It's Honfest, hon!

Some of you might have heard mention of my unnatural love for the city of Baltimore. Well, hon, this is the icing on the cake. (Above, me and a pack of young hons, brown-bagging it and wearing a necklace I bought at a vintage booth and later realized was a belt).

I don't remember how I stumbled upon knowledge of Honfest, but I knew I had to go. This was what, three years ago? It was at the height of my lust for Bawlmer and I was devastated that I had - typically - just missed it. Another year passed, and something came up that prevented me from going, probably one of those weddings people keep having. Then a curious thing happened. I was writing a blog post, yes the very same blog post preceding this one, yammering about how rarely I actually find out about and then attend these annual-type events, when suddenly said yammering reminded me of my most egregious case of annual event non-attendance, Honfest. You, good readers, might not have been able to tell, but WHILE COMPOSING THE PREVIOUS POST I was also finding out that, lo! Behold! Honfest was in TWO DAYS!

I did the only rational thing I could think of - I set off a flurry of texting that resulted in sudden plans for me and Lance to take the bus down on Saturday, stay with some friends, and Honfest it up.

Honfest is in the Hampden neighborhood where, as our host jovially put it, the freaks live. The nabe is a good part of my reason for loving Baltimore and the presence of the freaks is surely a good part of why. So after arriving on the bus, we traipsed across the Johns Hopkins campus to Hampden and encounted an enormous street fair. At first I was disappointed - Honfest is just a street fair? But it was a fabulous street fair, which lots and lots of fun artsy-crafty booths, Bawlmer kitsch, and stands selling crab cake sandwiches with giant tins of Old Bay seasoning as the only condiment. Also, funnel cakes, re-named for the occasion.


Part of the problem with my obsession with Baltimore, hons, and Honfest, is an inability to fully describe what they are, much less why they are so great (yes, people know what Baltimore is, but often in only the crudest sense). There were many varieties of hons at the Honfest, from young rockabilly hons to the truest type of hon - the woman in the purple housecoat with matching fuzzy slippers and rollers in her hair that, despite all the purple and despite the festival, seemed to be merely in her usual get-up. As if, should you walk through Hampden on a different day, you would see her wearing the same thing, hanging up laundry and saying "Hot enough for you, hon?" while her younger floozy sister was down at Cafe Hon wearing a slightly sexier version of the same outfit and asking patrons "you need more coffe, hon?"


That, anyway, is my own interpretation. The other part of the problem is almost too shameful to admit. We'd missed round one of the Best Hon competition on Saturday, but we were sure that on Sunday, which was the day of the 2nd, final round, we'd finally see some hon action that would elevate Honfest from a streetfair to an EVENT (the two stages had otherwise been filled with kid dance troops or folk singers - not bad, but not EVENTful). Sadly, when the time came for the competish, the only thing I could see getting elevated was hair. I waited in line for an hour for this beehive, and missed the Best Hon getting crowned, but it was worth it.


And it didn't stop me from brazenly getting my picture taken with the Hon of the Year. Note her flamingo gown.

I love the flamingo butt.

So the mystery remains on what makes Bawlmer's best hon. Is there a talent portion? Do they have to answer a question about hons and politics and world peace? There's only one way to find out, and that's to return next year. Baltimore, I'll see you soon.