Remember the crazy Russian...

tennis pro named Milos that couldn't actually play tennis from Seinfeld?  Well, he and his wife and their multitude of racket-making, racket-bearing children have moved into the building.  They drove up one dark night in a rickety racket-making blue van and made their presence known.  With a racket.  Sorry - I can't help myself.  And people wonder why it's hard to learn English - you make a racket with your racket - or without one.  Anyhow, just when I thought the noise had subsided - or I had at least gotten used to it - the problems with the van began.  With even more racket - early in the morning as the brood filed like ducklings behind their father both bearing and making - you guessed it - a racket on their way to early morning tennis practice at IMG Academies.  I mean, that's where they must be going.  Why else would tennis-playing Russians move to Bradenton, Florida?  Milos, despite the horrific racket emanating from the van's engine, would not be convinced that it was not at some point going to start and convey the racketeers to their morning lessons.  This went on for at least twenty minutes - and then the arguing began.  In Russian - Mrs. Milos was not pleased, or so I assumed.  After some deliberation, a taxi was summoned and off they went.  Upon their return in the late afternoon, Milos decided to take another run at the malfunctioning van - to no avail.  Well, other than the screeching of the ignition as he cranked it over and over again.  And again.  This apparently Eastern European method of car repair - or perhaps engine diagnosis - continued well into the evening.  This morning, after just a few attempts at starting the dead van, Milos finally - thank You, Lord - called for a tow truck and dispatched the vehicle to a mechanic.  Or a junkyard.  I'm not sure which.  Milos, clad in his navy blue I'm-a-tennis-dad sweatsuit/uniform, his trusty tennis racket on his shoulder trudged off behind the tow truck.  I'm like James Stewart in Rear Window - watching and reporting on the lives of my neighbors.

If there's a murder, you'll be the first to know.