This coming weekend I will celebrate the anniversary of my 4th year living in Brooklyn with my roommate, Spoony. Brooklyn’s changed a lot over the years. Most notably would be story of Williamsburg, the once immigrant haven turned local turned hipster trustafarian neighborhood. Where you once saw local butchers, tailors and other businesses you now see health food stores, “concept bars” and wholesale ironic tee-shirt markets.
Thankfully I don’t live in Williamsburg. Well, according to zoning regulations, my building is on the farthest outskirts of this conclave of the simply-trying-too-hard-to-be-different. Where I live is a little rough around the edges, to say the least. Spoons and I made the conscious decision to pay less, have more room and not give a shit that we’re not in a cool neighborhood. It’s paid us back in dividends of late night/early morning parties, bootleg everything, little noise constraints and quite literally a dance floor in the middle of our pad.
Unfortunately, most of our friends don’t share our disdain for the manufactured ambiance and perceived quality of life that these newly gentrified other regions of the city provide. Every time we have a party, planned or not, we have to go through the rigmarole of assuring people that it’s OK to park on our street. That yes, they can take the subway there. Yes, the J,M,Z line is an actual subway and it does run after dark. No, there are not roving gangs in burnt out school buses patrolling Bushwick looking for white women. Etc.
With everyone finally over their stigmas we have a good time, hang out and all is well.
Until today’s Sound of Dread is heard.
The Sound of Dread for October 25th, 2006 is:
The Loud Booming Noise That Probably Isn’t a Gun Shot, But You Definitely Thought It Was for At Least Five Seconds.
Every time I have people over a truck will unfailingly drive over a large metal grate, causing this booming sound. In all reality, it doesn’t actually sound like the thunderclap of a firearm discharging – but I can see on my friends’ faces that they think it was.
It may be slightly dreadful for them to think that there was a gunshot near by… but it’s actually kind of funny watching the pained look of fear turn into questioning and then eventual acceptance that it was just a truck and then finally into guilt at assuming it was a gunshot simply because I live in a poor neighborhood.