You know that feeling you get when you go to watch a bad movie and it turned out to be a lot worse than you ever imagined it could be? Well, a couple of minutes ago was a lot like that. As you're walking out of the theater and someone asks how the movie was, you can't find an accurate way to describe it so you simply stammer, "It was bad." Yeah, that's also a few minutes ago. What transpired was brief yet so bizarre that I am having a hard time putting it into cohesive words. I could write a 10,000 word diatribe composed of mostly contractions and hypenated words (thereby nearly doubling my available total) and still not have enough room to explain what happened. Maybe I could switch to kanji.
Throughout the course of this past weekend and while writing the update earlier today, it often crossed my mind concerning the lack of sanity in the whole ordeal. I'm not talking about an individual's sanity since that quite obviously left the building quite a while ago. I am talking about the sanity of the surrounding cast, the other members of the house. Why is it that he's still out there after a whole weekend throwing what amounts to a grown man's tantrum with a splash of violence on the side and no one has come out and tried to calm him down? The answer is so blindingly simple that it might as well have been written in braille: the entire family is just as crazy. Or at least the male side of the household is.
I didn't even get a chance to put my previously mentioned plan three into action. It wasn't necessary. It wasn't necessary because they were waiting for me to come home. The dad was standing in the open garage looking suitably crazy while his 19-year old son was practicing kung-fu moves on a palm tree with butterfly swords. If you're not familiar with butterfly swords, they are prevalent in the Shaolin kung-fu styles and are basically twin swords which measure roughly in length from the tip of your finger to your elbow. As soon as I pull into the cul-de-sac, it's quite evident that it's about to be on whether I want it to be or not. Thankfully, the old man stayed settled in the garage and I only had to deal with one of them, which was bad enough considering the way that he was brandishing his swords.
By the time I get out of my car, the son has already taken up a position to which it would be impossible for me to ignore him. He was on his own property so it's not like he was an inch away from the car but he certainly got his point across. I get out of the car and without hesitation he starts in:
"Do you want to test us? Do you want to go to war?"
That was, I think, probably the most disturbing yet stupidest two sentences that I have ever heard spoken in my lifetime. I almost would have laughed had I been in the mood. Who the hell writes the battle plans in that household? What kind of person draws the conclusion of war from someone having a party?
"Dad, they are being loud after midnight again."
"Son, that means that they want to go to war with us. We should ready our weapons and begin our training."
"Don't you think that maybe we should go and talk to them first?"
"Are you questioning me? I will make you taste your own blood."
Shortly afterwards, I'm guessing he either beat his son with his large wood stick or something in the close vicinity of his son. I know this for sure: something got beaten. I don't think a day goes by in that household that dad doesn't beat something or someone with his magical piece of wood. And the son is likely just as crazy. Who the hell runs around skilled in butterfly swords these days, waiting for the opportune moment to strike on the urban battlefield?
Unfortunately, despite a two-something minute conversation, little was resolved. I refused to accept any kind of declaration of war and I have no idea what that would have entailed had I done so. Was he going to hop right over the bushes right then and slice me open while dad looks on maniacally from the background waving his wooden friend? Who knows anymore. The son continued punishing the poor palm tree with his swords long after I vacated the driveway, me easily surrendering since my bottle of transmission fluid was certainly no match for the two of them. I honestly have no idea what's going in that household.
Still, everything aside, I did get one thing firm out of the whole ordeal: stop being loud after midnight. How did they know that I like my neighborly advice dispensed with a big side dish of veiled threat? In addition to being some kind of psycho kung-fu mercenary lost tribe, they can also read minds. Hey, even I know when to fold a hand or two at the table, no matter what kind of cards I'm holding. So I can't be loud after midnight. Ok, that's acceptable; I can live with that. But you had better be damn sure that up until 11:59 at night, I am going to do whatever I want. I think I've earned that at least. And after all this, I'm not entirely sure that this whole ordeal is over with. I can't say with certainty that crazy old man won't be back outside tomorrow banging his trash cans at 6 in the morning. Of course, I am also no longer inclined to try and treat them like rational human beings either. I think they've been using a bit too much Agent Orange in their garden as of late.
So, I'm not dead but the situation doesn't feel 100% resolved either. I'm also of the mind that talking about it further with these fine neighbor folks will yield little. I honestly wish that I was writing all this as some kind of big joke; that I made all this up on some sort of fantastical drug binge in order to sell more copy. Given all the creative juices in the world, I still don't think that I could have come up with anything even close to being this bizarre. I also don't think that even the best behaved family could put things right around here again. So you're likely to hear about this in the future, some months down the road when we slip up again and forget to close a window. Or God forbid, have a conversation with more than one person after midnight. But hey, at least life isn't boring.
