28 December, 1995 7:12:35 PM Hello hello hello... my downstars neighbor Dan seems to think I spend my midnights pouring buckets of water onto my bathroom floor. He came up here last night at about 12:30 or 1:00 a.m., pounding on the door (scaring the hell out of me). I had headphones on at full blast, so he must have beaten the door pretty damn hard. From the moment I opened the door we were shouting at each other. He demanded that I stop running water, that I get out of the shower, that I wash my dishes later, that I do whatever I was doing later because my water was pouring through the ceiling of his apartment. I felt preposterous doing it, but I summarized for him my day's water-related activities, including the shower at 11:00, the 3 or 4 pisses, the dishes at around 4:00 ... I think that was it. He didn't believe me, instead he said "The water has to be coming from your apartment." Thing is, I really feel badly for him, and I know exactly how he feels. I've had a few leaks while living here and elsewhere. One morning I was forced out of bed by a downpour of warm water coming out of the ceiling, it was like someone standing upstairs spraying a firehose into this place. As much as I know it's not the fault of the people who live upstairs, it still feels like they're pissing all over me by taking a shower or washing their hands at that moment. Anyway, this asshole Dan (I'm pretty sure that's his name) goes on and on about how there's water gushing out of his ceiling. He's obviously frustrated, I would be too, and he just goes on and on saying "I really need to get some peace on this," and he asks repeatedly "Can you please stop running water?" I said I wasn't running any water, I was listening to CDs, there had definitely been no running water in my apartment for at least an hour or so, blahblahblah . . . He says "The water has to be coming from here. You have to be running water right now." He started edging closer to the door, giving me the creeps just to think about the idea of letting him or anybody in here to prove to them I'm not running water. Oh man, this is such boring shit to talk about. This is worse than the Satin Doll story. The upshot of it is, I started to get really scared of the guy, and he only seemed to get more strident and accusatory. "Can I ask you something else?" he asked. I said suuuure. "Are you doing some woodworking in here?" This made me laugh very loudly. "No, I'm not doing any woodworking in here." Before I finished my sentence he was already saying "I hear this pounding noise all day long, every single day, and it has to be coming from your apartment." I said that yes, I've heard that pounding noise too, but I didn't know where it was coming from. He was practically inside my apartment by then, and I backed up a little and said "Look, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about this. There is nothing I can do for you. I'm going to go back to what I was doing. Sorry." I really was sorry. I hate slamming doors in people's faces, and I really hate yelling. It's so goddam stupid. The reason I think his name is Dan is that soon after I moved in here I noticed that someone in the downstairs apartment was playing a piano, and after a few days I figured it was he. Playing church-hymns and showtunes, and some Chopin Nocturnes, as best as I've ever been able to tell. After I'd been here a few weeks I'd been practicing a lot, and pretty much anyone who stands out in the hallway of this apartment building can hear me play just as loudly as if we were in a concert hall. I guess Dan heard me, too, because one of the upstairs neighbors came up to me one day and said, among other things, "That guy Dan, who lives downstairs, he's really upset since you moved in. He's been here 17 years and he's always been the only one here who played piano. He's so jealous." Well, that was nothing really. I would feel the same way, I think, though I don't know if I've even played piano for 17 years. That same night night I was practicing a Rachmaninoff Prelude in C Minor (op. 23 #4). The thing about this piece is that it sounds a lot harder than it really is. Dan seemed to think it was unplayable. While I was practicing it he came pounding on my door, and as soon as I stopped playing he was already talking (to the door which I hadn't opened yet), telling me that water was coming out of his ceiling and could I please get out of the shower. Something about seeing someone talking to a door makes me irritable, and as I opened the door I asked "Does it sound like I'm taking a shower in here?" He didn't answer, but carefully described the scene in his apartment, water water everywhere, and he asked "You're sure you're not, like, pouring water onto the floor?" He made a gesture with his hands which represented the pouring of water out of a bucket. I laughed and said no, I'm not pouring water onto the floor. Then followed several seconds of tense silence until he said "Yeah, that Rachmaninoff Prelude, that piece is my life's ambition. I could practice my whole life..." I slammed the door in his face. I was so irate. I know, I know, I shoulda been flattered. My response was wrong. Alright, enough of this. 8:09:18 PM Went into midtown today. Happened to see a friend while getting my mail.