At least three staff members of the New York Observer live in Williamsburg, the Brooklyn neighborhood where every description was already a cliché like, ten years ago, dude. And they're determined to parlay their job at a somewhat relevant media outlet into some easy hipster sex this summer. So today they put together a long and infuriating package about living the post-college high life in "Williamsburg College." The two theses of the story are "Williamsburg does not blow!" and "it's not that different from college anyway." Only one of which is true.
Like all of the Observer's Williamsburg coverage, this piece causes the reader an even greater level of apoplexy by using a breezy, ironic tone, rather than just putting its head down and pounding out a list of bars, parks, and restaurants where the postgrads who populate the terrifying neighborhood can go to meet one another and, 47 minutes later, have coke-fuelled sex in an Enid's (there's one!) bathroom.
That said, if you want to go read the entire tortured Williamsburg-as-college metaphor (your apartment search is like "room draw!"), be our guest. Call us enablers, if you will. But remember this, twenty-something Observer staff writers: at least 25% of the Gawker editorial staff lives right next door in Greenpoint. We go to some of these places that your story proposes to morph even further into postcollegiate hellholes. It's only a matter of time before we catch you walking down the street one night.
So say hello, why don't you?