If anyone really wants to hear about my voyage to Texas ...
I just wrote my best friend a long-ass email recounting everything, and here it is, almost in its entirety:
I got in around 11pm on Christmas Day. Ken met me in the baggage claim area and as we stepped out into the parking garage I noticed it was not pleasant fall breeze warm, but 'yuck it's hot out here' hot. Like probably 75 degrees, but ultra humid and (of course) with tons of pollution in the air. I was wearing a t shirt and a cardigan and I immediately felt gross and sweaty. ELEVEN AT NIGHT. Both of us were hungry so we headed to a diner in his old neighborhood that's called "Original House of Pies." (they do sell many varieties of pie, including something called 'bayou goo') The diner menu reminded me of the thing I perhaps like best about Texas -- Mexican food everywhere you go. It was a standard burgers-and-eggs kind of place but they had huevos rancheros available. On Christmas Day. At 11 p.m. With the beans served in a separate dish, like at the Puerto Rican places here in my neighborhood. We placed our orders and they brought our drinks out -- a regular-looking cup of coffee for me and, for Ken, a plastic cup of Coke roughly the size of my head. He didn't order an XL or anything. That's the standard size.
On the 26th we had Christmas morning with Ken's mom, then hit the city for most of the day. To be technically correct, Ken's parents actually live within the City of Houston, though just barely. They are 30 miles from downtown, and when they moved there in 1993 there were cows in the neighborhood. I wasn't surprised when Ken's dad told me this, because everything there looks like it's been built in the past decade. There's a building with a spotlight shining on it that says FIRST ALLIANCE in huge letters with, like, a star in the logo, and at first I thought it was a church but then in tiny letters below it says "community credit union." Meanwhile, the evangelical church down the street from it looks like a bank, or a suburban elementary school. Everywhere there are strip malls upon strip malls upon strip clubs upon Walgreens upon Walmarts upon grocery stores upon fast food places upon gas stations upon Mexican restaurants upon more Walmarts ... it's impossible to see how there could be a need for this much commerce in the whole city, let alone one tiny corner of it. And on the day after Christmas, parking lots are FULL. Everywhere.
So we get the hell out of dodge and go to Rice University, a nearby park, and the Rice Village neighborhood, which, according to tourist guides and whatnot, is Houston's most walkable. It is indeed fairly safe to walk in -- the blocks are short with stop signs at every corner, and the streets are two-lane and two-way. Stores are set back from the road with parking in front, but all in one line, as opposed to a bunch of varying setbacks. The resulting affect is not unlike an outlet mall, except that it's a mix of chain places and independently owned ones.
Here's a good representation, thanks to Google images:
http://kristaandmike.com/ricevillage.jpg
We had Thai food there and bought a bunch of used books, then took a long-ass stroll around the Rice campus. Then we went to a coffee shop in between River Oaks (tony L.A.-style mansion land, mansions looking like they date back to the 1920s at the absolute oldest, but they're not McMansions and thus it is a stately old money community Houston style) and Montrose (formerly the gay district, now more of just hipsterville). In Montrose, we did some vintage/used clothing shopping and played billiards (another coke-the-size-of-your-head alert), then went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant in the next neighborhood over. Our bill was $14.
It's interesting to me that they even have hipstervilles in Houston. When you have to drive everywhere you go, even in your own neighborhood, what's the point I wonder? I guess a lot of why people live where they do really does have to do with identity and prestige.
On Saturday, after a homemade breakfast of scrambled eggs that was really more like butter n' eggs, I made Ken take me to Project Row Houses.
Info here: http://projectrowhouses.org/
The founding director spoke at a Buffalo conference I volunteered at shortly after becoming unemployed, and as long as I was going to be in Houston I really wanted to see it. It's a block of formerly abandoned 'shotgun' houses turned into exhibiting space for local artists, plus a community center. Over time, they've built affordable housing nearby and turned more shotgun houses into transitional housing for young mothers and their children. For the first time since I'd been in Houston, I felt a sense of place. Houston is 5 or 6 hours from New Orleans, I believe, and when you're in the Third Ward, you feel like you could be in the Ninth Ward. It's a historically African American neighborhood built during the depression (1930s -- very old by Houston standards), and it was all steaming hot and humid and hazy and drizzling out and there are these one-step-up-from-a-shack houses all over the place, some of them abandoned, and bayou-country vine-y vegetation growing everywhere. The neighborhood is only 70 years old and it's within sight of downtown. From the community playground, you have a perfect view of the Houston skyline, complete with the headquarters of every oil/gas conglomerate you've ever heard of, including Enron.
