Rams Head Against Brick Hanson Concert Wall

A week ago Wednesday night was uncharacteristically warm here in Charm City. The Power Plant hopped with outdoor activity as the pulse of the underground beat palpably live. Rams Head Live, to be precise.

Not getting cute, simply setting the mood.

Only a first floor performance according to one red-shirted security guard who preferred to remain anonymous 'cause he's liking his job. In other words, the expected crowd wouldn't need second or third floor accommodations. Still, a sizable cabal of loyalist groupies, hard core locals, and some curious sprinkled in for good measure mingled on the floor in anticipation.

Just out of reach backstage chilled the brothers Hanson.

Oh yeah, I tried using verbal press cred to work my way past the guard (a new job with better street cred remains on my horizon), but the folks down at Rams Head stood their ground. Beware the lone blogger sniffing for celebrity fodder. Mike their blond-haired customer service rep was so incredibly nice, accommodating, and surprisingly professional, it was impossible to hate. No matter how hard I tried to wheedle face time with Hanson ... with their manager ... even Rams Head's media liaison, their man Mike would not budge, yet always with a smile.

Neither would Mark the media manager, nor anyone from Hanson's entourage.

And so, I did what any self-respecting "came downtown in the middle of the week to be treated like crappola" blogger would do in the face of unyielding opposition.

I spun a story from whole cloth.

That's right. This article isn't an earth rattling interview about Hanson's charity work in Africa. It's not an expose about the group taking matters into their own hands -- kicking record producing honchos to the curb -- to make music on their own terms. It's not about how they transformed their former bebop style to a more melodic "new music rock" sound. It's not even a poetic comparison between them and that hugely popular hippie band, The Grateful Dead, who likewise would not bow to the powers that be, playing towns across America as the faithful followed closely behind.

Nah. Because of sticky sweet Mike, and roadblock Mark, and husky yellow-shirted guard guy this article is about fresh faced Jamie Gibbons, a likable 24-year old fan who's been addicted to Hanson since the tender age of 11.

Jamie rattled off names of songs like Where's the Love, Crazy Beautiful, Penny 'n Me, and This Time Around to exemplify Hanson's maturation. Too bad I have yet to indulge, but that's just because I'm old and decrepit.

"I liked them at first because they were cute, but now it's different," Jamie professed. "I'm insanely impressed with the dedication to their music. They push forward and because of that, they're one of my favorite bands."

When asked for the name of another favorite band, Jamie coyly identified boyfriend Brian, the bass player of Shane Hines and the Trance. Later, out of nowhere, Brian appeared exuding ultimate cool. We ended up exchanging pleasantries and information, along with my enthusiastic agreement to write about his band's unconfirmed D.C. concert should it ever come to pass. Sure, I'll monitor the band's myspace for updates. Maybe by then I can actually work my new job and not rely on the kindness of strangers for celebrity face time.

Brian also mentioned Hanson's free download which explains why the brothers dropped out of the mainstream. Many have no idea their band is still around. I'd say they need better publicity. The crowd is less than I would expect for such a big name, but Brian thought it was a pretty good showing considering they're appearing in Baltimore in the middle of the week.

The brothers are now older, married, and parents themselves which might explain the switch from bebop to a more serious genre. No way to know for certain, but that's the rumor I'm floating around.

Hey, all I asked for was 5 minutes backstage. You'd think someone would want to comply.

When Hanson hit the stage at a quarter past, the huddled masses went wild. Those at the very front nearly hopped up there with them, but no one seemed to mind, not even red-shirted guard guy. Okay, so my video is gawd awful, I came too late for a good spot.

What it lacks in sound quality, it makes up for in production.

Ace of Cakes Won't Be Your Friend if You Mess Up the Vote

Locally produced Ace of Cakes is starting to film its sixth season. The show airs weekly on The Food Network.

Production and other business obligations keep the crew of this bad boy very very busy. So busy in fact, I don't know when owner and star Duff Goldman finds enough time to churn out his confectionery creations. Or as they're otherwise known in the biz -- vanity cakes.

