Byzantium's Shores: chronicling the misadventures of an overalls-clad hippie

The state of our "moving in" has finally reached the point where we can tackle the rest of it over time -- boxes here and there, things not quite where we think we want them, et cetera. Thus, I can really start hammering away on writing again (although I've been doing a bit already, on the "few minutes here and there" basis).

I also get to start taking my daily walks again, for which I am thrilled. Our new neighborhood isn't quite as conducive to walking as our last Buffalo neighborhood was, but it seems pretty nice. Our apartment complex is fairly large, and one of its side-streets opens up into one of those newer housing developments -- the ones where every house is palatial and gorgeous, with perfectly coifed lawns and peripheral landscaping, et cetera. I've noticed a couple of things about these housing developments that strike me as odd, though.

:: First, what is the point of putting a facade of brick on the front of a house, when the regular old white or yellow siding is visible on either side? Hell, for that matter, why aren't houses made of brick anymore? Doesn't anyone learn the lesson of "The Three Little Pigs"?

:: And why are these gigantic homes built on such small lots? If I own a house that big, I want to have it on a suitably large plot of land. I'm talking two or three acres here. But these houses are sufficiently close to one another that in many cases a person could lean out a bedroom window of one house and spit a loogie onto the side of the one next door. Neighbors and neighborhoods are all well and good, but do we really want the Smiths next door to be less than twenty feet away?

:: I'm sure this is simply because these developments are so young, but an affluent neighborhood such as this that is completely lacking in trees just looks sterile. Trees convey a sense of permanence and history. I'm not sure I'd want to live in a neighborhood where it's clear that everyone moved in since 1998.