I know I'm late writing about this three-week-old story, but here it is:
Jammie Thomas-Rasset has lost her case against the record industry. She's been ordered to pay them (record companies, not artists) $1.92M for the 24 songs she downloaded. $80K per song. I understand. She broke the law (or a jury found that she did, anyway). Here's my question: If those same songs are for sale for $1 a piece at the iTunes store, how is eighty grand even remotely commensurate with the offense she committed? She sought no profit from her actions, as noted in the original ruling from Judge Michael Davis, declaring her first trial a mistrial and noting that the original award of $222,000 was more than five hundred times the cost of buying each of the songs on individual CDs. Read the ruling here (specifically, section K: Need for Congressional Action, from the bottom of page 40 through page 42).
I guess my real beef with this case is that it is the record companies that are suing. I personally don't think anything is wrong with enjoying music for free if one is not seeking any personal gain beyond the good feeling one gets while listening to it. The New York Times Magazine this week has a really great brief interview with Jeff Tweedy of Wilco that touches on this subject. Deborah Solomon asked Tweedy about the decision to voluntarily stream Wilco's new album online for free after the tracks had surfaced illegally on the internet in May. Tweedy responded with what I think is a great mantra against anti-piracy laws:
"As a musician, I don’t want to expend any energy whatsoever preventing people from hearing our music. I think that’s antithetical to the idea of making it. Yes, we streamed it. Basically we set it up so people who felt guilty about stealing our music could donate some money to our favorite charity." (It's a great Q&A... take a look at it here.)
I agree. No artist should ever expend energy preventing people from experiencing his or her art. I would even take it one step further and say that the record companies, in suing for their own financial interests in the music, have betrayed their commitment to the artists. If someone hears for free a good song by a group or artist they are unfamiliar with, they are that much more likely to go out and seek more from that artist - becoming a fan and a regular purchaser of albums and concert tickets. Punishing Jammie Thomas-Rassett for downloading these songs with a judgment that will likely financially cripple her for the rest of her life serves no good for the artists promoted by the industry.
One final note: I was curious, so I wikipedia'd the Capitol v. Thomas case, and found out what the actual 24 songs were... I think of all the indignities this poor woman has endured, by far the worst might be that she is now liable for almost two million dollars for this particular playlist:
I don't want to judge, but that's what one does in a trial situation. With a couple of exceptions for the classics on the list (see lines 8 and 10), I'd say this list is worth all of 38 cents and an MTC bus transfer.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
I'm well, thanks.
I got called off of work today, and was a little bitter about it. Lisa came home and I walked up to the market for milk. There was, as always, some idiot in front of me buying seven thousand candy bars with her EBT food-stamp card. I was in a foul mood standing there with my purchase, waiting to set down my two freaking dollars and go home, and the woman behind me said, "How you doin' today?" I assumed she was talking to someone else in the store until she came around my left side and repeated herself with eye contact, verbatim, with the exact same cadence: "How you doin' today?" I was a little taken aback, and then answered, "Very well, you?" She said she was well too. So all is well.
What she probably doesn't know, though, is that this turned my whole day around. when I left for the store I was a much maligned proletariat denied a day's work and forced to spend more on milk. I had to put up with the riff-raff of the neighborhood in front of me in line and was feeling surly about everything. As soon as this woman asked me how I was, though, I thought for half a second and said "very well, you?" I guess I hadn't thought about it, but in the grand scheme my life is pretty decent, and I'm lucky that the worst thing I can complain about is some trashy shit in front of me buying junk food using state funds. That's really not that bad. That's just living in this neighborhood. So when she asked that innocent question (twice), she brought to my attention the fact that I really am, in fact, quite well. I could gripe, but overall things are pretty okay. I assume that's what she meant when she replied with the same answer - she's probably got a mortgage or rent payment she's worried about, and maybe the house next door is vacant and haven to unsavories, but damnit, she lives here and cares about who else does. She genuinely wanted to know if I was doing alright, and genuinely wanted me to know that she was too.
So thank you, Quick Stop lady, for some much needed perspective on my day. I am very well, thank you, and I hope you can say the same. Let's do this again sometime soon.
