A Midwesterner visits Baltimore!

I recently had the pleasure of making a 4 day trip to Baltimore, MD. The city wowed me, to say the least.

The food in Baltimore is what one would expect of an East coast city on the edge of the Chesapeake. The oysters were absolutely amazing. For those of you who do not like either the taste or even the concept of eating a raw, still-living sea creature with the approximate texture of snot, let me describe to you the process of eating one.

An oyster can be “dressed up” with all sorts of condiments, much like a hamburger. Personally, I prefer a little bit of lemon juice and a couple drops of Jack’s Red Hot or Louisiana Hot Sauce on them, but my wife is partial to cocktail sauce and occasionally even prefers a few drops of mustard. The oyster should be opened within a few minutes of ingestion – and preferably, it should be opened in front of you so you can watch the shucker cut the muscle on the animal, thus providing an easy eating experience. Pick up your oyster and slide it into your mouth. I find that with super high quality oysters – the kind you get in Baltimore, for example – chewing them a few times really makes the flavor explode. Otherwise, there’s nothing really wrong with swallowing it whole. It’s the aftertaste you’re looking to savor, after all; a fresh, eye opening explosion that can only be described as “tasting a pristine ocean breeze.” I prefer the saltier oysters, but a sweeter oyster is more reminiscent of a crisp mountain air. That combined with the tingly burn of the hot sauce on your lips (quenched by an ice cold IPA) is by far one of the most satisfying culinary experiences I have ever had.

Of course, if I were to wax ecstatic about the food in Baltimore, you’d swiftly be typing tl;dr in the comments: from the Turkish fare at Cazbar to the sights and smells at the Lexington market and the unbeatable crab cakes at G & M, the food in the city is absolutely phenomenal. Except Phillip’s. Don’t eat at Phillip’s. It’s the Dollar General of crab and isn’t worth half what you pay. With so many excellent choices, not even a tourist should suffer an evening of Phillip’s.

That said, the food was not the most memorable experience of the city. That honor goes to the general personality of its residents. Coming from the Midwest, I am aware that Michiganders and our ilk are typically known for being friendly, down to earth, hard working people. That said, Charm City certainly earns its reputation. I cannot remember a time when so many absolute strangers were so genuinely considerate and friendly in one place. People let other people out in traffic. People always said thank you and always asked how you were doing. Homeless people helped you back into parking spots and never once asked for change. Contrast this with New York, where part of the “fun” of being a tourist is apparently finding out how long a hobo will chase and pester you panhandling despite ignoring him.

There also seems to be plenty to do in the city after sundown; between the veritable buffet of taverns in Fell’s Point (one of the most beautiful areas of the city) to the “open containers allowed” section of Power Plant Live (15 dollars all you can drink at 5 different bars!) to the various flavors and styles of Canton (from the phenomenal Mama’s on the Half Shell to the Claddagh Irish pub that pours a Guinness the correct way) to the laid back college atmosphere found in the Fed Hill district, even a career regular can find a plethora of dance clubs, eateries, and drinking venues to fill the hours.

My only complaint: if you’re going to make a beer with a label as adorable as National Bohemian (and a tasty beverage at that!), make the factory open for tours!

For the more family oriented and “touristy” types: Check out a Duck tour. It’s an inexpensive and hilarious way to see the city from the comfort of a World War II amphibious vehicle. It travels the streets of Baltimore, affording you looks at the Washington monument, the Basilica (oldest cathedral in America), and the beautiful Enoch Pratt Free Library. Then it takes to the water, showing you the city from the Chesapeake bay. Also you get a quacker which works wonders in annoying your spouse.

If you have some extra time, take some of it and explore the Basilica in detail. After the renovations completed in 2006, the catacombs-like basement is a phenomenal addition to the Church’s stunning architecture, and free tours make it an excellent budget destination as well.

From the friendliness of the people to the strength of its food, the City of Firsts is a spot that should be high on everyone’s list of places to Visit. Well done, Baltimore.

Blogspot, you're inconvenient.

While I appreciate the fact that it took me no less than 25 seconds to create a blog, thanks to Blogspot's easy to use templates, I do find it infuriating that I can't go to my blog to start writing. Every time I sit down to type, I do what is -- in my mind -- the first responsible action. I go to my blog. And then I hunt around awhile for the "make new blog" button.

And I fail.

So I spent another minute or two getting distracted by the crappy writing and typo laden cacophony of grammar verbosity on the page, realize with a sense of resigned horror that it's MY writing that is causing the air I breathe to taste like burnt paper, and try to find the sign in button.

There is a sign in button. So I press it and a pop up.... pops...up... (I do so hate psuedo onomatopoeias such as that), and I sign into the popup, and nothing happens. So I X the pop up and resort to repeating steps one and two above. This whole process takes me about 10 minutes on average -- quite impressive considering I can usually type an entire post in under that amount of time. Especially when I cut n paste prior work like yesterday.