Okay, I made that up. Nobody actually refers to these works of art as vanity anything. They're fancified cakes in the shape of any image you like, a big plus for those harboring an artistic sweet tooth. A word of caution, however. Charm City Bakery is booked through the end of this year.

So, when Duff and the gang aren't busy making cakes or filming reality TV, how do they keep busy? By getting out the vote, silly. Even scary bakers with blue colander hats and cake knife pitchforks think participation in the right to vote is a matter of vital importance.

Based on the sign she's holding, the woman in green must either be an illegal immigrant or convicted felon. Either that or she has some obsessive-compulsive desire to avoid jury duty. Wonder how she'll keep busy on Novembet 4th.

Not. So very not.

Rally on the River JFXtival Sure Beats Driving

A week ago, on a gorgeous Sunday, anywhere from three to five thousand men, women, children, dogs, and miscellaneous "amphibiai" traversed a section of Baltimore rarely seen on foot. A long stretch of highway forever dumping vehicles into the city, I-83, or as we Baltimoreans like to call it, the JFX.

The Jones Falls Expressway takes its name from the winding body of water lying underneath. Some call it a stream, others call it river, but whatever its moniker, the winding stretch of flora and fauna used to be pristine. Now, it's just a muddy slick of its former self. Tomorrow it could be a contender.

And that's exactly the point of the annual "Rally on the River." Last Sunday, people came from far and wide to soak up the sun, walk, bike, run, kayak, moon bounce, hula-hoop, skate board, scooter, play chess, eat, drink, laugh, dance, you name it, they came to have a good time.

And the JFX did not disappoint.

For a mere five bucks and the cost of a rental, one could leisurely bike down the usual site of rush hour purgatory. The Jones Falls Watershed Association closes its southbound lane for a fundraiser to help clean up and protect this secluded patch of nature and give people a reason to let loose.

The Rally was a blast. Lots of fun activities, things to see and do, stuff never shown in the local paper. For some odd reason, it usually depicts the event as a walk down a lonely highway. The Rally is anything but.

This was my first time playing next to traffic (the northbound lane remains open to vehicles) and I have to admit, it was an eye opener. "Rally on the River" must be the best kept secret in town. Look for it next September.

Baltimore Pride Shines Brightly for Mighty Michael Phelps

Every day, the local rag screams another headline, each progressively larger in typeset and accompanying illustrative fist pump.

"Phelps' Voyage"

"PHELPS WINS 2 MORE GOLDS"

"SOLID GOLD"

Local TV station WBAL is saturated in Michael Mania. All night long, the station broadcasts little else but the latest Bob Costas interview interspersed with Phelps' one one-hundredth of a second squeaker. Ratings trackers estimate market share near the level of a Super Bowl or American Idol finale. That's an awful lot of Pigtown TVs tuned to Channel 11.

Perhaps nothing is more testament to the electricity in the hot sticky than last Saturday's capacity crowd waiting overtime for a glimpse of his historic last relay. If ever a sea of purple demonstrated love for a hometown hero, those cheering faces on the giant screen said it all.

Do we feel betrayed by Phelps' prior move to Michigan? Naw. We all knew he was Baltimore bred and buttered. Phelps said himself that he misses the corny dialect and sidewalk establishments throughout town. Take for instance the little known breakfast establishment in the video. Can anyone still find a corner breakfast tavern like that in a big metropolitan city? Phelps shares that level of love with so many other Baltimoreans. Attached at the hip. Not ready to cut the cord.

Learning the news about Phelps and his coach moving back to the area was like absorbing a sudden bolt of lightening. Unexpected and shocking, yet strangely fascinating. Like being locked in a grip of connectedness no one quite understands and generally tries to avoid, but somehow loving every minute of it.

For a short time, Baltimore will not be the same. I don't think this town is ready for the inevitable crush of media. Ironman Cal Ripken, hometown hero that he is, is sensational and mind-numbingly popular, but I'm sure he never endured the deluge of reporters ready to descend on Phelps. Michael Phelps stands alone in athletic greatness. Ripken is more national superstar. Phelps: World phenomenon.

