A couple of weeks ago I was lurking in a bar over in Remington (one of the city’s less-fashionable neighborhoods, to be polite about it). Said bar is also one of the more entertaining because it caters to a wide variety of people and has incredibly cheap beer. What do you think is really the main attraction?
I was joined by a few friends and acquaintances, who also represented a wide variety of local wildlife. The four at my table, in particular, were fairly diverse (Oh, sweet Jesus, how I loathe that word–the bon mot of the apologist Loony Left), with an aging fraternity boy, a just-this-shy-of-radical feminist, and a couple of bohemian intelligentsia types. You do the math and figure out which one of the above I was.
One of the group is very, VERY up to date, very, VERY de trop and very, VERY sophistiquee. This might play well in New York but just seems rather foolish in the city that still insistently hangs fly-netting over chandeliers during the summer. This sophisticate is also a devotee of raves.
I have finally reached the point at which I realize that, although it’s perfectly normal to still wear my letter shirts around, I can no longer actually show up at undergraduate Sig Ep parties without looking desperate, creepy or both, except at Homecoming when there are plenty of octogenarians floating around. Never a fan of the rave scene, I came to that same realization in that respect over ten years ago. People who were brought up to attend the Bachelor’s Cotillon and the Richmond German are always slightly out of place at raves anyway, so I didn’t enjoy myself at them even when I was in the right age bracket. The last time I went to an honest-to-criminy rave I was twenty-five, and I was clearly the oldest person there. I am therefore ever-so-slightly bemused by the aforementioned sophisticate’s devotion to the rave scene at the no-longer-tender age of twenty-eight-ish.
If the devotion bemuses me, the sophisticate’s down-the-nose attitude concerning her awareness of the very latest rave "music" amuses me. It’s one thing to have a Mozart purist sneer at you; quite another to be lectured about the superiority of "world famous D Js," who are, after all, playing records. Hell, if record-playing skill is the prerequisite of modern fame, I should be the brightest star in heaven. Having been blaring 78s for twenty years, I can change records in, er, record time, and know the all-important rule that every "set" includes six fox-trots, two waltzes and two novelty numbers. Really, it was the superiority look that got to me, though. (To be fair, I was probably looking down my own nose at the time–our sophisticate is one of those types who finds herself far too Creative, Individual and Enlightened to ever belong to a collegiate sorority or a city Ladies’ club, which plants her pretty far outside my pale.)
I look down my nose for one reason that supercedes any social organization. Today, I visited Fort Armistead, down at the city’s very southern tip. Before any of you cretins comment, Fort Armistead has not been garrisoned for over eighty years, so I was not doing anything naughty. It is one of the old coastal defense forts, was decommissioned in the ‘20s and has been a city park for nearly fifty years. It is also one of the filthiest places I’ve seen in recent memory.
If Fort Armistead were in one of Baltimore’s admittedly numerous downtrodden ghettoes, I could understand the grime. And, I understand that an overtaxed Parks department probably doesn’t pay much attention to a park in the city’s equivalent of Pluto that few ever utilize.
However, Fort Armistead is the scene of many local raves, and has been for many years now. Before that dawning, it was much cleaner. How do I know, you may ask? If you’ve forgotten, I grew up here and I know a lot of other people who did, as well. It was cleaner in the pre-rave era. Fort Armistead has evidently become known as a party skankhole.
Those same people who are "into" the latest vibe, are quite Aware and Enlightened, who think that I am elitist scum, have no qualms whatsoever about trashing a city park, leaving their paraphernalia and detritus behind.
If I am an elitist–oh, hell, of course I am–it’s because I’ve rarely been given a reason to be anything else.
I was joined by a few friends and acquaintances, who also represented a wide variety of local wildlife. The four at my table, in particular, were fairly diverse (Oh, sweet Jesus, how I loathe that word–the bon mot of the apologist Loony Left), with an aging fraternity boy, a just-this-shy-of-radical feminist, and a couple of bohemian intelligentsia types. You do the math and figure out which one of the above I was.
One of the group is very, VERY up to date, very, VERY de trop and very, VERY sophistiquee. This might play well in New York but just seems rather foolish in the city that still insistently hangs fly-netting over chandeliers during the summer. This sophisticate is also a devotee of raves.
I have finally reached the point at which I realize that, although it’s perfectly normal to still wear my letter shirts around, I can no longer actually show up at undergraduate Sig Ep parties without looking desperate, creepy or both, except at Homecoming when there are plenty of octogenarians floating around. Never a fan of the rave scene, I came to that same realization in that respect over ten years ago. People who were brought up to attend the Bachelor’s Cotillon and the Richmond German are always slightly out of place at raves anyway, so I didn’t enjoy myself at them even when I was in the right age bracket. The last time I went to an honest-to-criminy rave I was twenty-five, and I was clearly the oldest person there. I am therefore ever-so-slightly bemused by the aforementioned sophisticate’s devotion to the rave scene at the no-longer-tender age of twenty-eight-ish.
If the devotion bemuses me, the sophisticate’s down-the-nose attitude concerning her awareness of the very latest rave "music" amuses me. It’s one thing to have a Mozart purist sneer at you; quite another to be lectured about the superiority of "world famous D Js," who are, after all, playing records. Hell, if record-playing skill is the prerequisite of modern fame, I should be the brightest star in heaven. Having been blaring 78s for twenty years, I can change records in, er, record time, and know the all-important rule that every "set" includes six fox-trots, two waltzes and two novelty numbers. Really, it was the superiority look that got to me, though. (To be fair, I was probably looking down my own nose at the time–our sophisticate is one of those types who finds herself far too Creative, Individual and Enlightened to ever belong to a collegiate sorority or a city Ladies’ club, which plants her pretty far outside my pale.)
I look down my nose for one reason that supercedes any social organization. Today, I visited Fort Armistead, down at the city’s very southern tip. Before any of you cretins comment, Fort Armistead has not been garrisoned for over eighty years, so I was not doing anything naughty. It is one of the old coastal defense forts, was decommissioned in the ‘20s and has been a city park for nearly fifty years. It is also one of the filthiest places I’ve seen in recent memory.
If Fort Armistead were in one of Baltimore’s admittedly numerous downtrodden ghettoes, I could understand the grime. And, I understand that an overtaxed Parks department probably doesn’t pay much attention to a park in the city’s equivalent of Pluto that few ever utilize.
However, Fort Armistead is the scene of many local raves, and has been for many years now. Before that dawning, it was much cleaner. How do I know, you may ask? If you’ve forgotten, I grew up here and I know a lot of other people who did, as well. It was cleaner in the pre-rave era. Fort Armistead has evidently become known as a party skankhole.
Those same people who are "into" the latest vibe, are quite Aware and Enlightened, who think that I am elitist scum, have no qualms whatsoever about trashing a city park, leaving their paraphernalia and detritus behind.
If I am an elitist–oh, hell, of course I am–it’s because I’ve rarely been given a reason to be anything else.
posted by Daniel | 2:32 AM
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