Next time I go to Houston, I'm making Ken take me downtown to see if the giant "E" fountain is still there.
Also next time I'm demanding that we go to the Lakewood something something megachurch, which occupies the former home of the Houston Rockets. In other words, it seats like 20,000 people. I think the megachurch in suburban Buffalo seats 3,000. Oh Texas, you never fail to exceed my expectations.
On Saturday we also had amazing tacos at this hipster joint called Freebirds (yes, there was classic rock blaring), went CD shopping at an independently owned place, and went to what used to be an independently owned bookstore in a former movie theater. It is now a Barnes & Noble. Ken does not currently know of ANY independent bookstores in Houston, and the mall by his parents' house has only a Waldenbooks.
(bored yet?)
Saturday night, Ken's mom made dinner -- fried shrimp, fried fresh-caught bass, corn fritters, biscuits, fried okra, 'peas and relish' and yams left over from Christmas and a couple of vegetable sides. When you hear 'peas and relish,' do you picture green peas with pickle relish on them? Because I did, and I said to myself, boy, does that sound gross. Actually it is authentic southern/Creole type food involving purple-hulled peas (very similar to a black-eyed pea) stewed for hours and topped with a sort of tomato-onion compote.
On Sunday we just hung around in the burbs. We went with Ken's mom to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The theater is called the something-or-other grill and you can order pizzas and sandwiches and cocktails and stuff there. The movie was just okay, but it's set in New Orleans, which was interesting to me since I was practically there in relative terms.
After the movie, we went back to the house, picked up Ken's dad and went to Lube's (Luby's?), which is a soul food cafeteria type chain restaurant that's all over the place down there. You pick a meat and two sides and they give you a little cornbread muffin and the whole business costs like $7. There are giant urns of sweet tea at the end of the line.
Along the highways, there are massive car dealerships that fly both the American flag and the Texas flag. Each flag is roughly the size of the building I live in.
I got in around 11pm on Christmas Day. Ken met me in the baggage claim area and as we stepped out into the parking garage I noticed it was not pleasant fall breeze warm, but 'yuck it's hot out here' hot. Like probably 75 degrees, but ultra humid and (of course) with tons of pollution in the air. I was wearing a t shirt and a cardigan and I immediately felt gross and sweaty. ELEVEN AT NIGHT. Both of us were hungry so we headed to a diner in his old neighborhood that's called "Original House of Pies." (they do sell many varieties of pie, including something called 'bayou goo') The diner menu reminded me of the thing I perhaps like best about Texas -- Mexican food everywhere you go. It was a standard burgers-and-eggs kind of place but they had huevos rancheros available. On Christmas Day. At 11 p.m. With the beans served in a separate dish, like at the Puerto Rican places here in my neighborhood. We placed our orders and they brought our drinks out -- a regular-looking cup of coffee for me and, for Ken, a plastic cup of Coke roughly the size of my head. He didn't order an XL or anything. That's the standard size.
On the 26th we had Christmas morning with Ken's mom, then hit the city for most of the day. To be technically correct, Ken's parents actually live within the City of Houston, though just barely. They are 30 miles from downtown, and when they moved there in 1993 there were cows in the neighborhood. I wasn't surprised when Ken's dad told me this, because everything there looks like it's been built in the past decade. There's a building with a spotlight shining on it that says FIRST ALLIANCE in huge letters with, like, a star in the logo, and at first I thought it was a church but then in tiny letters below it says "community credit union." Meanwhile, the evangelical church down the street from it looks like a bank, or a suburban elementary school. Everywhere there are strip malls upon strip malls upon strip clubs upon Walgreens upon Walmarts upon grocery stores upon fast food places upon gas stations upon Mexican restaurants upon more Walmarts ... it's impossible to see how there could be a need for this much commerce in the whole city, let alone one tiny corner of it. And on the day after Christmas, parking lots are FULL. Everywhere.