Some say Phelps' accomplishments this year in Beijing will be near impossible to duplicate. Increased competition, better training, better strides in swimwear as well as other factors will work in tandem, lessening the possibility for eight medals in a single Olympics.

So, at the tender age of 23, Michael Phelps may well have achieved something future generations will not. Knowing how Baltimore has buzzed about little else for a full week, I can only imagine the weight his broad shoulders now carry. He may be used to occupying the spotlight, but it may have never burned as brightly.

Let's hope Phleps can keep his meteoric rise in perspective. Lord knows, Charm City can't.

Baltimore-Bred Brandon Hardesty Bound for Jimmy Kimmel Live

It was bound to happen. See what's passing for entertainment in 21st century America.

At least that was the belief of GEICO execs.



Baltimore resident, Brandon Hardesty, a 20-year old who recreates scenes from popular cinema on the lowest budget in entertainment history, will premiere short re-enactments of top Oscar contenders throughout this week on Jimmy Kimmel Live. Don't think it's been a meteoric rise to the top. Brandon has been shooting videos on location from his parents' basement since 2006.

Only one tiny difference between him and oodles of other wannabes. Brandon has actual talent, as evidenced in this re-enactment from last year's Oscar winner, Pan's Labyrinth.

Celebrity Endorsements Continue to Litter 2008 Election Trail

Are they still counting the votes in California? The local rag sent out an early edition marking the star studded state undecided. Thankfully, it now makes updates via the Internet.

I wonder how technology resistant and financially challenged people get their news? Certainly not at the public library, at least not in the "City That (supposedly) Reads."

Still too close to call for the Democrats. Wow. For the first time I can remember (actually, for the first time since I started to care), a Maryland primary is going to matter. I wonder if the campaigns will send celebrities. The state is, after all, bright blue.

I for one would drop everything if George Clooney took a detour into town. Yes, Gorgeous George can count on my vote for Obama, but only if I get to take a cell phone picture with my arms wrapped around his well-tailored waist (must keep eyes peeled for hastily scheduled appearances on campaign trail). Too bad he left that U.N. thingee in Manhattan, although can't say I blame him. Clooney arrived directly from a technical assessment mission in Sudan only to be excluded from a meeting of power players. Luckily, he did manage to get a word in edgewise. Way to go, George! Hunky and tenacious. Is it any wonder he sets hearts aflutter?

Of course, the stars had no problem turning out in California and the Tri-State Area. There were so many, it's kinda difficult to keep tabs. Then again, a CNN camera crew had no problem at all.

Let's see, Jack, Laura Linny, and Spielberg, for She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named. Scarlett, De Niro, and California First Lady for Obama. Just a sampling of the new endorsements rolling down the pike. It would take all day to flesh out every single one. Not that I am in any way influenced by these high profile preferences. No one should be. I'm just psyched by the possibility of catching me some glitterati.

On primary day, celebrities head for the polls just like other civic minded individuals. Along the way, entertainment correspondents vie for attention. Much like exit polls, voters need to digest these celebrity sound bites with a grain of salt. Like everyone else, celebrities pull the lever, punch the chad, or touch the screen in complete secrecy, free from extraneous control and the prying eyes of correspondents. Unless they're flashing their notoriety on the campaign trail, no one really knows which candidate they support.

And isn't that part of what makes America great?

Fifth Season of The Wire Skewers Baltimore Media

Terrific. She Who Must Not Be Named is vowing to fight to the end. The Clintonoms are dancing in the streets. For goodness sakes, it was only a three-point lead.

Here’s the real story. When Mrs. Clinton wins a primary, it’s tooted from the highest media mountaintops. When Mr. Obama ran away with Iowa, it was just another day. The Obama primary victory was historic. Black man wins where traditionally no blacks reside. Last Friday, the local rag ran a small front page column begrudgingly mentioning, “Obama, Huckabee win Iowa Caucuses.’ Today the headlines jump out and scream, “Clinton Rallies, McCain Cruises.”

One would be hard pressed to find a more blatant example of bias in the national news media.

