Monthly Archives: April 2008

What’s the Deal with This Guy?

I am sick of my roommate and his brazen attempts to live in our apartment.

He’s always walking around, saying things to me, and trying to sit around doing things near me!

Just look at this guy!

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Just because you handle all the bills, and half of this random junk, that one poster, and most of this furniture is yours does not mean that you can come home when I am trying to do art projects on your kitchen table or watch re-runs of the Hills in my underwear on your couch at 8 pm!

Look at him over there, eating one tiny $1.89 pizza one after the other SEEMINGLY NEVER ENDING and looking at webcomics like nothing is wrong!

I AM TRYING TO SING THE ENTIRE SIDE B OF HIS COPY OF RUBBER SOUL WHILE I DO THE DISHES! DOESN’T HE KNOW IT’S WEDNESDAY!?!?!!?!?!

DOESN’T HE KNOW ANYTHING OTHER THAN FACTS ABOUT CANADA AND TAXES!?

Sometimes I wonder. I really do.

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The Screamers.

So, I get it that my neighbors could certainly be worse. In New York City, you’re basically lucky if you don’t live in the same building as one of the perps from “Law and Order: SVU” who is, like, dehydrating and storing the bodies of little children in his/her broom closet to use as visually interesting decorative art, fun sex toys for exploring his/her wilder side, or maybe to make jerky out of. But I’m starting to feel like that wouldn’t even be so bad, because hey, dead people are quiet, and whatever, everyone has a hobby.

My neighbors across the alley are probably not murderers, but they absolutely ARE aliens (No, not the kind from Mexico or Poland, silly. The kind from Mars.). My roommate and I call them “the screamers.” In case you can’t guess, it’s because they spend every waking hour screaming at each other. Again, not that special. EXCEPT that they are, by all accounts, yelling at each other in an extraterrestrial non-language, and their apartment (which is the same size as mine) is small enough that an inside voice will suffice to communicate between parties unless one of those parties is deaf or wearing earmuffs. With the screamers, anything is possible.

A study of the screamers has yielded the below information:

The screamers keep their shades drawn closed, except in their kitchen/lair, where they go down to about 1 1/2 feet above the windowsill. That 1 1/2 feet reveals the following:

1. They collect newspapers and magazines

2. They have a whimsical cardboard cat in the window

3. They are probably squidbillies.

neighbees!

4. They own a laptop and only use it to play solitaire (all the time. always. never ceasing)

5. There are between 2 and 10 of them

6. They never sleep. Or they sleep in the daytime while we are at work (and if the latter is the case, they can tell when one of us is home, and it makes them scream).

7. They might be mentally retarded, which makes me feel sad and not want to make fun of them. But they seem more insane than anything else. Also, whatever they are ruining my peace and quiet.

One time, I saw one. Just one. The old man (?). He had a wife beater on and was crouching by the window we can’t usually see into. He waited until I walked in front of my window and then he aimed a high-power flashlight beam on me.

This is actually a true story. I know you think it isn’t, but it is.

That’s right. He waited in the darkness, and then he spotlighted me.

I hit the deck. And stayed on it for a pretty long time, just sort of whimpering. I eventually crawled to safety.

I now sometimes lay awake hoping that the screamers aren’t physically fit enough to invade our apartment by jumping or swinging on a very short rope across the alley and into our kitchen window.

The one who spotlighted me looked exactly how I imagined they looked, which is roughly like this:

my neighbor

and to some extent this:

my neighbors, some fan art

I wonder what they are screaming about. What are they saying? What are they thinking? Are they thinking of me? There are no answers. With the screamers, down is up and in is out. For now I’ll just keep sleeping with my fan on as loud as it can go, with a blunt object next to my bed, dreaming Brooklyn dreams.

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Living In Brooklyn Is Awesome In Every Possible Way

I once told a room (well, Internet room) full of people that, in Brooklyn, it “rained flowers.” Of course, it does not do that. Mostly it is like this.

But living in Brooklyn is still great! Here is some examples of all the fun that you can be having for happiness:

  1. Blogs
  2. People wear incredibly stupid-looking things
  3. Eating (note: not after 8 PM)
  4. Gentrifying stuff
  5. Complaining about #2 through #4

No. Brooklyn is a tense place. One time a guy spit on me from a moving car. This woman who isn’t our landlady refuses to talk to me, although she also accepts my rent. (Or some other lady does. I don’t know.) The general perception is that we are rich jerks.

Of course, the irony here is that we are the poorest people on our block, because everyone else pays approximately $8 per decade in rent, because they have been living on the block for 912 years, and that is how rent control works. Plus we are fairly poor even by normal standards, and they all drive two cars and smoke Cuban cigars and… drink in fancy bars, while we sit on the couch watching reruns and not turning the lights on because lights cost money. So whatever.

Our block also features:

  1. Block parties (we are sort of implicitly not invited to these, and last year we both hid inside with the curtains closed)
  2. A bunch of punk 10-year-olds that throw bikes at their little sister
  3. There was a big frigging fire in 2004 or so, and like 10 houses were damaged, and so everybody banded together by putting up really terrible looking fake stucco and brick on all of those houses, so all of those houses look like crap
  4. A diner at the end of the block where there’s no soda fountain and everything is made out of the same ingredients you buy at the grocery store, except not always cooked all the way through
  5. A pretty sweet Iranian bodega
  6. One time an armored car got robbed while people were eating at the diner

Welcome to Brooklyn! Official motto: “we’re going to kill you, except if it doesn’t happen to be a high-crime era in the city’s history, in which case we’ll just be sort of snobby and rude.” We hope you will ❤ it here.

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