"I don't know . . . it's awfully close to Bedford-Stuyvesant."

I'm starting to think living in my neighborhood blows.

For those who have visited me, I can already hear your laughter piercing through the distance of three states. I don't know why today was the day when I started to hate even more the trash piles and dog shit and the laundromat that is smack in the middle of the projects and the abandoned mini-van on the street next to my building. But I could no longer convince myself that it was a small inconvenience in return for cheap rent.

For those who haven't had the pleasure, "East" Williamsburg is on the edge of hipsterdom -- an edge that is slowly pushing into Bushwick. Perhaps my hood is like what Williamsburg proper used to be like 10 years ago . . . if Williamsburg consisted only of old textile factories. But I'm tired of being a pioneer. I'm tired of telling myself I'm one of the cool kids and that living in a demilitarized zone is a badge of honor.

Sure there's the Archive, Kings County, and Life Cafe -- two bright spots in my urban blight of a neighborhood. And make no mistake, I still love New York . . . but oh to be infinitely wealthy so I could live somewhere else with a lower trash to people ratio.

Who knows. Maybe the neighborhood will surprise me before the lease runs out in September.