Words & Images: The Basic Training of Design Education

As I'd mentioned in a past post, this blog was created specifically for a class I'm taking. Despite my trying to adapt each writing assignment to appear as if this were simply a Fell's Point fan site, I occasionally have to out myself. This is another of those, so if you're one of the people who simply enjoys the Fell's content, feel free to skip to the next post.

Words & Images is a class in the University of Baltimore's Publication Design graduate program and it's intended as an introduction to advanced concepts in graphic design. No doubt, the idea behind it is to put level of pressure on the student that's similar to what's faced in a career. Kind of how basic training catapults recruits into military life by heaping ridiculous amounts of stress on them.

For example, the first assignment was to write a magazine article, lay it out, and supply related, original imagery (no stock photos, no clip art). The next week, after having that article torn apart, we'd have to go back and revise. Maybe you needed all new pictures or maybe, as in my case, you article was so unorganized, that you'd have to do a complete rewrite. The real kick in ass was that there was a new magazine article assigned during that very same week. So, that's two articles due and now maybe (probably) both of those need revisions for week three.

You can see how this is going to go all to hell if you don't keep up. If you're not on this thing every day, you're going to get backed up and see a few weekday morning sunrises while trying to meet a deadline. I took 32 hours of personal time from work this semester and 8 of those could have been prevented had I planned better.

On a related note, I now plan better.

Something we experienced that I think isn't often understood is how writing often becomes as much of a designer's responsibility as typeography, layout, color theory, and imagery. While a studio might have the luxury of a copywriter, the designer isn't excempted from producing professional verbiage. 

A surprise for me was to learn how valuable original illustrations actually are: I certainly never really believed that drawing would ever get me anywhere. No surprise there, considering all the trouble I used to get into from teachers, relatives, and significant others for wasting time with it. Seriously, it was like I was living a dystopian, Bradbury-esque world where illustrators are criminals.

In this class, though, I was able to create and add elements that were specifically tailored to the ideas in my copy that would have been difficult to produce otherwise. And, I assure you no one has time for extra amounts of "difficult" in this class.

It's almost over now. I could use a nap. But, like going to the gym or learning a language, I know I have to keep this momentum going or I'll have to go through the pain of building it back up again. No need to be ridiculous about it but my revised schedule for 2014 definitely includes redoing some of these projects as practice and portfolio fillers.

Fell's Point Formstone Map!

Quick Departure for a Quote

Because this blog is, in reality, for a class I'm taking, I'm going to need to take a quick departure from Fell's Point history to write up an assignment.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery is a story that's grown up with me and a large portion of the Western Hemisphere tends to agree that it's an important work.

The book confused me when I first read it but I chalk that up to the speech my uncle delivered when he handed it to me. He opened to the first page and started in about using your imagination, seeing the world in a new light, and pretty much all the other themes that Saint-Exupery explores in the guise of a simple tale about a boy who appears suddenly in the desert.

The problem with this is that my uncle laid all these themes out to me before I even got the chance to read it as the simple story it is. Plus, it's probably not really necessary to tell a ten-year-old to use his imagination. It all sounded like a "lesson" of some kind, so I put it aside.

Despite such an irritating introduction, I later read it, liked it, and carried it around sometimes like a good luck charm. I came back for a re-visitation a few more times up to my twenties before the book became a sort of annual reading for the start of autumn. I've always discovered new favorite parts and passages and sometimes think about getting tattooed or drawing something related. Mostly I just sort of think about it a lot.

There are two separate passages that stay with me now, and have for a few years. They share a theme.

The first is said by a fox who, despite being a wild animal, wants to be tamed by the little prince so they can be friends. He explains:

"To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world....”

Artist: Antoine de Saint-Exupery - http://www.antoinedesaintexupery.com/

The second quote is said by the little prince after seeing a garden full of roses. He has a rose of his own that he cares for (and is sometimes manipulated by). Until now, he believed her beauty was unique and he's upset to see dozens of similar roses. Later, he turns on them and says:

“You're beautiful, but you're empty... One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.”

Artist: Antoine de Saint-Exupery - http://www.antoinedesaintexupery.com/

These are powerful statements even within the context of being said by a speaking fox or being heard by roses that are listening. Taken out of that context and applied to something personal, like my dog, and it's easier to understand why I'd be angry when I hear about people dropping their dog (or cat) off at the shelter because they "have a baby now". Maybe she's no longer as special to you, worth the effort it takes to care for her but some serious thought should be put into how special you still are to her.

