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Mo’ Maine

The missus and I have been in Maine for two-and-a-half days now. As our sojourn rolls merrily along, I’m learning a lot. About the state. About myself. And about granite. Let’s review, shall we?

Yes. Let’s.

1. I mentioned earlier that we arrived a smidge after 9:00 in the evening on Friday, and the local restaurants were all closed for the night. I secretly hoped — because it was kind of a dumb thing to hope publicly — that it was just some kind of Friday night phenomenon, or localized to just the little town near the place where we’re staying.

Hardly. It’s as difficult to buy a lobster roll after 9pm here as it is to buy a beer before noon in Boston, home of one of the most savagely Puritanical sets of ‘blue laws‘ around. You’d think crustaceans were a controlled substance or something.

2. Happily, the beer laws here mostly make up for niggling food issues. We bought a six-pack at a quarter til ten at night, and I had Guinness with an early lunch yesterday. Fat, drunk and starving is some way to go through life, son. According to Maine, apparently.

“Some toilets can’t take a joke, apparently.”

3. I mentioned yesterday that the toilet seat was smaller than most. Ten minutes later, the stupid thing clogged and it took me an hour to get it working properly again.

Moral: Don’t screw around with plumbing fixtures before you get to know them. Some toilets can’t take a joke, apparently.

4. Yesterday, we walked to the end of a nearly mile-long breakwater made from big irregularly-shaped blocks of granite, with jagged cracks between.

Why did we do this? The reasons are unclear, even now. I was told it would be ‘scenic’, but with the uneven blocks and cracks and fresh seagull plop everywhere, the only thing I ‘scened’ was the ground two feet in front of me. I haven’t stared at my own shoes for that long since junior prom.

5. At one point yesterday, my wife looked over and loudly exclaimed:

‘Hey! Have we seen three lighthouses, all in one day?‘

I told her to keep her voice down. Because we had. And I was afraid the jealous people around would want to kill us for our rock-star lifestyle. I mean, three lighthouses?

This is just the kind of wanton American excess the rest of the world hates us for. My apologies to those of you living in a one-lighthouse-per-day or two-lighthouse-per-day world. We’ll do our best not to lord it over you.

Until next time, at least. For now, I’m going to go make up with the toilet. Maybe if I flush some flowers and a box of chocolates down it, it’ll behave for the remainder of the trip.