Mid-City Thieves, and the Women Who Love Them

Mid-City Thieves, I am impressed. For over two years, you have kept a watchful eye on the southern blocks of Redondo Blvd, waiting for the perfect time to strike... when the winds were in your favor for optimal glass-breaking noise reduction, when the moon was new and hid in shadow, when the landlords were on their European summer holiday... Cue slow clap.

On the morning of September 11, 2007, I found my car parked in the back of my apartment complex: the fifth (known) vehicle to be broken and entered in the past month, stereo-less and shattered. A car parked nearby appeared to be in much the same state. Startled, but not shocked, I dealt with the damage and hoped you band of Mid-City Stereo Terrorists would not grow the balls to break into my apartment next time...

My point is not, in fact, to go on forever about the recent criminal activity in my neighborhood in the normal flowery sarcasm I insist on infusing in every post. My real reason for this entry, my audience of barely five (maybe six?) readers, is to talk about the true BOON these hooligans have bestowed upon me!!

And that gift is... silence.

Mind-raping, soul-stabbing, more-numbing-than-Open-Water-and-live-golf-tournaments-playing-at-once, more-retarded-than-the-love-child-of-Bill O'Reilly-and-Lindsay-Lohan, sssssssiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnccccccccccccceeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Sh. Shhhh. You can hear it now. That's the sound of nothing. I can recognize because I hear it everyday on my way to and from work. In my car. In my car without a stereo. In my car that won't have a stereo till I move, or get a car alarm. When it's too hot to have the windows down in the morning parking lot of the ten west. When it's too chilly at night to have the windows down, and therefore always blocking out the sound of the LA world, and leaving the remainder of me and my thoughts.

This is what I get for never becoming a member of KPCC.

I am in Day Three of Silent Driving. Day One consisted of involuntary motions to turn on the radio and looping thoughts like "Geez, what has taken me so long to turn on a cd?" and "Oh, right." Day Two was filled with boring phone calls "just saying hi..." to family and friends. Now I'm in Day Three and I have reached many sage conclusions:
1. I should take voice lessons before singing in a band again, most definitely.
2. People do not like to be looked at in traffic, because they need to:
a. pick their nose in peace
b. be creepy at every opportunity
c. drive their shit-big cars out of eye-line
3. National Public Radio is a blessing from god and should never be doubted as one of the premier achievements of man-kind. Each soul that works at this wondrous company should be given a front seat in heaven, and have first access to the glory of all the almighty power in the universe.
4. Face plate stereos are for fucking losers asking to be robbed, and I need a god damn boom box, so I can further remove myself from the status levels in society to which material possessions grant inclusion. Even dirty 1999 Honda Accords aren't safe: all cars with face plate stereos say "Fucking break the little window on the right passenger side and take everything! Go ahead do it, I'm an asshole loser!!"

Whoa.