We know, dear readers, what you are going to say about this. We know that you will ask us why we went to Eastchase in the first place, and why we keep going back even though we say we hate it over and over again. You must believe us when we say that a trip to the Hellscape was the furthest thing from our mind for most of an otherwise idyllic Saturday in Montgomery. We faced a critical trifecta of circumstance. We needed to deal with product return gone terribly awry, we happened to have a new CD for listening, and we live with a dog for whom car rides are, basically, the best thing to ever occur in the history of the world. Off to the Taylor Road exit! The CD turned out to be great, the dog enjoyed herself thoroughly, and the product return went relatively smoothly.
If you are like us (and why are you reading this if you are not?), you hate Eastchase. Your hate ranges from the existential (it was built out here rather than using existing structures at, say, the Montgomery Mall) to the functional (the stores basically suck and there are like 4 of them) to the social justice minded (sweatshop clothes a-plenty out there, with lots of evil to go around when the various tentacles of the redwood-hating Fisher Family’s stores are represented), to hate by proxy (you hate East Montgomery and everything it represents, thus you hate Eastchase). If you are not like us, maybe you still hate Eastchase because it is a crappy Centro development as opposed to the full-on soullessness you get from a Forest City production like Victoria Gardens. Fine with us, as long as it’s hate.
Be careful, though – your hate risks turning into fear or even pity when confronted with the bronze statues of children that litter Eastchase. You know the ones. Evidently they are wildly popular (and surprisingly expensive – check out this Google search and try not to slit your wrists at the idea that there is this much demand for life sized bronze children statues) despite (or perhaps because of?) their pervasive creepiness and weird frozen too-happy looks that no child ever made when engaged in the fake-y nostalgia type activities these metal children are invariably doing.