AJC > Sandy Springs > Blog > Archives > 2006 > January
January 2006
Are we ready for McMansions?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
It was a couple of years ago I first heard the term “McMansions” — a derogatory reference to those who buy an older home, tear it down and replace it with a much larger domicile that doesn’t blend into the neighborhood.
At the time, the term also encompassed a lack of design character for most of these things. Indeed, where several McMansions were erected side by side, you could hardly tell the difference. It was as if the homes were stamped out with a cookie cutter.
And now the battle has been engaged in some in-town neighborhoods.
Homeowners are having some success in stalling the efforts of those who would plop a modern house check-by-jowl with restored, stately mature homes.
I understand their objections, but I can’t buy into them. They don’t want the character of their neighborhoods compromised and I get that. Builders truly don’t build ‘em like they used to, and that’s a shame.
There doesn’t appear to be much artistic craftsmanship going into new homes — even the seven-figure structures. Style points don’t seem to be the order of the day.
However, what bothers me about stopping such efforts is this: If a neighborhood has no existing covenants that prohibit the practice of McMansion-ing and there is no truly historic value to the home, the buyer should be able to build pretty much anything that passes existing building and zoning codes.
Coming in after the fact because a buyer’s plans don’t conform to a subjective standard is just wrong. And arrogant.
I hope my neighbor won’t paint her home Tweety-Bird yellow, but if she does I’ll just have to live with it. If I had a chance to talk her down from such a color, I’ll go for it but I wouldn’t go hysterically running to city hall demanding relief.
McMansions have been around Sandy Springs for a few years without much fuss. Possibly because the homes they have replaced are brick ranches, or tiny two-bedroom jobs that don’t have much in terms of artistic merit.
The home I live in is a textbook brick ranch, so typical of what the baby boomers were buying back in the late ’50s. Today these homes are a tough sell.
People are drawn to Sandy Springs because of its location, but not necessarily the homes themselves. The kitchens are too small, as are the master bed and bathrooms. Closet space is more plentiful in an RV. Even homes that have been modernized aren’t much of a draw, unless the changes included significant additions of space.
Last fall we talked about this issue and my sense is we Sandy Springsteens don’t really have our knickers in a twist over this issue. Or am I wrong?
Are we ready to welcome these cookie-cutter boxes?
Or do we believe the design of the homes in our neighborhoods have character?
We are what we throw away
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I will never be confused of hanging with the tree- hugging crowd, but I heard a factoid once that still stops me in my tracks.
One life form, if suddenly removed from planet Earth, would actually improve the place. That being man. As Pogo said: “We have seen the enemy, and it is us.”
Get rid of rats and it sets off far-reaching environmental aftershocks. The same with roaches, marigolds, slugs, jellyfish, wombats, crab grass, etc.
The reason we’re so disposable is because we’re the only species that routinely takes/uses more than we need. Our capacity to create waste is enormous.
I’m reminded of this whenever I drive by Morgan Falls, which is now home to a church, youth sports fields and a dandy little golf course. When I was growing up, however, it was a landfill. The old-fashioned kind of landfill where you could bring dang near anything and drop it off.
Old paint (probably some with lead), chemicals, used motor oil, appliances, car batteries, kitchen waste, used kitty litter, car radiators and the like all found their eternal dirt nap at Morgan Falls way back in the day.
And this isn’t to point fingers. Way back when, we weren’t as aware of the long-term hazards of such materials. Back then it seemed a dandy idea — dump a ton of trash, bury it and build something groovy on top of it.
Now we know better. At our house we recycle, taking our plastics, glass and newspaper to the curb weekly. We also compost (thanks to the influence of the lovely and Earth-loving Mrs. Osterman) virtually all leftover food, which breaks down into good black dirt that gets used in her annual vegetable garden.
But we still, like most people, take more than we need. Several times per month food ends up composting because we didn’t eat it all. In a given week I never read the whole newspaper once, much less every day, but we get it daily. And I don’t think we’re the blight of Sandy Springs.
Walk around town and you’ll see half-finished sodas discarded. Used tires are tossed to the side of the road. Homeless people survive — some quite nicely — by eating perfectly good food from dumpsters.
