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Neighbors

 I often think about neighbors, now that I live in the burbs. 


Neighboring is a tricky thing. You have to be kind to the person next-door, because you may see that person daily for thirty or forty years. At the same time, you don't have family ties, family resemblance, to help paper over any tension. The person next-door is neither someone you chose nor someone you shared your childhood with.

Recently, my new neighbors began a regular routine of blocking my access to my garage. This is a problem because I need to drive my son to and from various appointments. But it's not catastrophic; it's not difficult to put on a friendly face and ask for the truck to move. At the same time, a part of me seems weirdly gratified by the drama; I feel excited when I discover a new irritant outside. (Maybe this means my life right now is quieter than it should be.)

I think of this in relation to a movie I very much like, which is "Neighbors," starring Rose Byrne. The idea is that a young, progressive, self-satisfied couple happens to find themselves living next-door to a fraternity. The couple attempts to handle the noise in a low-key, adult manner, but of course the frat is an unsolvable problem. Crises escalate until Byrne is deliberately seducing college students (as a Russia-seducing-Facebook "spy move"), snapping wires on a stranger's property, and shooting off illegal fireworks in a silent-scream of rage.

The movie doesn't fully work; some of the lines are already really dated, and no one asks how Rose Byrne can be the *one and only* quiet-street resident who has a problem with the absurdly destructive fraternity. But I don't care. I see myself in Byrne, and I think the actress did a service to parents--everywhere--with this movie.

And that's all for today. Wish me luck with the neighbors.
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