I realized, today, that I can't go to my own blog to start typing. I have to go to the blogspot home page, where it thankfully remembers me and asks me if I want to start typing. Yes, Blogspot, you lazy fart, of course I do, and thanks for hiding in the most ridiculous location I can fathom without being intentionally obtuse.

A WoW post

When I am being lazy, I'm going to throw whatever jibberish I wrote over at GWJ in here. It's not that I don't care, it's that I think the quality of my writing is superior to must of the drivel found over there, and I find a sentimental desire to host it separately from a forum post. In this topic, I describe Black Morass, an instance from The Burning Crusade:

I know the gilded lens of time tends to make the older instances seem better than ones we run ad nauseum now, despite almost universal praise for the structures of the Northrend instances. That said, I must follow suit in describing my favorite instance: the Black Morass.

First, I am one of the few who thought the limited timestream stuff Blizzard did in The Burning Crusade was great. I loved the concept of going back to an epic turning point in the time of Azeroth and, finding that what was once thought to be a horriffic disaster (the Horde invasion) actually was the lesser of two evils, as it eventually led to the alliance of Horde and Azerothian forces to expel the scourge and Archimonde from Mount Hyjal. Armed with this knowledge, your band of mortals must travel back, Terminator style, and keep the Infinite Dragonflight from re writing history and plunging the world into a yet darker fate than already exists. You defend that great betrayer, Medivh, and, if successful, watch him bring across the first Horde Shock troops that will spell years of devastation to Azerothian lands. A truly bittersweet victory, indeed.

The structure of the instance was brand new at the time. An outdoor instance, which allowed mounted travel, the entire thing took place in a large, swampy area. You had to clear the indigenous, and hostile, fauna before accepting Medivh's assignment, lest their innocent desire to protect their land come while fending off the devastating blows of Chrono Lord Deja or one of his powerful dragonkin minions. Now, everyone recognizes this structure (Violet Hold imitates it), but back then it was shiny and new.

Finally, it truly showcased the differences in classes. You *had* to have someone who could handle wave upon wave of adds. Do you pick the mage, a devastating AOE opponent but desperately fragile? Do you pick the warrior, who could probably just whirlwind and thunderclap everything to death while still on the target elite? Or do you allow the skills of a good hunter to shine as he expertly juggles trap cooldowns, pet management, volley and multishot to deny everything access to Medivh's delicate shield? A smooth team could protect Medivh with minimal effort; often our priest healer would throw out competitive dps, as well timed stuns and threat management minimized incoming damage. But never forget: one mistake often spelled doom for a group, as the adds kept spawning and Medivh's shield rarely could be saved after a wipe.

And the final boss fight! What fun! Before nerfs, his enrage, time stop, and sand breath could line up in one Global Cooldown, spelling panic for even the most seasoned healers and tanks. Beyond that, Aeonus's genuine outrage at our attempts to keep him from re writing history was magnificent.

A Test

Why do people feel the need to write about their own lives? What is it about the last three generations that causes them to be to arrogant that they could possibly think others care about the personal details of their lives so much that it must be shared in a public spot?

If you google anything in this sentence, I'm guessing that someone else said it before me, and said it better than me. They probably also copyrighted it. So, congratulations, you're reading a boring, accidentally plagiarized blog!

It's interesting to think about the things in your life that affect the decisions you make in life the most. A few years ago, I was a beer snob. A fairly hardcore, brown-bottle or draft only, please, beer snob. I waxed philosophic about the floral bouquet in a delicate IPA, or the hearty coffee flavor in the local stout brewed at the pub downtown. I looked with scorn upon my father and his family, who drank Bud Light.

And now as I write this, I'm enjoying the flavor of a can of Busch Light. I have become my own worst nightmare. I still enjoy sounding like a complete drooling hipster moron when I'm at the local watering hole; I can compare the taste of beer to emotions with the best of them. The question is: what changed me? Why am I now that which I considered the lowest common denominator of beer drinker, the fat bald beer-gutted slob with salsa stains on my shirt and holes in my jeans who drinks Busch Light out of a Can and screams "I DON'T NEED TA WEAR A SHIRT!" at passersby?

It was Consumer Reports.

Those bastards.

They told me that they did a taste comparison test of all the large volume beers to find out which one really was the best value.

And Busch Light in a can won.

Apparently, aluminum cans keep the beer freshest. (this actually makes sense; sunlight is beer's enemy, and glass, especially clear glass, lets sunlight in. That's why Coronas taste like shit and you cover it up with lime juice.) And Busch Light won the blind taste test.

I've no idea if that story was true or not. Even if it was true, it has nothing to do with quality micros or imports.

But the desire to buy 12 beers for 6 dollars apparently only needed the slight impetus from a magazine saying "it's okay, other people drink that beer too!" for me to start purchasing it.

And now I am a Busch light guzzling white trash douchebag with hipster douchebag tendencies -- but more money that that stupid nerd rock glasses hipster, cause I drink cheap beer.

And I don't need ta wear a shirt.