It’s hard to find a good place to scream these days.

Privacy…what’s that? It’s is a state of mind; I’m by myself all the time. It’s just hard to find privacy, I live in a one bedroom apartment with my wife and no matter how well constructed an apartment building is unless it was built by the Soviet’s or by Brutalism Architects no wall is thick enough to stifle a scream.  Sure you can close the drapes and dance naked until your legs give way to gravity and the lactic acid that permeates through your muscle fibers. Sure you can paint by numbers your naked flesh like some mad preschooler in his or her first finger painting class, there are no lines to stay in now because as far as I am concerned all parts are fair game for all sorts of fun colors and glitter. Sound will not be so private, so when your crazy neighbor blasts Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion at a 140 decibels (true story, but only the chorus) five times a day, you know when he turns it down he will hear your screams.

Let’s say your stressed and you want to yell “mother effer” at the top of yours lungs while jump around and pound on the walls, you can’t.  I mean is it my fault the walls are a quarter inch thick, is it my fault my job is stressful, is my fault the plumber men are sucking my green energy through the seventh layer of my Zen aura…okay, okay it’s blue dammit, it’s my blue aura!!!

Where is my acoustic freedom?

You think a nice family friendly park would be a good place to scream…not so.  How about the local mall or Catholic Church or government building with its great echo? How about my freedom of expression? Do I need to be crazy or homeless? Do I need to be a full time politicker or activist climbing up a whaling ship in the Arctic Ocean? Does it help not to wear pants? Maybe I should go full throttle and be naked when I am screaming?

It’s like the people who say we are all naked under our clothes; well I say we are all screaming when we’re silent! It’s always sunny above the clouds.  It’s five o’clock somewhere.  We are all one acid trip away from loading up our arms full of empty Diet Mountain Dew cans and throwing them at nuns. We are all one drive home away from raging out on the neighbor’s kid for molesting our comingling recycling containers…I mean can’t he do that in his own home…in his room with his gold fish.

Oh to be a kid again…the fun I could have…

Do you ever feel like when you’re in a meeting with your boss and others, that your boss see’s it like it’s just another game of Whack A Mole and you always seem to pop up at the wrong time?