Had an exciting weekend gang. The gf’s parents were in town and we took a trip to Charm City aka Baltimore, Md. Home of Babe Ruth, Edgar Allan Poe, and the Star Spangled Banner!
Don’t let reruns of The Wire fool you, Baltimore is pretty awesome. I’ve made plenty of good memories skulking around there and some of them don’t even involve alcohol (but in all seriousness Baltimore is a great place to tie one on).
I first realized what a wonderful place Baltimore could be while stationed at Ft. Meade. My sailor friends and I enjoyed spending out weekends at Pimlico Racetrack (home of the Preakness Stakes which you all know is one leg of the Triple Crown) sucking down Black Eyed Susans and gambling on the ponies. From there we would usually make our way into the city proper to drink some more. I was even coerced a time or two into one of the many strip clubs decorating Baltimore Avenue.
No monkeyshines of that caliber happened this weekend though. I dragged my motley crew to Hampden which is a cool hip neighborhood with the likes of which is totally absent in my hometown of Rockford, Illinois. Its also home to a store called Bazaar which I had been chomping at the bit to visit since I discovered its existence. For the right price a discerning customer could leave with taxidermy, human bones, and paintings by Gacy and Manson.
A fiddler crab and octopus preserved in resin caught my eye. I was geeking out surrounded by so much weird shit and I tried to start a conversation with the cashier while making my purchase. I told him I was really excited to visit the store, and that my prized possession was a taxidermy sloth.
“That’s nice,” he said wholly without enthusiasm. Based on his reaction you’d have thought people with taxidermy sloths were a dime a dozen in Baltimore. I was sad and confused. How could someone who worked in a store like that not give a shit about other people’s oddities?
Luckily I am a plucky individual and was not despondent for long. The happiness that comes with purchasing new oddities obliterated my melancholy entirely. After our Hampden excursion we made our way to the home of my gf’s parents friends. Little did I know they lived around the corner from legendary auteur of smut John Waters, and our hosts were kind enough to take me sightseeing. If you don’t know who John Waters is do yourself a favor and find yourself a copy of Pink Flamingos. Put the kids to bed early because its a movie famous for a drag queen eating literal dog shit. The kicker is the movie is so despicable that by the time said shit is munched you’re likely so numb to degeneracy it’ll hardly register as outrageous.
Anyways, that’s about it. I’m returning to Baltimore in a few weeks and will be staying for the weekend. Hopefully it is a very strange time and it gives me plenty to write about.