What she probably doesn't know, though, is that this turned my whole day around. when I left for the store I was a much maligned proletariat denied a day's work and forced to spend more on milk. I had to put up with the riff-raff of the neighborhood in front of me in line and was feeling surly about everything. As soon as this woman asked me how I was, though, I thought for half a second and said "very well, you?" I guess I hadn't thought about it, but in the grand scheme my life is pretty decent, and I'm lucky that the worst thing I can complain about is some trashy shit in front of me buying junk food using state funds. That's really not that bad. That's just living in this neighborhood. So when she asked that innocent question (twice), she brought to my attention the fact that I really am, in fact, quite well. I could gripe, but overall things are pretty okay. I assume that's what she meant when she replied with the same answer - she's probably got a mortgage or rent payment she's worried about, and maybe the house next door is vacant and haven to unsavories, but damnit, she lives here and cares about who else does. She genuinely wanted to know if I was doing alright, and genuinely wanted me to know that she was too.
So thank you, Quick Stop lady, for some much needed perspective on my day. I am very well, thank you, and I hope you can say the same. Let's do this again sometime soon.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Foreclosure Blues
Well, the house next door to me has been condemned. On the south side of my house, there was a foreclosure about two years ago. It finally sold last month, and the guy is treating it as a flip-job. I hope he does good work on it and sells it to a nice young family, but who knows? On the north side there was a rental that was owned by a man who also owned half a dozen or so other properties in the neighborhood, and rented them all. Apparently (according to officer Jackson of the distressed properties division of the MPD) he lost all of his rentals to foreclosure. This particular one was peopled with a large family of many children who would spend afternoons out playing in the back yard. I once fell off a ladder saving their cat, who'd gotten stuck on the roof above their porch in the January chill. They seemed like decent people.
The big orange placard on the plywood over the front door says the reason for condemnation was "lack of required utility water." So from what I can gather, the renters (the decent people) must have left on the first of the month, when I was out of town and Lisa was at work all day. Since that day, we've seen people in the yard poking around the house on several occasions. We assumed they were employed by the owner to fix it up for the next renters. However, they were apparently looting the house for its copper pipes coming in from the street.
Such is life in 2009 on the North Side of Minneapolis. Yesterday there was a garbage truck that came down the alley and idled for a while. Its occupants spent the better part of an hour collecting the detritus from a family hastily vacated and carting it all off to a dump in some unknown and distant suburb. I can only hope the bulldozers are not close behind.
Over the past year or so I've watched as at least twelve homes in my neighborhood have been quickly leveled after default. Perfectly good, sturdy homes that have stood for decades erased from the landscape because the owners couldn't make the payments and the banks that owned the mortgages didn't want them. As nice as it would be to buy the vacated lot and plant my neighbor's yard into a giant vegetable garden, I really hope someone steps up to restore this house. When I drive down West Broadway I see homes that are surrounded by six, sometimes ten vacant lots, and all I can think is that it looks a lot like the farm houses you see in rural Minnesota. Enveloped by naked ground, these homes don't belong in the city. We live in a community that is defined by density. If we can't pack people into a city block, we don't deserve to be classified as an Urban Area. The answer to this housing crisis is not to push more people into the few apartment buildings on Penn Ave, but to allow a giant family of many children and an errant cat to inhabit a perfectly good house a block off the main drag that is solid and unwanted, except by said family. Good luck to whomever owns it now, in getting the copper replaced, and in selling it I hope to a couple of people who will love it for what it is: the beginning of a spectacular life. We don't need more flat vacant ground on the North Side.
The big orange placard on the plywood over the front door says the reason for condemnation was "lack of required utility water." So from what I can gather, the renters (the decent people) must have left on the first of the month, when I was out of town and Lisa was at work all day. Since that day, we've seen people in the yard poking around the house on several occasions. We assumed they were employed by the owner to fix it up for the next renters. However, they were apparently looting the house for its copper pipes coming in from the street.
Such is life in 2009 on the North Side of Minneapolis. Yesterday there was a garbage truck that came down the alley and idled for a while. Its occupants spent the better part of an hour collecting the detritus from a family hastily vacated and carting it all off to a dump in some unknown and distant suburb. I can only hope the bulldozers are not close behind.
