Urban Homestead Manifesto

It's an act of faith, buying property in the city.

My neighborhood is Pleasant Ridge, and there are days when I feel like we live at the gridlock intersection of every demographic trend in Cincinnati. We've got Catholics, African-Americans, Jewish people, people cashing out and moving to the exurbs, people renovating homes, hyper-motivated neighborhood councils, and guys with bloodshot eyes who ask for money at outside the donut shop 6AM. We've got roaming baggy-clothes teenagers - many of whom keep up with their homework - and a brigade of minivan mothers (and fathers) who look after all of the kids with wolverine intensity.

This is not a skip-down-the-middle-of-the-road subdevelopment. The streets are pretty, but watch for cars. When you buy a house here, a place for the kids - which Mrs. Spacetropic and I are doing, right now - you better know what you're in for, and you better be a city mouse. If you're skittish it would be better to go, literally, away. There's a place for everyone, and you won't find me knocking the outlying areas - at least not too hard, since I understand why people live there too.

As for me I like this situation. This transplant form the east coast is becoming invested, landed gentry, fully aware of the multiple levels of irony at play being a old-fashioned semi-conservative amidst Blue-politic neighbors who still refuse to scrape the Kerry/Edwards stickers from the Toyota Prius. That'll be me on the porch waving a friendly hello with a glass of Guinness, reading a book, wearing my blogging slippers, while the wife talks to family on the phone and our daughters play in the yard nearby, dressing our ever-patient family mutt like a big freakin' sparkly princess.