This past Sunday, the heavily anticipated television program, The Wire returned for its fifth and final season on HBO. This time around, the show targets Baltimore media. Not surprisingly, the show’s creator and head writer, David Simon, finds himself the talk of the town.

Finally, a hometown story where celebrities and politics overlap and here I am stuck without a clue. I should be kicking myself while moving on. Instead, I am determined to add my voice to the din.

As a native Baltimorean and long time resident, I consciously resisted The Wire’s siren call. Time is a precious commodity I dole out to television judiciously. Not many shows make the cut. This has nothing to do with product or quality. It’s more about getting sucked in. No need, I rationalized, to start watching a television program with stories lifted from the local rag. Besides, if I have a hankering for murder and mayhem, east Baltimore is a hop, skip, and a jump away. Kinda scary, actually. The last thing I need is a TV program to remind me of the crime lurking next door.

I remember when Simon reported for The Baltimore Sun, that’s how long Charm City has been a one-paper town. Word has it he is using the show to wage his own personal vendetta. Among other gripes, Simon bemoans the paper’s lack of journalistic integrity. One can envision him practically spitting into the receiver during a telephone interview with another reporter. Simon's low regard for Baltimore media translated into new fictional characters for the show. Some say the characters are not all that fictional. If I actually watched the show, I might be inclined to agree.

To its credit, The Baltimore Sun is slowly undergoing a transformation. Since Simon’s departure in 1995, the local rag is on its third editor. In the wake of a takeover of its parent company and the rise of a rival paper, The Examiner, the local rag is running a tighter ship. Its columns, stories, and designs are much better. I no longer peruse the headlines for five minutes, then throw it in the trash in disgust. From my perspective, that’s progress. It’s probably much different than the story lines in Simon’s show.

Media bias is no longer a daily blatant occurrence, although just last week, I became incensed by a photograph depicting an Israeli soldier and unarmed Palestinian youth. The Israeli Army executed a mission to stop missile fire from neighboring Palestinian border towns into Israel. The soldier could have been directing the boy out of the area. Instead, the photo depicts the soldier as an oppressor of a defenseless young boy. Someone made the decision to run that photo without an accompanying story. One or two lines of description did not fairly put the photograph into context.

Such blatant bias has no place in a newspaper aspiring to journalistic integrity. Apparently, some things at the local rag haven’t changed enough. Perhaps by The Wire series finale, it will have the guts to get it right.

Hillary Clinton Rouses Heiffer Sympathies and Other Undigested Blips

Undigested news items gleaned and overheard while out and about...

"We've had the freedom to do whatever we want, if we're fortunate enough to know what that is." Rush Limbaugh discussing the allure of socialism and communism to the current generation of Americans.

"Barring any imminent settlement of the WGA strike, the 2007 Golden Globes Awards will be held at my apartment on the Westside of Manhattan this year." Alec Baldwin reacting to rumblings of cancellation of the popular awards show.

"My husband paid for those tires, and there was no reason for that man to come and steal them." Tearful outcry of Baltimore City, Maryland resident, Daphne Brockington, after husband, Charles, received a five year prison sentence for killing a man who stole his $1,500.00 Mercedes-Benz tire rims.

"I know you're going to inspect me. You can look inside my mouth if you want." Hillary Clinton stumping from a livestock auction barn in Dunlap, Iowa.

"To think that I would just be in support of somebody because of the color of their skin would mean we hadn't moved very far from Dr. King's speech in 1963, saying that we want people to be judged by the content of their character, and not by the color of their skin." Facing criticism of celebrity endorsement for Barack Obama, Oprah Winfrey defends stirring support for black presidential candidate.

Happy birthday to all who share December 18th with these famous celebs: Keith Richards,64; Steven Spielberg, 61; Ray Liotta, 53; Brad Pitt, 44; Katie Holmes, 29; Christina Aguilera, 27.

American Idols Concert Live

It's been two weeks since the kidlets and I trudged downtown to catch the last leg of the American Idols Live tour across America. An early purchase of floor seats lived up to the hype, although we did get somewhat pushy to be up close and personal. Thanks ever so to the white haired guard in gray.

