I’ll have to take your word for it. The way I figure it, there’s a neighbor-to-neighbor noise spectrum on which everybody is constantly, even unconsciously evaluating everyone who lives around them.
On one end of the spectrum is the concept of “I don’t want to be that guy who calls the cops about this fucking noise, but I LITERALLY HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP FOR THREE DAYS.” I suppose the other end of the spectrum would be something like “all these fellows have been so quiet and considerate that they could give their collectible sirens a couple of good blasts, and I’d be happy for the break in the near-oppressive silence.”
See, the thing is, everywhere I’ve ever lived, I have been just about a notch and a half below the “I’m going to call the fucking cops” end of the spectrum. Always. The whole time.
Here’s a non-exhaustive (but certainly exhausting) set of examples, off the top of my head: dogs barking over and over and over, kids screaming, people deciding they just HAVE to mow the lawn at 6:00 AM on a Saturday, people with speaker systems that literally count as earthquake simulation machines, people who think it’s hilarious to illegally modify their muscle cars’ exhaust systems to basically have no muffler, people running their wood jointer machine for so long that I can only imagine they’re operating an illegal, untaxed lumber supply racket, people interminably screaming at their spouses and significant enemies in their driveways and on the sidewalks, etc, on and on.
It’s just a ceaseless and endlessly varied cacophony of fucking sound, from these rude motherfuckers. If any one of the shitheads who has lived near me over the last 40-something years had ever started collecting sirens, I would have lost my mind in the same arguably constructive way that young Bruce Wayne lost his marbles. There would be some guy called “Decibel Dude” stalking the streets, pouring sugar in leafblower gas tanks, muzzling dogs, removing chains from chainsaws and blades from lawnmowers, and whatever else I could think of to FINALLY MAKE PEOPLE JUST A LITTLE FUCKING QUIETER, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
I’m just saying. Your world of “we’re all respectfully quiet, around here” is an utterly alien utopia, from where I’m sitting.
It’s illegal for us to set the sirens off willy nilly in most places, as it would cause a panic. Most of us (myself included) wait until the city tests their main sirens to set ours off, or on special occasions like New Years and Fourth of July/Canada Day. We’re very aware of how our hobby affects others and those who don’t learn very quickly when the neighbours get pissed.
I can only imagine they’re operating an illegal, untaxed lumber supply racket
my wife is a woodworker. she thought it ‘wasn’t that noisy for the neighbors if the garage door was closed’ lololol
that and neighborhood kids running around blasting bluetooth speakers at 2 in the fucking morning (like, 10 year olds!) I’m right there with you man, I want a quiet street and the world is conspiring against it.
And re: the vroom vroom fuckwits - oh my fucking god. About a half mile from my house is a main thoroughfare and some nights the fuckwits all try to see who can dump the most unburned gas out of their turbocharged shitmobiles generating 100+db because at my house it’s still fucking ear-splitting and they’re all the way over there with half a subdivision between.
meanwhile the world burns more each day, vroom vroom
The vroom vroom motherfuckers are absolutely the worst. Years ago, a feral cat had her kittens on our back porch. I was present to witness the litter of kittens emerging from the nest the mother cat had made, behind an outdoor shelving unit and a garden hose. These little fuckers had NEVER SEEN THE WORLD OUTSIDE THAT SPACE. They were all emerging at once, six little innocent balls of fluff, cuter than anyone could adequately describe. They had made it about ten inches into the outside world when some shithead started blasting his fucking engine, on the road past my fence.
The poor little fuckers jumped in unison and squeezed themselves back into the den, in a complete state of panic. They didn’t come out again for another day, at least.
So yeah, Mr. Big Masculine High Displacement Fuckoff Engine, out there…was he pulling chicks with that shit? Was he impressing ANYONE, at all, of any species? Nah. What he was doing was scaring the shit out of 14-day-old kittens. Fucking congratulations to his ass.
I’ll have to take your word for it. The way I figure it, there’s a neighbor-to-neighbor noise spectrum on which everybody is constantly, even unconsciously evaluating everyone who lives around them.
