March 29th, 2004

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

6:45am. That's right; 6:45am! (…or…) Why I Hate The Garden District

I have often bitched about the noise pollution in the Garden District. It seems if I'm going to pay premium rents to live in Poshville, I should be able to enjoy it. Unfortunately, rich lazy white people hire shiftless lazy black people to make noise while they're off running their oil companies, writing spooky books, making industrial music or whatever it is my neighbors do.

For three years now I've been gathering data, as it were, and much to my chagrin. And the results are irrefutable. 4 out of 7 days a week, the Garden is polluted with horrible noise, noise, NOISE!

Leafblowers, jackhammers, woodchippers, weed whackers, chainsaws, bandsaws, table saws, generators, etc., etc., etc. The noise usually starts around 8am, and always directly outside my bedroom window. And me, a night owl. Great.

It would be much quieter in the ghetto. Gunshots are loud, but they stop.

Last week it got so bad one could say it was comedic, except there was nothing really too funny about it.

Look for yourself! And remember, this is taken from my fucking bedroom window!



That went on for a week. I spent my nights at The Boyfriends, or in hotels in Mississippi. The noise faded a bit in Biloxi, but I think I still heard them in Gulfport.

Anyway, these bozos cleared out last week and since then it's just been the relative peace of leafblowers, trucks bleeping as they back up, and an occasional chainsaw.

This morning at 6:45am I awoke to morning talk radio blaring through my bedroom window, thanks to the city construction workers.

Shortly, I heard housemate Nathan yelling out the window, "It's 7 in the morning! Turn that shit off!"

The sound died, I smiled, and dozed off for 10 minutes to be awoken shortly after by yelling in the street.

Nathan had gone downstairs to confront these loud-mouthed babblers who, apparently, had been calling the house and leaving messages, "You wants ta say somethin' to me muthafuckah, muthafuckah needs ta be sayin' it to mah face!"

Now Nathan was in the street calling them assholes. A fight broke out. I think he hit one of them. A cop came up. "You got a problem, you talk to me! I keep the peace!"

Hardly. This is what I'm hearing now:



The Boyfriend has left the building. "Fuck this."

I am leaving now too. I won't be back to Château Bimbeaux until these ignorant cons are off my block.