UPDATE: I had completed this write-up and was in the process of posting it when I happened to look out my window and I see crazy angry dad conversing with the neighbor on the opposite side of me in frantic Asian speak. Well, in truth, all Asian speak seems frantic to anyone who doesn't speak it. He too was brandishing a weapon, a pair of wooden fighting sticks. I don't know what was said but there was an inordinate amount of pointing in the direction of my house. It would seem that things are not going to quite be the same around here for a while to come.
Throughout the course of this past weekend and while writing the update earlier today, it often crossed my mind concerning the lack of sanity in the whole ordeal. I'm not talking about an individual's sanity since that quite obviously left the building quite a while ago. I am talking about the sanity of the surrounding cast, the other members of the house. Why is it that he's still out there after a whole weekend throwing what amounts to a grown man's tantrum with a splash of violence on the side and no one has come out and tried to calm him down? The answer is so blindingly simple that it might as well have been written in braille: the entire family is just as crazy. Or at least the male side of the household is.
I didn't even get a chance to put my previously mentioned plan three into action. It wasn't necessary. It wasn't necessary because they were waiting for me to come home. The dad was standing in the open garage looking suitably crazy while his 19-year old son was practicing kung-fu moves on a palm tree with butterfly swords. If you're not familiar with butterfly swords, they are prevalent in the Shaolin kung-fu styles and are basically twin swords which measure roughly in length from the tip of your finger to your elbow. As soon as I pull into the cul-de-sac, it's quite evident that it's about to be on whether I want it to be or not. Thankfully, the old man stayed settled in the garage and I only had to deal with one of them, which was bad enough considering the way that he was brandishing his swords.
By the time I get out of my car, the son has already taken up a position to which it would be impossible for me to ignore him. He was on his own property so it's not like he was an inch away from the car but he certainly got his point across. I get out of the car and without hesitation he starts in:
"Do you want to test us? Do you want to go to war?"
That was, I think, probably the most disturbing yet stupidest two sentences that I have ever heard spoken in my lifetime. I almost would have laughed had I been in the mood. Who the hell writes the battle plans in that household? What kind of person draws the conclusion of war from someone having a party?
"Dad, they are being loud after midnight again."
"Son, that means that they want to go to war with us. We should ready our weapons and begin our training."
"Don't you think that maybe we should go and talk to them first?"
"Are you questioning me? I will make you taste your own blood."
Shortly afterwards, I'm guessing he either beat his son with his large wood stick or something in the close vicinity of his son. I know this for sure: something got beaten. I don't think a day goes by in that household that dad doesn't beat something or someone with his magical piece of wood. And the son is likely just as crazy. Who the hell runs around skilled in butterfly swords these days, waiting for the opportune moment to strike on the urban battlefield?
Unfortunately, despite a two-something minute conversation, little was resolved. I refused to accept any kind of declaration of war and I have no idea what that would have entailed had I done so. Was he going to hop right over the bushes right then and slice me open while dad looks on maniacally from the background waving his wooden friend? Who knows anymore. The son continued punishing the poor palm tree with his swords long after I vacated the driveway, me easily surrendering since my bottle of transmission fluid was certainly no match for the two of them. I honestly have no idea what's going in that household.
Still, everything aside, I did get one thing firm out of the whole ordeal: stop being loud after midnight. How did they know that I like my neighborly advice dispensed with a big side dish of veiled threat? In addition to being some kind of psycho kung-fu mercenary lost tribe, they can also read minds. Hey, even I know when to fold a hand or two at the table, no matter what kind of cards I'm holding. So I can't be loud after midnight. Ok, that's acceptable; I can live with that. But you had better be damn sure that up until 11:59 at night, I am going to do whatever I want. I think I've earned that at least. And after all this, I'm not entirely sure that this whole ordeal is over with. I can't say with certainty that crazy old man won't be back outside tomorrow banging his trash cans at 6 in the morning. Of course, I am also no longer inclined to try and treat them like rational human beings either. I think they've been using a bit too much Agent Orange in their garden as of late.
So, I'm not dead but the situation doesn't feel 100% resolved either. I'm also of the mind that talking about it further with these fine neighbor folks will yield little. I honestly wish that I was writing all this as some kind of big joke; that I made all this up on some sort of fantastical drug binge in order to sell more copy. Given all the creative juices in the world, I still don't think that I could have come up with anything even close to being this bizarre. I also don't think that even the best behaved family could put things right around here again. So you're likely to hear about this in the future, some months down the road when we slip up again and forget to close a window. Or God forbid, have a conversation with more than one person after midnight. But hey, at least life isn't boring.
UPDATE: I had completed this write-up and was in the process of posting it when I happened to look out my window and I see crazy angry dad conversing with the neighbor on the opposite side of me in frantic Asian speak. Well, in truth, all Asian speak seems frantic to anyone who doesn't speak it. He too was brandishing a weapon, a pair of wooden fighting sticks. I don't know what was said but there was an inordinate amount of pointing in the direction of my house. It would seem that things are not going to quite be the same around here for a while to come.
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