So What (Live)

I think I’m officially old. I’m taking on everybody and everything which are annoying me. Yesterday I wrote a letter to Champ Car (I sent it to their general counsel since I sat next to him on the plane to Edmonton last year and had his e-mail address) regarding The Budweiser Stage at the Cleveland Grand Prix this past weekend (Here is an Ode to the Budweiser Stage which I'm sure you'll all enjoy immensely).

Ode to the Budweiser Stage at the Cleveland Grand Prix Presented by Lasalle Bank

How do I hate thee, O Budweiser Stage!
Let me count the ways!

One, you play rap-slash-hip-hop music
Two, you play rap-slash-hip-hop music at ear deafening levels
Three, you play rap-slash-hip-hop music at ear deafening levels to the point where I can't hear really loud race cars going past me less than 20 feet away while you're a good 300 feet away. (Not part of the Ode – I suck at guessing/estimating distances.)
Four, you play rap-slash-hip-hop music at ear deafening levels to the point where I can't hear really loud race cars going past me less then 20 feet away which is really bad since I'm here for the race cars.
Five, you hold beauty contests with women in evening dress while dirt and dust flies everywhere and oh, yeah, play more crappy, excessively loud music, and have an emcee making suggestive comments even though there are kids in the audience.
Six, you are the centerpiece to a "car show" where the most interesting car had very shiny chrome on the underside of his hood.
Seven, you are the centerpiece to a "car show" where a bright orange H2 Hummer shows up with 30 minute left in the Champ Car race and proceeds to show off his stereo system which rivaled your sound system.
Eight, you have questionable events which include half-naked women feeding bananas to men without using their hands.
Nine, you play rap-slash-hip-hop music at ear deafening levels to the point where I can't stand it anymore and I decide to go home instead of watching the Star Mazda race which was the last race of the weekend, and would have been a good one.
Ten, you play rap-slash-hip-hop music at ear deafening levels through the Invocation (you would have played through the national anthem, but my nephew ran down to tell you to shut if off, which amazingly you did), and then the post-race interviews and the winner's country's national anthem.

And that, O Budweiser Stage, is how much I hate you and hope you do not return next year.

I asked for and received the name of the person to whom to complain about the remote control boats that run in the lake/pond across the street from my apartment. I've told you about that, right? These fuckers (ha, gotta keep up my NC-17 rating) run every single fucking (NC-17) day starting around 3:00 p.m. and going until dark (close to 10:00 p.m. these days in southeastern Michigan), except weekends when they are there all fucking (NC-17) day. Can you tell these boats annoy me?

I had talked to one of the new tenants Sunday night and she mentioned that she had called the police over the weekend but was told they can do nothing about it because it's private property. Since I work for the company to which the lake/pond belongs, I was able to get a name. I wrote an e-mail to the guy on Monday and he called immediately which I thought was pretty nice of him. No, I didn't use my NC-17 language in the e-mail. It was well-written and polite. I had ended the e-mail with the statement that I was not looking forward to my forced vacation next week as I figured those fuckers (NC-17) were going to be there all day every day. He had good news for me. Oh yeah, it's actually a model boat club, not just random idiots out there, and they have a lease (or if you use the model boat club's spelling of the word – leese) to run there through October, but they're hoping to renew it. I expressed my hope to the guy who called me that it would not be renewed as the building where the lake is located is actually closed and there won't be any support on-site (whatever that means, but heck, I was willing to use it). Oh yeah, the good news. The model boat club has been told that they are not allowed to run there next week at all. And the guy told me that he actually gets to work next week (i.e., not forced to take vacation time like me) and to take his cell phone number and call if they show up. Oh, I will! I was a total tattletale too and told the guy that when the boats die on the lake (as is inevitable, apparently), they send a kid out in a rowboat to retrieve and that I couldn't believe that the company would want that kind of liability.

I'm pulling out all the stops here. Next up, Crave!!! They had their second party this past Sunday, but with my fan on I couldn't hear anything, and I had given most of the neighbors in the building the phone number to the night commander's desk, so if they were bothered they had the information needed.

Well, there you go. My adventures into Old Lady-hood with the requisite bitching about noise and making the appropriate phone calls or writing the appropriate e-mails.