So I wonder:
Why do we think we need so much?
Why do we so easily waste so much?
What will it take to change us?
And will we change in time, before we disappear from the planet, making life better for everything else living on this rock?
When you put your cell phone in the wash, can you call home again?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Thomas Wolfe said we can’t go home.
F. Scott Fitzgerald told us there are no second acts in American life.
And you never get a second chance to make a first impression.
I am happy to report, however, not all situations are so hopeless. For example, I’ve found out that a cell phone can take a swim in the washing machine and be brought back to life.
The small things in my life work best when I do certain things the exact same way every day. Like, if I put my keys and wallet in the red leather box atop my cigar humidor every night and I never have to turn the house inside out at 5:15 in the morning, trying to leave for work.
And if I place my cell phone in the same place in the car while motoring from one place to another, I remember to bring it into the house and plug it into the charger, where it will be waiting for me in the morning.
A couple of days before Christmas I broke my routine. Coming home from a Hawks game I left the phone in my pocket. Out of my routine, I walked past the charger, dropped off my wallet and keys, and threw my slacks into the laundry.
The next day - no phone. I checked to see if it spent the night with the wallet - no phone. I searched the car - no phone. I called myself from the land line while walking through the house, listening for the ring - no phone.
I then got that creeping sick feeling one gets when you start to realize you’ve really screwed up. It starts small and grows like bacteria in your psyche. Surely, I didn’t leave it in my slacks, which were now swimming in warm water and Tide.
There are few sensations as helpless and gut-wrenching as reaching into a tub of soapy water and having your fingers find what you know to be your cell phone.
I pulled it out and water ran out of it like cars you see pulled out of the lake on C.S.I.
Needless to say it was no longer working.
I stood there with water running on to my shoes and I may have said three or four curse words, possibly more. I felt briefly like Patrick Swayze did in “Ghost,â€? where he comes to terms with the fact that he’s really dead, but not wanting to believe it.
The first thing I did was call my provider, hoping I’d bought the insurance that covers loss, theft, defects and epic stupidity. I had not, and to her credit the operator taking my call did not laugh when I told her what happened.
I went to the store and found out the phone that had been FREE!!!! when I signed up was going to cost $175.00 to replace - a pretty big chunk of change right at Christmas. While I stood there the little sucker briefly came to life - buzzing in my hand and dripping a few more drops.
I went home to ponder my next move. I was defeated and shamed - a man without his phone. Forget about not being about to go home again - I couldn’t phone home.
Then the hard reality hit. Much of my life was in that phone. My ringtones. Pictures of the kids. And most importantly (sorry kids), my phone numbers. All 110 contacts gone forever. Drowned like Leonardo DiCaprio in “Titanic,â€? though by the end of that movie I was rooting for ol’ Leo to sink like a stone.
I had lost my mobile link to mankind, not to mention some appointments, and some phone numbers that would be very hard to replace.
It began to sink in how much I had come to depend on having my little cellular friend. I was one of those people who had essentially transitioned from land line to wireless. I would no more leave home without it than I would walk out with only one shoe.
I didn’t just want my phone back - I needed it.
Then - a glimmer of hope. A friend suggested the following, which I’m sure is not sanctioned, endorsed or recommended by those who make cell phones - and want to sell new ones to morons like me — but desperate times call for desperate measures:
I removed the battery and SIM chip and placed the phone in the oven at 150 degrees for three hours. That is enough heat to dry the moisture out of the phone, without melting anything, I was told. And if it did melt anything, how much worse off could I be?
It was a little like giving a dying goat a pair of tap shoes - couldn’t hurt. Happily, the phone baked nicely and now is behaving just fine. The damage to my ego is also healing. But questions linger:
What does it say about modern society that such small device can hold one hostage?
Should one be so tethered to such gadgetry?
Is this the dawning of a new age in communications or the beginning of the end?
Too much for a guy who washes his cell phone to answer. But at least I can call smarter people and find out.
Is Sandy Springs more for cars than cardio exercise?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I was talking with a friend years ago about the personality of Sandy Springs and he said something that’s stuck with me.
“This is a car town,â€? he said. “It’s how we define ourselves. It’s how we get around.â€?