  Artist: Riya. I can't find any other information on this...

Applied to a relationship, these lines become a very conscious way of thinking about how much I value someone and, in return, thinking of how much I'm valued.

There's one more line that comes back to these passages and sums up the real message. The little prince says he has to return to his rose and the fox, while upset, seems to understand. He says:

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important. Men have forgotten this truth but you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."

Where's the Point?

I've got a nifty little bit of trivia but, like everything else I tell you, there's a backstory first.

So, people really think they're clever sometimes. Mostly, though, what they're trying to pass off as "clever" during a conversation is really just typical responses that you've heard a bunch of times while on a similar topic. Need an example? Take this exchange between two people at work:

Steve: I won tickets to Jersey Boys, so we're doing that on Saturday.

Gene: Where's it playing?

Steve: In Baltimore. At the Hippodrome.

Gene: (chuckling) Don't get shot.

See? Totally clever. 

Now, I hear that sort of brilliance almost every day but there's another sort of "clever" where someone says something less cliche but nevertheless still makes you roll your eyes. See, you can tell when they're doing it because as soon as they see that flash of puzzlement on your face, they smile and lift their chin up as if to say, "A-ha. Now, see, I made you think."

These same sort of people tend to go to Mark Twain conventions and half-ass their cosplay.

Last week, I was sitting in a bar, minding my own business, when some guy came in and started talking to whoever would listen and, eventually, began quizzing me about what I was looking at on my phone all this time. Believe it or not, this wasn't my first go-round with this question: some people just hate when other people are on their phone, never taking in account that maybe I'm reading something for school or, like right now, I'm writing a blog.

OMG, Ben, I'm looking at an app that monitors my arc-reactor. Give it a rest.

I just said, "Reading," giving him the chance to stop talking to me, which he wisely accepted; although, he was so obnoxious, commenting to no one in particular about everything from beer labels to whatever was on TV, that I pretty much had to sit and listen to him anyway.

Then he said to the bartender out of the blue, "What's the point?"

"The point of what?" she asked.

"What is the point?" he asked again, purposefully clearing nothing up. Pause. Then:

"If this is Fell's Point, what, or should I say, where, is the point?" His expression told of decades of well-practiced self-satisfaction. The bartender and I wore rehearsed expressions also but ours were of complete indifference.

"Well yeah," said the bartender, "You should have said that."

Putting into action Stage 2 of Operation: Being Clever, the guy pursues the question, "So, where is it?" The bartender shrugged and said something like, "It's probably just, you know, the whole area. I don't know." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guy's head starting to tilt back as if he'd "made us think".

Well, it so happens that I knew not only what the Point was but also where. So, I'm going to share it with you like I shared it with him except without the irritated tone of voice.

Here's a map of Fell's Point. It's newer but based on one from the late 1800s. See that little peninsula? That's Fell's Point.

And here's a blow up of the original map, clearly labeling it as such.

The point doesn't really exist anymore: the basin to the north was filled in when they built the Allied Chemical plant. Here's a recent map.

Thanks for listening to me Rage. Made me feel better, anyway.

So, how's that working out for you? Being clever. 





O Say Can You See The Wharf Rat

The Wharf Rat, on the corner of Ann and Lancaster, is a picture-perfect nautical bar. Far from the warfare of faux-iconography that assaults you at a Joe's Crab Shack, the colors here look like they were probably bright at some time but subdued now, faded by salt water air and further darkened by the establishments' apparent distaste for any light brighter than a lantern. On the walls, paintings of ships and their captains accompany wooden mermaids and tarnished brass, all dusted with history.

The history gets dustier on stormy nights when the inevitable power failure causes the bartenders to break out the candles. That's as good of a time as any for this story.

In 1807, Great Britain was at war with France so they naturally imposed trade restrictions. As the Brits were fresh off the American War for Independence and probably had a problem with that, they decided to stop United States merchant ships right off the coast of Maryland and tell the seamen on board to get to work for His Majesty. This rightly pissed off a bunch of people who had gained all of their power and money from shipping things. Well, few places had more of those very pissed off rich people in power than Baltimore.  So, the U.S. declared war on Britain in 1812.

I might be simplifying it a little but I've got a point to get to. Read more here.

