Two shit-talkin' ladies, one Brooklyn stoop, legions of yupsters, and a cooler of beer.
Oh yes, we are disenchanted. We sit on our Brooklyn stoop and watch duo after duo of yupples cycle by in matching helmets, overhear pseudo hippies discussing wealth preservation skills, and observe an
unending parade of toddlers and dogs clad in outfits more expensive than our own. We are surrounded by an ever-expanding clique of upscale boutiques, specialty shoppes, and restaurants from which we are economic exiles.
We graduated college, we have professional jobs, and we each earn about half of what our garbageman makes. But we have great deals on rent and are near every subway. And we are trapped.
Around us, our neighbors have grown soft in their wealthy brownstone comfort. We've checked out their Brooklyn blogs, and this just in: They forgot how to rock.
Is this the new Brooklyn? What happened to stoop culture? Are we the only ones who are like, "What the fuck?" This blog is dedicated to the resurrection of hanging out on the stoop and recording the antics that happen when people stoop to our level.
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