Creative Piece: Showcase (6/20/09)

A Performance Piece--

inspired by a graduating senior's slam poetry

go back to spring days

where children played

and boys and girls went to high school plays

eyes on the stage

velvet curtains sway

red and deep, like Chardonnay

open Act I.

the players played,

they made gestures.

over the top, dramatic

they acted out the story

shouting their lines and

singing their hearts out and

falling in love.

the curtains came down for the end of Act I

casting shadows on the stage and

the players froze.

the children rushed out to buy snacks at the bake sale

change clanging,

that metallic ring,

in their pockets.

the intermission came

a fifteen minute dose of reality

the boy and the girl they stood in a courtyard

outside the school.

they talked--

no, they didn't.

they stood and they looked

at one another

like two dogs in the park

or two babies crawling on the ground for the first time!

dragging their legs behind them.

the air crisp and clear

a light breeze

like a movie!

a Sound of Music moment

Rolf and Liesel

although we all know how that ends

with Liesel escaping

scaling

those mossy green hills.

wind whistling, leaves whirling, branches rustling

everything comes alive

with color and clarity.

a Wizard of Oz moment.

then slowly, or quickly,

because that's not the point

the rain came

with a smash of lightning.

or maybe it fell

gently, in slow motion.

isn't it amazing how it can rain so hard, you can't even see it?

the lights dimmed

time for Act II

they came crashing

through the door

and took their seats.

the real stars shone again,

with makeup, and wit, savvy, and glamor

talent and youth like a Hollywood legend.

legends, who never die,

they take root like a flower

or a weed

and shoot upward forever.

those actors they almost always hit the perfect note-

the show came to a close

a miraculous ending! fantastic!

you'd never believe!

the bad guy came back in the end

and he wasn't caught either

what d'you know?

that thing was magic, like a broadway show

my mom took me to when I was little,

except for she didn't

I'd never been to New York.

but it only cost- five dollars!

after the show

they lined up to give their friends flowers;

because it was spring!

tulips and daisies and peonies

great big globes of velvet, oh!

how wonderful

some of the soft petals dropped to the floor

drifting and landing like those propeller things

that come off trees.

but it was alright because it was spring

where brooks bubble

and liquid sunshine works magic

and vines stretch up

breaking through the good earth

winding up the lattice in my mother's tomato garden

mother kneels down

in the deep, rich earth

and digs, like a worm.

in spring, you could dig down forever

pulling out magic like a magician pulls scarves from a hat

and in spring

you could see magicians and fantastical things at the circus

and the colorful lights play up the drama.

elephants tumble across the stage

like girls in ballets

with ribbons in their hair.

after the recital daddy took the girls for ice cream

and the girl pressed her nose to the glass

plump finger outstretched, pointing.

and the girl behind the counter plucks up the scoop

fingering it like a precious ornament

and plunges it into the cool, sweet cream

on a cone it is like a high tower,

a sandcastle

or the forts children make before dinnertime

out of blankets, forts for princesses-

in some worlds they're real.

and the sweet air, honeysuckle dew drops

as sweet as her dreams or her favorite teacher's perfume.

she dug her hand into the rusty bucket

the grubby hand emerges

this time with a small, silver fish she caught in the stream

oh! the hem of her dress is damp

but it is springtime so her mother laughs it off.

she looks at the fish and says to the girl

that it has to go back to where it came from.

so the girl skips back down the street and dumps the bucket over

the water floods the edge of the streambank

and the silver skimmer edges its way back into the water

disappearing under the surface.

the girl who rode her bike

fearlessly, and skinned her knee

and went to the farmers' market on Saturday morning

only to be stung by bees, dismisses this

and goes running into spring.

She runs down the hall

and buys two tickets to the spring musical.

US Naval Academy Summer Seminar: On the Strength of One Link in the Cable

     Just last week, I returned from one of the toughest and most traumatic experiences of my life. While I was at the United States Naval Academy, attending their exclusive Summer Seminar, and living alongside other elite high-school candidates from across the country, the majority of the time all I wanted to do was go home. Granted, I was much closer to home than many of my fellow candidates to begin with. I called my mom, and after a tear-filled phone conversation, I could have easily cut the cord on that adventure, packed my bags, and headed up 95 North. But for some reason, I also didn't want to be done with NASS. I didn't want to leave my new friends, and I wanted to prove that I could make it through the grueling six days. But even more than proving that I could do it, I wanted to make it through the next six days. And I did. And luckily, the experience ultimately reinforced that my original reasons for registering for the Summer Seminar, and for taking an interest in The Academy, were valid. I had gotten so many eye rolls, and questioning glances upon mentioning my interest in the Academy. So many "why do you want to go there?"s. I felt doubtful, but the NASS reaffirmed my original reasons for taking an interest in the Navy.

     My six days in Annapolis were by no means easy, and it didn't help that many of my peers seemed to find it exactly that; easy. (It's like getting a C on a test, which may be a great Chemistry grade for you, but then having some of your closest friends milling around complaining about their 92s. Although that does happen to me pretty frequently, so maybe  should be used to it.) The mission of the USNA is "to develop midshipmen morally, mentally, and physically, and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor, and loyalty  in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future  development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship, and government." (Don't quote me on that; it's from memory.) One week there did just that. With a broken toe, anxiety problems, and cramps, the 8 hour sea trials were like nothing I had ever tried to do before. 

     So why did a white girl from an upper-middle class suburban family, who attends one of the nation's top college preparatory schools, consider putting herself through this? More importantly, why did a girl with absolutely no upper-body strength, consider putting herself through this? The answer can be found in the mission statement, and the 5th Law of the Navy, and Article VI of United States Military Code that we had to memorize over the course of our week at Annapolis. The United States Naval Academy, at least in my opinion, more holistically represents honor, integrity, loyalty, duty, friendship, comradeship, and love, and fosters these ideas more effectively, than does any other service academy, educational institution, government building, or street corner in the world. This is not to say that the USNA is the only institution that demands these values and principles, or that the USNA is, in fact, the best or only place where one can undergo immense personal growth, or experience these concepts in their truest forms. Sure, there are so many places like this. I have taken note of many of them, whether they be little-known restaurants that are locals' favorites, community swimming pools, the Olympic Games, or a government. Nevertheless, I will take the Navy's advice and never give up the ship. I will also never give up my personal opinion that the United States Naval Academy is the primary definition of those values. 