On one end of the spectrum is the concept of “I don’t want to be that guy who calls the cops about this fucking noise, but I LITERALLY HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP FOR THREE DAYS.” I suppose the other end of the spectrum would be something like “all these fellows have been so quiet and considerate that they could give their collectible sirens a couple of good blasts, and I’d be happy for the break in the near-oppressive silence.”
See, the thing is, everywhere I’ve ever lived, I have been just about a notch and a half below the “I’m going to call the fucking cops” end of the spectrum. Always. The whole time.
Here’s a non-exhaustive (but certainly exhausting) set of examples, off the top of my head: dogs barking over and over and over, kids screaming, people deciding they just HAVE to mow the lawn at 6:00 AM on a Saturday, people with speaker systems that literally count as earthquake simulation machines, people who think it’s hilarious to illegally modify their muscle cars’ exhaust systems to basically have no muffler, people running their wood jointer machine for so long that I can only imagine they’re operating an illegal, untaxed lumber supply racket, people interminably screaming at their spouses and significant enemies in their driveways and on the sidewalks, etc, on and on.
It’s just a ceaseless and endlessly varied cacophony of fucking sound, from these rude motherfuckers. If any one of the shitheads who has lived near me over the last 40-something years had ever started collecting sirens, I would have lost my mind in the same arguably constructive way that young Bruce Wayne lost his marbles. There would be some guy called “Decibel Dude” stalking the streets, pouring sugar in leafblower gas tanks, muzzling dogs, removing chains from chainsaws and blades from lawnmowers, and whatever else I could think of to FINALLY MAKE PEOPLE JUST A LITTLE FUCKING QUIETER, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
I’m just saying. Your world of “we’re all respectfully quiet, around here” is an utterly alien utopia, from where I’m sitting.
It’s illegal for us to set the sirens off willy nilly in most places, as it would cause a panic. Most of us (myself included) wait until the city tests their main sirens to set ours off, or on special occasions like New Years and Fourth of July/Canada Day. We’re very aware of how our hobby affects others and those who don’t learn very quickly when the neighbours get pissed.
Well, it’s legitimately good to hear (pun intended) that y’all are responsible siren owners.
Honestly, I didn’t even vaguely suspect that siren collecting was a thing until I had this conversation.
Haha, people are always surprised when they find out the hobby exists. It’s certainly niche!
my wife is a woodworker. she thought it ‘wasn’t that noisy for the neighbors if the garage door was closed’ lololol
that and neighborhood kids running around blasting bluetooth speakers at 2 in the fucking morning (like, 10 year olds!) I’m right there with you man, I want a quiet street and the world is conspiring against it.
And re: the vroom vroom fuckwits - oh my fucking god. About a half mile from my house is a main thoroughfare and some nights the fuckwits all try to see who can dump the most unburned gas out of their turbocharged shitmobiles generating 100+db because at my house it’s still fucking ear-splitting and they’re all the way over there with half a subdivision between.
meanwhile the world burns more each day, vroom vroom
The vroom vroom motherfuckers are absolutely the worst. Years ago, a feral cat had her kittens on our back porch. I was present to witness the litter of kittens emerging from the nest the mother cat had made, behind an outdoor shelving unit and a garden hose. These little fuckers had NEVER SEEN THE WORLD OUTSIDE THAT SPACE. They were all emerging at once, six little innocent balls of fluff, cuter than anyone could adequately describe. They had made it about ten inches into the outside world when some shithead started blasting his fucking engine, on the road past my fence.
The poor little fuckers jumped in unison and squeezed themselves back into the den, in a complete state of panic. They didn’t come out again for another day, at least.
So yeah, Mr. Big Masculine High Displacement Fuckoff Engine, out there…was he pulling chicks with that shit? Was he impressing ANYONE, at all, of any species? Nah. What he was doing was scaring the shit out of 14-day-old kittens. Fucking congratulations to his ass.