Shut up, I'm trying to study!

Those of you that well acquainted with me know two things: 1) I have been in school for bloody ever, and 2) I really fret about not doing well on my final exams. You likely also know that I write my final Auditing exam on Monday. As such, I have devoted this weekend to studying, but I am having difficulty doing this. See, some brain damaged individual is playing some "music" (I use the term loosely) too loudly for my taste, and it has essentially become a countdown till the minute the twitch in my eye starts and I rush out into the street, frantically searching for the source of this shitty, horrible noise, and burst into this individual's apartment, yank the electrical cord of their sound system out of the wall and wrap it around their freakin' neck.
I might quickly interject here, that earlier in the day I had to deal with a small Lear-type jet intent on strafing Kerrisdale. It would go roaring past, sending people fleeing for cover (I mean seriously, since 9/11 I think we all get a little paranoid when we get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, that plane is flying somewhat lower than it should). Michael informed me that the pilot was practicing his "touch and go" procedures. Mostly that just made me mad that he would even know what the hell that meant. Touch and go. So similar to our very relationship: he touches me, and I go have a shower.
Anyways, back to the topic of audacious noise assailing me. It's like a mix of Zanfir, Celtic bag pipes and Native American chanting with a disco beat. And it's being played loudly, which I don't necessarily mind on a sunny Saturday afternoon in my 'hood: if it's not cack. And it's started me wondering: who would listen to this? Is it old people who are deaf? Is it young people that have no idea what real music is? And lastly, when I play my music loud it's because I've had a glass or two of wine and I want to rock out a bit. Who is rocking out to this? I mean, are they flying around dancing a mad jig and wigging out on flutes in their living room?
Ah, sweet relief. The music has stopped. The bustle and honking of the traffic on 41st, cars rolling past with their vibrating bass, the chirping of cars being alarmed and de-alarmed and people twisting their tires forty-six times back and forth as they parallel park outside my apartment is music to my ears.
Oh - I spoke too soon! It's back. Now it's a flute mixture coupled with what appears to be a Gregorian monk chant. Someone is going to perish in Kerrisdale this afternoon. It's "touch and go". All I need is an ice cream truck, with it's tinkly, blaring tune (that makes me hungry), to break down out front.