Molly Goatwax

Molly Banker

These past couple of weeks I've been mincing into various banking concerns on heels, clad in silk and pearls, looking for a new roost from which to mint money as the family health premiums get covered. No more torture in the suburban corporate cubicle for me! Today I was ushered into one of the two remaining elevators in Baltimore with a human operator, shown a private office with twelve foot ceilings covered in white painted hammered tin, saffron walls, brocade swagged windows and offered a parking space to boot. It's not really about the money, I told the president, it's about finding an environment in which I feel accepted. The farmer for whom I worked last year and the four before gave me a glowing recommendation when called. I see a newer SAAB in that parking space in the not-too-distant future. And the cold, cold beer will still flow from the taps at the public house.

Fainting Goats

More than you wanted to know about Tennessee Nervous Goats. Via Fark.

Mayhem

When I got to the bar this morning, it looked as if all Hell had broken loose. Cigarette butts and dirty dishes were everywhere, the furniture was in disarray, a photograph and an outlet cover had been knocked off the wall-six feet up and twenty feet apart. Among other things. After I had taken care of the overflowing trash cans and swept the floor, a regular patron came in for his beer and observed as I was wrestling the mop bucket to the front. With a bit of argument, I let him mop the floor as I wiped down the rest of the surfaces with dilute bleach. He cleaned the glass door of the upright and I cleared the handsink of discarded fruits and straws. Another regular came in with a chili dog for me from the barbeque around the corner. Thanks, guys.

Boosterism

Living in Baltimore is not all Homicide: Life on the Street. Frommer's travel guide has named Baltimore one of the world's top summer destinations for 2005. (!?!) Our bond rating has risen to A+. Investors are drooling over our cheap and plentiful housing stock. The population loss has flattened, crime has dropped overall, and unemployment is down a bit. And to what factors can this reversal be attributed, besides Boy Mayor? Besides the inexpensive real estate, there have been been some cultural shifts; Retro is cool again and weird has become mainstream, and oh boy, Baltimore has plenty of both. Given the polarity in American politics and our reputation for slack, liberals, immigrants, gays and others looking for tolerance have found acceptance in our social structure. And, speaking of which-oh, right! The Art School and the Mental Hospital! These world famous institutions (both of which I am a proud alumna) have attracted outsiders and misfits from everywhere and then mainstreamed them into staying and breeding for well over a hundred years. In our neighborhood, there are very diverse parties all about us this evening celebrating the Memorial Day holiday. Some people whooping it up in the pool behind us are running it a bit late. And it's time to go to sleep. "Might as well shoot them...", says Hubby, "After all, this is Baltimore!" Except, right. We don't have any guns. We'll just have to put up with it, as they have always put up with us.

Struggling

Way back when, in the first of twenty-two years in art school, the instructor had us drawing elipses with charcoal on newsprint tacked to the wall. Over and over and over, eight hours a day for a week. It was very boring and it didn't seem to have "taken". I'm having the darndest time trying to get these kegs to look right in a painting from this photo........narf.

The Prodigal Crab

Locals have already heard that this chef crab sculpture had been stolen from in front of Eddie's Supermarket on Roland Avenue. Yes, it got pinched. Well, it was returned the next day with only a few dings-possibly some senior prank-and the owners of the grocery were so happy they threw it a homecoming party and placed the hero crab in the background, "Super Crab" to protect it. The sculptures are part of a city-wide fund raising program similar to Chicago's bovines and Washington D.C.'s panda project, (party animals) in which local artists decorate the fiberglass forms for display and eventually, an auction.

The Results

For a few weeks, since I was told that some lady came into Molly's, ordered a draught and took its temperature, I've been on tenterhooks. Y'see, she was collecting data for the City Paper's annual search for the coldest beer in Baltimore. And while we came in at a very respectable 5th place, we did not, alas, take the top honor. Still, it's nice to bump aside larger and better funded concerns such as The Hard Rock Cafe and the tony Mt. Washington Tavern. Nicer still is that the City Paper team came by our little dive with a thermometer for consideration. Thanks folks!

Bubble bust

When I heard a few weeks ago that Twinkies snack cakes have been produced for 75 years now, I had an instant craving for the gooey, spongy, vanilla sweetness of my childhood. So I looked for a twin packet at the usual places; gas stations, convenience stores, the check-out line at the grocery...all places that Twinkies had been available for sale in the golden era of my yout'...only to shoot blanks! Where are they hiding the Twinkies?!? I finally-after two weeks of concerted searching-found a 75 year old box of ten individually wrapped Twinkies discreetly placed by the bulk cartons of Ho Hos, Devil Dogs and Little Debbie's. Although a box of ten was more than I wanted to commit to, I bought them 'cause I was jonesing so bad. And when I got my Twinkies home, of course it was a big disappointment. They just aren't the same. It may be that after all those real pies, crumbles, tortes and flans-more like, I'm not the same. Not with that oily feeling in my mouth from the Twinkie.

Eastboud On Homeland Avenue

This photograph, taken earlier today, illustrates that vandalism and the shocking, heinous defacement of public property can take place even in the best and most established of neighborhoods. I have to cover my child's eyes as we drive by this disgrace, and my calls to the mayor's office have gone unheeded for weeks!

It takes a village

It's a fine, fine day. Yesterday, however, it was raining all day and the front windows at the bar had leaks above them. Drip, drip drip. The roofer 3 doors down came in for his half pint of whiskey and said he'd go up and look at the damage when the rain stopped. This morning he tapped on the window whilst I was securing the ice and when I let him in he told me about the tar and caulk he had put over the flashing and rubber and so on and so forth. No more drip, drip drip. All for a pint O' Jack. It's a fine, fine day. Speaking of roofs, it's time for me to peel back the lid on the car and partake of some highway therapy. It's a fine, fine day.