After spending half of a week trying to grasp the essence, the inner core, the conundrum that is Baltimore, T.J. Shanoff and Megan Grano, two writers for the Second City comedy troupe, were decidedly dazed.
"We've met a lot of characters in the past few days," Shanoff said. "I have no idea where I am."
Perhaps that's because he and Grano had just met a woman who spends most mornings scrubbing marble steps. They were on their way to the Cross Street Market, where they would learn the correct pronunciation of "Baltimorons" and "Utz." (Initially, Shanoff referred to the snack food maker as "Ootz.")
And they were about to meet a tag-along museum visitor who identified himself as "Ian, but I also go by 156."
No wonder they were bewildered.
"This is a collection of the most unabashedly weird people I've ever met," Shanoff said.
"People in some big cities like Chicago or Philadelphia hide their weirdness. People in places like Austin or Los Angeles make a big deal out of their weirdness, but it's artificial. But Baltimore has a blatant weirdness that is authentic and rooted in pride."
Shanoff and Grano were in Charm City at the behest of Center Stage, which has commissioned the famed Second City sketch comedy troupe — the Chicago-based company that launched the careers of stars such as Tina Fey and Steve Carell — to write a two-act, 90-minute show of topical humor.
They spent an intense four days immersed in the local culture, trying to grasp the intricacies of William Donald Schaefer, of screen painting and of Baltimore's continued obsession with Natty Boh.
The duo, who are flying back to Chicago this morning, will hammer out a script for half a dozen performers in the next two weeks that is the equivalent of a localized, stage version of "Saturday Night Live."
"The Second City Does Baltimore" will debut Dec. 30 at Center Stage, and individual performances might include a third act improvised from audience suggestions for skits.
The troupe has performed similar shows in Phoenix, Philadelphia, Washington and twice in Atlanta — which must be a joke in itself. But they've never before had a challenge quite like the one posed by Baltimore.
"I've heard that the school system does a good job of teaching the three R's," Grano said, "reading, writing and robbery."
Shanoff, 36, is a lifelong Chicagoan. Grano, 32, grew up in Detroit but lives now in Los Angeles. It was her first visit to Baltimore; Shanoff has been here perhaps half a dozen times but until now, never spent much time sightseeing.
Still, the pair obviously are fast learners:
Grano made two crab jokes in two minutes, neither of which can be printed here.
After diligent experimentation, the pair figured out how to make the giant whoopee cushion at the American Visionary Art Museum snort out a musical tune.
And Shanoff delighted in interrogating passers-by with a question so fiendish, so well designed to prick Baltimore in its collective Achilles' heel, that few people were able to spit out an answer:
"Imagine a Super Bowl between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Indianapolis Colts," Shanoff said. "Who would you root for?"
In their exploration of all things Baltimore, the pair stumbled across some reliable, albeit eccentric, guides.
They met Beth Hawks, owner of a boutique called Zelda Zen at 36 E. Cross St. Hawks can be spotted most mornings scrubbing the marble steps, picking up the trash and yelling at litterers to "Put that [stuff] back in your car."
"If you have to wait for the city," Hawks said with a shrug, "they'll never come."
They got an education from Anna Epsilantis, who has been running Big Jim's Deli at the Cross Street Market since her dad passed away 27 years ago.
Beneath signs in the deli reading, "Be nice or leave" and "Wanted: sober crew," Epsilantis gave her visitors an impromptu lecture on South Baltimore culture, from the origins of the city's five historic marketplaces to the Otterbein's dollar houses — deteriorating properties that were sold for $1 in the 1970s — to the cross section of customers in Federal Hill. Her deli, she says, has served such celebrities as Robert Goulet and Julia Roberts, as well as less upscale clientele.
Grano quickly did the math: "So, you could have a homeless person at 10:15 a.m.," she said, "Robert Goulet at 10:30 and a homeless Robert Goulet at 10:45."
And their final afternoon in Baltimore culminated with their introduction to Ian Burke — aka 156 — who came to the Visionary Art Museum on a whim after he had finished jury duty for the day and attached himself to their party.
When Gano asked the impressively goateed Burke about the origins of his nickname, he said, "It's a long story," and then promptly launched into it:
It seems that Burke once belonged to a band in which the female singer kept changing her name. "We got tired of it, so we all decided to change our names," he said.
He chose his moniker as a tribute to one of his favorite bands, Queensryche, which has a song called "Nm 156."
If Burke hailed from another city, a more traditional city, a more serious city, chances are that the quirky tag would by now be a distant memory.
But, luckily for Grano and Shanoff, he lives here.
"The nickname kind of stuck," Burke said. "Now, everyone calls me 156."
If you go
"The Second City Does Baltimore" runs Dec. 30 to Feb. 20 at Center Stage, 700 N. Calvert St. Tickets are $10-$60. Call 410-332-0033 or go to http://www.centerstage.org for showtimes.