How Bizarre

The playlist, as near as I've heard it, marks a very certain era: Third Eye Blind's "Jumper," Dishwalla's "Counting Blue Cars," Sarah McLachlan's "Sweet Surrender," and Jewel's "Who Will Save Your Soul?" just to name a few. I don't so much mind being subjected to it. These songs are, after all, nostalgic, if for a time in my life I'm none too eager to re-live. I can even forgive the fact that I don't have a chance to change what I hear.

No, what bothers me most about having a new downstairs neighbor whose acoustic guitar versions of Top 40 rock from the 1990s drift through the too-thin insulation, through the wooden floor, and into my ears is that I frequently must put up with her stopping mid-song to adjust her tone, pitch, tempo or to re-remember the lyrics. No lie:

Tell me all your thoughts on God —

tell me all your thoughts on God —

tell me all your thoughts on God —

on God —

on God —

tell me all your thoughts on God, cuz I'd really like to meet her —

really like to meet her —

really like to meet her —

all your thoughts on God —

God —

God —

cuz I'd really like to meet her —

really like to meet her —

really like to meet her —

really like to meet her...

It's like being tied to a chair in the presence of a skipping record and being unable to either bump the player into proper function or blow out your brains.

But really, I don't mind that much otherwise.

Of course, I have to admit — if she start's with "Lovefool" I'll tunnel through the floor, drop into what I think is her rehearsal room and smash her guitar into tiny pieces.