Tacky, Tacky, Ticky Tacky

On occasion I commute to work by way of Elgin and Highway 290. It's getting harder and harder to stomach that drive that used to be a pleasant stretch through pasture land, broken up only by the brief break in the speed limit at Manor. Aside from the blotch on the landscape that has resulted from the new north-south freeway under construction, several recent subdivisions have sprung up along Highway 290 between Elgin and Manor.

These new additions to civilization are to the landscape as fingernails are to a blackboard. Surely, SURELY, whoever is the builder behind these horrors could have come up with something better with just a smidgen of imagination applied. The choices to buyers seem to consist of a one story square box or a two story square cube, with about 5 feet from wall to neighbor's wall. Square windows, plain, boring expanses of brick or siding, dirty beige shingles. And naturally every tree was cleared before they constructed these pimples on the land.

I would have to be absolutely desperate for housing to succumb to living in such ugly things. I cannot think of one single positive thing to say about them. In fact, the only thing I can think of as I drive past are the words to the old song written by Malvina Reynolds in 1962:

LITTLE BOXES

Little boxes on the hillside,

Little boxes made of ticky tacky

Little boxes on the hillside,

Little boxes all the same,

There's a green one and a pink one

And a blue one and a yellow one

And they're all made out of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses

All went to the university

Where they were put in boxes

And they came out all the same

And there's doctors and lawyers

And business executives

And they're all made out of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course

And drink their martinis dry

And they all have pretty children

And the children go to school,

And the children go to summer camp

And then to the university

Where they are put in boxes

And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business

And marry and raise a family

In boxes made of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same,

There's a green one and a pink one

And a blue one and a yellow one

And they're all made out of ticky tacky

And they all look just the same.

If Malvina thought it was bad back then, she should see it now. Of course, it could be worse. And in Austin, it often is. Drive down into the older subdivisions and you will see where someone has purchased a small bungalow, cleared the lot, and built a humongous house that covers every square inch of legally buildable space, towering high above its neighbors like a brick Goliath.

It's an epidemic of bad taste. No way can the word "improvement" be applied to any of these tacky, tacky houses. Heaven help us, it will probably get much worse before it gets better.

LSW