     At the Naval Academy, officers and teachers, superiors and peers, preach the concept that is the collective, not the individual, that is, in the end, both the prize of freedom and the key to victory. All my life, I have wanted to take part in something bigger than myself, something massive, something incredible. Something I couldn't control. Being part of the Brigade provides this opportunity. It allows you to become a physically fit, elite, highly educated individual, but more so, it demands that you lose part of your individuality and meld with your fellow midshipmen into one physically fit, elite, highly educated team, dedicated to defending the United States's greatest principles, and motivated to be the best. I have always wanted to be part of a group, a piece of the puzzle that fits seamlessly with others as it is nestled into position. In the Navy and the USMC, not only are you part of such a cohesive unit, but you have no choice but to be part of one. Beginning with the Summer Seminar, and continuing through Plebe Year, your four Ac-Years, and your summers at the Academy, you are continually thrust into situations that require you to work with your squad, platoon, company, and brigade-mates. These situations require you to trust these people, to care about these people, to love these people, and to act as if each of them is really you. This is such an incredible concept to me, and so intangible, that I have trouble even thinking about it. And I definitely can't possibly understand it. 

     You can read "Band of Brothers" and watch documentaries and movies of combat units and similar experiences until you are blue in the face, as I have done, and you will still never get it until you live it. During my week at the Academy, I got an inch of the tip of the iceberg of it, and it left me hungry for more, completely obsessed with the loyalty and comradeship that the experience fostered. Frankly, I still don't get it. I have been reading 'The Gamble,' a novel by journalist Tom Ricks about the American strategy in the Iraq War since 2006, and I think a couple of guys in there might get it. All of them actually. But in terms of all of the people in the world, very few get it, and the USNA provides an opportunity to make you someone who "gets it." I want to live alongside people like the midshipmen who guided me through my week in their home. I want to work alongside people of that moral character, that quality, that impressive nature and sense of calling that words cannot describe. I want to be one of those people, someone I can be proud of. Those who enter and successfully graduate the Academy are inarguably the most outstanding United States citizens, and extend their values and ideals to the entire world. I want to be able to depend on someone as much as I can depend on myself. I want someone I can proudly walk into battle with, someone that I know will be with me to the bitter, or glorious, end. I want unequivocal friendships built off of unconditional trust, loyalty, and love. 

     In addition to singularity rather than individualism, the Naval Academy promotes other values that I find incredibly important; honor and commitment to one's country, particularly the United States of America. Today, sitting in the lifeguard chair, and attempting to stay as alert as possible, I realized that lifeguarding for days on end is boring, but is also stress-inducing and taxing. You are not quite doing anything, at least nothing physical, which makes it boring, but at the same time, you are constantly scanning the pool, counting children in certain areas, making sure they come up for air, or don't jump off too close to the diving board. But as unfortunate as it may seem to be sitting in the lifeguard chair, I began to realize some other things. Like how I was sitting in a lifeguard chair, wearing the sunglasses I wanted to wear, and a bathingsuit that didn't cover me from head to toe. My face was not veiled, because I did not want it to be. Even more miraculous, the children in the water were similarly clothed, and splashed around doing whatever they pleased on a mid-June day. Not in all corners of this world are scenes like this tolerated, even possible. The kids making grabs at their parents wallets as the ice cream truck rolled on down was such a stark contrast from the way that in the Dominican, the children's bright eyes would sadly follow the flavored-ice truck as it navigated its way around a goat and then out of sight behind a corner. Those children didn't even bother to ask their parents for money, and a lot of them didn't even have parents. Prosperity. 

     The bathingsuits, particularly of the women, suddenly brought me to remember the images I have been watching on TV for the past week. Images of violence, and slaughter, and chaos, in Iran, where citizens continue to protest last week's announced election results. Perhaps this leap was me stereotyping Iran, and radical governments, as those who demand the veiling of women and restrict women's rights, but nevertheless, that is what I thought about. Freedom. And then it came to me. That scene witnessed from the lifeguard chair was a manifestation of all of the "principles which made my country free" (Art VI, USMC). That was what I had been learning about, reciting, trying to grasp for the past week.  That scene at the pool? That is what graduates of The Academy preserve. I LOVE this country. Heck, I love President Bush just as much as I love President Obama. And THEY both love our country. The Navy is a steadfast defender, dedicated to keeping America around, and is filled with like-minded midshipmen, who also feel the utmost respect for our nation's leaders, and devotion to our country and its principles. 

     The Academy truly does value tradition, and memory, and legacy, perhaps more than any other school in the world. It honors those who came before you, and preserves the memory of their lives. Furthermore, it has endearing school-wide traditions, such as the Spirit Missions, or Recons, that each company goes on during the week preceding the Army-Navy game, or the unique way of passing Lefty's BBQ Sauce at the tables in Kings Hall (left hand only and to the left.) Or the way midshipmen open new jars of Skippy, by rolling the jar upside down between their palms until warm, and popping its seal by smashing the jar against their foreheads. Even the most unpleasant of traditions, like the Sea Trials, or Indoc-Night, or Drill, are traditions nonetheless. The cliche USNA tradition of graduation and the tossing of the caps cannot be forgotten, nor can the great feats accomplished by the men and women who graduated before you. Now, each incoming plebe class finds partnership through a mentoring program where the graduating class of 50 years prior sponsors the midshipmen and guides them through their time in Annapolis. Traditions like bringing the Ac-Year to a close with Herndon Monument, and hanging posters on Captains' Row before big football games. Taking MOs (moving orders) to lacrosse games, and filming spirit spots, and singing Anchors Aweigh, and doing pull-up contests. My squad leader scaling every monument and statue on campus to put covers on top of each one. Midshipmen scribbling their company number (with chalk) on every single tile in T-Square. Humiliating plebe initiation rituals. Dress-whites, and the chapel, and Princess Leias (ask about those,) Bancroft, and PEP, and morning runs. Parking for Firsties on The Yard. Because the Midshipman sense of pride is so deeply tied to all of their other values, these traditions are all the more impressive.

     Finally, honor, the foundation upon which the US Military and the USNA is built, is so incredibly special, that naturally I see this institution as the best place to discuss honor openly and to immerse oneself in an educational, professional, and general culture steeped with honor. I believe so deeply in my school's honor code that attending a university with an honor code and council is essentially a prerequisite to making my college decision.  I still have the daisies I received sophomore and junior years for signing the honor statement at my school, and at all times try to keep in mind what I have agreed to and, furthermore, why. Whether it be a matter of academic integrity, or following other school policies, I remember the teachers and peers I stood in front of on the stage as I signed my name into that old, black, leather book. And likewise, midshipmen do not forget or take lightly their commitments and responsibilities. When trying to take in the full extent of the midshipmen's commitment to honor, all one really can do is feel amazement and awe, and drop his jaw like the fourth-grader, on her elementary school field trip, who is led past Bancroft Hall during noon meal formation. It is that dumbfounding.

