I love a good note. There is no better way of expressing yourself than with the written word. It gives you ample time to explain exactly and eloquently what you are thinking.
In case you are living with people in your building who are trying to become the next Avicii, but sound more like Nickelback on speed, take a tip from this guy and write them a note.
You gotta appreciate this guy’s poignancy. He really lays it all out for them, with lines like:
“I realize that taste in music is subjective. Hell, I bought a Blink 182 album once.”
“I don’t piss in your mouth for hours on end, so please stop sh*tting in my ears.”
“I pay a lot of money to live here and would like to eat dinner and sleep peacefully without having meth flashbacks.”
The full letter is transcribed below for your enjoyment:
(I think – If I’m wrong, please pass along the message to the offender)
I realize that taste in music is subjective. Hell, I bought a Blink 182 album once. But you must realize how aggravating it is to try to relax to the relentless thwacking of hard house from afternoon till midnight or later. I hate to dump on your dreams, but until you progress past this point in your musical development and start to appreciate music that is played at something other than 100+ bpm and baselines that consist of multiple notes, you will likely only play outdoor parties to children on speed who don’t know any better.
From what I can surmise, you only have about eight records. Please do the building a favor and practice quietly in your room with the bass turned low until you develop more skill, acquire better records, and figure out how to use the 33rpm setting. And even after you believe you have achieved this, please keep the bass low because as much as you think your music is “the shiznit” or whatever the devil kids are saying these days, I can assure you, it is just shit.
I don’t piss in your mouth for hours on end, so please stop shitting in my ears. I pay a lot of money to live here and like to eat dinner and sleep peacefully without having meth flashbacks. TV is painful enough without having to crank it all the way up to drown out your “art”.
A guy about to call the cops on your ass who wagers you might have a stash of something somewhere.