That conversation had more to do with style, but through the years it’s become painfully apparent that, even if you would disagree with that opinion, you’d have to say that this is most definitely not a great place for walking, running or cycling.
[Note: I have no idea where jogging stops and running begins, so I’m using the term running to describe anything more than a fast walk. For those of you running snobs who are offended, submit your protest at feedback@jimcouldcareless.com - J.O.]
I have walked, run and biked through Sandy Springs and I can tell you this is no place to undertake such activities if you have a wandering attention span.
Drivers are too busy speeding to their next cup of decaf, mocha-chocolate espresso latte to note the presence on the roads of anything not on four wheels.
And, for the sake of balance, the pedestrian and cycling manners of many leaves much to be desired. This includes jaywalkers, runners who insist on running with their backs to oncoming traffic while trotting three feet from the curb into the thoroughfare, and cyclists who ride in clumps that would make Lance Armstrong hail a cab.
I’m guilty on occasion. If I think I can cross a street, I’ll make a break for it, even if I’m totally in the wrong. My cycling technique does not always include proper turn signals and I do not have a rear-view mirror to let me know what’s behind me.
At the same time, much of this community is not a great place for outdoor cardio. The roads are too narrow to allow for cycling/running lanes and a many of the major intersections have stoplights that appear to be more programmed to start a drag race, than let people cross safely.
Half this problem is easy solved, and that has to do with the participants. There have to be scores of Web sites that have the rules of the road posted. We’re taught in first grade to walk against traffic, to look both ways, etc.
The other half of the solution is going to take some planning and money if the city wants to make this little village walker-, runner- and cycler-friendly.
The question is, is this what we want? Speak up, campers.
[And a personal pet peeve - for all you moms who get out and run while pushing a jogger’s stroller with your little ones, I salute your commitment to fitness. Unless you’re one of those running with your back to traffic, with a set of earphones wrapped around your head. If so:
o You can’t see trouble coming from behind. o You can’t hear trouble coming from behind. o You’re risking your own life, which is fine by me. But your kid shouldn’t have to suffer because of your stupidity.
Whew! Glad to get that off my chest.]
Some resolutions for a new city
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
There are few things more flimsy than the life expectancy of New Year’s resolutions.
If we kept all our promises to ourselves the world would be full of nothing but trim, physically fit people who are wise with their money, spend less time watching reality TV shows and more time helping those in need.
But, of course, we don’t and that’s why there is no greater eye-rolling exercise than making resolutions this time of year. However, common sense has never been a burden to me, so for my friends and neighbors in Sandy Springs, let us resolve to:
1) Drive on Roswell Road the way we drove when we were 16 and taking our driving test to secure our first-ever license. Let us always pretend that seated next to us is a dour and demanding driving examiner with a migraine, an ulcer, bad gas and a severe case of gout, just waiting for any excuse to fail us.
2) Walk around Sandy Springs as though we got paid $10 per step and a bonus of $25 for using correct pedestrian manners. That way, we’d be losing money every time we jaywalked. Further, we pledge to write our mayor and city council weekly until the traffic lights are synchronized and more crosswalks are put in. And those letters will be polite.
3) Find uses for our middle fingers that do not imply dissatisfaction with our fellows. Use the horn in our cars for true emergencies.
4) Attend public meetings, register to vote and be informed. Volunteer. Not complain about a problem without bringing a solution to the table.
5) Realize that Sandy Springs is not the refuge of the wealthy and white. The W&W may make up the majority of the people who call Sandy Springs home, but Sandy Springs is white, African-American, Hispanic, Asian, gay, lesbian, straight, tall, short, liberal, conservative, new Coke, old Coke, Jew, Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, crust-on, crust-cut-off, etc.
6) Put the sex trade out of business the old-fashioned way — starve ‘em. Let’s stop paying to watch ladies dance naked, stop paying money for “massagesâ€? that include conjugal activity and stop shelling out cash for movies, toys, costumes of an adult nature. There is nothing “adultâ€? about them. When these places can’t make payroll and pay the light bill, we’ll not have to worry about them mucking up the landscape.
Let’s get to work - whaddaya say? Good luck. Happy New Year.
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