I had the distinct pleasure of meeting my new neighbor yesterday. At eleven p.m. As he was unloading his truck to move in. Great.

I hear he has a five-year-old daughter, which will be great for Matilda and her friends. They could use another little girl. But her dad? Oh boy. Maybe the rumors about a child are exaggerated.

GeekFriend and I had just seen K-19, continuing a great tradition of watching sub movies together and looking for clichés (red lights, tapping gauges to see if they work, leaking pipes, etc.) and we were chatting outside, as is our habit. This SSV (Social Status Vehicle) comes backing into the spot next to GeekFriend’s truck. Glancing in the back, there was a coffee table, some rugs and a computer.

Ah, I thought. My new neighbor!

The window his SSV was open and my heart sank. Drifting out were the strains of that classic song, “Smack My Bitch Up.” Yes, this individual is not only hip and up to date; he has the proper attitude towards women. They don’t belong in the workplace or in politics. The bitches and hoes should be barefoot and pregnant catering to men’s every whim.

He seemed friendly enough. However, after I went in to tell my wife about my encounter with the new neighbor (as if he were some sort of strange alien being) I began to wonder about him.

Supposing he is one of those guys. One of those ultra-hip white guys who like to listen to urban music because they feel it gives them a sense of toughness. Much like people used to listen to Frank Sinatra because Tommy “Two Times” Grambano did.

I started to worry that the crew of “Cops” would be visiting our neighborhood because they had such a great subject. Here’s new neighbor, with his copy of the newly minted Eminem album blasting, screaming to his wife, “You don’t know me. You don’t know me!” And the cops are beating him down as he yells “Playa hata!”

Actually, he seems nice enough. It’s just that he has destroyed me secret dream of having a new, cool neighbor. (Granted, he thinks he’s cool because he listens to Rap. Rap is defiant and rebellious. To this I say, um, no. Rap deals with issues that are too obvious to be rebellious. If you sing about drugs and murder people will get pissed off. It’s too easy. If you want to be truly rebellious, take on real issues in extremely singable songs.)

My dream was that a writer, his artist wife and their neo-hippy child named Destini would move in next door. The husband would be the writer of intellectual essays that were described as heartfelt and moving with neo-Sedaris sentimentalism. The wife would be an abstract painter who worked in the oft-overlooked medium of duct-tape and store mannequins. They would both look at me eagerly, hanging on my every word as I told them what cool music to listen to and insist that they absolutely MUST see Un Chien Andelou because it is a wonderful example of cinematic surrealism!

Oh and they’d look like Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpi.

But, alas, I have to deal with a guy who thinks he’s a member of the Wu-Tang Clan. Or maybe the Funky Bunch.

Way too hard to tell at 11 o’clock at night.