Over the past year or so I've watched as at least twelve homes in my neighborhood have been quickly leveled after default. Perfectly good, sturdy homes that have stood for decades erased from the landscape because the owners couldn't make the payments and the banks that owned the mortgages didn't want them. As nice as it would be to buy the vacated lot and plant my neighbor's yard into a giant vegetable garden, I really hope someone steps up to restore this house. When I drive down West Broadway I see homes that are surrounded by six, sometimes ten vacant lots, and all I can think is that it looks a lot like the farm houses you see in rural Minnesota. Enveloped by naked ground, these homes don't belong in the city. We live in a community that is defined by density. If we can't pack people into a city block, we don't deserve to be classified as an Urban Area. The answer to this housing crisis is not to push more people into the few apartment buildings on Penn Ave, but to allow a giant family of many children and an errant cat to inhabit a perfectly good house a block off the main drag that is solid and unwanted, except by said family. Good luck to whomever owns it now, in getting the copper replaced, and in selling it I hope to a couple of people who will love it for what it is: the beginning of a spectacular life. We don't need more flat vacant ground on the North Side.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Unkie Kev
So, I've known my sister for quite some time. Almost thirty years, in fact. I remember when audio cassettes first came out and we'd record radio shows in the living room. Everyone else hated their siblings, but I couldn't see what was so horrible about a big sister. I remember when she thought I was a cool brother and would take me to high school parties when I was like thirteen. I can't believe my parents never said anything when I'd come home smelling like smoke (for the record, I didn't start smoking myself until several years later). I remember really understanding Dylan for the first time when I went to visit her at UW Madison. It was the first time I associated 'folk' with 'cool' - the beginning of my grassroots philosophy of public service, to stretch a metaphor. I remember the crazy pride that filled my chest when I spent a week with her in the Dominican Republic while she was working with the Peace Corps (see the 'Under the Mosquito Net' blog on the right). I had honestly never known any one who was making such a tangible difference in the lives of others. I remember when she first moved to San Francisco. It was so cool to hang out in a different city and know I knew someone, so I belonged - kinda. I remember when she got married to Bryan. I had been going through some tough personal times, but she (they both) went to such lengths to make sure I was okay, despite the heavy plate I know was in front of them.
My sister Bert is one of my favorite people in the world, and I could not be happier that she's going to have a tiny Bertlet that I can be the creepy Midwestern uncle to. Bert, I promise I won't teach him or her any swears until they're old enough to know not to say them in front of you. Just please don't give them the square-head haircut that Mom gave you. All the best from fly-over land, and most sincere congratulations to you and to Bryan!
My sister Bert is one of my favorite people in the world, and I could not be happier that she's going to have a tiny Bertlet that I can be the creepy Midwestern uncle to. Bert, I promise I won't teach him or her any swears until they're old enough to know not to say them in front of you. Just please don't give them the square-head haircut that Mom gave you. All the best from fly-over land, and most sincere congratulations to you and to Bryan!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Waiting for that midterm election...
So, Yes We Did, and all that. I'm jazzed. I really am. I've been super happy with Obama's actions as our chief executive so far. I don't even mind that he bowed to a foreign sovereign (in fact I don't really see what the big deal is). I feel really great that our eight year national nightmare is over.
However... for those of you who live in other parts of the country, it's springtime in America. For Minnesotans, we still have two years of our state nightmare left. Until 2010, we are still being lorded over by a man who I can only hope will go down in history nationally as a momentary hopeful, then forgotten, but state-wide as the single most obstructionist governor we've ever seen. Last year Tim Pawlenty vetoed a state record 34 bills - almost 8% of all vetoes issued by all MN governors since 1939. That's just one of his six years so far, and it looks like he's coming back with the same force this session. Last year, Democrats could only muster enough crossover votes to override one of them, and for that the six Republicans who did put the good of the state first to enact our first gas tax hike in 20 years were stripped of their committee assignments and (all but one) defeated handily in their suburban districts in November. Pawlenty just last year vetoed everything from a minimum wage hike to stem cell research to helping homeowners facing foreclosure to fixing our roads and bridges to a NON BINDING resolution calling for more openness with Cuba.
Here's my take: Pawlenty doesn't actually have the power to write and enact legislation, only to deny legislation from taking effect. Therefore, his ridiculous obstructionist pen is a study in the difference between doing nothing and doing something. He doesn't like what his options for action are, so he has denied any action from going forward. Meanwhile, the potholes are bigger and more plentiful (in my non-scientific study) than they have been in years, traffic and smog keep getting worse, more destitute people are slipping through the housing and healthcare cracks, and fewer bright young people can get an education simply because they are born into poor families. Guess what? Doing nothing is ALWAYS worse than doing something. While the cost of services and maintenance has continued to rise with the rest of the country, we have not been able to fund the programs we need to maintain service at the levels we in Minnesota are used to, just because our executive is under the thumb of local anti-tax interests and in the spotlight of national hype. I honestly hope T-Paw (even his nickname makes me want to beat my head against a wall) does run for national office in 2012, because it means he'd be ill-advised to run for Governor again in '10, on the likely chance he'd be defeated and rendered moot.
