I have complicated relationships with the entire Eastern seaboard. NYC's the one that got away, my long-distance love. I'm downright married to Boston. Philadelphia's my skeevy older brother that I take for granted, and Pittsburgh's my hard-working, good-souled favorite uncle. But Baltimore? Baltimore's my one-night stand, my old flame, my I'll-regret-this-in-the-morning love affair.
I flew down to Baltimore on Friday for a wedding, and after months of hiking through the red bricks of Boston, my heart just doesn't flutter for Baltimore the way it used to. Though my heart now belongs to a world of Sam Adams and lobster rolls instead of cobblestones and crab cakes, I still carry a wide-eyed admiration for this screwed-up town.
I never leave Baltimore without a story. It's where I found hair fertilizer. It's home to some of the absolute craziest people I've ever met. It's dirty. It's mean. It's been kicked around, and it's got one of the best personalities of any city I know. I woke up one morning and dyed my hair red in a Baltimore hotel-- it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I scrawl poems on Baltimore bar napkins. I spent the night in a Baltimore hotel bathtub with a washcloth pillow. Hell, The Loaded Handbag's header photo was taken in Baltimore.
Since it'll take me another eight months to get my pictures from the weekend trip edited, I figured it's high time to post pictures from my Baltimorean birthday weekend this past February. So let's all raise our crab cakes on high in a toast to the quirkiest town on the Eastern seaboard-- to Baltimore, you wily tattooed mynx, you.
|(Impressionist) Ice on the Harbor|
|The Katyn Memorial|
|Yes. That's a TREE GROWING OUT OF A BUILDING.|
No. It's not part of a Tim Burton set.
Yes. There is a metaphor at work here, y'all.