Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
Fred Rogers always had a smile when he welcomed you to his neighborhood. It is quite apparent from the reruns that this man in today’s society would belong in a loony bin. The soft spoken television geriatric patriarch of the baby boom generation lived in fantasy land! No such community exists today to impart such pleasantries as any homeowner can attest.
Whether it is the guy on the block that mows the lawn before the rooster crows or the family with the dog that only yaps at 3 am our neighbor's haven’t attended the Mr. Rogers School of neighborly etiquette!
Ms. Floozy of the block doesn’t keep her window shade all the way down either. I think she likes the view of the street because she’s always looking out of it while screaming and bouncing on a trampoline. What a silly thing to keep in the bedroom!
I can appreciate the precision of the neighbors who are capable of pulling into their driveway at 60 miles per hour. However, the little old lady who lives next door to them is getting tired of tossing her groceries and running in the opposite direction whenever she hears their car coming.
When we throw parties there are always some folks who you swear don’t even live in the neighborhood. They are only seen on such rare occasions when there is some banquet of free food or booze. At such a function we might hear them speak in some formal communicative grunts in between their slopping down whatever carefully prepared swill we select for our guests. These are the same folks who seem to find us invisible when we give a casual greeting or wave as we drive away. Their only form of communication seems to be Australian hand gestures.
It is harder to get to know the good qualities of neighbors further up or down the block. However, it is interesting to note that the family with the pyrotechnics skill can gently land rocket shells softly on the hood of my car some 200 yards away with such precision. I’m sure the military will be interested in the children in that family. I plan to call some recruiters and give out that family’s phone number.
The chain gang family who live in a two room house must double as circus folk
because they can cram all 14 members into the cab of their pick up truck. They have great balance when it comes to tossing ladders, shovels and jackhammers to each other. It is fun to watch them load the truck while we debate who will be the first one to catch a pitchfork with their face. That never happens however, because they are so good at what they do. I think they rent themselves out as entertainment at children’s parties.
The busy-body neighbor is probably the one on the block with the astronomically priced phone bill. They are the one always flapping their lips like they are driven by a supercharged motor. They can talk to anyone about anything for hours. Their insights regarding what goes on in the community is amazing. They are the vicinity hub for idle gossip; in other words crucial information. The networking proficiency they have established is phenomenal.
Don’t forget about the family with the children who are happily running through our prize winning azaleas, crying in screams as if they are being branded, or repeatedly in competition as they see who can whiz the longest distance. This is especially entertaining if the kids are not boys.
There is always one member of a normal household who can hear the sound of a water faucet dripping incessantly within a 3 mile radius at 4 o’ clock in the morning. At my home that is the woman of the house. I cannot tell you how many times I am jabbed in the middle of the night as if I am the one doing the barking three blocks over at some ungodly hour. She must use a poker because I wake up feeling black and blue to the complaint “there’s a dog barking and I can’t sleep.” Of course when I open my bleary eyes and strain my ear to the wind all I hear is roaring silence. “There’s a dog barking I told you!” I hear again. “It’s a dog barking nightmare” I assure her. “Go back to sleep!” Unfortunately I have to deal with the bloodshot version of her the following day and she seems as upset as the dog she claimed to hear the night before!
Is it troubling to anyone when their next door neighbor is too lazy to put out their own garbage cans and just kind of adds their trash to yours at the curbside for pick up? More fascinating is the older person on the block who inspects everyone’s garbage on trash day. They are the one who has the back yard filled with odds and ends rescued from the neighborly rubbish heaps. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure perhaps but a tree made from old rotten banana peels should not be considered art, nor salvageable.
Growing up I remember many children driving their “Big Wheels” down the hill on my block. They can go about as fast as that neighbor positioning for their high speed car parking session. The plastic tricycles make a noise as they blast down the street not unlike the sound of German Luftwaffe aircraft diving in for the kill. These 3 wheeled plastic bikes cause just about as much destruction especially to the elderly unless the 5 year old drivers carry themselves with a cache of precision like an Indy car racer. As an adult I don’t see these menacing crafts much so I assume that they’ve gone the way of the tandem bicycle.
Speaking of leaving, it seems that neighborhoods are always in great flux. It is not like decades ago where a family would buy a house and live in it until nearly everyone had grown or died. Now we are maneuvered by marketing to think that we need to move every 5 or 10 years. Neighborhoods are constantly changing. As Forrest Gump would say “Neighbors are like a box of chocolates. ya never know what you’re gonna get!” Oh yeah Forrest? Chances this is what we’ll get. Their dogs will eat my geraniums. Their cats will leave dead bird carcasses on our front porch. Their kids will break my windows playing ball and they will come to talk and stay for hours on nights when they’re not throwing swingers parties in their back yard with the significantly short privacy fence. These are the same folks who show up on our doorstep during lovey-dovey time. They knock for 10 minutes rousing us from the pleasure room having heard the strange sounds emanating from behind the bedroom window. They either want to borrow a cup of sugar or sell us on the idea of a need for a neighborhood watch program. We are tempted to tell them we need a watch out for neighbors program but we grin and bear it. Our child will have to wait for the next ovulation to get a sibling.
It is easy to grow tired of putting up with inappropriate actions from neighbors. I am getting to the point where I will fight fire with fire. I will blare ungodly bass driven music loud enough to rattle windows of everyone on the block. I will be the one who borrows lawn tools from each neighbor to never return them. I will be the one who cuts down trees unnecessarily with the super loud chainsaw before sun up. I will make sure that I fertilize my lawn only on the hottest day of the year so all the neighbors think that they’re living in farm country. I’ll put in a flag pole and fly 12 different sized and colored women’s panties as my flag. By all means move onto my block and introduce yourself. Won’t you please; please won’t you be my neighbor?!
