Tag Archives: Maryland

May 5, 2011 · 8:32 am

Chesapeake speak

Yesterday I had another occasion to call into a help desk. This time, my computer virus protection package was expiring and I had a question about the renewal.

No grammatical goofs came through this time but, if they did, they were overshadowed by something else. When I inquired as to whether there had been a problem with my subscription renewal, the young woman said, “There’s no problem, Hon.”

Hon?

Immediately, I suspected this didn’t roll off the tongue the way most terms of endearment do, say by a salty diner waitress or an avuncular car salesman.

Call me a cynic, but I’ll bet you anything that my call came in with some sort of tag saying I was dialing in from Maryland. “Hon” is Maryland’s trademark pet name; the closer you are to Baltimore, the more likely you’ll hear it.

Perhaps it was a case of life imitating art imitating life.

Here’s what I mean. Last fall, NBC debuted a sitcom called Outsourced. Based on a film of the same name, the show is set in a call center in India. The American manager trains Indian help desk operators to seem American by teaching them about the U.S. culture and speech. Here, have a look:

It’s no secret many U.S. companies run business operations out of India and other countries, where it’s cheaper and more efficient to do so. And it’s true that these customer service personnel have become adept at communicating seamlessly with American customers. Maybe that’s why they all seem to be named Julie.

I gather help desk operators, regardless of where they’re based, work off a pretty tight script and they stick to it. I already know they have key data about me. What’s to say they the script doesn’t weave in a geo-specific colloquialism or two for effect?

Are ya with me, Hon?

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April 20, 2011 · 8:15 am

Out of gas

A year or so ago, a run-down shopping center in our town gave itself a little facelift, and chose to illuminate its signage with neon. I considered it a good idea at the time—it suited the eclectic character of our commercial strip.

I did have one concern that indeed has come to pass. The risk of neon gas is that it runs out and, apparently, is an effort to refill or replace.

In my old D.C. neighborhood I shopped at “GIANT  OOD.” Recently, as I was driving home, I noticed that, after only a year after its facelift, at Kensington’s main intersection, stands “INGTON HOPPING CENTER.” (The S comes and goes, but how appropriate for Easter.)

It seems this neon gas shortage isn’t unique to my neck of the woods, as shown in photos others have posted.

How’s the neon supply in your ‘hood? 

 

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March 3, 2011 · 7:38 am

Extreme fundraising

What’s the wackiest event held in your home town?

Where I live, it would be a near three-way tie among the Kensington Labor Day Parade and Festival, the Fourth of July Bike Parade and the Burrito Mile relay, with the Burrito in the lead.

My son ran the Burrito Half-Mile relay in high school. I had forgotten about it until yesterday, when our community paper ran a front-page story about this year’s race. It’s good to know it’s still alive as a fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and funny that I should see the story after returning from dinner at Chipotle.

Being a contestant in the Burrito relay—or a spectator for that matter—isn’t for the faint of heart. Or the weak of stomach.

We all know that, in a typical relay race, the first runner takes a baton and runs around the track the required number of times, then hands the baton to the second runner, who runs and hands it off to the third runner and so on, until the fourth runner, or anchor, crosses the finish line.

My son ran track all four years of high school, so relays were a way of life for him, his friends and us. We never missed a meet. It stood to reason, then, that we’d take our place in the stands at the first Burrito relay held at Walter Johnson, our son’s high school and the first to host the fundraiser. WJ no longer officially supports the race for health reasons; I’ll get to that in a minute.

Here’s how it works. Each player brings a one-pound Chipotle or Qdoba burrito to the race, to serve as his or her baton.

When the gun goes off, each team’s starting runner first eats his burrito and then runs the first leg of the race, carrying the burrito of his teammate in position #2, which he hands off to #2 after running his one- or half-mile leg. Runner #2 scarfs his burrito, and runs his leg, carrying #3’s burrito and so on.

As with a conventional relay race, the fastest team wins. In the Burrito, eating speed is as important as running speed. Vomiting ensues—at the finish line, during the race and, potentially, in the stands.

Considering the prevalence of eating disorders among teens, one might see why a high school principal wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole, or a baton, or a one-pound burrito.

