The Red, White & Blue

For your election day listening pleasure...

Yee Haw! 31st Birthday Rodeo

Who wouldn't want to celebrate their 31st birthday with a cowboys and indians rodeo? Thanks to Rachel for creating the most delicious appetizers and the precious tres leches birthday cake; to the cactus for simply being himself, and to the pumpkins who brought some serious attitude. 

RIP Coffee 1999-2012

I recently stopped drinking coffee. This also means sugar is no longer a daily part of my life. This doesn't sound important at all but it is. First, the reasons. I stopped drinking coffee to relieve myself of guilt while scanning our credit card statement. Those seemingly benign $1.50 purchases, when compiled into an itemized list on your computer screen over the course of a week, almost makes you feel dirty, irresponsible, wasteful, even? The feeling of dependence on this daily treat also contributed to this decision. To most people, one cup a day is modest. Yet, regardless of one cup or ten cups a day, I bought into a pattern I had set for myself and now, that pattern owned me. So, just like that, I stopped. 

In the past month I've had one black cup of coffee. And I feel great. Contrary to the commonly espoused benefits of coffee, I feel more focused and relaxed; less anxious and more comfortable, more myself. I honestly feel like a different person. Sure, I get those morning and afternoon lulls when you would kill anything to get that quick bump in your system. But I've noticed these lulls pass as quickly as they come, and my body naturally wakes itself up and provides the energy I need to focus and keep going. 

As odd as it sounds, drinking coffee--particularly sugary coffee--seemed to stifle my creativity. When faced with any simple project, I was all over the place and couldn't focus to pin down even one idea. Now, I feel like all my senses have opened up; like I've been freed from feeling mentally and creatively bound. I also feel like I can fully appreciate other people's creativity which I couldn't do before. Seeing others develop their art and make incredibly fantastic and innovative things used to send me into an anxiety frenzy instead of absorbing it, appreciating it, and learning from it. It all sounds ridiculous and uber-dramatic, but it's the truth. Creativity is so important to me and I feel like we've finally been reunited after years and years apart. 

I'm surrounded by such amazingly talented people. I can't wait to dive into the breadth of talent that is found in each and every person. There is so much life and wonder and so little time to really give it the attention it deserves. So here's to pushing beyond our imaginations and embracing what we were designed to do... to use these gifts God's given us responsibly and without restraint.

Coffee and sugar, I do love you and will seriously miss you, but our time must come to an end. Thanks for the incredible memories but now I need to make some new ones without you.

Kimi

The Natty BROS of Baltimore

            From far away, the sirens sang. And pounded Natty Bohs. And shredded air guitar, on top of an ’88 Saab converted into a heavy metal death machine (The Bröthership), with the largest hood ornament ever bestowed in the hallowed name of rock and roll. On top of that Saab, the crowds wandering aimlessly through Artscape were beckoned to perform the most brain-melting solos known to Baltimore, their Excalibur a wooden shape vaguely resembling a guitar, but bearing more resemblance to an instrument framed from the bones of gluttons and thieves (or a Tony's supreme pizza).

            The BROS was holding court. Not Hopkins lax-bros, but rockin-ax BROS, the Baltimore Rock Opera Society. Instead of pastels and topsiders, these ladies and gentle-lords were adorned in shades of black darker than the most black, in medieval garb dug up from the graves of Norwegian Vikings, and spandex that had most likely been washed in hot water and dried on high heat for hours.

            I, a weakly passerby and mere human, was immediately drawn into this spectacle of awesomeness by a man shredding a metal song not only perfectly- but with a baby in his arm, the circle of life completed, the awing prowess of air guitar talent being passed on from one generation to the next. Next, a small boy who moved better than Mick Jagger, and much better than Bruce Springsteen when he tried to slide on his knees during that terrible attempt at harnessing rock during the half-time show of the Super Bowl. One by one, the crowds tested their skills at air guitar, taming the force of the dragon, getting out the Led, and turning the Sabbath black.

