Calling Mr. Rogers

evil banjo.

This is an old duplex. The neighbors and I share the front porch. One of them is a drummer, and in fact I’ve played a gig with him before.

Six months ago he decided to teach himself the banjo.

When the weather gets over 63F outside said neighbor will sit on the porch and practice. On Monday he was out there for HOURS. Playing the same three chord tune.

Over and over and over he played until I could hear my brain cells explode . Barely, as the banjo was already drowning out the stereo, voices in my head, and traffic noise on the street.

Normally we don’t have a problem. In the summer the windows are open, and my grand piano and vocals (with a mic) can he heard on the street. All of the guys next door play in a band and practice in their basement. Many Sunday mornings we’ve awoken to the dulcet sounds of a new punk song. Which is fine. Dig punk. They’ll all sit outside in the summer and jam –acoustically- as well.

It usually works out. Maybe it’s the upcoming surgery, tinged with the traditional depression and agitation. Whatever the reasons I wanted to open the door, walk the five feet over to  my neighbor and bash his skull in with that fucking banjo.

If I hear the same three chords again it will be sad for his family and friends. But a blessing to the musical scene in Reno.

Please won’t you be my neighbor?

~Miss R

-cartoon by Fuzzy Gerdes-