   

     The Naval Academy may have one of the top engineering programs in the world, and excellent faculty, two other commendable characteristics of the experience offered there. It may have one of the most beautiful campuses, and be located in the most scenic and historic of cities in the world. But the Naval Academy is actually so incredible because the things that make it incredible cannot be seen or taught. Rather, these principles are present, perhaps indiscernible and impalpable, yet dependable, and unwavering as the flag, in the Academy's inherent nature. These principles live among the men and women who gave their lives to greater things than themselves. These great people now reside on the hillside, facing the water, where the sun stretches out across the bay and up the hill, warming the cold marble slabs. They reside in the deep seas, and in foreign lands, and most of all, in the minds and hearts of the next generation set to protect the same things that their predecessors gave their lives for. These principles are echoed from sea to shining sea, and nowhere do they ring as loudly as they do from hall to hall, across the green expanses and grassy hamlets, on the Naval Academy campus.

     While the USNA may not be my future place of residence and scholarship, there are so many reasons it could well be. I want to do something when I grow up. To work with others with whom I have unbreakable bonds. I want to bring social change, stability, light to children's eyes. I want to master the art of language and take in the vibrant cultures the world has to offer. I want to be part of the same sort of collective, the same principles and ideals the Academy preaches and instills in midshipmen. My single week at the Academy was largely unenjoyable, at least while I was there, and I found it to be stressful and taxing, like lifeguarding, but at the end, I feel the greatest sense of accomplishment I have ever felt, the greatest respect and admiration for those who have gone to the Academy, and the greatest patriotic fervor and love for America that I have ever known. I am a romantic and a realist. An idealist and a pragmatist. Compassionate. Dedicated. Intense. Devoted. I love tradition, history, ancient scrolls, and the past. I also love the future. Hopes, plans, ideas. I believe in force, and I believe in diplomacy. I love this country, and truly believe that it is the greatest nation in the world. I have the greatest faith in the potential of mankind, but also see places where improvements could be made. I simply love the gifts that, in the Navy, one is taught to treasure and to preserve. I guess those are pretty good reasons to like a place, right? Hoorah.

On the strength of one link in the cable,

Dependeth the might of the chain,

Who knows when thou mayst be tested?

So live that thou bearest the strain!

I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

The Process: Man, I love College..

I'm sure Asher Roth is right. I might love it when I get there. Then again, he and I seem like pretty different people with very different life goals. I don't exactly "drink my beer and smoke my weed." But what I do know is that right now, I'm not so into college. Literally and figuratively.

Now that exams are over, I can finally relax and have a great senior summer. Pause- this Saturday are the SAT IIs. Three of them. Then come teacher recommendations, writing essays, preparing your common app, narrowing down your list of schools, finding schools that will actually accept you, etc...

Now that Jay Leno has departed, Osama Bin Laden's released another tape, and our economy still sucks, I'm sure you could use a laugh. In the mood for a joke? The college process is actually a joke. Recently, I went to another college fair. But this one; this one was supposed to be different. When the invitation came in the mail, it was not a flyer on cheap yellow paper. No, this was good stuff. Neatly printed on a little white card. We got it and I thought, “Gee, maybe this actually means something. Maybe it is some kind of an honor that I got invited to this thing. It looks like a semi-personal invitation, right?” Hosted by Harvard, Stanford, Georgetown, Duke, and Penn, and held at the Inner Harbor Sheraton, it is needless to say it was a step up from the usual college fairs that take place in back rooms of seedy business centers off the interstate, or hotels that remind me of the one Holden Caulfield stays at in 'The Catcher in the Rye. ' But anyways, we decided to give it a shot. Maybe I'd have some personal interaction with an admissions representative this time? Or they'd actually tell us something, rather than saying there is no model student or no model experience at their school, and explaining that they look at each student "collectively." We arrived downtown with 30 minutes to spare (we know B-More like the back of our hands) only to find that the hotel’s garage parking cost $15 dollars. Doesn’t the Sheraton, or Harvard, for that matter, know we’re in a recession?! No, I guess their multi-million dollar endowments made them forget. Which reminds me; why is it that we must pay so much to be told that we are inadequate or to risk rejection from our dream school? (NOT that Harvard is my dream school. It may be though.) $83 dollars for each AP exam. Countless more for SAT books, classes, tutors. Self-addressed stamped envelopes to send for information. Admissions/ application fees. It never ends, and it adds up. This doesn’t even count the, oh, 60,000 dollars a year easy you can tack on for tuition, room, and board, at your "institution of higher learning", assuming you are admitted to one. College is just kind of ridiculous. I sometimes wonder whether the difference in income between what I and a non college graduate make one day will actually pay off. But anyways, then you get upstairs to the conference room and realize that the mugs for the complimentary tea and coffee are already gone from the back of the room. You have come up just short once again, this time to the college-obsessed, crazy, personal-trained, espresso-hyped, super peppy moms who never stop interfering in their children’s lives, and snapped up the refreshments so that they would have enough caffeine to run on for the duration of the night’s festivities. I suppose they need their energy to ask those questions about sliding scales, GPAs, IBs, pre-professional programs, and whether Georgetown prefers one SAT II over another. Who cares. Really.

And all it does is make you feel inadequate. Your test scores aren't high enough. Your GPA isn't high enough. You don't do enough extracurriculars. You're not good at sports. You don't take challenging enough classes. Your application will make you look lazy, even if you're not. You're not oblong enough; you haven't pursued one interest or passion to a point of excellence, and you're not well-rounded enough. They tell you they will look at you as a complete candidate, but what if you, like the majority, are lacking in all or many of these departments? You're out of luck.

You're also out of luck if you're a white, suburban, upper-middle class girl from a private school in Baltimore. Because, like giving a moose a muffin, if you receive an invitation to a college fair or event, chances are, you're going to run into about, oh, 50% of your class. And not only this but, oh, about 10 other people from your class of 60 are going to be applying to your first choice school with you. So good luck on getting in. Sorry that your demographic has suddenly become the least desirable one due to the college frenzy of the 21st century.

