When I first stepped foot outside yesterday, I heard loud booming voices coming from what felt like all sides. After briefly considering the possibility that the United States had been converted into a V-for-Vendetta-like dictatorship, I concluded that the sounds I heard must have been music from a festival not far from my house. Not long after, I began to detect the distinct “festival food” aroma; a combination of fried dough, chicken fingers, and barbeque. I had to investigate.
 
At about 2:30pm, I headed down Pennsylvania Avenue to check things out. The first thing I saw was a big white stage occupied by a Bob Marleyish jam-band. Directly next to the stage was a Go Army tent. The young guy running the booth immediately tried to recruit me, but the whole time the guy was talking to me all I could think about was how shitty their tent location was. I seriously heard about twenty percent of what he said. Something about the Army Reserve, and that my being a student would make me “undeployable.” The band was rocking out too hard. I felt kind of bad, but not really. I took his card, went on my way, and promptly disposed of it.
 
I set out to discover what the festival was about. Having just randomly wandered over, I had no idea. Let me just say that I went to school in Baltimore City, so being the only white person in a large crowd is pretty much business as usual. I didn’t even notice that that was the case for a good fifteen minutes.
 
Not long after having this realization, I stopped to look at the work of a local artist. I asked her a little about her art, and then asked her if she could tell me what festival I was at.
 
“It’s the African American Arts Festival. We have it ever year.”
 
I told her that I heard music, smelled food, and just started walking towards the source. She got a laugh out of that, and at that point I told her it was good meeting her and I went on my way.
 
I walked around the rest of the festival, and it was pretty cool. I mean, it was identical in almost every way to the last festival that was held here (Towson Festival, I think?), but still pretty enjoyable. There was a photographer walking around and I was really hoping that he would take my picture, just so that he would print a caption like “The African-American Arts Festival draws visitors of all ethnicities.” And it would just be a picture of me looking lost and confused.
 
It might still be going on today, and it might be worth a look if you’re free. It’s good to be reminded that not everything about Towson sucks. There is a softer side.