G's Spot - My Neighbours

The Abuser

For the past year (2004) the guy downstairs was heard lecturing his woman on a regular basis. It looks like they just moved out though. Their move coincided with my discovery of bootleg DVDs/CDs (sounds like the material he listened to on his boom stereo when I was trying to sleep), a Driving While License Suspended citation, and a Seattle P.D. incident report detailing an assault including a penis-pulling (see Lost and Found). This man was abusing his woman at least verbally, if not also physically, but I wasn't sure if anything could be done unless the woman herself came forward to complain. I emailed the local police department describing the situation, asking about local laws on domestic violence and what, if any, action could be taken in such a case. Their one sentence reply went something like, "Dear Mr. G, please contact us if you suspect any illegal activity is occurring." Uh... dudes, I just did, and thanks for the insight! I don't have an audio recording device and I didn't think to try to record one of his lectures using the video camera until recently. I missed a really good one where he was playing the victim, a classic abuser technique. The quality is poor but I think you will get the idea. This is actually one of the more subdued sessions. Warning: some may find the language offensive.
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The Musician

I hear this kid once in a while (2004) playing a brass instrument in the courtyard. Even worse than listening to it are the awful memories brought back of playing the French horn in school. I am convinced that the instrument was invented by Satan. I never learned the proper fingering, partly out of laziness, but also because I could play all the notes using embouchure anyway. Then one day I got busted when the teacher noticed that Shem and I weren't using the same fingering. For all I know Shem was faking it too. I don't blame this kid for playing outside -- his parents probably live across the complex and send him out of earshot to play. Listen for the flourish at the end. I used to be pretty good at that too. So good that my mom had a name for it: the elephant call.
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