Swamplot Archives by Category: Neighborhoods: Shady Acres

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

After the Arsons: A Photo Tour of the Heights Fires

Now that a suspect for at least one of the recent Heights-area arsons is in custody, blogger Fred Eats Houston feels a bit more comfortable sharing his photos of some local burn victims.

There have been 18 “suspicious” fires in the Heights area since mid-August. Here are 2 views of a playhouse on Ashland St., part of one of the first structures to burn:

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Friday, June 12, 2009

Comment of the Day: Drug Store Locator

   

“The Young & Restless children’s consignment shop moved from the red wooden house to the blue metal warehouse, a year or two ago. A CVS won’t go in there because there is no Walgreen’s across the street. Must have a Walgreen’s in place in order to plant a CVS.” [Miz Brooke Smith, commenting on Daily Demolition Report: Larsten Space]

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Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Watch for Cottage Cheese Dropping from Heights



This 1,300
-square-foot, 2-bedroom, 2-bath home planted in a lot-sized subdivision in Shady Acres called “Cottages in the Heights” just shed $5K from its asking price and is resting at $184,000 after a month on the market. But Heights home shopper John Whiteside still isn’t buying it:

These things always seem like the real estate equivalent of conjoined twins with birth defects. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your children are stuck together, and their garage doors are bizarrely oversized, and their internal organs are jumbled around in unfortunate ways.”

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Friday, December 7, 2007

Real Estate and Poetry: Please Do Not Mix

Having perhaps exhausted other methods of communicating his distress at City of Houston Ordinance 19, Article III, Division 3, Sec. 19-43 — which now restricts the abilities of homeowners in floodways to improve their properties — White Oak Bayou-area resident Jay Green has, unfortunately, turned to poetry. And wouldn’t you know it, his poem begins “’Twas the night before . . .” but for some reason changes the holiday from Christmas to New Year’s and the tale from a rooftop landing to a collapse in property values.

Most of the poem would be too painful to reprint here, but let’s just say Mr. Green doesn’t think much of Mayor White, and throws just about every rhyme in the book at him. As a caution to readers against any future forays into the real-estate-poetry genre, only a couple of the uh . . . better stanzas are excerpted below:

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