            Either my brain was mush (as the Archduke of Shredliness and Epicosity, John Decampos, postulated), or I was in a trance. Probably both.

            After each air guitar performance, the various members of the BROS would assemble in a most judicial manner, and the tabulated score of the jesters was announced. When one wailed hard on the sharpened blade of the axe, they were most certainly rewarded, with a score that sometimes couldn’t even be calculated by mere Newtonian mathematics.

            Then came the main attraction, the rock opera of Monster World. The setting- some cages with monsters on top of a cargo container.  (True rock thrives in even the lowliest of places). From the depths of the abyss to the heights of Brewer’s Hill, the plotline rang up one fist-pumping moment after another. It combined the eternal wisdom of the Grimm-era tales with the wretched tragedies of the Greeks, with appearances from the nefarious beasts known as Mother Nog and the Grundel, as well as a well-choreographed sea serpent, a better version of Aquaman, and a two-faced evil Natty Boh that might’ve been the best costume ever created (the only way I can describe its epic-ness is that the Great Gatsby costume designer might as well not even expect an Oscar invite). Evil was captured, then released into the world, then captured again, then released, then captured, then…basically it was a snapshot of good versus evil that could only be compared to maybe a match between The Ultimate Warrior and The Undertaker circa 1991.

In the end, the evil Natty Boh was defeated, much like Smaug the Magnificent in the most righteous tale of the Hobbit. A weakness in his teeth proved lethal, as one by one, they were pulled, and revealed to have the damning elixir of National Bohemian in their cavities. Once entrusted in the hands of the loyal followers of rock, the elixir flowed freely into their mouths as confetti blasted from cannons, and a dance party ensued for all the inhabitants of the Land of Pleasant Living. If only for a moment, the heavy metal became a shade lighter, and order was restored to the universe.

Above the ashen sky, the rock gods looked upon the scene on the overpass of I-83, and saw that it was good—nay—legendary.

For more info, and to help keep Baltimore safe by keeping gut-busting rock alive for the next 7,000 years, check out the BROS website here.

The Weekend Pho-1-1

In this blog:

Baltimore Restaurants

Bond Street Social

Mekong Delta

Walt's Inn

Canton Bakery & Pizza

Topics

Friday the 13th

Charlie Brown

Food comas

Karaoke

Friday

I took a half day Friday from work to prepare for my dear friend's 30th surprise party. Back in the spring, she had instructed me to assist her husband in planning a 30th surprise party for her. If you find yourself casting judgement on this kind of seemingly vain request, well, let's break this down for a minute. Over 95% of people turning 30 in 2011 hoped for a 30th surprise birthday party, but only 2.5% of them actually received one. What a depressingly large percentage of disappointment, don't you think? By the way, I made up that stat. The moral of the story and the fake stat is that it's better to voice exactly what you want (to a degree) instead of silently hoping that your clueless husband/wife will magically read your mind. 

So here I was on Friday, waiting for Robbe to show up with Laura's birthday cake I had ordered from Safeway. It was a sheet cake (vanilla and chocolate with raspberry filling) with chocolate buttercream icing and flower accents--sweet and simple. Robbe came home with the cake. I lifted up the lid, and there sat the cake I ordered: a chocolate covered sheet cake with flowers. But the flowers were orange with green leaves. And Robbe said something about Halloween. And then all I could think of was candy corn. And then a big pumpkin. And then The Great Pumpkin. And then Charlie Brown. And how Charlie Brown was assigned a simple task to get a good Christmas tree. And he ended up returning with the most modest, withered tree of the lot. And everyone made fun of him for messing up such a menial task. And then I thought how I was exactly like Charlie Brown. And I pictured people pointing and laughing at the cake and then pointing and laughing at me. Spoiler alert: none of that ended up happening. There was laughing, but no pointing and laughing. Her husband booked a private room at Bond Street Social (replaced DuClaw) in Fells Point for roughly 40 of us. A bit pricey for my taste but a really nice modern meets rustic design with great outdoor space. What mattered in the end was that the cake was delicious. And that Laura was actually 100% surprised. And she didn't care that her cake looked more like we were celebrating Friday the 13th than her actual birthday. But if she did ever need a Friday the 13th cake, she would know who to go to.

