Okay, okay, you know how it is: we all like to lay claim to a little bit of glory now and then, and to bask in the glow -- well, in this case, blinding light -- generated by a hometown hunk hero. I'm no different. Michael Phelps grew up four miles from where I live, near where we take our kitties to the vet; he used to eat breakfast at this little place on 32nd & Greenmount, a few blocks from our house; and no, we've never run into him:
And I just found out he bought a house in a beloved neighborhood called Fells Point. So after Beijing it's Baltimore-bound the boy will be!
We're all bursting with pride here in Charm City. And yes, I'll probably go to the celebratory parade to see him, along with thousands of other starstruck fans, camera in tow, cheering and screaming and tearing up with the rest of them. In a world of misery and cynicism, it's wonderful to be able to watch hard work and sheer talent in action. Congratulations, Michael Phelps. And thank you.
