I first moved to New York City from a small New England "cow town." I'm really not kidding about the cow town part. If you don't believe me, take a look at this Wikipedia page about my hometown.
To back this up, I should also mention that in high school we experienced a 30 minute baseball "cow delay" after a bevy of bovines moseyed onto the field, casually grazing on the luscious expands of left center.
Life in the country was quiet and I became accustomed to the tranquil stillness of the night, often being lulled to sleep by the sounds of chirping crickets.
Seeking more adventure, excitement, and non farming-related jobs, I found myself relocating to Brooklyn — more specifically, the border of Bedford Stuyvesant and Clinton Hill.
Let's see what the web has to say about my new community.
My new neighborhood also came with a new nickname: "Vietnam." Admittedly it lacked the small town charm of "Cow Town," but it's good to know I'm at least living in areas known for something.
As you would expect, this shift in scenery put a serious crimp in my nocturnal routine. I now found myself being lulled to sleep by the incessant chirping of city crickets.
It was at this time I discovered why New York is considered "the city that never sleeps," but I was sure it wasn't for lack of trying.
After several months of sleepless nights, I finally became adjusted and even accustomed to all the sounds of the city — so much so that whenever I'd venture back to cow town, I'd find myself lying awake, listening to the now eery silences of the country.
So now I'd finally become adjusted to the sirens, shots and screams of the night, entering some of the deepest sleep I'd experienced in years.
That is until my new neighbor moved in. He turned out to be a mime, and his silence kept me up until all hours of the night, as he practiced his routine. Walking against wind. Trapped in a box. Pulling a rope.
I couldn't take it. His silence was deafening.
I wasn't going to let this mime cheat me of the sleep that I'd so diligently paid my dues to get. Something had to be done. So one night when I couldn't take his silence anymore, I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.
I turned my stereo up full-blast, pushed the speakers against the wall and pressed play on a blank tape.
There's nothing more satisfying then hearing a mime scream. And to this day, I've never not heard from him again.
Walking, it’s something we all do everyday, but not something we all do well. Its more than just left foot/right foot (or right foot/left foot depending on your religious beliefs) there are actual rules to abide by.
Rule 1: Umbrella Chicken On a rainy day, such as yesterday, I don’t enjoy playing umbrella chicken with oncoming walkers. If I’m coming at you and I have my umbrella low, go high. If I have my umbrella high, go low. It’s an easy game that even the smallest tot can master. Practice in your mirror at home, it’s fun!
Rule 2: The Crotch Pendulum This one goes out to all the ladies out there. Some of you put a little too much swing into your arm when you're walking. It may feel so right to you, but it feels so wrong to an oncoming walkers "cash & prizes." So unless you’re competing for a place on the US Speed Skating team, try to keep the swing arm to a minimum. Do it for the balls, they would do it for you.
Rule 3: Stay In Formation When walking down a sidewalk there is a correct formation to walking depending on how many people you’re traveling with. The example below illustrates the correct and incorrect formations when traveling with 4 people. Note that in the correct formation everyone has a chatting partner. In the incorrect formation one person is trailed behind, an outcast to all – pushed to the back of the herd and susceptible to all predatory animals.
(Correct walking formation when traveling with 4 people) 0 0 0 0
(Incorrect walking formation when traveling with 4 people) 0 0 0 0
(Correct walking formation when walking on the set of the HBO series Entourage)
0 0 0 0
There are many-many-many more rules to walking, but these are all lessons I will have to leave for another time. Until then, keep your laces crossed and your legs straight.
I’ve lived on the border of Bed-Stuy and Clinton Hill Brooklyn for around four years now, and every few months I would fire a few shots into the night sky from my apartment window to keep my rent stabilized. Rent control mutha suckas! But despite my best efforts, my neighborhood has officially become trendy and with trend comes increased rent. Yea!
Is your "up and coming" neighborhood coming up? Recognize the signs and act before it’s too late.
