Crazy...

 As a freckled-faced youth, my folks (and sister) helped found the local theater group.  Play after play they did.  "Victor?  Why don't you be in onea our plays?"  With apologies to my folks, and borrowed from my stepson, "Not no's, but hells no's."

A few years later I consented to do so, my one and only play ever. I did NOT miss a single line.  Quite proud I was to have perfectly played a deaf mute.  True.

The other morning I renewed my acting career by playing Ebenezer Scrooge.  Eh why not, it's that time of year.  I live in an old house converted into three apartments. I live on the lower level, and above me lives a couple of young men and the 23 other friends they entertain every weekend.

I love music, I do.  Usually though, not at 3am. Or 4, or 5.  Good kids, horrible neighbors.  They run, jump, yell, scream, yada.  There are verbal battles from their porch to others down on the ground.. at 3am.. 4am.. and 5am.  The local authorities have memorized directions to our building as neighbors have called them at least three times when I've been home.

I never have complained (until this blog I guess) - pretty much just figured one day someone else would live there - or, if it kept up, I'd move somewhere. Swore the move here was my last, but, I could scrape together coin for 2 Men and a Truck.

They are messy 'children.'  Certainly not basketball players as, when they aim at the trash barrels, they never make it.  For many a week, I embarrassingly went out and picked up trash, broken bottles, placed the trash cans back in their proper place, and even left an old man grumpy note on one, "Hey guys, please let's have some pride in where we live and keep the trash off the ground and in containers." Signed, "Grumpy Vic." (Or, "pops" as they call me.)

The morning after my note, and the last time I cleaned after them, I woke up to find a pumpkin, thrown from their porch, smashed to smitherines all about the yard.  They enjoy breaking furniture.  Chairs, hi-chairs, tables, yada.  Scattered in pieces, all tossed from their 2nd floor balcony.  A new item weekly.  FINALLY, finally - after the 4th trip by the cops to their joint - I took a picture of the yard, texted it to the apartment owner, "Do you drive by here?"  They were nice. Said "they are on way out, it takes 4 months to legally do so." I am embarrassed when people drive by.  Oh, I'm a slob, but not intronta my place!

Soooooooooooooooo.... After 6 hours of sleep (2 from 10pm to midnight.. 2 from 2am to 4am.. 2 more from 6am to 8am)... I set sail for Wally World to grab a few things.

Now, their music has a nice beat, it does. In fact, they have a mini studio for recording rap music.. and they play background "beat music" all the time.  I mean, all the time.  All thru the night.  (Almost done bitching, sorry.)

So, with toothpicks in place to prop eyelids, before I departed .. I tuned good ole Pandora to Classic Country (I figured the whippersnappers might enjoy that!)...  Aha, Patsy Cline's Crazy - first song up.  I cranked that sucker up, s'more and s'more. I'm in apt #2, a buddy lives in #1, and party-hardy boys are in #3.  With apologies to buddy in Apt#2, Patsy was LOUD.. on purpose  VERY, VERY loud.  Pun mebbe, Crazy loud.  Kept the ole stereo going, with smirk, headed out door to car to Wally World.  It felt good.  Real good.  Ebenezer Scrooge good.  Hehe.

Once home, I decided to look up "Patsy Cline's Crazy song meaning."  You might already know all this. I didn't.  It was actually written by a struggling country music singer named Willie Nelson. Patsy recorded it, it became a hit, and was one of Willie's most enduring songs - even on his debut album in 1962.

Two months before it was recorded, Patsy was thrown through a windshield in a car accident.  She temporarily couldn't hit the high notes....so... the musicians recorded their part, she rested for a couple of weeks - came back, with broken rib and standing in the studio on crutches - she recorded her part.  Crazy huh?

A favorite story of mine, Victor, you've told us this one before. Ahem.  A favorite story of mine... there was a kid's radio show where the star was Cowboy Bob.  One day, Cowboy Bob forgot to turn off the mike as the show ended - and all across  snotnose land came "THERE, that oughta please the little bastards."

Kinda how I felt that morning I cranked Pandora, Patsy and Crazy.

Love, Merry Christmas,

Ebenezer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbnrdCS57d0