Thug Life

So, yesterday started off with a bang. Actually, two bangs. Jennie and I slept in pretty late. When we finally got up, she took a trip to the 7-11, and I hopped in the shower. While I was soaping up my parts, I heard a gunshot. "Hmmm, I think that was a gunshot? Maybe just the construction noise?", and then another loud bang. "Nope. Those were gunshots. Shit, I hope Jennie wasn't anywhere in the middle of that." Luckily, she wasn't. She had gone to 7-11, but then decided top go to the Mercado on the corner after. She was in there when the shooting occurred, and everyone started freaking out. I guess a guy on his motorcycle witnessed the shooting, and ran in to use the phone. So, more than ever, Jennie wants to get the hell out of L.A.. I don't know any more details, but I'm guessing that it was fatal: the ambulance arrived with sirens and left silent. It's not the first time I've heard gunshots in the neighborhood, but I'm bummed that it happened so close to Jennie. Otherwise, I'm kind of indifferent. I'm guessing it was the usual gangster shit, and I don't think there's much I can feel about it. It happens. It's the city. One of the kids that worked for me in the back stock of American Apparel got shot and killed in his backyard earlier this year. I was bummed, because he was a nice enough guy at work, and he did a good job, without complaining. But, he was into gangster shit, and he got killed over some minor squabble. But, like most of the people I worked with, I don't have much experience in that lifestyle. All I know is that shooting at each other is common enough, and life expectancy is low. I attended an independent study high school my junior year, in San Jose. I was definitely the minority, a white kid with blue hair, and not running with any crew. Fights broke out daily between the other students. Almost weekly, they talked about friends that had been killed over whatever these kids get killed for. I was never in the middle of any conflict, one of my classmates told me that they assumed I was crazy. I kind of am, but I definitely would have gotten annihilated if any beef came my way. I don't know what my point is. I guess I'm just saying that my capacity for compassion is almost gone. I don't care about these things, and maybe I should. Not that I want to go volunteer with youth counselors, or anything, but I feel like I should be afraid when people are getting killed a block away. But... I'm not. I just don't care.

Would you like to be my neighbor?

I played drums for a little bit today. I miss having a house and being able to play as loud as I want whenever the mood strikes me. The landlord in our apartments let me set up my kit in an extra room in the basement, so that's nice. Still, I'm too nervous when it comes to playing them, because I feel bad about the volume. Not that the other neighbors are quiet and considerate. The neighbor directly below us is, I think, an avid gamer, with a crazy sound set-up. Every day, for hours on end, there's the loudest, most resonant bass noise coming from his place. It's a lot like living in the movie Eraserhead. Jennie thinks that it may be what causes all the car alarms to go off all day. That, and the millions of little kids that run up and down the sidewalk kicking cars until well after midnight. Another awesome neighbor is 'The Pukey Guy'. We share a wall in our bedroom with the neighbors bathroom.On several occasions, we've been woken up by the sounds of ferocious vomiting. Not, like, "Gag. Sputter. Splash, splash." No, this guy is really fucking heaving, "RRRRAAAAGHHHOOOOUUUSH, KUH! HHHWaaaaarrrrGHHH! Oh, God! My Life! HHHAAAAArrrrrrrk! WHOOOORRRPPP!!!" It goes on forever. We have a few theories about him: a.) He's a raging, Bukowski-esque, alcholic. Vomiting is just part of his daily routine, like most people brush their teeth; b.)He's a junkie. Junkies puke a lot; c.) He's dying of some horrible disease. In which case, I hope you're not laughing at his expense. Heartless fucks. Or, d.) He's severely lactose intolerant, but he fucking loves Oreo milkshakes. Who doesn't like Oreo milkshakes? Other than that, there's kind of a revolving door of people I haven't met, in the building. There is a few single moms, who moved here from the Bastard Child Home across the street. They actually aren't that bothersome. The noise from the three playgrounds on our block drowns them out. Jennie and I are the senior residents in the building, actually. We were the second people to move in after the building had been remodeled. Most everyone else broke their lease, and got the fuck out. At one point, this girl moved in across the hall from us. That night, I guess there was a drug bust, (That's what the landlord told us. Whatever it was, I guess they had a grip of cholos handcuffed in front of the building.) and she moved her stuff out the next day. The people that lived in the unit before her, who were the first tenants in the building, moved because they didn't feel safe in the neighborhood. Did I mention the Shitwall? The apt.'s border an alley, that you can cut through to get to 7-11, or the donut shop, and there's this wall with nasty, hobo diarrhea sprayed every seventeen inches along it's entire length. Take that, Banksy! And that's the story of how we live, here in beautiful, sunny Los Angeles. If a unit opens up, I'll let you guys know.