So we get the hell out of dodge and go to Rice University, a nearby park, and the Rice Village neighborhood, which, according to tourist guides and whatnot, is Houston's most walkable. It is indeed fairly safe to walk in -- the blocks are short with stop signs at every corner, and the streets are two-lane and two-way. Stores are set back from the road with parking in front, but all in one line, as opposed to a bunch of varying setbacks. The resulting affect is not unlike an outlet mall, except that it's a mix of chain places and independently owned ones.
Here's a good representation, thanks to Google images:
http://kristaandmike.com/ricevillage.jpg
We had Thai food there and bought a bunch of used books, then took a long-ass stroll around the Rice campus. Then we went to a coffee shop in between River Oaks (tony L.A.-style mansion land, mansions looking like they date back to the 1920s at the absolute oldest, but they're not McMansions and thus it is a stately old money community Houston style) and Montrose (formerly the gay district, now more of just hipsterville). In Montrose, we did some vintage/used clothing shopping and played billiards (another coke-the-size-of-your-head alert), then went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant in the next neighborhood over. Our bill was $14.
It's interesting to me that they even have hipstervilles in Houston. When you have to drive everywhere you go, even in your own neighborhood, what's the point I wonder? I guess a lot of why people live where they do really does have to do with identity and prestige.
On Saturday, after a homemade breakfast of scrambled eggs that was really more like butter n' eggs, I made Ken take me to Project Row Houses.
Info here: http://projectrowhouses.org/
The founding director spoke at a Buffalo conference I volunteered at shortly after becoming unemployed, and as long as I was going to be in Houston I really wanted to see it. It's a block of formerly abandoned 'shotgun' houses turned into exhibiting space for local artists, plus a community center. Over time, they've built affordable housing nearby and turned more shotgun houses into transitional housing for young mothers and their children. For the first time since I'd been in Houston, I felt a sense of place. Houston is 5 or 6 hours from New Orleans, I believe, and when you're in the Third Ward, you feel like you could be in the Ninth Ward. It's a historically African American neighborhood built during the depression (1930s -- very old by Houston standards), and it was all steaming hot and humid and hazy and drizzling out and there are these one-step-up-from-a-shack houses all over the place, some of them abandoned, and bayou-country vine-y vegetation growing everywhere. The neighborhood is only 70 years old and it's within sight of downtown. From the community playground, you have a perfect view of the Houston skyline, complete with the headquarters of every oil/gas conglomerate you've ever heard of, including Enron.
Next time I go to Houston, I'm making Ken take me downtown to see if the giant "E" fountain is still there.
Also next time I'm demanding that we go to the Lakewood something something megachurch, which occupies the former home of the Houston Rockets. In other words, it seats like 20,000 people. I think the megachurch in suburban Buffalo seats 3,000. Oh Texas, you never fail to exceed my expectations.
On Saturday we also had amazing tacos at this hipster joint called Freebirds (yes, there was classic rock blaring), went CD shopping at an independently owned place, and went to what used to be an independently owned bookstore in a former movie theater. It is now a Barnes & Noble. Ken does not currently know of ANY independent bookstores in Houston, and the mall by his parents' house has only a Waldenbooks.
(bored yet?)
Saturday night, Ken's mom made dinner -- fried shrimp, fried fresh-caught bass, corn fritters, biscuits, fried okra, 'peas and relish' and yams left over from Christmas and a couple of vegetable sides. When you hear 'peas and relish,' do you picture green peas with pickle relish on them? Because I did, and I said to myself, boy, does that sound gross. Actually it is authentic southern/Creole type food involving purple-hulled peas (very similar to a black-eyed pea) stewed for hours and topped with a sort of tomato-onion compote.
On Sunday we just hung around in the burbs. We went with Ken's mom to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The theater is called the something-or-other grill and you can order pizzas and sandwiches and cocktails and stuff there. The movie was just okay, but it's set in New Orleans, which was interesting to me since I was practically there in relative terms.
After the movie, we went back to the house, picked up Ken's dad and went to Lube's (Luby's?), which is a soul food cafeteria type chain restaurant that's all over the place down there. You pick a meat and two sides and they give you a little cornbread muffin and the whole business costs like $7. There are giant urns of sweet tea at the end of the line.
Along the highways, there are massive car dealerships that fly both the American flag and the Texas flag. Each flag is roughly the size of the building I live in.