it should be said that no man is perfect. except one. his name is burt reynolds. but anthony bourdain comes pretty damn close. he's easy on the eyes, is rich, has a cool job and 95% of all women on planet earth want to bang his skin off. he's got that perfect combination of mainstream appeal and subculture edginess. . . he's a guy that's equally at home having apple pie in a suburban housewife's kitchen as he is telling stories about shooting heroin in the bathrooms of nyc punk clubs in the 70's. he is, in short, a dreamy son of a bitch. so i can see why you'd really want him to like you, baltimore.
and to be honest with you, i think he does like you. the problem isn't him, it's you. you want him to see that there's more to you than drug dealers on street corners and thugs and prostitutes. there's luxury condominiums and the inner harbor and government-job yuppies who commute to DC everyday.
baltimore, you need to stop being so defensive about your past. everytime a man looks at you, you think he's looking at "the wire", but maybe he's just looking at you as the confident, beautiful city you really are deep down inside. because if you really want a deep, meaningful relationship with a television host, then he's got to love you for YOU. he's got to love you for federal hill as much as he loves you for cherry hill. but before he can love you, you have got to love yourself.
fuck new york. fuck philadelphia. fuck DC. you are CHARM CITY, girl. you got that name for a reason. you're just the right mix of classy and trashy. you've got white soccer moms in mount vernon driving SUV's with spinners on them. you've got a million hipster kids in charles village in tight jeans and gold chains who either have or will live in brooklyn at some point and they all guest DJ upstairs at the ottobar. you've got chubby russian girls with fake nails in locust point. you've got transvestite prostitutes on calvert street. you can claim francis scott key, thurgood marshall, edgar allen poe, billie holiday, babe ruth, john waters, edward norton, DMX, david hasslehoff, and most importantly your boy: the joseph. fucking. grey. how many places can make the exclusive claim that a man of my stature lived within your borders, drank too much of your booze, slept with most of your women, and called that city "home"? ONLY, like, four or five or them. you're THE CITY THAT READS, for fuck's sake.
so all i'm saying, baltimore, is walk it off. go buy yourself a sexy new dress, because we're going out to the club tonight, and we're gonna tip the DJ five dollars to play "the percolator", and we are gonna prove that we don't need anthony bourdain and we don't need his approval, because we are who we are, and we believe in who we are, and we love who we are. so if some dude on basic cable wants to focus on a couple of rundown neighborhoods on the west side, that's cool, because baltimore is beautiful, baltimore is sexy, and we're the best thing that's ever going to happen to him.
go on, girl.