Brooklyn, why so sad?

Saturday I made my way to Williamsburg to leave my treasured Martin DCME Guitar in to get fixed. My aggressive playing style and very humid weather resulted in a much needed set up/fine tuning/adjustment/something. As I walked through williamsburg from the L train south something struck me as I passed the super trendy bars, deli's, restaurants, and stores. Why is everyone so fucking miserable? If this is the place to be, how come the residents look like they're being held there against their will?

I dropped the guitar off and didn't find the people particularly friendly. As I walked back I took a detour were upon I found a beautiful little park right on the water. It was raining lightly and the east river resembled white water rapids. Myself, a young girl reading and three hasidic Jewish guys found a moment of peace.

My aggravation was just leaving me in the light rain when a rapper proceeded to shoot a music video right behind me. I hadn't noticed the Two camera guys setup. The boom box blasted out that awful noise that was him rapping. He pulled some shapes and sang/mimed along as the camera guys filmed away. Seconds later a white stretch hummer pulled up with a gaggle of young women/his bitches and burst from it like confetti from a clown's cannon. I'm done! I left. The faces on the hasidic Jews was, well, priceless. I walked back through the miserable sodden faced pseudo poor struggling artistic elite over hearing one mundane conversation after the next. Example:

A Young white quiet man with chatty Asian wife pushing a baby in a buggy. An older man in his Fifties walking slightly ahead of them.

Asian Woman: Um, have you seen the movie Superbad?

Older Guy: (Shouting) NO I HAVE NOT!

Asian Woman: (Apologetic) I think you'd like it...(trails off)


I stumble across The Surf Bar which is as great as my girlfriend repeatedly tells me. I enter and grab a beer at the bar and watch the rain outside. My guitar will be ready next Thursday, I hope they don't screw it up. I listen to the regulars and grab a second. A girl sets fire to her hair by leaning over a candle on the bar. Minor panic. The guys to my right get hammered on cocktails and all I want to do is stay the evening and listen some more. People talk about the strange burning smell. I pull out the book I'm reading and finish the last chapter. Ignore Everybody by Hugh MacLeod. Williamsburg may not be for me but it's never not interesting.

I ride the subway home with a bag full of song lyrics I wrote ten years ago. I wouldn't even know who that person is anymore. I switch at Union and arrive in the hustle and bustle of Astoria. The florescent fruit stalls light up the wet ground. Manic laughter blasts from the Athens Cafe. The people in my building smile and say hello. I pick up my old cheap guitar, the one I played for years and try to sing over the opera singer doing scales in the apartment across the courtyard. No luck. He's getting better, not bad for a waiter. It is nice to live amongst people who love to live where they live. The real working class smile. If the rain stops I'll go for a walk around my neighbourhood, that always cheers me up.