25 January 2015


Last Sunday at ping pong, the music seemed to get louder and louder, and it was awful. I like most kinds of music, but this was some sort of terrible atonal horribleness. It made my ears hurt. We couldn't have a normal conversation.

My friend J. finally went to the front room and asked the bar to turn it down, which they did.

A few minutes later, a guy came over from the group using the shuffleboard table and asked if we would mind if they turned the music back up.

"We asked them to turn it down because it's really bad," J. said. 

"Well... we paid for it," he said, motioning to the jukebox.


IT WAS SO BAD YOU GUYS. I like just about every kind of music, but this was somehow missing a melody and the sounds clashed and it hurt my ears. I'm not even that sensitive to sounds. It still hurt my ears. Or maybe it was hurting my brain behind my ears.

I am reminded of this because the people in the apartment below mine play similar kinds of music. Not so loud that my ears hurt, but dimly off in the distance right now I can hear the electric guitar being tortured. (If my neighbors ever read this: hearts to you for not ever doing this at times when I need to sleep. I love that you love music. We just happen to like different kinds of music, k?)

We settled on a medium range for the music at ping pong. Loud enough to be grating, soft enough that we could talk.

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