Met their backup singer, Charlotte, outside after the show. This woman is really amazing and should not be singing backup. Charlotte says she's not ready to be mobbed by "50,000 fans everywhere" she goes, but I suspect there are other reasons afoot. All I can say is, Charlotte, hon, it's your time to shine.

No need to write a review, as I see someone from an earlier stop beat me to the punch. Photo creds go to my daughter, Arielle. You go, girl.

Not her best shot, but a good overview of the group.

Here, they've captured enthralled fans on an overhead screen.
Jordan entertained on guitar and asked us to pray for her grandmom who was sick. Hope she is out of the hospital by now.
Loved how she stood out in this outfit. Did not like a lot of her song selections. Hopefully, young Jordan will procure the services of a better manager. The kid has real talent.

Chris was unbelievably hot and rocked the place silly.

He and Blake were the real show stoppers. Be still my heart.

Haley didn't get much face time. Her numbers were good, but nothing to write home about.
Gina, you deserved a spot in the final three.
Not Sanjaya's sexiest, although he did come out in a tight red pants number bringing on the Elvis. Yes, the boy has a presence. Are you listening, Calvin Klein?

Sligh and Lakisha were also standouts. I hear Lakisha is now on Broadway working with Idols winner Fantasia in The Color Purple. And I eh yi eh yi will always love you ew ew ooo ew...
Under rated Phil brought home the bacon in a number dedicated to the U.S. armed forces.
Here's Phil again in a hot cowboy number.


This is the only shot of Melinda. A cute little group number. Sorry, but they didn't give her enough face time either.

Nice group shot of the final number. All in all, we had a great time. Just sorry we couldn't get backstage for autographs. Don't think I didn't try. Maybe next time 'round.

Publication Fails to Accurately Examine PETA Protesters

Sex sells. Just ask The Examiner, newfangled competitor of the local rag trying its darnedest to get noticed in an already overcrowded field of tabloid journals. Today’s edition, page 4, certainly grabbed my attention, but not for obvious reasons.

Yesterday, PETA members, Ashley Byrne and Shawn Herbold, apparently having nothing better to do, decided to picket a KFC on West North Avenue. Looking much like the fetching young lass pictured here, they drew curious inquiries from local police and rubbernecking from passing motorists. The article didn’t bother to explain why PETA is claiming KFC tortures chickens, but investigative journalism has never been The Examiner’s forte. The editors must have thought it would be enough to report the event and move on.

They thought wrong.

The overexposed picture and accompanying story proclaims, “Protesters Bare All” and “The Naked Truth.” Reporter, Kelly Carson, describes the two ladies as “nude protesters.” However, one astute reader quickly pointed out that the women wore pasties, underwear, and high-heeled shoes. They could not be “nude” as reported because they covered the private areas of their bodies with accepted articles of clothing.

Hmmm. The last time I looked in the dictionary, nude was defined as “naked or unclothed.” These rabblerousers were neither. Therefore, I have to agree with astute reader. The description of them as ”nude” was inaccurate and/or misleading. One would hope not to find such carelessness in a publication seeking regional recognition, but there is such a long list of things one would not hope to find, why quibble here?

I’ll tell you why. Journalists have a moral duty and ethical obligation to report just the facts, not their personal opinions. They are supposed to be held to a higher standard. Unless Carson meant to include a snide reference to their teeth, these women did not in fact “bare all.” I have no problem with the use of “The Naked Truth,” a reference to their protest banner, as a subheading for the article, but don’t expect me to believe they were actually nude.

Sexy or not, the real story was whether KFC tortures poultry before serving it up hot and spicy or with a blend of seven secret ingredients. Today, The Examiner had a chance to truly distinguish itself from the local rag. On this account, it failed miserably.

How Much is that Number in the Window?

A full week has passed since Baltimore’s own NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People) began an insipid campaign to reduce the number of Baltimore City homicides. Details later. Suffice it to say, I would expect nothing less from an organization who not only cleaves to a horribly outdated and politically incorrect moniker, but also fails to advance its stated goal of relocation to the nearby nation’s capital.