Soon enough you are startled from these thoughts by a young, uptight woman whose hair is pulled into a bun on the back of her head, as she clears her throat. She begins to speak about her school, and what makes it special, but all the facts begin to run together, like a Monet. You have a sheet of statistics, and can almost instantly count yourself out, for your credentials are not nearly good enough to get your Common App even a second glance. But you listen on anyways, and soon a man comes up to talk about his school. It is founded by Ben Franklin, and you think, "Hey, I love Ben Franklin. American History is my favorite subject. That John Adams series was pretty darn good. I love 'National Treasure.' And one time, my godsister took me to the Franklin Institute, that was pretty fun. Philadelphia's awesome." But then he stops talking about Ben, and begins to list interdisciplinary majors and teacher-student ratios. After a night of this, and no, you do not actually get to speak with any representatives, you head home and think.

"What am I supposed to write about? I have so much to say. I don't want to write it about a specific person or experience. I don't want to limit it to 2,000 characters. I wish I did more than devote my time and energy to intangible things, and thinking, and writing. Where does thinking get you, if there is no physical manifestation of your thought? Where does writing get you, if only three or four people read it, and it is not published, not entered in a contest? Where does playing lacrosse for eleven years because you love it? And what about being on a bad team, and being a benchwarmer, but being orally presented with the "unsung hero" award at an athletics awards ceremony? What about being pulled aside by your coaches one Wednesday afternoon for them to tell you that you are the hardest worker on the team? What about how I like to spend time in the English Department office at school, talking with the teachers about, literature, politics, and my crusades against improper grammar? What about my love for sports, and how I read the economist on Saturdays, or how every Sunday I do the New York Times crossword puzzle with my mom?

'What about how I dedicated myself last summer to running and eating healthy, losing 30 pounds and keeping it off? What about how I make babies smile, and can talk with adults for hours, even though people my own age take no interest in me. What about how I lost two elections for leadership positions in school this year, but I still ran? What about how I convinced the entire grade to go all out for spirit week, for the first time ever? The sad thing is, and please excuse the narcissism, I feel like these are good qualities. Or at least defining ones. But how am I supposed to compete with someone so much "better" qualified for a school, even if they b.s. an essay about their summer program or grandmother?" I can't. But I guess all one can do is laugh. That's the biggest joke about college. I know a few great people, thoughtful people, insightful people, driven people. And all I can hope is that this rule isn't true for them. These friends and colleagues are deserving, relentless in their work effort, and devoted.

But it's some sick and twisted game. Not like Candyland, no, because for this one, we're trying to find the path to the rest of our lives rather than to a fictionalized Oz of sugary confections. And let me tell you, I already know that life is not sweet. 'The Baltimore Sun' recently ran an article (yes, it printed more than just auto ads and photos and copies of other newspapers' articles for one day) about the college process. It effectively, and surprisingly, characterized the entire process by telling the story of two students. Same school. Same classes. Almost identical grades. Similar outside credentials. One boy got into Penn and Princeton. Yale and Harvard said 'no.' A girl was accepted by Yale and Princeton but wait-listed by Harvard. She had also been wait-listed at Tufts, where a third, who did not apply to any Ivies (although he wanted to) got in ED. I know, it's hard to keep track of all that. So what can we learn from this? Nothing. The college process is as big a gamble as throwing your entire savings into the current financial market would be. In fact, it's like using your life savings to buy GM stocks. Kind of.

The point is, this process is not clear. It is not fair. And it is not fun. So college better be, for the stress and sacrifices it has caused and will continue to cause for the next nine months. And one thing is for sure. Asher Roth better be right.

Creative Piece: I Left the Lights On (4/3/09)

I left the lights on.

Wow, what a bad driver. It was only

for a second, though.

The lights were on and so 

I saw. I didn't want to see.

But sometimes lights will do that,

their faint glow realizes fears,

It's pretty easy to forget as

The battery drains down. And

at the same I can see, as

Pale yellow turns

to brown.

Shift gear, reverse, turn corner.

But still the lights are on

I see the road ahead

unfriendly, sad, and long.

I should have turned them off, not

Wasted 

All my time

The oil burns quickly, quickly

slowly,

I smell turpentine.

But not 

the turpentine I use

To paint my perfect scenes,

My still-lifes and my crafted worlds.

In those light is a thing,

of beauty. Of

vermillion

ochre

emerald

turquoise.

But here 

light is not colorful;

light is stupidity.

It's bland.

No, here, light tells a thousand truths;

but truths of red and orange, green and blue.

I left the lights on. Damn.

Creative Piece: Home(wood Field)

     Some Saturdays, the sun just barely peaked through the clouds, but others, it streaked down, bouncing off the metallic bleachers, blinding me, and radiating heat. On these days, the pale blue sky was immaculate, without a blemish, and the hot rays soaked through my skin, warming me to the very bone. The cold, silver benches, naturally dull, glittered and dazzled in the early afternoon light, and a brilliant yellow-orange drenched the players in a cheerful splendor, as they danced down the field. The stadium stood, majestic, and spectacular, in the early April light.

     I sat and watched and listened. My ears filled with the crowd’s exultations, the cheers that emanated from the sea of blue surrounding me. The shrill laughter of the man to my left, a young child’s call, the coach’s constant, deep bellowing seemed to pick up and carry with the light wind, and then trailed off as the wind shifted, and whipped in the opposite direction. The sun scorched the emerald strip of turf that was dotted and lined playfully with thick, criss-crossing, candy stripes. The fresh cut grass, like a neighbor’s lawn, or a baseball game, smelled of early spring and mixed with the pungent odor of spray cans and line paint. The hot, thick, scent of greasy food hung over the bleachers. The stadium often took on that familiar, homey feel that made me feel safe and content and comfortable. Sometimes the sun shone so bright that the whole world was enveloped in a blank, pale, undistinguishable white, like a winter morning when a frosted window reveals the world, wrapped up in a blanket of purity. 

     My hours spent at Homewood field were vibrant, and timeless. Other times, at night games, the sky would open up and the entire world would spill out on top of us. A harsh, punishing, rain would lash across my face, the wind cutting me deeply from within. And other times a monotonous drizzle would continue for hours, rain trickling down, a slow, torturous, rhythm that seemed to push the earth to its breaking point. The harsh and unpredictable conditions called to me, and seemed to test the will and mettle of others who had so contentedly filled the stands on pleasant, breezy mid afternoons. On these evenings, the sky and the fields took on a pale, glassy gray, one of a stormy coastline or a dull sheet-metal, and during those night games, a thick, heavy fog settled under the clouds, rain bogging the field in mud, and weighing the world down, leaving me alone to soak in the darkness and enveloping me in a constant, pervasive chill. Those nights stung the earth, and froze me to the core, as the raw ground cracked under the incredible pressure of the game and the world. As the bleak skies opened up to cutting winds and lightning, God illuminated the sky in a spectacular and awe-inspiring electrical storm, and even in the harsh black, rewarded me for my loyalty and faith, with a mystifying and natural light-show. 

