Location, location, location

Last night, after I had finally drifted off to a troubled sleep (my mind was wanting to watch another episode of Scrubs, but my body was saying no) I was awoken by the all-too-familiar sound of the Bros (our collegiately inclined neighbors who, after having their fraternity disbanded, decided to replace the Sigma Nu Kappa house with Unit 101 in the Becker Building). Normally the revelry is kept to gangsta rap, screaming at the Eagles/Owls (the teams, I don't live anywhere near a conservatory) and the infinite repeat of 300.

Last night, however, there was a new aspect to the white noise of drunken debauchery. (Some people, after moving from the city to a more rural area have a hard time adjusting to the silence - they say they miss the sound of traffic. I personally am lulled to sleep by the pleasant melodies of "chug, chug, chug" and "Smack that Bitch Up.") Last night there was angry yelling.

The Bros were being yelled at by the across-street-neighbors. It was scary. This was real city-folk getting quite mad at one another. Words and phrases that I dare not repeat were thrown about.

Since I live in the CBL I was sure there was about to be a shooting. I was noting times and exact phrases, remembering things very closely for the police report...and then it occurred to me. I am surrounded by a bunch of yupsters. I live in a neighborhood famous for its rejection of franchises, preservatives and shampoo.

By now there is certainly a law suit pending. My testimony goes to the highest bidder. (Now I must go look up whether blogs can be used as hard evidence.)