When they started this revolutionary plan of action, the murder tally in Baltimore City stood at 178, give or take, depending upon whom you asked, and whether Teetoe tried to give Peanut’s woman a ride home from that wild block party.

As previously noted, Pigtown’s crime situation is out of control. Not that local crime has ever been tolerable, but around the time Martin O’Malley threw his hat in the ring for governor (this, mind you, after only three years as Baltimore’s mayor), violent crime took a decided turn for the worse. Just yesterday, two police officers were shot in a neighborhood populated by a mixture of working-class and affluent residents. About a month ago, only blocks from the Inner Harbor, a mother returned home from work to discover her 15-year old daughter slashed to death in a bedroom. For almost a decade, gang activity has escalated to new lows.

The problem is compounded by delusional residents who believe their civic duty requires releasing violent offenders back out on the streets. Police commissioners come and go in a bizarre musical chairs twist. Pausing to catch their collective breath, officials anoint the next great white hope, only to snatch the throne away as the latest set of alarming statistics surface.

The numbers are fugly. Baltimore occupies a top spot second only to Detroit, Michigan as the most violent city in America. Time and time again, outsiders pound this dubious distinction into our collective unconscious. Like war veterans participating in Memorial Day ceremonies with concealed battle scars, it’s hard to be proud, but we try.

What are local institutions doing to combat the problem? Not too long ago, the NAACP helped effectuate positive social reform in America. Not so much anymore. Perhaps I shouldn’t gripe about the apparent demise of the NAACP and its declining influence. After all, I’m not a card-carrying member. Oh, what the hey.

“Your leaders have sold you out, man.”

There. No putting that genie back in the bottle.

Sorry, but African-Americans generally are the worst affected by violent crime because they lack responsible leadership. Every other immigrant group in America has been able to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and live the American dream through hard work, determination, and community support. Those who achieve a modicum of success set up institutions and services dedicated to the care and welfare of their own. Those in need of assistance take until they are able to give back. The cycle continues throughout each generation until gradually, collective life improves. If you don’t believe me, just look at the Italians, the Russians, the Koreans, or the Latinos.

For some reason, these concepts never caught on in the African-American community. One-parent households are the rule rather than the exception, contributing to higher levels of promiscuity and use of recreational drugs. Those in the lower echelons largely rely upon government support. Muckety mucks encourage such dependence because it helps them retain positions of power. Unfortunately, it does very little to help downtrodden African- Americans. And so, the cycle of poverty and crime continues with no foreseeable end in sight.

What did the questionable leadership at the NAACP propose to help stamp out escalating city violence? Well, it wasn’t responsible parenting. It wasn’t even increased construction of recreation centers to get younger kids off the street. No, these fine illustrious people at the N-double A-C-P recently urged Baltimoreans to post the current number of homicides in the windows of their residences and businesses. Hoo boy. Criminals, better watch your backs.

As if. As of today, give or take where you hear it and the status of Peanut’s woman, the homicide tally stands at 183. Wonder if there's anyone left in the city still foolish enough to post that.

Baseball Hall of Fame Inducts Cal Ripken, Jr.

The year was 1997. Bill Clinton began his second term as this nation's 42nd president. The Simpsons became the longest running animated series on prime time TV. Drive by shooters killed popular rapper, Notorious B.I.G. And, it was the last time the Baltimore Orioles ended the regular season with a winning record.

Ten years? Fo’ real?

Apparently, yes. Gone are the glory days of the black and orange. As far as my childerns’ generation are concerned, dem O’s are a bunch o’losers.

What went wrong? I have no idea. Nor do I plan to speculate.

I grew up in the golden age of the Orioles and the Baltimore Colts. Brookes Robinson was so popular one of my elementary school classmates was named after him. In 1983, the Orioles had just won the World Series. I watched with pride as they staged a Mardi Gras-esque parade through the streets of Charm City with Cal Ripken, Jr. at the helm. My heart swelled with pride.