Following the event last Saturday, The Gazette noted that the record-holder, Greg Wegner, ran the whole 4-by-800-meter relay by himself last year. “At the time, he set the record when he ate four burritos over the course of a two-mile run and finished in 51 minutes and 10 seconds.” It further states that Wegner survived a ruptured brain aneurysm and stroke at the age of three. I suppose any challenge after that would be a minor hurdle.

I ask again, what wacky–and newsworthy–events go on in your community?

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February 18, 2011 · 12:33 pm

A capital getaway

We just got in from a mini-getaway in our state capital of Annapolis, so close in distance from our home, yet so far away in atmosphere.

The occasion blended a rhythm and blues show, a friend’s birthday party and a gift certificate for a local bed and breakfast into a 16-hour vacation.

To sketch a picture of Annapolis for those who haven’t been there, it sits on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay and, in addition to being the state capital, it is home to the United States Naval Academy. Its narrow streets are lined with restaurants, crab houses, craft shops, taverns and trendy boutiques. It also hosts an impressive 500-seat music venue, the Ram’s Head Tavern, where we attended a superb performance by the Tom Principato Band.

Our base of operations for this 16-hour vacation was a local inn, sadly, the kind of place you want to stay for no longer than the time between putting your tired head on the pillow and going downstairs for breakfast. I don’t mean to be unkind, but camping might have been cleaner and more comfortable. There’s no lobby; you come in through the kitchen of the deli below, to the cash register, which serves as the front desk. If you come back after 11:30 p.m., which we did, you have to climb what is essentially their fire escape to the third floor.

The real treasure, however, was the deli, rather, delly, below the inn. It turns out that Chick & Ruth’s Delly is a well known, family-run Annapolis landmark that’s been in business 45 years. And, while it’s very much a local hangout, I now recall it was featured recently in The Washington Post magazine recently as a favorite for brunch.

“Here you go, sweetie pie,” was how my husband’s crab omelet was served. ‘Nuff said.

We bought fresh crab cakes to cook at home tonight, just to extend the delly experience. I just hope no one expects a side of “sweetie pie” with those.

Do take a minute to peruse their website. Who knows, you might be interested in one of their Colossal Challenges, involving a three-pound deli (er, delly) sandwich, a three-pound hamburger or a six-pound milkshake. Read about the family who started and still runs the place and how the kids got started serving behind the counter, standing on milk crates. And don’t miss the web page that highlights all the couples who got engaged at the Delly.

Best of all, go to Chick & Ruth’s at 8:30 a.m. on any weekday, 9:30 any weekend day, and join your fellow patrons in the Pledge of Allegiance.

God bless America, the great state of Maryland and Chick & Ruth’s Delly.

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September 6, 2010 · 8:51 am

It’s a wrap

It seems like just yesterday that I was taking out my whites for the summer and extolling the virtues of summer clothing etiquette. Here it is already Labor Day, a day when putting the whites back in the attic until next Memorial Day is but one holiday ritual of many, around here anyway.

Another Labor Day ritual, as far back as I can remember, is checking in throughout the weekend with Jerry Lewis and cheering on his efforts to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy research. I think it’s great that he’s still at it. Where I grew up, Labor Day also meant taking one final swim in the neighborhood pool and heading home to dread the start of a new school year.

Where I live now, in Kensington, Maryland, four miles over the D.C. line, Labor Day is huge. The last time I checked, the Town of Kensington’s Labor Day Parade had the acclaim of being the largest small-town parade in the state. The parade spotlights our local businesses and scout troops, beauty queens and politicians. And in an election year such as this, the politicians might even outnumber the marching bands. We even have an occasional protester.

Among scores of floats carrying our local hip hop teams and square dancers, garage bands and artisans, we can always count on seeing best-selling author and quirky television commentator Matthew Lesko, who works under the moniker The Free Money Guy. Can’t place him? He appears on TV in a suit covered in neon question marks. His car is painted in the same pattern.

You might know Kensington. We were hit tragically by the 2002 snipers, and in 2001 we received national news coverage when our mayor banned Santa Claus from the Town’s annual tree lighting ceremony, only to be stormed by hundreds of Santa-clad protestors, most of whom rode in on Harleys.

We’ve been a town since 1894 which, coincidentally, is the year Labor Day became an official national holiday. So I’m off this morning for the parade, then to the closet for the end-of-summer ritual and finally, to the television for the traditional telethon finale, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

Then I’ll officially call it a summer.

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