Wednesday, December 23, 2009

“Charm” City: Going Baltimore


Lord Baltimore must have been a cranky man, because his namesake city is, at best, a cranky city. Whoever bestowed the nickname "Charm City" on Baltimore had one hell of a sense of humor—or a PR objective so outrageous (make Baltimore feel charming) that they opted to just make shit up.

Don't get me wrong—Baltimore in many ways was a pleasant surprise when we were relocated here to hell Maryland in 2007. Well, downtown Baltimore. And really the Inner Harbor and a few surrounding communities. Camden Yards, the National Aquarium, Little Italy, Harbor East—all fantastic for tourists and temporary locals alike. And in fact we have just scratched the surface of the personality of the many great neighborhoods in Baltimore.

But Baltimore has some PR challenges, and TV's "Homicide: Life on the Street" and "The Wire" have both done a good job of highlighting the seamier side of Charm City. "Charm City Cakes," one of Food TV's flagship productions, highlights yet another personality of Lord Baltimore's stomping grounds. Not sure if you've noticed, but those folks aren't exactly a bunch of bubbly people, either. (And do you really want to eat a cake that's been repeatedly frozen and covered with that frosting? I digress.)

But take away the out-of-control homicide rate, the race wars, the poverty, the seediness—and you're left with one hell of a PR challenge that no developer—in fact no PR Flack—can eradicate. You simply can't regentrify yourself out of snotty.

THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID IT: I don't particularly care for the temperament of people you find here in the Baltimore metropolitan area.

You're kind of snotty, Baltimore.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Those Lobsters


They don't, by the way. Scream. The lobsters. But for months, I thought they did. I myself am not a shell fish kind of girl—if something looks on my plate like the creature it just was a moment ago in the kitchen, I'm not eating it. That would include lobster in all its forms. But after hearing this tale of horrific lobster treatment--how they scream when dropped into boiling water--I was shocked.

I spent many a night thinking of all the lobsters all over the world who were dropped into a pot of boiling water for what was likely some extravagant, overindulgent dinner for a bunch of overweight and over-rich compulsive know-it-alls. I could hear their little screams in my mind, pictured Clarice crying for the lambs as I'd tear up for the oh-so-cuddly lobsters. I condemned our society for the cruelty (can ya plunk 'em in the cool water and just politely warm them up?!). I envisioned an anti cruelty campaign for lobsters across the globe. "Stop the screaming, warm them up!" I wondered about all the people who aren't even bothered by the screaming and grieved for our loss of compassion as a people. A race. A species. After all, aren't we supposed to have compassion as the superior species?!

I thought. I wondered. I perseverated. A lot. Which of course by definition is perseveration. Or obsession, though semantically I would say this was not obsessive. I save obsession for the important things, like my Top Five Celebrities I'd Do If I Could list. (George Clooney, George Clooney, George Clooney, Angelina, and George Clooney.)