So, for all of you on the coasts, or in the Southwest, or even around the Midwest (cheers, Iowa), yes, I'm happy for you all. But please, send some positive, progressive vibes our way here in what used to be one of the bluest states in the union. And I believe we still are (we've gone Democrat in Presidential races longer than anyone else in recent history) - we've just been hijacked by the powerful marketing machine of the anti-tax lobby and forced down a bumpy, under-serviced road to neglect.
However... for those of you who live in other parts of the country, it's springtime in America. For Minnesotans, we still have two years of our state nightmare left. Until 2010, we are still being lorded over by a man who I can only hope will go down in history nationally as a momentary hopeful, then forgotten, but state-wide as the single most obstructionist governor we've ever seen. Last year Tim Pawlenty vetoed a state record 34 bills - almost 8% of all vetoes issued by all MN governors since 1939. That's just one of his six years so far, and it looks like he's coming back with the same force this session. Last year, Democrats could only muster enough crossover votes to override one of them, and for that the six Republicans who did put the good of the state first to enact our first gas tax hike in 20 years were stripped of their committee assignments and (all but one) defeated handily in their suburban districts in November. Pawlenty just last year vetoed everything from a minimum wage hike to stem cell research to helping homeowners facing foreclosure to fixing our roads and bridges to a NON BINDING resolution calling for more openness with Cuba.
Here's my take: Pawlenty doesn't actually have the power to write and enact legislation, only to deny legislation from taking effect. Therefore, his ridiculous obstructionist pen is a study in the difference between doing nothing and doing something. He doesn't like what his options for action are, so he has denied any action from going forward. Meanwhile, the potholes are bigger and more plentiful (in my non-scientific study) than they have been in years, traffic and smog keep getting worse, more destitute people are slipping through the housing and healthcare cracks, and fewer bright young people can get an education simply because they are born into poor families. Guess what? Doing nothing is ALWAYS worse than doing something. While the cost of services and maintenance has continued to rise with the rest of the country, we have not been able to fund the programs we need to maintain service at the levels we in Minnesota are used to, just because our executive is under the thumb of local anti-tax interests and in the spotlight of national hype. I honestly hope T-Paw (even his nickname makes me want to beat my head against a wall) does run for national office in 2012, because it means he'd be ill-advised to run for Governor again in '10, on the likely chance he'd be defeated and rendered moot.
So, for all of you on the coasts, or in the Southwest, or even around the Midwest (cheers, Iowa), yes, I'm happy for you all. But please, send some positive, progressive vibes our way here in what used to be one of the bluest states in the union. And I believe we still are (we've gone Democrat in Presidential races longer than anyone else in recent history) - we've just been hijacked by the powerful marketing machine of the anti-tax lobby and forced down a bumpy, under-serviced road to neglect.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
They run everyone's plates on the north side.
So, I found out last night that nothing we do is really private. Allow me to explain:
I was on my way to the curling club to play our first playdown game of the spring, and I got no more than ten blocks from my house and I saw cherries in my mirror. I pulled over, and got out my ID. As I was digging in my wallet for my insurance card, the cop said, "Don't bother, you're suspended. Step out of the car, please."
This was news to me. I stepped out of my car, and they led me back to the squad car. With my hands on the trunk of the cruiser, she gave me the full pat-down.
An aside: when I'm on long car drives, I often find myself in truck stop bathrooms. If I happen to have three quarters on me, I find it funny to get the weird sex-toy items from the vending machine. I do this not with any intention of ever using the items, but because I find it funny and interesting to see what I get for my 3/4 dollar and to see the hilarious packaging that these items come in.
Back at the scene of the infraction, she was patting me down, and she took everything out of my pockets and set it on the trunk of the squad. My camera, my gloves, my Moleskine notepad, my wallet. She reached into the breast pocket of my coat and pulled out the "Horny Goat Weed" aphrodisiac supplement, took one look at it, and put it back into my pocket.
