A reflection on an ending yet to come
I am not good at ending things.
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I am not good at ending things.
Two weeks left of classes and about one month until graduation. I’m trying to keep my head down, distract myself with work, but the butterflies bat violently in my stomach. I tried on my graduation robe a few days ago; I bought a frame for my diploma. There is so much left to do and think and feel that I’m capsizing into stillness.
There’s an odd, pervasive murmur that seems to follow myself and many of the seniors that I know. It sighs, “I’m tired.” It whispers, “I feel diluted.” It moans, “Get me out of here.”
I’ve realized recently that self-evaluation is a really interesting thing.
Look at it in its purest form...Find what it is that you want to do and deconstruct that, until it’s so simple that it’s so easy. All the other stuff is just baggage. — Lucien Smith, New York City artist
I went to one class, the library, then Barnes & Noble to purchase my very last textbook. Here I was, a senior with one semester left, buying a contemptibly overpriced book from the store that everyone learns their freshman year not to buy textbooks from. After four years, had I really learned nothing at all?
This past summer, (my last and, sadly, only summer spent wandering in Baltimore’s heavy heat) I finally learned and realized what it means to be part of this city’s food culture.
There’s pizza you eat with a fork and knife, pizza you guzzle down off oil seeped paper plates, pizza you ravage when you’re drunk, and pizza you eat cold when you’re hungover the morning after. There’s horrible pizza, mediocre pizza, good pizza, and cathartic, life-altering pizza. And in Baltimore, there’s (soon to be) Paulie Gee’s pizza.
An old mill property sits along the Jones Falls River and railroad tracks; a gravel parking lot surrounds the establishment. Down the street, Taharka Brothers scoops out ice cream and Union Craft Brewing unites water, barley, hops, and yeast. But inside this stone building, diners enjoy octopus carpaccio, artisan pizzas topped with house made cheeses and duck confit, and a beer list that speaks to the restaurant’s name, Birroteca.
Despite York Road’s out-of-sync traffic lights and excruciating traffic, I decided to make my way to Belvedere Square last Saturday. I lamentingly admit that this was my first time visiting Belvedere Square, a coalition of retail shops, restaurants, specialty food stores, and a market that proved to be the center of activity. It was a lot to take in. But I had one objective and I would not stray, and that was to dine at Atwater’s.
Last January, the Washington City Paper published an article entitled “Is Restaurant Week a Rip-Off? We Did the Math.” In 2011, the New York Post had an article called “Restaurant Week totally bites!” The same year, Boston Magazine posed the honest and eye-opening question, “Me and My Big Mouth: Does Restaurant Week Need To Die?”
Chesapeake blue crabs steamed and tossed in Old Bay. Berger Cookies - shortbread cookies veiled with a layer of fudge.
After a short JHMI ride to Penn Station and a few stops on the Purple Line you will arrive at one of the largest continuously running markets in the world — Lexington Market.
The Mental Notes put on another marvelous show Saturday night.
On Friday, the JHU Sirens performed their fall concert in Bloomberg Auditorium, featuring two all-male groups: The Peabodies (from the Peabody Conservatory) and The Originals (from Carnegie Mellon University).