“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.


Baltimore is the maladjusted middle child, sandwiched between our nation's capital (truly an amazing city and a great place to live if you can drop $1.5 million+ on a studio) and the nearby Big Apple. Baltimore is notable for its un-notableness. Big Brother Philly got the Liberty Bell, and New York is, well, New York. Atlantic City—the up and coming Vegas of the east. And even Annapolis—history, charm, waterfront elegance, pride, and hot hot boys in dress uniform, compliments of the US Naval Academy.

Baltimore isn't known for great sports teams unless you're from Baltimore and you think your sports teams are the bomb. Baltimore did spawn Olympic bonger Michael Phelps—a shining moment for Charm City until he got caught toking up and charming the pants off of female Baltimorians of questionable stature. Fizzle.

Admittedly, I only visit Baltimore—I live in nearby Howard County, which suffers from so much snottiness they actually launched and paid for an extensive campaign to address the issue—Choose Civility! That's right, "civility." They couldn't shoot for nice, or kind, caring, loving, compassionate. They set the bar a bit lower—let's just be civil, shall we, folks? How very controlled and very Maryland of them. And given the fact that there are so many people in Howard County and not enough shopping, amenities, and services to, well, service all of them, civil is, indeed, a challenge.

My theory is that when you combine epic commute times, the competitive nature of the private schools, and the outrageous cost of living with very few days of blue skies and all the leaf raking you have to do in the fall, you get yourself a breed of people who are—cranky. No matter your temperament by nature, you end up Going Baltimore, and it covers everything from screaming at your fellow driver on one of the unending superhighways in this teeming megalopolous to confronting the hostess at the local Outback. You wave your finger, raise your voice, and demand something you think you're entitled to because YOU are far more tired and deserving and important than the 4 billion other people waiting to be helped or seated or to exit the highway.

I don't really blame people for Going Baltimore anymore. In fact, I've now gone there a few times myself in the last few years. There's the confrontation when I went to the wrong doctor's office and needed some directions, yet got a bitchy nurse instead; the pregnant woman who screamed at me for taking her parking spot at Target (I didn't, and I waited for her at the door to tell her what I thought about all of that.) And while those felt justified--after all I'd been Baltimored first--I truly felt I'd become a local last month when I went completely, insanely Baltimore at the local Best Buy. Not because someone was outrageously rude to me. Really, just because I didn't like their policy and the kid at customer service was not the brightest star in the sky.

My husband—who doesn't by nature laugh out loud—lost it in a fit of hysterics as I waved my hands and pointed and tried to make a scene in order to get what I wanted from the clerk. That's usually a behavior reserved for him, and I'm usually the one escorting him out the door before security arrives. I have now gone Baltimore, and it felt a little good in the moment, too. Just a little.

To Baltimore the city: I love ya. I can't think of a city more deserving of a media campaign designed to tell the world about some of the wonderful things your city has to offer. To my fellow Baltimorians: Thanks for showing me the ropes. I just hope that when we return to the relative peace of Arizona and the West that I don't get arrested for Going Baltimore.