They then sat me in the back of the car (It was tiny back there - I can't imagine being over six feet with my hands behind my back and trying to fit in there), and I sat thinking this would be the time I ended up in lockup. I'd get bailed out, and whomever came to save me would stand there silently judging as the clerk on the other side of the glass assessed what had been in my pockets: "One Nikon Coolpix camera, one leather billfold, one 'Horny Goat Weed' herbal aphrodisiac." I was mortified just thinking about it.
They went through the contents of my backseat:
Cop #1: You know, you've got quite a bit of garbage in back, there.
Me: Yeah, I've been hibernating over the winter - I was going to clean it next week.
Cop #2: Do you have a girlfriend or a wife or something?
Me: Yes, I have a girlfriend, and she contributes to that mess.
Cop #2: Well then disregard my next statement.
Cop #1: What about those muffins? How long have they been in there?
Me: Those are carrot cake cupcakes. I just put them in there today to bring to the club with me!
All I wanted was to get to the club and wreak some havoc on sheet six, but someone had to criticize the way I live my commuter life.
In retrospect I have no reason to be upset, since they went ridiculously easy on me, considering I did in fact have an unpaid ticket from six months ago ("We should tow your car, but since you live so close you can drive home and park legally, but if a Mpls cop sees you driving again you'll get your car towed."), but at the same time, I feel a little violated. I mean, they made fun of my automotive hygiene. That hurts. I always thought my car was a sanctuary. If I invited a friend in, that was a privilege, and anyone curious about how I lived my life was SOL. Pull me over, yes. Drag me out of the car if you have reason to believe I'm up to no good. That's fine. But for god's sake, don't make fun of the fast food wrappers in my back seat. That's like finding Lipitor in someone's medicine cabinet, and making a cholesterol joke.
On a happier note, I got a hold of a friend to pick me up and take me to the curling club. The other team tied it up in the seventh end, and it looked like they were going to mop the ice with us. Shaun, our skip, came through on the last rock, threading it into the house to sit point and we barely won the game. Looks like I got ridiculously lucky twice last night.
I was on my way to the curling club to play our first playdown game of the spring, and I got no more than ten blocks from my house and I saw cherries in my mirror. I pulled over, and got out my ID. As I was digging in my wallet for my insurance card, the cop said, "Don't bother, you're suspended. Step out of the car, please."
This was news to me. I stepped out of my car, and they led me back to the squad car. With my hands on the trunk of the cruiser, she gave me the full pat-down.
An aside: when I'm on long car drives, I often find myself in truck stop bathrooms. If I happen to have three quarters on me, I find it funny to get the weird sex-toy items from the vending machine. I do this not with any intention of ever using the items, but because I find it funny and interesting to see what I get for my 3/4 dollar and to see the hilarious packaging that these items come in.
Back at the scene of the infraction, she was patting me down, and she took everything out of my pockets and set it on the trunk of the squad. My camera, my gloves, my Moleskine notepad, my wallet. She reached into the breast pocket of my coat and pulled out the "Horny Goat Weed" aphrodisiac supplement, took one look at it, and put it back into my pocket.
They then sat me in the back of the car (It was tiny back there - I can't imagine being over six feet with my hands behind my back and trying to fit in there), and I sat thinking this would be the time I ended up in lockup. I'd get bailed out, and whomever came to save me would stand there silently judging as the clerk on the other side of the glass assessed what had been in my pockets: "One Nikon Coolpix camera, one leather billfold, one 'Horny Goat Weed' herbal aphrodisiac." I was mortified just thinking about it.
They went through the contents of my backseat:
Cop #1: You know, you've got quite a bit of garbage in back, there.
Me: Yeah, I've been hibernating over the winter - I was going to clean it next week.
Cop #2: Do you have a girlfriend or a wife or something?
Me: Yes, I have a girlfriend, and she contributes to that mess.
Cop #2: Well then disregard my next statement.
Cop #1: What about those muffins? How long have they been in there?
Me: Those are carrot cake cupcakes. I just put them in there today to bring to the club with me!
All I wanted was to get to the club and wreak some havoc on sheet six, but someone had to criticize the way I live my commuter life.