Saturday

We had planned an incredibly busy (lounging with our mouths gaped open) Saturday that included cleaning (vegging) and organizing (Doritos on my plate or in a napkin?). All of that was abandoned when Robbe's friend Ali called and dropped the bomb on us that he was officially on the fast track to marriage as he had proposed to his girl Mel that morning and was in need of some celebratory action. We, of course, pushed our productive agenda to another time (never?) and responded immediately with getting the house in order for our guests to arrive (surprisingly all true). When the newly engaged lovebirds came, they wanted one thing and one thing only: Pho. To which I responded: Pho sho. (Crickets.) We soon found ourselves sitting in the restaurant of Yelp-critically acclaimed Mekong Delta serving up delicious Vietnamese cuisine (byob and cash only). All of us inhaled 3 different kinds of spring rolls which were no less than five inches--the biggest spring rolls I've ever seen. And then we each feasted on our meals of choice. Me? F22. A safe choice but a good one nonetheless. Our entire meal for four came to a grand total of $51. Tough to beat. Delicious. Generously affordable. You should want to go to there.

Food coma.

Then, the karaoke bug hit all of us. Because who wouldn't want to celebrate an engagement with song and dancing? No one said it had to be good song and dancing. We walked the half mile to Canton's Walt's Inn (karaoke 7 days a week) and eagerly smeared our names on several blank karaoke slips and submitted them to the karaoke MC who looked all of 21 and seemed to be hating every second of her life. The speakers were in and out; sometimes not projecting any music at all. I was the first of our group to go and yes, I picked my go-to ballad: "Shoop". The lyrics blazed across the screen but the music failed to project through the speakers. Thanks to a couple who was front and center, singing along regardless of the absent sound, I was able to make it through successfully in the style of a cappella. I'd like to think if Salt n' Pepa were there they might have cried. Next up was Mel who took on ol' Kenny Roger's "The Gambler"; Ali and Robbe tag teamed with "When We Were Young" by the Killers; and Robbe brought it home with James' "Laid." 

One thing I can always count on Ali for after midnight is rallying around a delicious piping hot pepperoni pizza. We found out that night that Canton Bakery & Pizza is open until 3 in the morning (schwing) and happens to only be less than a mile from our house (double schwing) so needless to say we brought that baby home and stuffed our faces into the early morning. The perfect lullaby for a beautiful night's rest.

The White Redd, Kimi's Boo

Hi, I’m Robbe, and I’m married to Kimi. For some reason, she took my last name. Her maiden name also started with an 'R', so luckily for her she doesn't have to get all of her Land's End backpacks re-monogrammed. I used to live on Linwood Avenue and tried to scare the rats away at night and sweep mice out of my pantry in the day, but now I live on Grundy and try to scare the rats away at night, although the mice aren’t a problem here.  Since I was a little kid, Baltimore always seemed magical to me, I think because I’ve always held the Orioles to a higher echelon in life. Cal Ripken was my Harry Potter growing up, and Camden Yards was my Hogwarts. Now I just wish Harry Potter and Hogwarts were real and that people went to Camden Yards. But anyway, for now this is my and our home and I hope we can write some stuff that people find interesting. By interesting, I mean what’s going on at the Family Dollar on Eastern, determining the fastest route from Brewer’s Hill to downtown, and how to turn the abandoned parking lot by our house into a wiffle-ball field of dreams without the city noticing.

The Hot July Moon Saw Everything

In case you were wondering, we survived the sneak attack storm that blacked out millions of people in our region a little over a week ago. It was only a few days ago that Mr. Natty Boh was also restored although his blinking eye has been suspiciously missing for weeks now. In observance of this, I've decided to patch out my own right eye--pirate style of course--until his eye returns. Did I mention I'm 30?