Right away, the British Navy realized that Baltimore, specifically Fell's Point, was second only to Tortuga for skilled and morally degenerate sailors. Even worse, these salty dogs had been given a license to capture foreign vessels by the U.S. Government, which gave angry business owners a legal right to fund the privateers into going straight gangster. Even worse? These privateers had a personal hatred for the British Navy so it wasn't all, "Ahoy mately! Pony up all yer booty! Thanks a lot and we'll see ye around..!"

..."see ye around Davy Jones' f'n Locker, we will."

The people of Baltimore knew an invasion was coming so they headed over to Fort McHenry, a leftover port defense from the American Revolution, and stocked it with serious firepower behind some newly reinforced walls.

In September of 1814, the Brits headed to Fell's Point for a party. A landing party. They planned to sail right into the harbor and capture that "nest of pirates".

The difficulty of which largely depends on how drunk they are.

Twenty-five hours, 15,000 mortars, and tons of hurt feelings later, the British sailed the hell away from Baltimore, unable to get past Fort McHenry. Once those bright, crimson rockets and the bombs exploding in the sky ceased, the fort put up the biggest middle-finger Mary Pickersgill could make and broke out the rum. Francis Scott Key saw all this as the sun came up, wrote a poem, and set it to the tune of a drinking song.

A month later, a Baltimore actor sang  Key's song in a D.C. bar and by November it was a bonafide hit. For the next 80 or so years, "Defence of Fort McHenry" was to Independence Day what Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" is for us in December today.

By week two, just hearing the opening synthesizers
makes my heart shrink two sizes too small. 

 In 1901, the landlord of the Wharf Rat bought a gramophone and, from some accounts, only one record, The Star-Spangled Banner, which he played loud as hell over and over, driving people crazy.

On a quiet morning, there was just one customer in the tavern and he was just about done hearing about how broad the stripes and bright the stars were. He told the landlord to stop playing that damn song or he was going to come back with his brother, and a gun, and kill him. Turning up the volume a little more, the landlord continued to sweep out the huge fireplace in the back, pretty much telling the customer if he didn't like it, he could move to England.

In a surprising turn of events for a hundred-plus-year-old story about a heated argument that took place in a seedy bar, the drunk customer went out, got his brother, got a gun, and shot the landlord dead, right inside the front door.

Right where the oddly out of place British
telephone booth stands today.

Next time you visit the Wharf Rat, head to the back, past the second bar where the argument took place, and check out the huge fireplace. It's still lit during the coldest months and, if the bartenders haven't cleaned up the ash, there'll be boot prints tracking through it.

If not, just order a drink, have a seat nearby, and wait. Because there will be.

Safer Spaces

While out walking around and looking for things to write about, I hear a lot of things that I don't hear otherwise: stories about ghosts, news about the city, and straight-up harassment at women.

While I often don't hear the harassment directly, even second-hand accounts make me uncomfortable. Sometimes, the woman telling the story is laughing about it; however, mostly she's rolling her eyes, getting a little angrier as she goes.

In a place like Fell's, there's plenty of opportunities to see drunk people try to hook up. It doesn't take an expert in body language to understand when someone's not interested, yet, it seems like some guys still think it's a game of hard-to-get and it gets kind of scary when they don't get their way.

Turns out, there's already a group whose call-to-action is to address exactly this situation. As Hollaback! Baltimore states on their website:

1. If you’ve been harassed, you’re not alone,
2. Street harassment is used to exert control over others by making them feel scared or uncomfortable. It is much more than individuals just acting inappropriately.
3. There are street harassment “hotspots” in most cities often centered around high pedestrian traffic areas.

Truth be told, Fell's Point is definitely a hotspot. From talking to a few women, it seems like they already understand this and, even more disappointing, they try to mentally prepare for creeps beforehand. That's unfortunate.

Hollaback! recently launched a campaign to identify Safer Spaces, places where someone can go if they feel uncomfortable or threatened. Again, from their website, a Safer Space agrees to:

• Post the “Safer Space” poster provided by Hollaback! Baltimore in a prominent place for all employees/staff/volunteers and attendees/customers to see
• Take complaints of harassment, discrimination, and violence against customers or staff seriously
• Remove any offending parties from our space
• Ensure our staff, particularly those responsible for security, are aware of our policies
• Use the resources given to us by Hollaback! Baltimore to better understand the issues at hand as well as the best methods for dealing with them
• Inform victims of their right to share their story publicly and anonymously on Hollaback! (via the website or free phone app) by handing out informational postcards

Poster Design: Kristen Argenio at Ideal Design Co.