     The most beautiful days, and even the ugliest nights, at Homewood Field amassed God’s utter power and reminded me of my insignificance in His world, of my participation in something wholly greater and more important than me. The bright days and dark nights at the field demanded my happiness and appreciation, and commanded my respect. The stadium filled me with emotions, and yet the stands always held among them the resounding thunder of the divine, and carried the resilient quality of victory, ensuring me that the stadium would always be as it was then, powerful and unchanging, and eternal.

Does Unconventionality Even Exist Anymore?

resemblance?

     Even if it is just the makeup, the manscaped eyebrows, the heavily "product"ed hair, and the piercing blue eyes, there's something a little upsetting about the very apparent resemblance between Ian Somerhalder, Chace Crawford, and Zac Efron. Each actor appeals to a decidedly different demographic, but they all look wildly similar. Zac may do it for the preteens, and Chace for Gossip Girl fanatics, but Ian is just an older version, for the more mature viewers who watched LOST back in its first season. They're even wearing similar shirts, and often bear the same facial expression. Yes Boone's look has the hardened effect of a plane crash survivor, and Zac's the same borderline suggestiveness of his High School Musical scenes, where he appears in the locker room shirtless to get a pep talk from his dad or psyche himself up for the big game. Nevertheless, these three are the perfect example of society's narrow-mindedness and our obsession with uninteresting, boring, conventional beauty. I find it at times utterly tiring and frustrating, yet widely fascinating, that we all have such similar ideas of beauty and standards for what beauty is. I think it is so incredible how we have been instructed to find certain people attractive, or have been attracted to certain people instinctively, and not others. I buy into this too, and it isn't always necessarily a bad thing, but why is Zac's, Ian's, and Chace's look so popular. Why is is so attractive? Why does it sell? Why is it preferred (generally) to a more unique looking person? 

     Social and generational trends and themes are constantly changing, and constantly interesting. Why is it that teasing redheads, or gingers, has become such a marker of our generation? Why do certain genres of film, TV, and novels go in and out of style? Why do values change? Does it take an increasingly progressive mind or political stance to stay open to such generational shifts? The Who certainly didn't care who was open to change and who wasn't. Why do certain pieces of clothing, celebrities, music tastes, and political philosophies come back into style, while others vanish? Why is Bruce Springsteen THE MAN again, after all these years? Dictionary.com defines generation as, "a group of individuals, most of whom are the same approximate age, having similar ideas, problems, attitudes, etc." Each age group in the United States's history has been given a generational title, classified with generational accomplishments or characteristics. From the Lost Generation to Tom Brokaw's The Greatest Generation, from my parents' Baby Boom Generation, to Obama's Generation Jones (55-64). Are generations, and the age groups with whom we associate great determiners as we develop our world views and personal tastes? If so, how does generationalism also promote such distinct differences as it did in 1960's politics. All of those men, members of the GI Generation, served in WWII together, and shared common pasts, common goals. Yet in the midst of new generations, of war protests, and hippies, and flower children, this older generation met a great schism that has persisted and consequentially divided subsequent generations. Do generations provide for the same amount of social diversity as they do political differences? 

     If diversity does still exist, which I believe it does, I must also believe it is the desire to be a part of something greater, something memorable, something identifiable that drives our willingness to be categorized. Our compliance in being meshed together in a 10 second Pepsi commercial that uses three, brief, stereotypical clips to capture millions and millions of people. It is pretty incredible how different everyone is, but also how similar, and how willing to make connections with others, establish some sort of legacy or reputation, find common ground. Now, for our nation's sake, wouldn't it be nice if we could adapt this viewpoint to our politics?

Johns Hopkins Lacrosse Season Preview: "We Just Wanna Lax."

     This was what the Duke lacrosse squad chanted while waiting in the wings of Gillette Stadium last may, after a sensational semifinal match between Virginia and Syracuse, who won in overtime. Eager to take the field, the Duke team had no idea what was coming. What came was a shocking upset, courtesy of the team that at midseason looked like it would be lucky to reach .500. The Dukies' enthusiasm was charming (as charming as one can be when you're from Durham and wear that dreaded shade of blue) but they had another thing coming. His name? Paul Rabil. Dave Pietramala and his Blue Jays masterfully crafted a come-from-behind, last minute victory, that would send them soaring into Monday's finals. Cue the highlight reel for  Kevin Huntley's behind the back goal.

      They ended up losing on Monday, to the evil nemesis, Syracuse. There, to me, is no more hated lacrosse program than that that has housed Gary Gait, Casey, Mike, and Ryan Powell. Oh, and Brett Bucktooth. Anyways, I did not stop crying the whole way back to Baltimore, and then some. But I was not just upset that Hopkins had lost. I was heartbroken that I had just witnessed Paul Rabil's last college game, his last game in that uniform, his last game playing for Petro, and he had not been able to go out on his own terms. Sure he scored 5 goals, or maybe six, the memory's fuzzy, but personal accolades are nothing to Paul. As a Blue Jay, it was not about him; it was about the team. 

     And now Rabil is gone. Drafted off to the Boston Cannons, as the MLL's number one pick. Gone is Doneger. Gone is Huntley. Gone is Bocklet. Gone is Peyser. Four All-Americans, countless other contributors. We now look to the new season, beginning in just two weeks, and we are full of questions. Will Gvozden be able to step up, or rather out, once again, and make the same crucial saves he had last season? Will Evans and Drenan take charge of a young defense and can Mike Kimmel become the next Paul Rabil? Apparently the new team chant is "Step Up," and the boys in blue will definitely need to keep this motto in mind. It could be a rocky season, or a great one. But one thing is certain; Dave Pietramala never ceases to surprise. Last season, the Blue Jays suffered an embarrassing losing streak, capped off by a blowout win for North Carolina on Hopkins' own turf. Yet they charged back, making it to the finals, and slashing past Duke, who had already stamped its plane tickets to Cabo for a celebration vacation. 

      Criticism and pessimism is everywhere, and analysts, fans, the media, think the impossible certainly will not be done. But Hopkins has graduated great players before. In recent years, Hopkins has lost Jake Byrne, Jesse Schwartzman, and even Kyle Harrison, who is in my opinion the greatest player of all-time. Each year, the Johns Hopkins lacrosse team perseveres, and has made it to the finals the past two years. 

