We were born in the valley. We grew up here. We met here. We had our first date over milkshakes at Cafe 50’s (where we took photos in the photo booth that would end up resurfacing as our return-address stamps on the wedding invitations we’d send out nine years later. ) We are like the Galleria-loving opposite of those snotty Beverly Hills housewives who refuse to come over the hill to the – *shudder* – Valley and see the joy of boutique shopping where there’s plentiful parking. So leaving our beloved Valley? That’s not something Scott and I ever really saw ourselves doing. But a few fateful weeks ago, it happened. We were sucked in to the bermuda triangle of hipness, and we’re not sure we’re ever getting out.
How it Began
I’ve always had this little problem. It’s been given a number names by the people close to me – the zone, the superfocus…head in the clouds… but I get these ideas in my head, and I must, just MUST see them come to fruition. Generally speaking these “ideas” (probably better identified as “Schemes”) involve doing something very involved or, I’ll choose to say “ambitious” – and not having the capital/know-how/wherewithall to back it up. But before you write me off as just another get-rich-quicker (that’s for all you imaginary people reading this blog which I’ve yet to publicize to even my closest friends) I should point out that more often than not, the ideas work. Not saying always, and not saying this one will, but I’m just sayin’, sometimes they do. I like to look at it as that my threshold for being irritated and put out is much higher than the average person’s. Plus, I seem to need to have a lot going on all the time to keep me from getting bored.
So, naturally, when Scott and I started house hunting, we had little (read: no) interest in the starter homes that kept most nuclear-bound newlyweds on a budget house-satisfied well into their 2.5th child. Instead, we decided to begin the hunt for our very own full-blown money pit. And we hunted. And we hunted.
And then one day, I’m looking at the real estates, as I usually do, and I notice a piece of land for sale in Studio City, for about a 1/3 of our total budget. And it’s in a damn fine part of studio city, so I glance at the stack of Dwell’s that’s been collecting dust on my coffee table (I don’t know why I think just because I’ll read something at the hairdresser means I should go right out and get my own subscription to it, but I digress…) and think to myself: “I wonder how much one of those new-fangled modern PreFab homes costs?”
Turns out – they [can] cost right around what we’re looking to spend all in, minus the cost of land. Meaning; a scheme was born. Long story made moderately shorter: we were beat out on the Studio City land, but it led us on a search that forced our tightly sealed valley-rat little minds to open up a little to other areas of the city we’ve called home for most of our lives {but barely know beyond the safety of the Santa Monica mountain range that keeps us Valley-ites incubated at just 10 degrees above the rest of the world.}
But, are we hip enough for Silverlake?
No matter what your home town is, there is always the neighborhood you despise on principle. For Scott and I, that area was Silverlake. It was a neighborhood that had changed so much in the time we’d been growing up, that to us, it just felt like the place where Hipster LA transplants went so they could go on not washing their hair and wearing inappropriately tight jeans (that’s you, hipster-men) without being disturbed. And also, the streets are all twisty. And when you live in The Valley, it’s like, really far away. So as Silverlake grew as a neighborhood, we grew to hate it as a principle.
Anyway – time and time again we’d find ourselves trekking out to Silverlake – for a friends birthday party – a band playing – a bakesale – a new shop/salon/restaurant we just had to try – and each and every time we’d get lost, sometimes for hours, in what we called “the Silverlake Vortex.” (Now that I’m an official convert, I can go ahead and admit that the getting is so good in Silverlake, I actually continue to trek out there every time I need a damn haircut…well, at least I did until my new recession-friendly DIY hair care regime was put into effect…but I digress.)
And then it happened. Earl Street. A Property that seemed to meet so many of our PreFab-friendly needs that we just had to take a second look. And when Scott failed to see the immediate draw of a view of the Hollywood Sign reflecting in the Silverlake Reservoir, a third look. Following a particularly persuasive saturday evening with our friends from the 323 side of the hill, we decided to maybe get to know our prospective neighborhood a bit. Drive around…take a stroll…grab dinner. I think we were about three bites into the Scallop special at Gingergrass when Scott announced it once and for all: “I love Silverlake. Let’s move here.”
I won’t get into the saga of the Earl street property, because the wounds are still too fresh, but suffice it to say that after the credit crunch wiped out weeks of work that would have enabled us to turn a government funded 30 year fixed low interest rehab-loan into our construction fund (literally, wiped it out, program was suspended until the “California Budget Crisis is resolved” on the day we received our counter-offer) we may not be building our dream home there, but it will always be the property that got us to open our eyes to life beyond where the 5 fwy meets the 134.
So here we are. House/Lot-hunting in Silverlake. Exploring new ideas. Exploring new cities. Exploring new loans… who knows – I may end up opening my own mortgage brokerage after all of the loans I’ve gotten to know inside and out during our hunt for construction and/or rehabilitation financing in a declining market. A PreFab/Fixer Hybrid in ’09? It’s just one of the many machinations we’re mulling over at the moment. Stay tuned…