who knows what's nesting?

I remember this past summer when Melanie, Hank, and I were traveling in upstate New York, and the sky was the color of Scope, and the day was full of cool air, and I felt so lucky to be out of the scorched dirt of Houston. Today, however, is miraculous -- about 65-70 degrees during the day, with that big, blue Texas sky. It could trick you into thinking the city has no pollution problems whatsoever.

At noon, I took the elevator ten floors down and stepped out of the university with four colleagues to get lunch. On the university's deck, looking out over the Bayou and the edge of downtown, watching the waters from the recent rains rush past, I could do nothing but stretch my hands in the air and try to grab the sky. The day felt huge, the city -- smart and clean. We descended the long, winding concrete staircase that leads from the deck to the Bayou, followed a little path, and crossed the bridge into downtown, admiring the workers who were putting the new, huge lettering on the side of the building. We turned right and ducked into the Vietnamese cafe right there on the edge of Market Square, ordered our $2.00 tofu sandwiches, and chatted in the sunlight as students, lawyers, theater folks, columnists, waitstaff, and businessmen stood in twos and threes, decked out in sunglasses and carrying the local free city rag.

This evening, I'm thinking about Westheimer Square, the huge, affordable apartment complex whose parking lot borders the gated and locked dead-end of our street. Much to my surprise, a sign went up a couple of months ago claiming that it was going to be knocked down to build some -- surprise! -- pre-fab highrises that no one I know could afford (Well, maybe I can think of one person. Or two.).

The apartments have been vacated, and it looks like they've already begun the process of ripping some of it apart. I've known a few people who've lived there over the years, mostly working class queers and Mexican families inhabited the place. We used to squeeze through the gate when we first moved in here to go swimming in one of its many pools, get some sun when it wasn't too hot outside. In addition, it was really easy to sneak in with a couple of pairs of jeans and secretly thrown them in the washing machines, which only charged .75 as opposed to the $1.50 the local laundrymat charges per load.

My other worry (sorry . . .) is about what will happen to all of the vermin that live over there once the wrecking ball starts to swing. When I lived over on West Alabama, a mostly empty four-plex about three lots down from where I lived was knocked down one summer. That night, while sitting out on the porch drinking beer with my friends Walter and Rebecca, a massive carpet of roaches suddenly and grotesquely swarmed over the front wall of my apartment and began to dive-bomb us. I remember Rebecca, who has very beautiful, long, thick, curly hair, yelling "They're in my hair!! They're in my ha-a-a-air!!!" as we ran down the staircase and out onto the sidewalk. It was awful, even as it was funny, but the roaches were thick that summer, and I was told that it was the result of the knocking down of the building. The place just west of us is not just a building, it is a huge, sprawling complex. Who knows what's nesting over there . . .

Tomorrow there are free films showing on the lawn of the Menil made by or about Paul Klee. We're hoping our friends join us with picnic baskets and coolers and blankets to check it out around 7pm. (If the rain stays away.)