I used to get up super early to take advantage of the quiet time before dawn when no one else was up to drink coffee, catch a buzz, and get focused before a writing session. I still get up before dawn, but it’s not quiet and instead of getting focused I get distracted. Something to do with the buzz, I suppose. Also, my meth-infused neighbors. Sadly, there’s more than one. Here’s a little update on recent activities.

It may seem like I’ve become fixated on the weirdness I see from my upstairs deck, but I’m not. All right, that’s a lie. I kinda am.  Can you blame me? When I see not one but two insane tweakers — one on either side of my house — both of them doing bizarre things, it gets my attention. For instance, a couple mornings ago at four a.m. (about twenty-four hours after the episode involving the machete, the treed kitty, and the irate brother described in my previous post), I saw Jesus (the one-legged tweaker’s name) shining his light in his brother Bob’s bedroom window. By itself it wasn’t irritating enough to get the ultra-mellow Bob the bartender’s attention, so Jesus put on some Norteno music. . .which ranks right up there in the World’s Most Intolerable Music ratings and is utterly impossible to ignore. Oh, you can abhor it, but you can’t ignore it. For those lucky ones unfamiliar with Norteno music it is like listening to a 10-piece band scraping their fingers over blackboards. . .not the sound so much (Norteno music is actually worse), but the effect. Norteno music, only sung in nasal tones by a whiny cowboy, features a lead accordion instead of a guitar. No wonder the singer sounds so plaintive. As if that wasn’t a monstrous enough insult to our ears, Norteno bands employ a tuba (I’m serious) where there should be a bass. Then there are are trumpets. Many, many of them. Also, several drummers. None of them seem able to keep time or play in tune (so, a lot like me). Imagine some kind of mutant hybrid between country and rap and then make it much worse.

Anyway, when Jesus found the part where all the instruments clashed together in a ferocious blast of syncopation he raised his boombox to the window and turned it to full blast. He left it that way for thirty seconds. I watched in awe of his temerity, expecting much bigger brother Bob to come bursting out the door with mayhem in mind. Instead of bursting out the door and throttling Jesus, Bob played possum inside. No doubt stuffing wads of cotton into his ears.

Of course, Bob’s saint-like tolerance and pacifism pissed Jesus off big time. So he blasted Bob with Norteno music again. . .about six times. Bob finally came out. He said not a word, just grabbed the boombox, shut if off, and took it inside. With no weapon, Jesus shook his fist and yelled for awhile.

I should mention that while this was going on another tweaker, the neighbor who I’d caught atop our 7′ high block wall contemplating how to steal the power line two feet out of his reach was up to no good.(Something that wouldn’t be easy without tools or a cherry picker, but he stood there contemplating it for two or three minutes as I watched. The whole time with two huge and furious dogs trying their hardest to climb that wall and have a snack. I sensed there wasn’t much going on between his ears and I kinda wished I had a pellet gun. Also, that he might fall into our yard and feed those big dogs. Sadly, when I yelled at him to get the hell away he chose the right direction.)

Specifically, he was sneaking up on Jesus with larceny in mind. His target: Jesus’s crutches, which he grabbed and took off with. He then sauntered down the middle of the street wearing a “Where’s Waldo” shirt and waving the crutches around like a maniac. (The only way he knew how.) The watchdogs saw him through their viewing port in the fence and went nuts while he stood just outside our gate as if enjoying the serenade.

My friend Lanny later explained that Waldo and Jesus are at odds over Waldo’s propensity to cut down our phone and telephone lines every week or so. Waldo probably takes offense that fellow tweaker Jesus frowns on crime. Eventually Jesus noticed his crutches were missing and began an investigation. Spotting Waldo waving his crutches, Jesus came rolling down the block waving a machete. What ensued was sick yet depraved, and I couldn’t stop watching. Waldo let Jesus get almost close enough to give him a nice whack of revenge but the wily Waldo would step just out of reach. After a few lunges poor Jesus found himself and his wheelchair mired in deep sand and unable to move. I imagine about then he rued destroying his prosthesis last week. Jesus does not make good decisions.

Now you tell me, wouldn’t you be distracted, too? Oddly enough, some friends are doubtful of the veracity of my posts. . .those being friends familiar with my books. I showed my friend Earl and Rose how nicely my stump was growing back, and Rose said, “Oh my God, you really did get attacked by a dog!” As if I’d make something like that up. . .