mdlake.net

Our neighborhood is slowly succumbing to gentrification. This is odd, as it’s already upscale. Three-story houses are the norm, and what can only be called mansions line North Mountain, just across the railroad tracks from us, and the parking lots are lined with Mercedes and BMWs. We can afford rent because we live at the bottom end of this neighborhood, a two-story right next to the tracks…and because our landlord is my father-in-law. And Toyotas are low-end but acceptable here. So that’s fine.

Right down the street from us are some mid- to upscale shops: a Williams Sonoma, yoga studios, childrens’ designer fashions, a toy store stocking educational toys instead of guns and Barbies, a theater that straddles between art flicks and childrens’ flicks, and a grocery called Kings charges 20% to 50% more on pretty much all its merchandise than our usual grocery. We don’t have kids, nor do we practice yoga, but otherwise we like having these shops handy. So that’s fine, too.

What isn’t fine is the slow mutation or outright disappearance of stores that don’t fit the yuppie mold. I first noticed it when the A&P suddenly lurched up the quality and price scale. Having fresh-baked baguettes on hand is nice, but so is a gallon of milk for under $4. We could already get the rolls from Kings; now we can’t get the milk anywhere without a trip. With the change in the grocery market, I started taking stock of other changes. Business is drying up at the jeweler I rely on to change my watch battery, slowly moving to a much glitzier jeweler around the corner. The deli guy at my favorite sandwich place confides he may not be around much longer; I won’t be able to get a classic Italian and a Pepsi there, but I’ll still have my choice of arugula-nouveau sandwiches with imported European seltzer down the street. A shop where I used to get greeting cards and wrapping paper just moved out, shortly after a second ritzy stationery shop moved in next to the toy store. Stone Cold Creamery has elbowed out a smaller, simpler ice cream shop, and I refuse to take my business anywhere that requires the entire staff to sing their thanks every time they get a lousy $1 tip. An Irish import shop that I used several times for Christmas shopping had to move across town, to be replaced by an art studio.

So stuff that’s nice to look at is easy to find. Stuff that I actually want, not so much.

I suppose we should have realized something was up a few years ago when “concerned citizens” decided to force out a discreet little sex shop by pressuring the town to refuse a license renewal. The shop couldn’t be hurting land values that much, since it was so discreet that I didn’t know it existed until the story hit the newspaper. There was no justification, legal or otherwise, for kicking out the store, so the town government just remained mum while it let the license expire and just…didn’t get around to renewing it. That was the earliest step I can remember in the slide from useful goods to status symbols.

I’m telling you, folks: if nobody stands up for the porn shops, there will be no one to stand up for you when gentrification kicks down your own door.