It'd be pretty great if all the bars in Fell's agreed to become Safer Spaces and even better if they  promote it as a joint agreement with the residents of the community.

Who's up for some leafleting?

Get Off My Lawn: Fell's Point Natives Don't Want You (Or Me, Really) There.

This neighborhood has attracted people to its pubs since the first shipyard was built here in the mid-1700s. In 2013, very weekend sees a line of cars, backed up all around Broadway Square and down Thames Street (pronounced around here exactly how it looks) for hours, packed with Johns Hopkins students and professionals alike, all looking for a parking spot. Hundreds more are on foot, pushing in and out of bars, their footsteps becoming more unsure as the hour gets later. Did I say Friday? I meant any day at all.

When I moved to Fell's in 2008, I was attracted to both the historic seaport and the dangerously fun energy, which rises and falls depending on weather, sports, or if yesterday was a special event that everyone already went out for. I like both the rowdy pub crawlers and the quiet day-drinkers. I like the tourists who I see listening to the same stories that I've heard for years about ghosts, murder, and Edgar Alan Poe. In fact, by this point, some of those tourists are likely telling new visitors the version they heard from me.

Friends of mine who live in the French Quarter say they're constantly asked by visitors how they can stand all the noise, to which the answer is always, "Frenchman Street sounded like madness at 3 a.m. long before I moved here." I feel the same way about Fell's.

But some of my neighbors don't like what they say has happened to the area. While not as infected with frat boys and party girls to the degree of its neighbor across the harbor, Federal Hill, Fell's has become, inexplicably to longtime residents, a bar scene. A tourist attraction. Even worse, an upscale residential area.

Reading our local newsletter, The Fell's Pointer, you'd get the feeling that the influx of younger professionals is the worst thing that's happened since Hurricane Isabel. The writers often remark, in print as well as in person, how yuppies are always "checking their Rolex" and "rushing to work with a briefcase". Even if the story is about a local church's architecture, a jab is often worked in about "a 3-piece suit".

By the way, isn't that just "a suit" these days? Did Fell's Point get all its yuppies from the 1980s?

Other than their chronic desire to apparently be on time, I'm never sure what it is the yuppies are doing to ruin the integrity of what I've been told was, up until about 30 years ago, a rotting hive full of unsavory characters and break-ins. Sure, it was quieter, less expensive, and fewer college students were peeing in the square but there were way more fighting with drunks and getting stabbed for your wallet.

I live on a side street, "the alley", with people who've lived here for 80 years, a few young families, and some people who, like me, haven't been here long. Unlike the elite who write for The Fell's Pointer, no one's putting on airs in the alley, so, for the most part, we're thrilled when construction starts on brand new, mega-rowhomes, some of which sell for $460,000, because that's an investment our new neighbors are making in our community. There's still plenty of criticism in the alley, make no mistake, just not for what someone wears to work.

They even say hi.

One of my neighbors, Earl, an 86-year-old former longshoreman who has lived in the same tiny house for the last 65 years, thinks it's crazy that anyone pays that much to live here.

Actually, what he said to me was, "You know what I paid for my house? Those people are god-damned idiots. Who the fuck wants to live down here for that? Stupid. No god-damned sense."

$460,000 does seem like a lot for a house compared to what Earl paid; however, in all fairness, houses tend to cost much less when you buy them in 1948, they're 900 square feet, and they're in an area that no one wants to live in anyway.

The Pubs Are Our History

And here it is, the first of several reasons why I've been MIA lately: all illustrations, photos, copy, and layout are my own.

It turned out pretty well, considering the three week time allotted to complete it, plus the other articles assigned during those three weeks, some freelance work coming in, and the regular 40+ hours spent actually making money for doing work.

Sorta kinda feel invincible. And like I could use a drink.

Cherry Bombs and Anger: Rodos Bar


Before Ben Kenobi took Luke over to Mos Eisley spaceport, he warned him, saying, "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. You must be cautious." As far as we've seen in the Star Wars universe, he was right. The place was loud, packed with transients, and, almost as soon as Ben and Luke walked in, a monster started talking shit, backed up by a buddy.

Welcome, then, to Rodos Bar in Fell's Point.

Arguably the least typical of Fell's bars, Rodos is what I’d call a “party bar”. Much like Jester’s, the chain of frozen alcohol shills in New Orleans, the goal of Rodos is to get you to drink. A lot.

Dance floor lights pulse to Trance Pop as the Orange Crush machines churn alcohol.
 

