I am digging Baltimore. In fact, I’ve dug Baltimore since my dad took us on a (not so very extravagant but very memorable) family vacation there in November of 1984. That began a lifelong love affair between me and the town known as Charm City. The streets are dusted with Old Bay Seasoning and crabs roam carefree in the streets. (From both the prostitutes and the Chesapeake Bay.) I went to college in Maryland, so the love increased tenfold after all the great times I had during those years.    

I love the Inner Harbor, I love the neighborhoods, and I love the bars and restaurants. But I love the people the most. I don’t know if it’s something I romanticize, but I feel that the people are so much friendlier than in Philadelphia (which really isn’t a stretch by any means, have you ever been to Old City?). And when I am down there, I can tolerate things I don’t normally tolerate in the City of Brotherly Love. I can tolerate guys in TapOut shirts, or shirts with shiny dragons and other mythical beasts on them. I can tolerate sloppy drunk twenty-something girls dancing on bar tops. I can even tolerate country music when I am down there. (Ok, maybe now I am exaggerating.) My point is, I am pretty sure I see everything through rose-colored glasses when I am down there, or beer goggles, whatever the hell you want to call them.

I spent the past weekend there, and was chomping at the bit to get down there. I’ve only been there about 2 times in the past three years. This is the same person who used to go down at least once a month. But life and things are very different, mostly all of my friends from college are married and have kids. Is it wrong for me to say that’s depressing to me? Well, it is. I got to see one of my best friends from college this weekend and he and his wife were totally hospitable and welcoming. My buddy has seen me at my best (like the night he and I split a bottle of Jameson in college) and has seen me at my worst (like the night he and I split a bottle of Jameson in college). 

I had a list of “must do” and “must see” things on my personal itinerary. And I quickly realized that most of them had to do with fried food, greasy food, unhealthy food, and beer. I knocked everything off the list. Fried chicken from a convenience store chain? Check! Old Bay buffalo wings? Check! National Bohemian beer? Check!  Check! Check! Check! Check!

The weekend was awesome, and as always Baltimore welcomed me with open arms and a damaged liver. The “Sunday Night Blues” (aka Irish Catholic introspection) that tends to strike me on Sunday nights in the fall was never worse as I navigated up a dark and foggy I-95 last night. At one point in my life, my car could practically drive itself home from Baltimore (and at times it was probably safer for me if it did so). But last night, I drove home nostalgic as ever, headachy, feeling thankful for the friends and good times I’ve had, and with a greasy steering wheel from too much fried chicken!    

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