Today, dem O’s couldn’t claw their way out of a wet paper bag. Our beloved Colts play for another, ahem, unmentionable city (Ravens rule!). And O’Malley still hasn’t fixed utility costs that continue to spiral out of control. How is a battle weary Baltimoron supposed to deal?

Countdown to Cooperstown!

That’s right. This morning, the Iron Man, Cal Ripken, Jr., Baltimore’s own homespun hero, will be inducted in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Cal is just the right mix of legend, consecutive games record holder, and genuine nice guy. In an honor bestowed upon select few, this exclusive club accepted his bid on a first round vote. Can anyone resist those baby blues?

Thousands of victory-starved devotees are currently swarming Cooperstown. These people are intent upon savoring the moment like a cool drink of water on a desert afternoon. Sadly, I will not be among them, but I can hear almost the thunderous applause.

Stand up and take a bow, Cal Ripken, Jr. I hear that people who think Charlestown Community resident, Al Blackburn, resembles you also believe in the Tooth Fairy. No matter what they say, or think, they cannot dispute your stature as the genuine article. A role model and hero.

Thank you for once again instilling pride in the hearts of beleaguered Baltimore fans. This day has been a long time coming.

Baltimore Premieres Hairspray Hooplah

My temples are starting to throb. Yep. I'm starting to get a headache. I know I can't stop the beat, but could you please turn down the volume?

Baltimore hasn't felt this much celebrity buzz since John Travolta and Joaquin Phoenix came to town. Oh yeah. Ladder 49. Filmed in Pigtown. Of course, that was before Martin O'Malley and the General Assembly cut funding for Maryland's fledging film industry. Wasn't that supposed to be a division of The Department of Business and Economic Development? No wonder director Adam Shankman filmed the Broadway version in Toronto.

Poor little Charm City. Right when this latest incarnation of Hairspray goes mainstream Hollywood, Baltimore gets blackballed from its own tender story of overweight hons, Dick Clark wannabes, and civil rights riots. You gotta love a town like that. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking.

I heard Hairspray progenitor John Waters gave Shankman carte blanche on production. As great as Waters is, I'm a little peeved. I think he compromised the location because Hollywood power games aren't his cup of tea. As reflected in films like Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble, and Desperate Living, John has been and always will be quintessential Baltimore . His claim to fame is sticking with a genre he invented when Tarantino was pre-pubescent. If Edith Massey was alive to see what Hairspray has become, she'd lock up the Owl Bar and throw away the key.

Speaking of Hollywood mind games, none of the local premiere hype mentions John Travolta or his lovely wife, Kelly Preston. I hope their conspicuous absence isn't related to all the mean-spirited blogging. After Saturday Night Fever, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for John. Zac Efron, Amanda Bynes, Nikki Blonsky, Brittany Snow, Elijah Kelley...they're all very nice, but not in John's league. Love ya, Vinnie!

I have to think Queen Latifah may show. Reports of P. Diddy in town and living large are starting the make the rounds. That and a surprise appearance by Nicole Richie at an Annapolis fast food restaurant. When do celebrities like that ever come within partying distance of Pigtown? There must be more in the works than meets the eye.

Dare I dream of Michelle Pfeiffer or Christopher Walken sightings? Now that would be something worth jumping the light rail to Charles Street. Then again, the thought of fighting celebrity hungry masses for a fleeting glimpse of Tinseltown satellites only contributes to the pounding between my ears.

With everyone inundating downtown, this may be the perfect night to catch Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. May not even have to pre-buy the tickets.

It's the Chip Franklin Show

There’s a dearth of good daytime radio shows in Baltimore. A big city? Hah. Like I said before, Baltimore likes to think it’s a big city. No hon, we’re small potatoes. And dangerous. Ooooo. Pigtown's got a little bad boy edge go’n on.

When Chip Franklin took over Alan Prell’s morning radio spot, I was saddened. Alan had become part of my morning routine. He was Uncle Al the kiddies’ pal, a good compliment to Ron Smith in the afternoon. In my mind, no one could replace little Ally. Chip had a long road to hoe.

