Listen to this story: If you’re in the car, or cooking, or just lazy… you can listen to me read this story for you, in the audio file below.
We moved into our neighborhood two years ago this month. We lived in the previous one for over fourteen years, so it still feels new to me.
Neighborhoods tend to come in three categories, I believe; rough, nice and trendy.
An old friend recently visited from Australia, where he’s been looking for a new home for some time. We were joking about the many other, often fanciful, descriptors real estate agents use for neighborhoods. “Tightly held enclave” was his favorite and it still makes me laugh.
But in my experience, it’s the big three adjectives that set neighborhoods apart, and they often form a spectrum over time, as the area and its inhabitants inevitably change; starts rough, gets trendy, then it’s nice.
The last neighborhood we lived in, Silver Lake, was still a tad rough when we moved in, but pretty trendy already. It’s a little too close to nice now. Our new neighborhood is a forgotten pocket in the southwest corner of Culver City (technically its own city, wrapped up in the rest of Los Angeles). It’s nice. I don’t think it was ever trendy though.
The kids like it because they have friends on the street, and it's flat, perfect for bike riding and ball games. We like it because their school is a short walk away and every conceivable family-friendly retail outlet within no more than a five minute drive.
The smallest things make news in a neighborhood. New cars, a tree coming down, or a house changing color. Someone in our neighborhood painted their house the bright blue tone of painter’s tape and everyone in the family comments on it whenever we drive by. It looks ridiculous.
Tom Waits is particularly good at writing about neighborhoods. The song “In The Neighborhood” paints a beautiful picture of these small tidbits of local news, and “What’s He Building” is a masterclass in character development, all from the distance between houses.
In the world of modern tech you can get 24-hour neighborhood newsfeed, good and bad, via the Nextdoor app. Police reports, local gossip, virtual fighting in the comments… it’s all there if you want it. Personally I subscribe to the old adage that good fences make for good neighbors. I’m curious about my neighbors, sure, but ultimately I think it’s best to keep some distance, not to know everything.
I don’t know why the people over the road built a Florida-style mansion, tall as it is wide, on a street of humble, mid century tract homes. Or if the owner really is “flexing his cool garage” by leaving the door open all the time, as my nine-year-old son so accuses.
There’s something horribly wrong in the buzzcut head of the lady round the corner, with her rotating cast of panicked lawn signs, a huge We The People banner and portrait of Jesus by the front door, and car covered in stickers like Gays For Trump and Don’t Trans The Kids. I run on the other side of the street.
Those are the kinds of places that really stand out. The little things one notices eventually worm their way into my brain, too. The tiny hints that fill a neighborhood, like those observed in Waits’ characters.
Why does a new neighbor insist on parking outside their garage every day, blocking the sidewalk, making me want to key a car for the first time in my life?
What’s with the middle-aged guy across the street, his three vehicles, parade of young guests and apparent nose surgery that left him walking his fluffy white dog in face bandages for months? We haven’t got past, “Hi”. I’m okay with that for now. Maybe forever.
How come the same family that puts up thoughtful, homemade decorations for every holiday and Welcome Home banners whenever a grown child returns, also owns an old Dodge truck they never seem to drive, with a single bumper sticker that reads: If You’re Gonna Ride My Ass At Least Pull My Hair? (Furthermore, what do I do now that my son’s asking about its meaning?)
When will that one house that’s been a construction site for over two years finally be finished and how the hell are these people of seemingly modest means affording it?
How many times can the Kabob shop try the Grand Reopening sign trick to try to get people in? Surely it’s over.
Is the shuttered local dive bar ever going to re-open?
Some of these are things an app might at least hint at. Or the local busybody could reveal, should I care to befriend them. But no, I’m just going to keep wandering and wondering for now. Keep making up my own reasons. My own characters. Complete with their own fantastical-yet-mundane storylines. It’s more fun that way.
Besides, god knows what they all make of me.