In the wind

I have some good news and some that gets-stuck-in-my-throat news.

First the really good news. My MethHead neighbor is moving out. Last week his crappy house officially hit the MLS. Affording me a unique visual opportunity to see how he and his "LOSER" brother have been living all these years. 

By way of a short recap I will relay some of the unneighborly behavior that has fueled my antipathy for this Culver City miscreant who one neighbor described, literally, as "The Cancer of the Neighborhood." You see I'm not the only one who has had nasty encounters with this man, who is perpetually angry. And who kept the weirdest hours, often running power equipment in his garage -- with the door open -- at 3 in the morning. 

Additionally, he would often set off industrial grade fireworks from his driveway, setting off car alarms and inducing a chorus of dogs wailing through the night.

Speaking of dogs, he had a Malinois (French for Bad Noise) who lived outside and BARKED outside, less than 50 feet from my bedroom window. And did so 24/7/366.

Back in 2014 I ventured over there and spoke to his mother (that's right, this man of 60 years old and his older brother lived with their mother) and politely asked if they could do anything about the excessive noise. Her pungent two word response from the mother of the Cancer of the Neighborhood was, "Fuck off."

Lest you think I'm overstating the malignancy, here's s short video captured on my Ring Camera of said Tumor and his rancorous mutt walking by by house in the wee hours of the night...

I haven't even mentioned the potato guns he and his childhood friend used to shoot at houses, the firecrackers he tossed at a teenage girl who just got her driver's license, or the rock salt he would sprinkle on lawns of folks he didn't see eye to eye with. 

But, as I often tell Ms. Muse, this guy (a die hard Trumper) is his own worst punishment. He is a miserable fuck who has to live with a miserable fuck 24 hours a day. Oh and his brother.

Adios MethHead!

As it is, I would have been rid of him anyway. Because the other news, as I've teased in the past few blogs, is I'm moving too. The house I've lived in, built, and turned into a special home, for the past 34 years, has become too big for me. There are empty rooms that once reverberated with the joy of two little girls and my late wife. 

It haunts me. And it comforts me. I can love it and I can hate it.

Also, the traffic, the density and the ambient noise of the westside has become too much. My doctor and my financial advisor have both suggested a change. And so, within the next month, I will be relocating to bucolic Eastern Pasadena, a stone's throw from even more bucolic Sierra Madre, home of Ms. Muse. 

Change is hard. But change is also good.

Both can be true at the same time.