Yesterday I bought EA Sports Active for the Wii, because I refuse to exercise unless I can look at a cartoon of myself doing the exercise at the same time. It’s actually crazy intense. I did the “medium” setting workout and I was sweating balls at the end. But like 2 minutes into it, I’m running around a virtual track (but really just jumping up and down like an asshole), and there’s a furious pounding on the floor from the apartment below. Sarah and I have heard this pounding before, but we’ve always assumed that the people were hammering stuff into the wall, because we’re kind of incredibly courteous neighbors. I mean, we rarely have parties, we don’t listen to loud music, and we don’t stomp around with 500 pound shoes.

This time, it was clear that she was pounding at me. I got the cold feeling of weirdness I always get when I realize that someone is paying attention to what I’m doing. I kept going with it, because I’m a virtual exercise maven, but I moved to a different part of the room when I did anything that involved jumping or running.

Then, about 1/2 an hour after I finish, I hear the pounding again. This time, I was sitting on the couch, watching TV. So I decided to investigate. I walked downstairs and rang our neighbor’s doorbell.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m your upstairs neighbor. Were you pounding on the ceiling just now?”

“Yes,” she said, “it sounds like someone’s doing jumping jacks up there.”

“Well, I was exercising a little earlier,” I said, “but I have been sitting on the couch for the last 20 minutes.”

“Well, it sounds like someone’s doing jumping jacks,” she said.

“But I wasn’t,” I protested. “I was just sitting there.”

“Could you maybe do that during the day?” she asked.

“Just sit there?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “jumping jacks.”

“But I wasn’t doing jumping jacks,” I complained. “I was just sitting there.”

“Or do you have a rug or something?” she asked.

“Yes, I have a rug,” I said, “but I don’t think it’s going to deaden the sound of me doing nothing.”

Now, admittedly, I was not exactly this rational and clever in the moment. I really spent the bulk of the conversation making increasingly more exasperated protests that “I literally was not doing anything!” while she stared at me as if I was trying to hide my secret jumping jack habit from her. We left it with me telling her that I would appreciate it if she could come up and ring the doorbell instead of knocking on the ceiling, and then I introduced myself and told her it was nice to meet her. Even though it totally wasn’t. It was horrible to meet her.

The point is, that’s weird, right? To just pound on a ceiling like that? If you know the person, and you’ve discussed their loudness before, that’s one thing. But to use the ceiling pound as a form of communication with someone you’ve never actually met? Maybe she didn’t realize that humans lived above her. Like she was trying to send a message to the ceiling itself.

I’ve lived underneath loud people before, and it sucks. I’m pretty sure the clompers who lived above me in Greenpoint spend most of their days wrestling on the ground in outfits made of solid pewter. But Sarah and I are not loud. And also, if you’re reading this, girl below me? I have been listening to you make some repetitive thumping noise for an hour every day since you moved in. Have I ever said anything to you about it? I totally have not. Because a person is allowed to make a repetitive thumping noise in her apartment if she wishes, as long as it’s not like 2 o’ clock in the morning or whatever. Anyway, if you are reading this, I hate you, so please stop reading my blog.

On a totally different subject: how strange is it that Amy Winehouse’s most well-known song is about how she refuses to go to rehab? There is not a stitch of irony in that song. It’s as if Britney Spears sang a song called “I Totally Have No Talent.” Exactly as if that.

And also, I’ve started putting stuff up on Awkward. If you’re so inclined, please visit and read and join the mailing list!