Thirty years ago, Bushwick burned; today, it’s being slapped with a disorderly conduct summons. I know that I probably shouldn’t lambaste people in search of love but I just can’t help myself. Doing some research on Bushwick last night (yes, actual research), I stumbled upon the following Craigslist “Missed Connection”:

mckibbin lofts roof party the cops broke up – w4m – 22
NYU Philosophy student! I was talking to you on the upper roof deck Friday night. I threw a beer can before climbing down. I’m a girl (duh), shortish brown hair, recent Columbia grad, trying to be a writer. The fucking cops got me and I had to follow them downstairs to get my bullshit summons. You seemed nice and I thought you were cute. You must be smart too, cause you got away from the goddamn police. Email me!

Do I feel sorry for this young woman? Not a bit, I fear. First of all, is this the finest prose we can expect from the graduate of school that nurtured the likes of Allen Ginsberg and Langston Hughes? I might use better words than “cute,” “smart” and “nice” to describe the potential mate of my dreams. Also, how does one “try” to be a writer? I imagine that all one needs is a MacBook and the $3 requisite to score a soy latte and table space at Potion or the Archive. Last I checked, both were in ample supply around these parts.

What really piques my sense of civic pride, however, is the beer can that seems to have been tossed by our lovestruck friend as she was on the verge of an encounter with New York’s Finest. I knew guys who used to throw beer cans from apartment windows — when they were in high school. Perhaps the mysterious Casanova in question, a Philosophy student at NYU, could have discoursed on Emmanuel Kant’s categorical imperative, which stipulates that an action is moral based on whether one can imagine everyone else in the world doing it.

Now, can you imagine everyone in Bushwick (forget the entire world for now) throwing beer cans, chicken bones and other refuse on the street? If that were the case, we would live in a neighborhood with perpetually dirty streets, besotted sidewalks, and a battered housing stock that is only affordable to enterprising young “artists” because it has been neglected for so long. Oh, wait, nevermind. Scratch that last paragraph. Party on, cans away!