     Look for Steven Boyle, the returning leading scorer, to help Kimmel run the attack, and Matt Dolente to continue his dominance at midfield, ensuring possession. Brian Cristopher is consistently strengthening and will help garner the midfield. We can also expect great contributions from rising stars Mark Bryan, Sam DeVore, and Tommy Duerr. Struggling Siena and Princeton teams at the top of Hopkins' schedule provide potential wins to start off the season.

       The main problem is not what these younger players are capable of doing, but it is whether or not they can continue to do what they do without Peyser to take the draw, or Rabil to snatch an iffy pass and finish for a goal. Without Doneger's dependability or a feed from Huntley. Without power attackers, the offense will have to shift its approach, and will rely on transition rather than Paul Rabil's power packages. As of now, no Blue Jay is dominant enough to take on two, or even three defenders, on his own during a man up situation. If Hopkins is successful in this transition approach, however, they will make it far for the third consecutive season. Before further analysis, I may need to watch a few games, but my feelings are that Pietramala and his boys could well be knocking at the door of another playoff run. 

     This season will separate the true fans from the fair weather fans, and the weak from the brave at heart, both on the field and off. It may be a roller coaster of a year, but that is one thing that the Johns Hopkins lacrosse team is not afraid of. After all, they just wanna lax.

My Apologies to Mr. Phelps

I saw Bob Bowman at a swim meet last night, and after a starstruck moment, it occurred to me that I owed his best known prodigy an apology for a hasty, judgmental, and over-generalized statement. 

Dear Mr Phelps,

     I am sorry for judging you. I know that you are 23 years old. I personally disagree with your choice to smoke pot, but that is just how I feel. Really, you should be able to do what you want. I do think it is unfortunate that you have, perhaps unwillingly, been portrayed by the media as a full-time role model/ angel. I think the main source of controversy over your actions was not that as a twenty three year old you were smoking pot and hopping from frat party to frat party. It was probably that these actions were so unexpected from you, because of the standards, perhaps unfair or unreasonable, that people have for you. 

     I would like to commend you for not putting anyone's life in danger this time, as you did back in November of 2004. That in and of itself demonstrates growth and maturity. I am, however, worried about you. Clearly everywhere you go there are many people who are not really your friends. People who want to embarrass you, cause a scandal. I am also worried that perhaps the family, teasing, and self-image problems you had growing up, and have spoken candidly about in interviews and in your autobiography, might still be haunting you. 

     I am far from an expert on the subject of chemical dependancies or psychology, but I am a staunch believer that many times, there are emotional reasons for which someone might develop habits like you have taken up. It is not so much the one hit of the bong, but the monthly trips to Las Vegas, the partying with people who do not think twice about spoiling your reputation, that worries me. As harsh and critical as I have been of you, I am still here and I still care. You still represent my city, and you are still a role model to me. 

     But I worry that while you have clearly proven yourself a man under water, you are yet to come into your manhood above the surface. I wish that you didn't engage in some of the things you do, but I know others who have done similar things, and I do not love them any less. Personally, I wish you wouldn't do these things, but even more so, I wish your happiness. I wish you were content, and felt accomplished, deserving, self-assured, above the water. Maybe this is why other people are so upset, maybe not. I am disappointed, mostly, that you have not been able to do this thus far, or at least that is what I interpret your partying habits to suggest. By all means, have a good time, but please do it in a way that conveys maturity, and self-control. You do not have to break laws to be happy, but most of all you do not have to hang out with questionable people. 

     I know that I have not always stood by you in the most supporting way. Part of me is far too willing to piece together the DUIs, party rumors, and girlfriend stories to make a terrible person out of you. But in the end, I am still here, still talking about you, because I care. I think that whether or not something like this will happen again, you should not have to say that it will not. The problem lies in that your profession and your sponsorships are ones that represent a healthy lifestyle, and a maturity level, that are perhaps refuted, at least traditionally, by the recently circulating images of you. I think you should hold the reigns in establishing who you are and what people expect from you. But most of all, I hope it won't happen again because I hope that you can find things that make you you up here on land, although if that truly is something that makes you happy, go for it, in all seriousness.

My Apologies,

                Kate

Spotted: Gossip Girl Fashion

   some of the best wardrobe ensembles to ever grace my television set, making their way from New York's Upper East Side, home of "Manhattan's elite." Miss Blair, S, V, Little J, and others really rock out to life, and take advantage of their parents' credit cards and their abundance of free-time. They manage to look like this and score perfect SATs at the same time; that's what I call multitasking. Here are some of the outfits that I've "xoxo'd" in the past two seasons.

dynamic duo

golden girls

lady in red

miss blair

honorable mention

Man of the Year?

Besides Bruce, there could really only be one viable candidate.

  See? Even Rihanna wears him on her fingernails.

Fashion Lookbook!

     I have always maintained that if I designed/ owned a fashion line, my clothes would be some combination of Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters, Free People, Oscar de la Renta, and Charlotte Ronson. I love flipping through magazines, as my eyes take in the colorful layouts, and piecing together outfits that match current trends or have a common theme. I have always loved bright colors and intricate patterns, so the bright tribal prints that are big now are right up my alley. I also like the relaxed, carefree approach Free People and Urban have, as well as the slightly more polished, more sophisticated looks from Anthropologie, that consistently mix new and old in surprising combinations of colors, stitching, and high quality detail. I like Charlotte Ronson for the playfulness, as well as Carolina Herrera and Oscar de la Renta, perennial successes. Recently, I have taken a liking to Diane Vonf Furstenberg, and DVF's Spring 2009 is incredible. Hence, I have pieced together some magazine scans, runway looks, and ready to wear items from the past few years, and particularly from this coming season, into some snapshots of fashion inspiration. This season, I couldn't help but think that a number of pieces reminded me of the Oaxacan Animal Carvings that my family collects. Carved and handpainted by the Zapotec Indians in Mexico's Oaxaca Valley, the animals are playful and colorful. They are eye-catching and have both a modern and eclectic, or traditional value to them. And if I had the money to blow $50-500 on each one, these "Alebrijes" would take over my house. Here are some of my favorite looks of this season (and of all-time!) 

