Way too quiet

It's quiet. Oh so supremely quiet. Only the sound of Airwalks and Adidas Campus' and baggy pant legs brushing against each other are heard as you walk through Reddendale. The only sound you can hear is Weezer blasting through your Sony Discman. No cars are driving through the neighbourhood at 10:00 pm on a winter night in January. The only sound is you grunting as you lug a 60 pound amp across a park through snow with a bass on your back to jam before you stop and decide to just sit and listen to Op Ivy or watch Much Music Spotlight on REM. Growing up with such extreme silence and nothing really to do usually causes you to rebel in a loud fashion. This can mean kicking over a recycling bin or lighting off fire crackers or anything that will result in a large banging noise. Smashing an empty botte of beer you stole from your dad? Think of being in Toronto amongst sirens and cars honking, people yelling, music blasting out of store fronts and restaurants and clubs. Hearing someone kick over a recycling bin isn't going to make a difference, no one will probably even notice or hear it at all actually. However, in a neighbourhood that was infinitely silent like mine making a big loud noise would make a big difference and would be exciting. In fact it would probably make headlines in the township newspaper. So, playing bass on the front porch or pulling the hood ornament on my neighbour's Cadillac to make the horn beep was always a promising way to break the silence and get your adrenaline racing as you ran and hurdled hedges back your own yard. That was usually just the time I had to be home anyways, just in time to watch the Wedge or catch Rancid as the musical guest on Saturday Night Live.