I’ve lived in two different apartments on two different streets. No matter where I seem to settle in NYC, aspiring opera singers surround me. The one on Central Park West isn’t as disciplined as the last one. I don’t hear her singing often, but right now she is practicing trills, and man, does she need the practice. She squawks like a Gilbert Gottfried-gull hybrid. I have no choice right now, but to smoke her out with some very loud Lauryn Hill. Let’s hope the neighbors don’t get confrontational.
“Killing me softly with [her] song…”
Update: After three songs from The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, my would-be diva neighbor ended her grating performance. She may have an inferiority complex now, but I’m not too worried. She has a day job, after all.
