go for that). And that’s when I really start to loose it.
So in fact the influence of American culture (and some Phil Collins) could indeed turn into a serious world issue if I go completely postal on them the next time they crank up that Linda Ronstad and James Ingram duet (I’ll spare you from that refrain). It could very well set off an international incident where I play the role of Gavrilo Princip and they turn out to be a Don Henley worshiping Franz Ferdinand.