PTSD

You just can't stay

My old apartment building has been turned into (presumably, given the price range) luxury condos.

That's disturbing in a way that I didn't expect. I knew that the neighborhood was being gentrified. it used to be one of the most diverse places in the country; my neighbors were from everywhere and anywhere. It made for some interesting laundry room conversations. I knew, sort of, that things were changing. But I didn't expect them to change so fast. I think expected everything to look the same, but even the people walking around look different. Suits and cell phones.

This is apparently my weekend for feeling underdressed and scruffy, I guess.

Not only my building, but every building on the street has a big sign out front advertising open houses and period fixtures.

Which, yeah, they were. But at the time they seemed more along the lines of "old and slightly decrepit" than "classic art deco." I bet they don't have the giant forest photomural in the lobby anymore.


The diner where I ate breakfast on the weekends, the one with the cranky waitress and the coffee that tasted like motor oil, has been turned into something called the Descartes Cafe. And while ordinarily I'd appreciate the humor, and approve of the independent spirit of the thing, at the moment I'm mostly annoyed that I'm eating down the street in the trendy cafe. Which is named, and I'm not making this up, Ennui.

*cries*

I'm slightly molified by the vanilla almond tea and the free wireless. But not much.* And I'm a bit afraid to cross the street and find out if the bodega has become some sort of stealth Whole Foods.



*Every time I eat here, I order the veggie chili. And every time, I get it and it's very spicy and I think to myself, "Next time I'll get a sandwich." And yet here I am, eating chili. One of these times, I'm going to remember what not to order *before* I order it.

Labels: gentrification, travel

posted by Elizabeth @ 1:10 PM