If there's one thing I do really well, it's identify and categorize the screams that I hear coming from outside my apartment. Long ago I realized that this was a very important field to master, because it comes in handy at least a few dozen times a day. As everyone knows, if you hear somebody being attacked and you don't do anything about it, YOU ARE PARTLY RESPONSIBLE, and all the newspapers will publish editorials calling you thoughtless and wondering what kind of a cowardly monster you are. Honestly, here in New York we read about these uncaring assholes more than we read about overpriced fusion cuisine.

Unfortunately, like rocket science, brain surgery, and masturbation, it's not quite as simple as it seems. You have to learn how to filter out all the non-emergency screams that you'll hear in your typical Brooklyn apartment.

Say you're sitting on your couch, for instance, and you hear the shriek of a banshee from beyond the grave. Ask yourself: Is somebody being repeatedly stabbed, or did a Vassar grad just run into one of her sorority sisters? If your experience is limited, use your intuition. Did some poor soul just get flattened by a semi, or did a hipster learn that the neighborhood bodega is out of Brooklyn Lager? Try to guess the motivation: if you screamed like that, would it be because a pit bull latched onto your leg, or because you're a fledgling fashionista and you spotted a girl wearing the kickiest culottes?

As I said, it isn't easy, but here in Brooklyn you need to be able to identify all these screams or you'll be running back and forth to your window more than an ex-gay when the Pride Parade passes by. If it means the Post prints one less condescending editorial accusing New Yorkers of --

Oops, gotta go. Either it's a crisis of unimaginable proportions or my neighbor is walking the World's Cutest Labradoodle again.