I just got back from an art festival in Baltimore called Artscape. I enjoyed myself. Granted I think I liked the whole thing mostly because it was crowded and reminded me of the open air and night markets in Korea, but it had its attractions.
My teammate, Danielle, and I took the Light Rail into the city. I wasn’t sure of what to expect as it was my first time riding. It was different from the subway system in Korea. Fewer lights, no television screens flashing seizure-inducing advertisements, no loud intercom voice recordings of what station would be next. There also seemed to be less space for standing, but nobody touched each other. This is something odd/unique I’ve noticed about Americans: they’ll get very close to you in enclosed spaces, but they’ll never break that one inch barrier. Koreans will push and mash up against you; there’s no such thing as personal space in a city of 13 million people. But I digress.
As the name suggests, Artscape offered a wide array of different types of art. Paintings, sketches, carpentry, metalwork, music, theater, and food. Lots and lots of food. I had a muffaletto sandwich and my very first funnel cake. I had heard a great deal about funnel cakes; I figured if morbidly obese people keep eating that deep-fried batter, it’s gotta have it going on like Stacy’s mom. Ohmigod. It was worth every cent of the $7 I spent on it. It looked like dough-y brains with crack-like powdered sugar dumped on top. It was a righteous mess. I tried to ask the lady handing me my plate of Diabeetus for a fork, but Danielle pulled me away saying that the proper way to eat the crack-cake was with my fingers. I was worried about making a mess until I had the first bite. I swear I saw Jesus in the crowd after I tasted the sugary goodness. I didn’t care if I looked like a drug lord who had just taken a nose dive into a pile of cocaine. I wanted that funnel cake in my mouth. I think most of it ended up on my face in general, but like I said, I didn’t give a fuck.
I used a gnarly port-a-potty (I swear it looked like someone had an abortion in there), drank a super sweet margarita that tasted like a hangover, and talked with a sword-wielding five year old on the Light Rail back to campus. I’m about to go on an alcohol run with one of my other teammates now.
Not bad for a Friday night.