"Drama Changes Lives." The Office, Summer Heights High and Other TV Highlights

     TV is finally getting back to what it used to be. Even though I should probably be spending hours a night laboring away on schoolwork and memorizing college statistics (i.e. admission rates, student to teacher ratio, majors & minors offered, graduation %, etc.), I continuously find myself on the couch with my bag of carrots. Except tonight I won't have any, because I ate all 11 servings (400 Calories) this afternoon.  You might say, hey, this is way healthier/ less indulgent than the stuff I snack on, but then again, look at the portions. Once I crunch, I can't stop (this doesn't rhyme quite like the Pringles jingle.. but oh well. Pringles jingle also rhymes!) And I should really keep in mind what 'The Skinny Bitch' says; "remember; cows get fat off of grass."

     Anyways, I have been thinking recently that 'LOST' has really regained some of its dignity, although it still has a far way to go. And it was one (heartwrenching) thing to kill Boone off, and then Shannon, and then Michael and Walt left. And then Ana Lucia and Libby. And so on. But it is quite another to replace basically the entire original cast and spend 60 (or 62 according to TV Guide) minutes following some scientist, his gf who died last night, and Desmond. I miss Eko. And Rousseau. 

      Although Desmond is a Scot, so that wins him points. What I'm saying, though, is that once again 'LOST' is in need of a refocus, a reality check, and a couple of episodes where none of the original cast dies. Is that too much to ask? Oh, and I'd also really like if Walt came back. With the Golden Retriever. (BTW, and please know that the abbreviations are A JOKE, Locke lives in Baltimore. Yup, Terry O'Quinn, his elfishly pointy ears, and his piercing eyes have been rumored to frequent Wegmann's, the North Central Railroad Trail, and even Yankee Candle Co. at the mall. Pretty cool, right?) Also, I like Rose and Bernard. A lot, for the record. But 'LOST' never fails to be thought provoking, even if it does stretch one's perception of reality. I hope they tie up some loose ends, but then again I hope the show goes another 10 years.

     Oh gosh, and how great are Thursday nights? FACT: Awesome. 'The Office' has never failed to amuse and educate. The one liners, social issues addressed, and sexual tension are great. Things We Have Learned from 'The Office:' Black bears are best. We will have pancakes (at IHOP) and we'll like it. The best way to seal a business deal is over an Awesome Blossom. Don't tip people for things you can do yourself (see Schrute, Dwight K.) Do, however, tip urologists. The proudest moment of your career can be when a Guatemalan worker asks you to be his child's godfather; and then you fire him. Fool me once, strike one, but fool me twice, strike three. God hangs out in Chili's. If you misspell 'failure' in front of the entire school, you will likely lose to Raj Patel. Blood alone moves the wheels of history! If you're looking to have a good time at a cocktail party, always: 1) check out the chimney's condition. 2) check the smoke alarms. 3) ask for the home's square footage. 4) bring potato salad that has been sitting in your car all day. 5) do not dress like the servants. 6) "arrive early and smart." 7) check for termite damage; significant damage indicates a failed party. 8) check the home's foundation for structural flaws. 9) Be sure to interrogate the host's sleeping son about the wood used to make his rocking chair. 10) Start with the bannisters. 11) Be sure to inform fellow guests that a shrimp's veins are actually feces. 12) Ask your host how much their home cost. 13) Don't leave without introducing your boss/ romantic partner to the company manager. 

     Also, you can make lots of young adult friends by being a creepy old man who runs a fake ID business from your car with a laminating machine that you swiped from the Sherrif's station. Scranton is the Electric City, and is known as such because of the electricity. It is possible to absorb your sibling's fetus and grow up with the strength of a grown man and a little baby. If you are about to do something, think, "would an idiot do that?" If he would, do not do that thing. If you look exotic, your dad was probably a GI. Or at least that is what people will assume. Black pepper snakes are fast. During WWII Japanese prison guards would chose a man to kill whenever a new batch of prisoners arrived. If you're thinking about double crossing your boss, always meet at a diner, so as to keep things inconspicuous. The most romantic place to propose is at a rest stop gas station. Do not attempt to make cheesy pita in the office kitchen; you'll be blamed for starting the fire. Always sign up for online profiles with the username "littlekidlover," to show women where your priorities are. The word 'ship' is hidden inside the word 'leadership,' because that is its derivation. Toby ruins everything. If you are wearing something that your grandfather was buried in, that garment is a family heirloom. 

     Michael Scott's greatest fear is lonliness. Or maybe women. No, wrong; he is not afraid of anything. (Also accepted: snakes.) Only 364 days until the next pretzel day. The best way to make friends is to drive them somewhere, leave them, get in your old school automobile and drive away, making them walk home. Dwight has made really good friends with Ryan and Phyllis this way. Every little boy fantasizes about his fairytale wedding. The best way to lose weight is to buy a tapeworm. From Creed. From Mexico. Bruce Springsteen tickets are a hot item. But I already knew that. The most satisfying way to kill a zombie is to stab it in the brain with a wooden stick. Negative is a good thing in the medical world. And, finally, if you share your birthday with Eva Longoria, you will have a really good ice breaker for conversation, if you ever meet her. For a while, the Scranton crew lost its touch, but of late, it definitely has it back.

     30 Rock follows this up, and is so great it deserves its own column. We already established that Tina Fey had, like, the second best year ever. And finally, my new obsession: "Summer Heights High." This was on HBO until like 2 days ago but was originally a mockumentary series set at a public high school in Australia. It features Jonah Takalua, a troubled Year 8, who has the vocabulary of a Roxbury man after the '86 World Series, and the reading/ writing skills of an unborn fetus. Or at least a very young child. Also, there is Mr. G, the egomaniacal and flamboyant drama teacher, who wants everyone to "spread it" when he takes over the department due to a coworker's family emergency. His resume includes rather unique shows, entitled, 'Ian Thorpe: The Man, The Water, The Music,' and 'Tsunananarama,' a true jewel based on the Tsunami tragedy and set to the theme of Bananarama. This year, SHH follows Mr. G as he plans to scratch 'Anything Goes,' and produce another original, based on a Year 11 who died due to an ecstasy overdose. Mr. G does not know what is crossing the line from appropriate to not and is hilariously oblivious. 

     Finally, there is Ja'mie, yes J-A-apostrophe-M-I-E. She knows, "it sounds random, but you'll get used to it." Ja'mie thinks everything is random, and is from a private school. Her obscene comments and pretentious character are somehow charming, especially when she decides to go out with a Year 7, Sebastian. As Jonah deals with his single parent home life, his Polynesian ancestry, and another Year 7 who tries to show him up in breakdancing, Mr. G's escapades entertain while Ja'mie scales the social ladder. And brings "formal" (dances) to Summer Heights High. The show is vulgar, but refreshingly realistic and funny. It would be an understatement to say I quote it at least 5o times a day.

