Wednesday, 03 October 2001 | Neighbors

I haven't seen the Man Under the House for a couple days now, so I'm wondering if he's packed up and moved on. He did say hi to me the other day, just before closing the door to his space, so at least he's a friendly neighbor. I'm not all that comfortable with him there, though, so (any day now) I'm going to buy a lock and reclaim my house. I guess while I'm at it, I could also reclaim my driveway, the garage, and the stretch of road outside my house, but those won't be as easy as purchasing a lock. That's because legitimate neighbors take those things.

The driveway and the garage are supposed to be shared between my house and the house behind mine. That wouldn't be a problem, except that the people who live in that house and almost every other person who visits those people park either perpendicular to the entrance of the driveway directly in front of it, or parks with the front tires in the driveway and the back tires on the street, so that no one can get in or out of the driveway. I don't know if that's their mission exactly, but I can't figure out why else they would try to park there. The worst part is that this usually happens when there's a car parked in the driveway (mine, for example), and when there's plenty of room to park on the street. (Once Ingo witnessed a guy block the driveway horizontally, have a conversation with a cop, and then move his car so that he was blocking it vertically.)

The neighbors to my left take care of the street. Collectively, they own probably thirteen Volkswagens, all of which are parked in their front yard and on the street in front and beside my house (except for one they stealthily keep in my garage). Every morning at 7:30 the souped-up Karmann-Ghia gets its accelerator flattened as it sits motionless, bubbly purrs spitting out of its flared exhaust pipe. And those are the good neighbors. Just beyond the Volkswagens are two frat houses that have bi-weekly parties with microphones, lots of whooooo! whooooo! and they own large trucks that can be driven in tight circles in the Y parking lot. Underneath my place the neighbors pump bass and shoot off fireworks and make my floor throb. (During one downstairs party, everything sitting on top of Martin's [silent] speakers gradually vibrated to the floor.) Across the street the neighbors regularly set their large speakers in the windows of their house, facing out, so that everyone within a square mile can enjoy Danzig. Their cat, Hobbes, an orange fellow, spends a lot of time on my back porch making my cats hiss and growl.

I guess the man down under is the least offensive of all. Think I should let him stay? (I expect only my parents to respond to that question.)