space

It's where you don't have to go, because you're already there. -Georges Perec

Introductory Topography

South Park is an interesting mixture of professionals and college students, but the mixture, of course, is not evenly dispursed. If you could view South Park on a photographic topographical map, you would notice that the number of students (and, coincidentally, beer bottles (broken or whole, empty or full)) rapidly decreases as you move uphill from Brockway to Cobun to Euclid to Jackson. Most people are suprised that I now live on Maple Avenue, near the top, or professional, end of the neighborhood. In my four years here at WVU, I have lived in the sunnyside, downtown, woodburn, and South Park neighborhoods, but I wouldn't call any of them home other than South Park. No area so close to downtown is as quaint and historic and quirky as South Park. The streets and houses each have an individual feel to them, and it took me a while to learn the fastest route in the maze of the gridded-street layout.

A Brief Attempt at Defining the 'Hood

South Park could be categorized lots of ways: brick vs. paved streets, student vs. professional areas, longitudinal streets (which are hilly), or latitudinal streets (which are flat and cut across the hills), residential vs. commercial buildings.

The houses of South Park could be defined, for starters, as a.) houses that were painted pink by the owners in the hopes that the calming color would soothe their viscious jack russel terrier, b.) houses that are divided into apartments and rented, c.) houses that are rented as houses, d.) houses that are owned and lived in by their owners, d.)houses surrounded by white picket fences with a boston terrier who does not stop barking when you explain to him, "It's okay, honey," or compliment his red sweater, e.) houses which shovel or de-ice the sidewalk in front of their house (these houses have a high correlation with professional houses), f.) houses that regularly take out their garbage, g.) houses with a toilet seat in their yard that the garbage man just will not take away, h.) houses painted entirely in cow spots, g.) houses in which dwellers, when ordering pizza for delivery from Domino's, need to only say "the cow house" instead of giving a full address.

Kinda a Slow Learner...

The day I moved into my first apartment on Cobun Avenue, I was amazed that my parking permit let me park anywhere in South Park. I was so excited by this fact, and about getting to explore the new area (I'm from Morgantown, but I am a child of very sheltering parents with a terrible memory for directions, who had previously lived in the boonies that lie off Goshen Road), that I parked my car blocks away, not realizing that it was most practical to park your car NEAR where you actually lived. My logic was that parking was free everywhere, so why not park anywhere?

I walked to my apartment in dizzy excitement with my new independence, in awe of actually living in one of the three-story houses that I had admired on my bus route to high school. The next day when I needed to get to work, I realized I had forgotten where I parked my car. I had lost my 1982 Volvo. I didn't even remember the name of the street where I had left it. I zigzagged up and down Park, Green, Wilson, Euclid, and Grand, until I finally found it sitting there on Kingwood, right where I had left it. I might have lost my car for an hour, but at least I was responsible enough to get a parking permit for the year--at least that's what I told myself.

But two years of living in the neighborhood has transformed me into someone who knows her neighbors, stories behind the houses, directions (both for interpersonal and intrapersonal purposes), and distances between areas. I'm now a small part of the area that I once admired and dreamed of during my high school bus route.

Walker-Friendly for Friendly Walkers

Living in South Park has turned me into a walker. I walk to class, taking either the Walnut Street or Pleasant Street bridges, and I walk to the laundromat on Green Street when I can't bear to wear my jeans for another day without a washing. I walk to work, using the PRT, which is a South Park girl's best friend when she has classes in Evansdale.

South Park=ME!

When I first talked to my parents about moving out, they wanted me to live in a townhouse, or maybe an apartment complex. Their own house is a new house in a new housing development. Maybe South Park has been my way to find my own identity while separating from my parents in a healthy outlet. They're one-story vinyl siding, I'm three-story brick.

But South Park is far from perfect. In fact, none of my apartments in South Park have been very nice--the apartments that I can afford on this end of town are old and need new wiring and plumbing and better insulation. Before writing this I had never even questioned the character of my apartments, and after reflecting I still love them all, even when I begin to take off the rose-colored glasses. Like a quirky lover, a South Park apartment makes up in character what it lacks in reliability. The houses stand majestic and beautiful, but are they all falling apart on the inside? I hope not. I really, really hope not.

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