     And speaking of television, who thinks Blago (impeached Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich) should totally get his own show? He's witty. He is better than scripted acting, because he is unedited and he speaks from his stream of consciousness (a weird stream at that, the likes of which the world has never seen.) He could even invite Oprah to be a guest. And imitate people like Richard Nixon (see interview on 'The View.') And talk about monumental events and historical figures, like Ghandi, Nelson Mandela, oh, and.... himself. He clearly knows the entertainment business well, from Oprah to Jimmy Stewart, and has no trouble living life on the edge, or in the spotlight. 

Why I Am Running the Department of Public Works Out of Business

The plows didn't show up, so after two hours of shoveling...

...we finished their job.

The Awesomeness that is Canton 1.28.09

     I've finally gotten around to doing Canton. As a non-resident, I hope I can do justice to this truly spectacular Baltimore neighborhood. "Rantin' from Canton" was right: this was definitely missing from my older list of Baltimore neighborhoods and restaurants. This week is Baltimore Restaurant Week; unfortunately, the weather, schoolwork, and economy have not been particularly conducive to making full use of this. Nevertheless, I hope to hit at least a couple more of the best and most original downtown spots before the end of the week and take advantage of the specials, discounted prices, the culture, and, of course, the food. This past weekend, I was reminded that I needed to shed some light on the previously forgotten neighborhood, Canton. We went down there for dinner the other day, and ended up at a really cool restaurant called Helen's Garden. There was a new chef, in fact, that night, because their old chef has apparently just been called back to "Top Chef," which is pretty cool. 

     Anyways, I had some really good marinated Greek chicken kebabs with tzatziki and asparagus. The asparagus was a little overcooked, and the service was not outstanding, but nonetheless, the painted walls and original artwork for sale created a really cool vibe. Constructed out of two rowhouses, the entrance to Helen's Garden is through a painted tunnel-like space that used to be the little alleyway between the two homes. On either side is a bar and a restaurant, and the artwork was colorful and original, many of the subjects including Hopper-like storefronts, or colorful "Amish Quilts." These pops of color were a really nice juxtaposition to the darker, sleeker, and more neutral feel created by the low lighting, the contemporary seating, and the cream colored walls with dark trim. There were even cool little alcoves that had been built off of the other wall, with sheer bronze curtains adding to the intimate setting. 

     It also had unique qualities, like a surprise special, prepared by the main chef. If a customer orders this, all he knows about the dish is that he has a choice between filet and scallops, and he is surprised by whichever way the chef decides to pull each plate together. No two customers get the same surprise special; my dad ordered this, choosing scallops, and was quite happy with the result. In addition, their truly gourmet burgers are made with ground filet mignon, and the sweet potato fries, or regular, looked divine. They were golden brown, hand cut and sprinkled with salt and a fresh herb mix, and toppled over the large serving dish. For desert they had homemade Michigan cherry bread pudding, and volcano cakes that looked awesome, although if neither of these look good, you can always run across the street to the legendary Vaccaro's for one of the best cannolis in Baltimore. 

     Anyways, Helen's was pretty good. If you're looking for a place to watch the Ravens (next season) or something more casual, there is the epic Looney's or a family favorite of ours, Nacho Mama's, which features paraphernalia and merchandise from both the Baltimore Ravens and Colts teams. It's like a great place for cheap, indulgent foods, Natty Boh (if you're 21 and older), a museum, and a conversation with an authentic and eccentric Baltimorean all in one. In addition to the Baltimore brew, now made in North Carolina (weak,) Nacho Mama's, as I recall, loves Elvis. Loves. 

     I was looking at this place, Birches, that looks pretty excellent as well. Who wouldn't want to try 'The Original Pink House Dip,' with "backfin crab, artichoke hearts, baby spinach mingling with cream cheese and house spice, served with toasted baguette half?"I don't know, but I don't want to meet that person. In addition to the foodie stuff, it looks to have a good blend of pub grub, so to speak, and excellent brick-oven pizza and burgers. At the Can Company, you can find Austin Grill and, of course, Ray Lewis' Full Moon BBQ. (Although I am disappointed that Ray doesn't know it should be Lewis's rather than Lewis'.) He does a radio show there, too. Monday nights I believe. Gecko's is apparently some great southwestern style food, and then there is the classic seafood place/ rawbar with a cool name, 'Mama's On the Half Shell.' Anything crab or oyster is here, from shooters to crab dip, which I have already admitted I have a special spot for. Bay Cafe has also been acclaimed by some as the best waterfront spot in the city, which is saying a lot, and while its menu is simple, it sure does sound delicious. 

     Wherever you want to eat, and no matter what you want to do, it seems pretty clear that the heart of Canton is O'Donnell Square, which better resembles city storefronts from the 60's, or a small town main street, than it does a hotspot in the middle of Baltimore City. This, to me, is a good thing. It also has a park in the middle, complete with benches, and I'm sure perfect for enjoying a spring day or late summer evening. The community and the care put into these establishments really pays off, because like Fell's Point, Canton is an inviting place, where one cannot help but feel immersed in true Baltimore culture, and also safe.     No matter where you look, there is something cool to look at, something cool to eat, or something cool to buy, from one of the numerous locally owned and unique shops, selling quirky Baltimore stuff, pet goods, antiques, clothing. . As a crusader against sprawl, particularly urban sprawl, the brick facades and humble storefronts are pleasing to me, and it is clear that Canton's community members are uniquely attentive to their surroundings, and their dedication and commitment is reflected in Canton's growing popularity. Preservation and restoration of areas like Canton, so integral to the well being of a city like Baltimore, is often overlooked. But not here; Canton has fought the odds and come back stronger than ever.

      A short trip from Fell's Point, Patterson Park, and even the Inner Harbor, the Canton area is definitely accessible, and people are taking full advantage of this ('2910 on the square', right next to Helen's is a particularly good example of this, and offers one of a kind things on par with the artsy goods sold in and around Hampden's Cafe Hon.) After the Depression, Canton became home to many immigrants from various countries, and these communities have today forged a unique cultural epicenter that transcends the cuisine and events offered in and around the area. Canton is constantly offering karaoke nights, music festivals, and hosting green initiatives. As the home of the first branch of the Enoch Pratt library, as I remember, history certainly lives here. The waterfront scene is beginning to take root as well, and a full scale revival of this neighborhood is making it inarguably one of the best places to live and/or hang out in Baltimore. Bottom line, Mr. Rantin' from Canton, where you live is pretty awesome and I'm jealous.