In retrospect I have no reason to be upset, since they went ridiculously easy on me, considering I did in fact have an unpaid ticket from six months ago ("We should tow your car, but since you live so close you can drive home and park legally, but if a Mpls cop sees you driving again you'll get your car towed."), but at the same time, I feel a little violated. I mean, they made fun of my automotive hygiene. That hurts. I always thought my car was a sanctuary. If I invited a friend in, that was a privilege, and anyone curious about how I lived my life was SOL. Pull me over, yes. Drag me out of the car if you have reason to believe I'm up to no good. That's fine. But for god's sake, don't make fun of the fast food wrappers in my back seat. That's like finding Lipitor in someone's medicine cabinet, and making a cholesterol joke.
On a happier note, I got a hold of a friend to pick me up and take me to the curling club. The other team tied it up in the seventh end, and it looked like they were going to mop the ice with us. Shaun, our skip, came through on the last rock, threading it into the house to sit point and we barely won the game. Looks like I got ridiculously lucky twice last night.
Monday, March 30, 2009
File Under: Infernal Racket
I'm just going to pretend that I didn't just take a two-year hiatus from writing a blog.
For the last thirty-four hours or so the SUV parked in front of my next door neighbor's house has been beeping every two seconds or so. Every time I walk outside to take out garbage, or grill, or clean the garage, or whatever, it's there. *beep* A creepy soundtrack *beep* to all my outdoor *beep* activities. *beep* Last time I was out there I made believe I was under the North Sea tracking Russian subs.
I can only assume that, barring some weird homemade Sputnik behind the third row seats, this is their car alarm sending a distress signal that it is slowly dying. What I don't get is how it has been going on all afternoon, all night, all morning, all afternoon, and all evening again without anyone doing anything about it. My neighbors are a bit of a mystery to me. They are around a lot, and there are a lot of them. They have at least four cars, one of which is an all but abandoned El Dorado with a shattered windshield that was almost towed during the last snow emergency, and another of which is this insane beeping SUV. But then, sometimes I don't see them for days on end. Of course this is one of those times.
I'm not going to pretend that cops on the north side of MPLS don't have more important things to concentrate on than a nuisance elderly car alarm, but isn't there something that can be done about this? If the alarm were actually going off, they'd have been here within the first - I dunno - four or so hours. But instead I'm being subjected to the soundtrack of history's longest game of Pong. What if the neighbors don't come home for a week? The SUV is the only one of their cars that is out there now. What if they took the others on some extended caravan road trip?
What really scares me about this prospect is that every so often the wind will pick up or a car will drive by and I miss a beep. And I am actually confused. I stop whatever I'm doing, my ears perk up, and I think, 'Is it gone? I don't think I'm prepared for silence! What will I do?!' I really hope they get back and turn it off soon, because - like those first cigarettes outside the lunchroom in highschool - I fear this is one of those things that will get harder and harder to part with as I become more and more acclimated to it.
For the last thirty-four hours or so the SUV parked in front of my next door neighbor's house has been beeping every two seconds or so. Every time I walk outside to take out garbage, or grill, or clean the garage, or whatever, it's there. *beep* A creepy soundtrack *beep* to all my outdoor *beep* activities. *beep* Last time I was out there I made believe I was under the North Sea tracking Russian subs.
I can only assume that, barring some weird homemade Sputnik behind the third row seats, this is their car alarm sending a distress signal that it is slowly dying. What I don't get is how it has been going on all afternoon, all night, all morning, all afternoon, and all evening again without anyone doing anything about it. My neighbors are a bit of a mystery to me. They are around a lot, and there are a lot of them. They have at least four cars, one of which is an all but abandoned El Dorado with a shattered windshield that was almost towed during the last snow emergency, and another of which is this insane beeping SUV. But then, sometimes I don't see them for days on end. Of course this is one of those times.
I'm not going to pretend that cops on the north side of MPLS don't have more important things to concentrate on than a nuisance elderly car alarm, but isn't there something that can be done about this? If the alarm were actually going off, they'd have been here within the first - I dunno - four or so hours. But instead I'm being subjected to the soundtrack of history's longest game of Pong. What if the neighbors don't come home for a week? The SUV is the only one of their cars that is out there now. What if they took the others on some extended caravan road trip?
What really scares me about this prospect is that every so often the wind will pick up or a car will drive by and I miss a beep. And I am actually confused. I stop whatever I'm doing, my ears perk up, and I think, 'Is it gone? I don't think I'm prepared for silence! What will I do?!' I really hope they get back and turn it off soon, because - like those first cigarettes outside the lunchroom in highschool - I fear this is one of those things that will get harder and harder to part with as I become more and more acclimated to it.
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