Whether it is the guy on the block that mows the lawn before the rooster crows or the family with the dog that only yaps at 3 am our neighbor's haven’t attended the Mr. Rogers School of neighborly etiquette!
Ms. Floozy of the block doesn’t keep her window shade all the way down either. I think she likes the view of the street because she’s always looking out of it while screaming and bouncing on a trampoline. What a silly thing to keep in the bedroom!
I can appreciate the precision of the neighbors who are capable of pulling into their driveway at 60 miles per hour. However, the little old lady who lives next door to them is getting tired of tossing her groceries and running in the opposite direction whenever she hears their car coming.
When we throw parties there are always some folks who you swear don’t even live in the neighborhood. They are only seen on such rare occasions when there is some banquet of free food or booze. At such a function we might hear them speak in some formal communicative grunts in between their slopping down whatever carefully prepared swill we select for our guests. These are the same folks who seem to find us invisible when we give a casual greeting or wave as we drive away. Their only form of communication seems to be Australian hand gestures.
It is harder to get to know the good qualities of neighbors further up or down the block. However, it is interesting to note that the family with the pyrotechnics skill can gently land rocket shells softly on the hood of my car some 200 yards away with such precision. I’m sure the military will be interested in the children in that family. I plan to call some recruiters and give out that family’s phone number.
The chain gang family who live in a two room house must double as circus folk
because they can cram all 14 members into the cab of their pick up truck. They have great balance when it comes to tossing ladders, shovels and jackhammers to each other. It is fun to watch them load the truck while we debate who will be the first one to catch a pitchfork with their face. That never happens however, because they are so good at what they do. I think they rent themselves out as entertainment at children’s parties.
The busy-body neighbor is probably the one on the block with the astronomically priced phone bill. They are the one always flapping their lips like they are driven by a supercharged motor. They can talk to anyone about anything for hours. Their insights regarding what goes on in the community is amazing. They are the vicinity hub for idle gossip; in other words crucial information. The networking proficiency they have established is phenomenal.
Don’t forget about the family with the children who are happily running through our prize winning azaleas, crying in screams as if they are being branded, or repeatedly in competition as they see who can whiz the longest distance. This is especially entertaining if the kids are not boys.
There is always one member of a normal household who can hear the sound of a water faucet dripping incessantly within a 3 mile radius at 4 o’ clock in the morning. At my home that is the woman of the house. I cannot tell you how many times I am jabbed in the middle of the night as if I am the one doing the barking three blocks over at some ungodly hour. She must use a poker because I wake up feeling black and blue to the complaint “there’s a dog barking and I can’t sleep.” Of course when I open my bleary eyes and strain my ear to the wind all I hear is roaring silence. “There’s a dog barking I told you!” I hear again. “It’s a dog barking nightmare” I assure her. “Go back to sleep!” Unfortunately I have to deal with the bloodshot version of her the following day and she seems as upset as the dog she claimed to hear the night before!
Is it troubling to anyone when their next door neighbor is too lazy to put out their own garbage cans and just kind of adds their trash to yours at the curbside for pick up? More fascinating is the older person on the block who inspects everyone’s garbage on trash day. They are the one who has the back yard filled with odds and ends rescued from the neighborly rubbish heaps. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure perhaps but a tree made from old rotten banana peels should not be considered art, nor salvageable.
Growing up I remember many children driving their “Big Wheels” down the hill on my block. They can go about as fast as that neighbor positioning for their high speed car parking session. The plastic tricycles make a noise as they blast down the street not unlike the sound of German Luftwaffe aircraft diving in for the kill. These 3 wheeled plastic bikes cause just about as much destruction especially to the elderly unless the 5 year old drivers carry themselves with a cache of precision like an Indy car racer. As an adult I don’t see these menacing crafts much so I assume that they’ve gone the way of the tandem bicycle.
Speaking of leaving, it seems that neighborhoods are always in great flux. It is not like decades ago where a family would buy a house and live in it until nearly everyone had grown or died. Now we are maneuvered by marketing to think that we need to move every 5 or 10 years. Neighborhoods are constantly changing. As Forrest Gump would say “Neighbors are like a box of chocolates. ya never know what you’re gonna get!” Oh yeah Forrest? Chances this is what we’ll get. Their dogs will eat my geraniums. Their cats will leave dead bird carcasses on our front porch. Their kids will break my windows playing ball and they will come to talk and stay for hours on nights when they’re not throwing swingers parties in their back yard with the significantly short privacy fence. These are the same folks who show up on our doorstep during lovey-dovey time. They knock for 10 minutes rousing us from the pleasure room having heard the strange sounds emanating from behind the bedroom window. They either want to borrow a cup of sugar or sell us on the idea of a need for a neighborhood watch program. We are tempted to tell them we need a watch out for neighbors program but we grin and bear it. Our child will have to wait for the next ovulation to get a sibling.
It is easy to grow tired of putting up with inappropriate actions from neighbors. I am getting to the point where I will fight fire with fire. I will blare ungodly bass driven music loud enough to rattle windows of everyone on the block. I will be the one who borrows lawn tools from each neighbor to never return them. I will be the one who cuts down trees unnecessarily with the super loud chainsaw before sun up. I will make sure that I fertilize my lawn only on the hottest day of the year so all the neighbors think that they’re living in farm country. I’ll put in a flag pole and fly 12 different sized and colored women’s panties as my flag. By all means move onto my block and introduce yourself. Won’t you please; please won’t you be my neighbor?!
posted by Giosue' Santarelli at 7:56 AM
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