Springtime down in the ‘Trose
March 11, 2008 | 10:35 pm | Uncategorized | Houston, Listening | 3
A while ago someone asked me where I lived. Not the actual address — she already knew that — but the name of my neighborhood. “What do you call that? Midtown? Or Montrose?”
I wanted to be offended but after giving it some thought I understood her confusion. For the record, I refer to my neighborhood as The Montrose. Sometimes other people call it The Mantrose. Or the Gayborhood. I live off lower Westheimer, behind Numbers. The eastern border of one of Houston’s most eclectic neighborhoods. But I can see where the lines might be blurry, where the borders begin to meld.
Ten years ago, before I even considered moving to this city, before I even knew Houston had a gay district, people were decrying the gentrification of my neighborhood. I first noticed it while on a visit here after moving to Korea. Someone had painted over the deliciously salacious mural at Mary’s.
(Here is a side story about Mary’s that is altogether unrelated but too good not to share: My old friend John grew up as a punk rock/surfer kid in Houston in the 1980s. At the heyday of Judas Priest’s career, long before Rob Halford came out, back when it was still completely fashionably acceptable and rock-n-roll for a seemingly-straight man to wear ass-less leather chaps, John went to see the band play somewhere in town. Being the star-struck teenager he was, he and some friends decided to follow the Priests’ tour bus back to their hotel after the show. But the bus didn’t go to a hotel. Instead, it promptly delivered Halford to Mary’s, Houston’s most notorious gay bar.)
Since moving back I’ve noticed other changes too. Dozens of new built-in-a-week townhomes, including a trio around the corner from us selling for half a million dollars. That’s half a million dollars for a home with two out of four shared walls and no front or back yard. (Also, have you seen the monstrocity being built between the Height’s Target and I-10? The thing is so big it looks like it could house half of Houston alone. And there is another one going up next to our closest dog park which will effectively block out the little sunlight the park gets in the first place. And this is not a phenomenon isolated to The Montrose.
The transvestite hookers on our corner have been replaced by Mystic-tanned sports car drivers looking for fresh meat at LaStrada and even my old favorite haunts are now plagued by Juicy-clad chicas and young urban professionals who can only manage to button the bottom half of their shirts. There are no less than 10 new wine bars in my hood, meanwhile, it’s impossible to find a St. Arnold’s within walking distance.
Granted, I live in one of those townhomes, but it was built in 1993! And for the most part it’s structurally sound! And my husband may also be a young urban professional, but we have a leg up on the typical Midtown resident and that advantage is this: we are not annoying. Still, even as I type this, techno music is blaring from Numbers on a Monday night, plans have been finalized for the Westheimer Block Party, and the collar-popping jerks of the world have yet to overrun my other favorite sleazy bar, Lola’s. My faith in my ‘hood was reignited on Election Night when I communed with my neighbors — people who actually live in this neighborhood, not just spend their money here — and no one even threw a hissy fit about the hours they spent in line.
And weirdo folk-rock musicians are still writing wonderful little odes to my neighborhood which has had most of the Houston music bloggers linking with glee this week.
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Yes! Can’t wait for the block party. Always fun. And I’m glad the Rev.’s song is getting so much attention.
I wish I could afford to live in one of those over-priced, badly constructed, obnoxious Montrose townhomes. Not that I necessarily would, if I could. *Sigh*
Oh, and an aside: A friend and I went to check out Pearl on Washington the other day after hearing good things from the folks at our regular haunts. The place was full of Midtown clubgoer types! I think the word of it being a “new, cool place” spread to people who have a slightly different idea of what’s cool… and proceeded to flock to the place and make it their own. (Although FWIW, I only went once and it was a Friday… but still.)
Meanwhile I’ve never even heard of Pearl.
Ha ha… maybe I’M part of the “wrong crowd.”