But hey, it's Brooklyn, not Ohio

About a month ago on a Saturday night, G and I were kept awake by a large party our downstairs neighbors were throwing. The music caused our entire apartment to vibrate. It was unbearable. I hadn't been feeling great that day and was hoping to get to sleep early. I turned on the TV to mask the sound, put my pillow over my ears. Sleep wasn't happening. Finally, at about a quarter past one, G decided to go downstairs to ask them to turn the music down.

As if the shaking apartment was not provocative enough, above is a photo of the note G encountered when he reached their apartment door. As you can imagine, this note did not improve his mood. After a lengthy discussion with the neighbors about "rights" (their right to throw a party in the U.S. of A, our right to sleep and live in peace in our own apt), they turned the music down.

To their credit, they've been quiet neighbors ever since (a talking-to by our landlord probably helped, too). To our credit, the phone number above is blocked out.

Yes, I have officially turned into the cranky old neighbor. Kids these days. Sheesh.