With the onslaught on summer comes a beefed up calendar of events throughout the city. I've been diligently documenting all the outdoor movies (Little Italy's just started this past Friday), concerts, festivals, and farmer's markets that I hope to go to (Young the Giant for free at Power Plant? Um, yes please!).

This past Thursday, Robbe and I went with our newly engaged friends Timmy and Dana to First Thursdays, a free outdoor concert sponsored by WTMD 89.7 in Mt. Vernon. Featured band? Scars on 45 (they're English and I don't get their name either). Basically, it's three hours of picnic-ing with a bunch of sweaty strangers against the backdrop of residential brownstones, local vendors, and neighborhood hipsters. It was great, truly. We brought our own supply of booze and sandwiches and leftover Fourth of July cherry and raspberry pie, handmade by Robbe's grandma by the way. Yes, yes it was a thousand degrees outside and yes, yes it did sprinkle on us a bit, but yes, yes we stayed until the end when the band closed out their set with Rihanna's "We Found Love" cover. It was my first event after moving to the city where I felt and witnessed a sense of community. Drunken community? Probably. But it was still community. This is where I live now. These are my people. And it got me excited about the rest of the summer, my generously marked up calendar, and the prospect of experiencing more events like this one that could lead to absurd fun.

Afterwards, we headed to Midtown BBQ for a quick beer which was a block away from the concert. I instantly thumbsed-up the place once I saw a large karaoke banner hugging its brick when we arrived. The sign actually said: "Full contact karaoke" which simultaneously culminated delight and confusion. We had seen an advertisement that a band called PB & Jamz was performing. All four of us had cast our judgments on what this band would sound like--white wannabe rappers? O.A.R. meets Sublime? Folks, PB & Jamz became my favorite new local band that night. The five-piece came right out covering Toxic by Britney Spears. Did I mention there was a clarinet (shout out to my middle school band instrument! 2nd clarinet where you at!) They went on to play Juicy (Biggie Smalls--babe-uh babe-uhhhh); Ignition (R. Kelly), remix no less!; I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Whitney! RIP); Hard Knock Life (Jay-Z); and You Know I'm No Good (Amy Winehouse, ar to the eye to the pee). We left before they got to play Single Ladies which means they missed out on me performing the 3 seconds of dance moves I know from Beyonce's video (their loss). 

Next month the band plays at Joe Squared (Dear Pizza, I love you) so my plan is to brush up on my Biggie and Jay-Z and come ready to party with my new best friends (they have no idea who I am). Who's with me?

Kimi Redd

We Made It!

... And so many more to go. Happy one month to us! Yes, we are (I am) those people who will break out the rainbow confetti over little hurdles like this. Get used to it.

Dear Baltimore...

Hello.

My name is Kimi. I am recently married to a Mr. Robert Reddinger, otherwise known as Rob or Robbe or Roberto or Robbeyah. Or Squirrel. We live in Brewers Hill. I am from the dirty south known as Annapolis. Sidenote: it has never ever been called the dirty South nor will it ever be. We are fun yet responsible; spontaneous but not reckless; lovers not fighters; ballers but not shot-callers; eaters of food, not of people's faces; the list goes on and on of things that are .07% accurate. In our spare time, we like to read the local Baltimore Guide that shares the weekly police beat and ensures we're at home with the doors locked by 4:45 p.m. every day. I spend 40% of my time chasing winged insects in my home with a 99% fail rate of disposing of them. Sometimes I bake cookies and leave them out to remind myself that I'm one step closer to being Martha Stewart; that is, until Robbe bites into one of them and tells me they're getting stale. We are both writers and hope to document our everyday experiences and profound thoughts about life and love and why our house smells like trash for some reason here at RW&B. We invite you on this incredible journey with us and encourage one and all, no matter what age, to bring along a generous bottle of scotch.

Kimi Redd