Ear plugs, please: When Ultra is in your back yard

Feel the beat is right.

As the old timers say — well, Generation X-ers — Ultra is on like Donkey Kong.

The international electronic music festival founded in 1999 in Miami, Ultra started up its incessant thumping at its home of Bayfront Park Friday and ends its incessant thumping Sunday.

Not a moment too soon for me.

OK, so I’m crotchety. I have every right to be.

We asked seniors to respond to the annual craziness at Miami's Ultra Music Festival.

That is because I have the good fortune of living in a downtown condo on the bay a couple doors up from the thundering madness.

The 32-acre park, where all the outdoor — loud — concerts are held, is at 301 Biscayne Boulevard.

I live less than a mile away. But my building may as well be 14 feet away.

Not on purpose, mind you, but I have since moved apartments and now face north, overlooking Margaret Pace Park. This has cut down on the noise, considerably.

Back in 2011, when I faced the concert stage when it was stationed at even closer Bicentennial Park (it moved back to Bayfront the following year), the weekend was pretty, um, dramatic. It was as if Ultra were being held in my living room. Or I had been magically transported to Ibiza (that would be fine, actually).

Some of the music didn’t sound like music at all, really. Just intense, heavy, ear splitting bass. And this was a sold-out annual event where people were paying up to $500 for a ticket?

I recall a day when my walls literally vibrated. Outdoor furniture moved by itself. I had a headache that no amount of Excedrin could cure.

My daughters were 1 and 3 at the time and they seemed to be enjoying the nonstop beat of EDM (that’s short for electronic dance music, for the unindoctrinated, fortunate few). My older one bopped her head and put her hand against the glass window on the terrace, mystified as to why it was shaking. The baby slept better than usual — maybe the back to back concerts reminded the child of my heart beat in the womb.

I did get lucky that year, though. As a kid growing up in the 1980s, I adored Duran Duran, and they put on a terrific show.

I got my binoculars out, watched Simon LeBon stomp about, singing signature songs like “Hungry Like A Wolf,” and enjoyed the free concert.

This year, however, as I was recently diagnosed with hypertension (thanks, Publix blood pressure machine), I am not pumped to hear the latest sounds from the DJs du jour. Though I do have full respect for the likes of Afrobeta, Armin Van Buuren and Hardwell.

So I opted for a staycation — on quiet South Beach.