Love is like π.|Natural, irrational, and very important.

I’ve lived in or around Baltimore, MD, for most of my life, except for 2 years in Chapel Hill, NC, when Bear was a wee babe.

I love Baltimore. It’s diverse, sometimes bizarre, often dirty or dilapidated, and it’s damn interesting. I love the people on the sidewalk at 3:45 am on a Tuesday. I love the grimy panhandlers accosting me at every streetlight–hell, I used to know some of them pretty well. I love the way you can feel the life throbbing through the streets. I love the neighborhood grocery stores and corner bars that have no problem with you paying for a half-pint of rotgut vodka and a pack of generic smokes with dimes, nickels, and/or pennies. I love the smell of the Harbor, an olfactory punch in the gut. I love how you can go from ghetto to tourist area to working poor in a few blocks.

There’s nothing pretentious about Baltimore. It doesn’t (despite attempts from the City Council) pretend to be something it’s not. It’s real. And I miss it.

So this is my nth time starting this stupid blog.  Apparently I have the attention span of a teenaged gnat.

My plan this time is to force myself to write something every day for at least a month.  Hopefully by then it will be “automatic”.  Wish me luck.  :)

Disclaimer:  I said something, not something interesting and worth reading.