Sit next to this thing and it'll help drown out the music.

There are printed signs for 50¢ World Famous Cherry Bombs and written in fluorescent pen on the bar mirrors are specials like including Corona-Rita. The attractive, chatty bartenders lean over the bar to push shots, their breasts threatening to spill out of their tank tops.

Of all the things I described in that last paragraph, this picture likely has none of the ones you care about.

The best part about this expedition into Rodos was that, although I walk by it all the time, I’d never actually been in. Mostly because it's a party bar and that means there's often a group of shouting, sweaty bunch of guys, stinking like Axe, hanging around the front, eyeing passersby for an opportunity to fight. I tend to shy away from frat boys like a nerd in an 80s movie shies away from bikers.

"When shots be named after sex acts or be in the form of jello, thar be frat boys." -Old pirate saying

Immediately, I’m introduced to both of my bartenders, Justine and Bobbie Sue, who tell me the Miller Lites are 2 for 1 and, although I haven't had a Miller Lite in 10 years, I go for it. As a friend said when I told him where I was, "You are suffering for your blog, apparently."

Bobby Sue asks where I'm from and is momentarily stunned when I tell her I live two blocks over.

The three guys closest to the door make a show of removing their ties in unison. They have been drinking enough that they’re sure they’re hilarious; although, most of what they’re saying to Justine would get them thrown out of any other bar around here. Plus, it’s more mean and degrading than funny. Justine laughs and it almost sounds genuine.

Bobbie Sue catches Justine's eye every so often and they subtly signal each other like soldiers on patrol. They’re anything but stupid: they’re here to make money.

As the trio of comedic businessmen orders another round of 2-for-1’s, their tone has gotten darker. Angrier. In fact, several of the men in Rodos sound angry. Some are pissed off about work, some about sports. Mostly, though, they’re angry at women. The usual sitcom remarks about nagging wives and girlfriends’ spending habits heard elsewhere are replaced here with an almost violent hatred for a female co-worker or celebrity. It feels dangerous.

The World Famous Cherry Bomb turns out to be Maraschino cherries that have been soaking in what's possibly ethanol.

I pay my tab and make my escape just as the Britney Spears remix gets louder.

My mouth is on fire.

Vote Against Prohibition

Fell's Point still looks somewhat the same as it has for the last 200-plus years. Some of the houses have oval plaques with a year inscribed, telling how long they've been standing, and many of the commercial buildings seen in early 20th century photographs of Thames Street are still recognizable even through decades of cosmetic changes. While comparing some of those old photos, I began to notice the large outdoor advertisements and how, once the trend of painting them fell out of fashion, they were left to fade, too unimportant to even remove.

Circa 1918

This one is unique to the painted signs around Fell's in that it's not an advertisement. Well, not outright, anyway. It might have been put up by a brewery, I suppose, but if so, the message is less an advertisement than it is a warning that you might not be able to buy their beer, or anyone else's, should this message be ignored.

Since the 18th Amendment was proposed in December of 1917 and was ratified in January of 1919, this was likely painted in the year between. That's pretty fascinating.

For about a year, I've been trying to restore this sign, which is on the northern corner of Broadway and Shakespeare,  but the owners of the building won't give me permission. Actually, they won't acknowledge me at all.

"I just rent from them," said the woman who runs the gift shop, "I've given them all your messages but I never get any answers." I get the same statement from the people at the real estate business next door: they're sending along my message but the owners either don't understand what I'm doing or, more likely, just don't care.

I met with members of The Baltimore Bartender's Guild, a group dedicated to preserving the legacy of their trade, and they quickly agreed to fund the restoration of the Vote Against Prohibition sign.

"We've actually tried to get permission before," says the bartender at Rye, located across Broadway Square, "no one ever got back to us."

Port Town/Cold Evening

Back in the 18 and 19th centuries, Fell's Point was a shipbuilding port. It was the only place in Baltimore harbor with enough depth to allow larger-drafted ships to be built, like the schooners that defended Fort McHenry, just across the harbor, during the Battle of Baltimore in 1814. Fell's Point
continued to operate as one of the busiest ports on the East Coast for 200+ years.

Aside from building ships, a port like Fell's was a place to drop cargo, undergo repairs, replenish supplies, and take on new cargo. This means that sailors, out to sea for as long as two months, were cut loose in the area till it was time to ship out again.