*The appearance of a thrift shop *The disappearance of a bulletproof bodega *A record store (that actually sells records) *Several Bohemian bagel/coffee shops *Asian infiltration *White people with dreadlocks *A lounge *People walking with instrument cases *Loud band practices *Outdoor cafes *New construction of luxury condos *Art galleries *Increase in actually good street graffiti *Babies *Widespread gentrification *An explosion of ethnic restaurants *Pups *More lights *More stoplights *Increased police patrol *Open mic nights
TBA *A hookah bar *Tattoo parlor *Influx of bars serving PBR cans *An American Apparel Store
Most people outside the window of my Brooklyn apartment blast bad music. This guy decided to blast dialogue from the movie "Full Metal Jacket," it was a nice change.
Seriously – Does anyone know why every tree in the city (especially in the outer boroughs) are covered with audio tape? If you haven’t noticed this phenomenon, just look up in a tree.
Did everyone in the early 90’s go “I’ve got a CD player now – Screw this cassette bullshit!” then proceeded to strip the tape from their Jodeci ‘Cassingles’ streaming them across Brooklyn tree tops.
I still happen to cherish my MTV Unplugged version of Jodeci’s Cassingle ‘Lately’...almost as much as I cherish you mom. Snap.
This weekend I had the pleasure of seeing "drunken ghetto Santa" at the Atlantic Avenue Mall in Brooklyn. He was sitting outside of the Target and was all slouched down in his chair. Three women walked by and he proceeded to leer and mumble something about being naughty or nice in their direction.
The women looked over at Santa and replied “Ok Santa, whatever.” (snaps fingers and shakes head) Santa smirked and continued to leer at the three women and just as they passed by his chair he pointed at each one with a dark outstretched finger saying:
In my neighborhood the Fourth of July is a magical time. A time too good to be celebrated on just one day. This is a time when our nations birthday must and I stress MUST be milked far past the limits of good taste. At least this is the zeitgeist of all who dwell in the apartments adjacent to my Clinton Hill Brooklyn apartment. They kick the 4th off with a celebration so annoyingly loud, it couldn't be enjoyed on just the 4th. Nope, our pyrotechnics extravaganza is instead celebrated on the 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, and the10th of July. And on the 9th day they rest, because their $50 stockpile of Chinatown bottle rockets runnith low.
Is this the ghetto Hanukkah I wonder to myself? Eight crazy nights? I’m not sure about all that, however it is a “Festival of Lights” but only part of the time, because most of the fireworks are being shot off in the afternoon! What-the-fun is that? Fireworks are for nighttime enjoyment! How else are you supposed to see the oxidizer mix with the ambient air to supply a brilliant glowing reaction? C’mon peeps!!!
So I thought I’d be Mr. Funny Man and buy a megaphone to project my own comedic play-by-play out my window at the people shooting off the fireworks (and the noisy patrons at the bar across the street). My friend (Chad) said I should have gotten a paintball gun to snipe them with, but I said; “No. I don’t want to hurt anyone; I just want to yell at them from behind the safe anonymity of my window curtain. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain! I am the great and powerful OZ!!!” Well, ok. So I didn’t say the part about being “OZ”, but I was thinking it.
So I go on eBay and order a megaphone for $16 (plus shipping and handling) and it was delivered to me three days ago. And wouldn’t you know it; in those three days the noise has subsided. I’m over here dying to use this thing and where has the noise gone! Why God of fire and gunpowder?! When I want the noise it’s not here! Until last night at 3am when a car pulled up to the bar across the street and the driver turned his stereo up full blast. He ran into the bar and left his car running in the street, the chassis sitting there rumbling from the bass. I go to finally use my megaphone, but not only isn’t the guy in his car to hear my snide comments, but his stereo is louder than the amplification of my megaphone. Now I wish I got that paintball gun, he left his sunroof open and everything.
The Acorn King is a human being living on planet Earth. He firmly believes that with hard work and dedication, he will one day grace the cover of Cat Fancy.
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