Two parts stand up comic, one part political manifesto, let’s just say, Chip Franklin took a lot of getting used to. After a number of years, I’m finally comfortable. His sidekicks are a hoot. Sherry, Mickey, C4, Schmuck, oh yeah, he’s for real. Debates with flags, movie ratings, celebrity posers, the show is an exercise in good fun. There are days when the topics are compelling and days when I switch channels, but overall, not too shabby.

I rarely have time to call in or send e-mail. I just comment out loud as I'm driving to wherever. I probably should stop doing that, although with the advent of hands free it's no longer weird. Today’s program included a segment about whether violence in America is any worse than when people Chip’s age (me) were growing up. Chip said it wasn’t and Sherry disagreed.

I’m with Sherry on this one. Violence in America is much worse than when I was a kid. I'm not talking about street fights and gangs, that's always been bad. I'm talking about meaningless hordes of innocent victims violence. Terrorist violence. Violence for the sake of violence.

IMHO the media bares part of the blame. When is the media going to develop a policy requiring cold blooded killers to be referred to as “the sick twisted vermin murderer?” Why does the media give sickos the notoriety they crave? Just look at Virginia Tech. Did the networks have to replay the video or report the killer's name? What about that nut in the Amish schoolhouse? Cover of People and countless others. Then there's the “I want to be famous” tube. Thousands of hits and still going strong. At first I thought it was funny and then I wanted to hurl. Someone memorialized John Lennon’s killer in a movie. Sickening. I can't understand where the oodles of this sick stuff comes from. American Psycho, the new Elisha Cuthbert flick, I could go on and on. Did we ever see or read stuff like this in the 60s?

I think the real turning point for gratuitous violence was Deliverance. In its day, the movie was shocking. Today, it’s kiddy fare. A true example of how debased and desensitized we Americans have become.

Update: 10/23/07. About a week after I wrote this piece, WBAL announced Chip Franklin's imminent departure. Chip seemingly vanished into thin air less than two weeks later. I heard he took a gig in el Lay, although the shock of his departure -- occurring so close to the time I finally became comfortable listening to his show -- threw me for a loop. What are the odds of something like that? I didn't bother researching his transition out west. Just licked my wounds and moved on. Today, more than two months later, I am finally ready to close the book on this odd turn of events. On 8/15/07, Chip sent me the following "Dear Jane" e-mail:


I had been saving it in my que, knowing it was the follow-up to this article, but too numb to care. It goes without saying what effect Chip's departure has had on the Baltimore talk radio scene. But I don't much care. Now that my car has Sirius radio, I listen to vinyl gold and 70s oldies. It's a better bet they won't be leaving town any time soon.

Good Night Baltimore

Just when the Hollywood intelligentsia start gearing up for the movie premiere of Hairspray (the Broadway musical version), Baltimore City's crime problem blazes out of control. The last time the city took this much heat was The Great Baltimore Fire of 1904. Well, maybe not that far back, but close. I wonder if Brittany Snow plans to attend the premiere without her bodyguards.

The streets of Pigtown are out of control. Mayoral candidates now bandy about the idea of marshall law. Marshall Freaking Law for cripes sake! Are these people brain dead?

I'm a born and buttered Baltimoron, and the first to crack wise about her hometown roots. Hons, dem O's, seafood, Preakness, the Inner Harbor, Nipper the dog, the Bromo Seltzer Tower...I have a symbiotic relationship with all things Charm City. Baltimore is who I am and what I love about America. It's a big city comprised of many neighborhoods and community groups, a small town that simply got too big for its britches. There's a feeling of belonging in Baltimore I can't put into words. I haven't really found that anywhere else and believe me I've tried.

But Baltimore sure has its problems -- rampant deadly crime for one. It's gotten pretty darn bleak out there. I'm genuinely afraid to walk around my neighborhood at night. And I live in Baltimore County.

Complaining isn't going to change things, but maybe it will help open a dialogue. This town needs some practical solutions, not drivel from vote mongering political candidates. Perhaps if residents cared more about civic pride than partying on city streets and killing one another, this little town could turn itself around. Like that little engine chugging and puffing, "I think we can...I think we can..."

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