Historically, sailors have a notorious reputation due to their transient nature. They wanted to live it up before shipping out again for another harsh tour at sea. The savvy businesses that crowded around the piers offered food, booze, beds, and women; therefore, almost every building still existing in Fell's today was at one time a tavern, pub, inn, or brothel. The few places that weren't any of those were missions or churches, there to catch the fallen souls after a rough night in one of the other establishments.

By the 20th century, the sailors and shipbuilders gave up their bar stools to longshoremen and cannery workers who, after their shift, headed to some of the same establishments that had been supplying the overworked and unruly with alcohol for almost two centuries.

Walking around now, Fell's still has that seedy, nautical atmosphere, heavy with its history, plainly seen in the narrow buildings, their roofs bowed slightly in the middle, occasionally dropping a shingle for no other reason than their age, and the smell of stale beer, prevalent at all hours. The streets retain the Belgian block that held down last century's streetcar tracks: they turn a dull emerald green after it rains. Taverns like Bertha's and Leadbetter's claim a lineage longer than most of the establishments in the area and they feel different inside than the others: darker, older, and claustrophobic, for sure. On a cold, windy Tuesday at dusk, you could believe you're drinking with ghosts.

From what I've heard, you'd be right.

Welcome to Fell's Pint... Er... Point

Five years ago, my partner and I were living in Augusta, Georgia while we waited out her last months in the Army. Although we appreciated a lot of the small-town feel of Augusta, we knew we'd probably want to change it up and move someplace else once she was out, so, I didn't want to get a really great job that would tempt us to stick around. Woth that, I started working at a Starbucks. 

I liked it. It was, I don't know, something I could just do without wondering what to do next. There was no question about it: make the coffee, restock supplies, clean out the coffee making things. No one's saying it was easy, working with the public never is, but I didn't ever have to hear a manager ask, "What are you doing right now?" every time I stopped moving. Because I never stopped moving.

Much as I enjoyed living in Augusta, I grew up in Chicago and missed living in a city. I like walking to the store when I need something or knowing he Chinese place will be open till midnight. Having an bigger art museum somewhat close makes it worth the money to become a member. Plus, I just never felt like a real citizen of Augusta, though I did try.

Referee for the Soul City Sirens roller derby team. I went by "Greg Bladey".

A coworker suggested I request a transfer from Starbucks. Brilliant! There were a few options, one being Baltimore. I'd never been there but I'd heard of the place, mostly through an Army friend who had, luckily, moved back there recently, so I'd have some kind of contact. Other, unrelated, pieces fell into place nicely and before long, I was given my Letter of Transfer.

What happened when I actually got here isn't important to this story (though it's something of a story in itself) but none of the Starbucks in Baltimore wanted anything to do with that Letter of Transfer and, by extension, me. My local friend took my partner and I to the Fell's Point neighborhood so I could drink my sorrows away.

"There's a bunch of bars down there," she said, "And it's a historic district. You guys'll like it."

We turned down one of the house-lined alleys towards the harbor and I was amused by how narrow the row homes were, even more so than everywhere else in the city. I wasn't being critical; rather, it was more like when you're amused about people who live in elaborate tree houses: you think it's pretty great that they live there but, obviously, it's not for everyone.

A lot of my co-workers' back in Georgia lived in these giant "McMansions" with three-and-a-half bathrooms, entryway ceilings that went up to the roof, and a bright green lawn that encircled the home like a moat. Whereas the houses I saw in Fell's were almost comically tiny, being about 10 feet wide with second floor windows directly over the first, and, not only sharing walls with adjacent row homes, as is typical of the style, but also sitting right on the alley, like they were in the street itself.

Ha ha ha: Who in their right mind would live in a house this small?
Oh. Right.

Over the next few hours, whether influenced by alcohol or the atmosphere, we decided we'd buy one of the little houses in Fell's Point and have lived there for almost five years now. I've got my walking distance grocery stores, a late-night Chinese restaurant and an Indian place, and the BMA isn't far. Mostly, I frequent a lot of the bars (one of them is actually named BAR), which I'll get into later.

I've been told a lot of things in Fell's Point, most of them while drinking with neighbors, tourists, and even the bartenders. I listen to their stories because they're entertaining but I believe them because it's even better if I think they're true. This blog is intended to be full of a lot of things I've seen, heard, read about, or been a part of; however, it's not intended to be gossip or malicious or anything like that. Some of our names have been changed out of respect for the neighborhood. So, pull up a barstool and put your wallet away.

Hey, I got this one: you can get me next time.