Down in North Carolina, cities have broad annexation powers. By and large (with few exceptions), a city can claim any adjacent developed land as its own, bringing those properties and their owners under city rule (and more importantly, city taxes). This results in large, sprawling cities and few small suburbs. I lived in Durham, which had about 170,000 people when I arrived and about 205,000 when I left seven years later. Annexation had a lot to do with that 15% increase.

The second-largest municipality in the state of Maryland is Gaithersburg, a town of 58,000 or so in a state of 5.6 million people. Baltimore, of course, is the largest. I live in Montgomery County, which has some 800,000 people. How is it that no city in the county outranks Gaithersburg?

In part, there's the fact that county governments serve as city governments, and that almost four million people live in the counties surrounding Washington, D.C. and Baltimore. Silver Spring, which might well have more than 100,000 people, isn't actually a city. It isn't incorporated, but rather is simply a part of Montgomery County. Most of the incorporated cities, like where I live in Takoma Park, are small.

But that's simply a result of relatively conservative annexation laws in the state. Which is fine by me. I'm not much worried about that kind of policy.

Nonetheless, I do like to know where I am. And in Maryland (and Virginia, for that matter), there are very few signs. It's possible to drive from Bethesda to College Park on state highway 410--passing through Chevy Chase, Silver Spring, Takoma Park, Langley Park, Hyattsville, Adelphi, Riverdale Park and University Park along the way--without one sign telling you where you are. Did I mention you change counties as well? You do, right near my house.

In terms of addresses and such, it's not important to know where you are at any given time. The numbers are correlated (however loosely) to the D.C. grid, so as long as you know which way is north you ought to be alright. I have tried and failed to get myself lost. Still, I have this odd fetish of wanting to know what city I'm in at a given time. Apparently no one else does. Lots of folks are quite concerned about their home address--in some circles you're judged by your zip code. 20912 is considered acceptable, if not particularly "good."

More important (as far as I'm concerned), beer laws in Maryland are as messed up as anywhere. Chain stores, discount stores and stores larger than a specified square footage (the state guy I talked to couldn't find the exact number when I e-mailed him about it) can't sell beer or wine. Unless, of course, the store was grandfathered in when the law changed. So some crumbling grocery stores have beer and wine, but most don't. There's a liquor store or three on every corner, and none of them have a decent beer selection. In fact, the only decent beer stores in the county are (gasp!) the county stores (of which there are twenty or so), which also has the largest wine and liquor selection around as well. I haven't done enough research on the history of Maryland's liquor laws to explain all that, except to say that I shop for liquor in MD, beer in DC and wine in DC and VA. Who said DC isn't drivable?

Takoma Park is a conservative's nightmare. The city council has considerable gay and lesbian presence, and the folks here are extremely tolerant--as far as race and sexual orientation go, anyway. There's a lot of well-meaning paternalist concern about "the poor" (or "the disadvantaged," if we're feeling polysyllabic), though I'm not sure what it all adds up to in the end. I never am, really. Still, folks here talk a mean game, and the city itself still seems to work. So that's alright.

Our neighborhood has a lot of young kids. Apparently this is a new thing, at least it was described as such at our neighborhood potluck last night. Up until five or so years ago, this little collection of colonials and what residents call Cape Cods (I'm not so sure) on the east side of Sligo Creek was a mostly quiet and genteel place. Nowadays just about every yard is littered with balls, basketball goals, sandboxes, strollers...you name it. Kid crap. Everywhere. Since that's where I am right now, I'm okay with that. It gives Max and Sam plenty of playmates.

Live here inside the Beltway is more hectic. Barbara leaves for work an hour earlier and gets home a half-hour or hour later every night. Instead of walking a block to Max's preschool, we've got to drive three miles up New Hampshire Ave. (which isn't where you want to be at nine in the morning). We still haven't found a pediatrician (though we have lots of suggestions) and I'm still in the process of nailing down my grocery shopping ritual (don't ask). But, you know, establishing new routines is fun. Sort of.

Takoma Park has about 17,500 people, a number which is unlikely to change much--that whole annexation thing and all. But it's not really a small town, and it's not really suburban. Most of TP looks just like the Takoma section of northeast DC. Urban residential, which isn't that much different from my old place in Durham. Funny how that worked out.

Jon Worley rather likes his new digs. Has he mentioned that there are seven Indian restaurants within walking distance?