You Can Always Go Home Again: My LeBron Moment

You Can Always Go Home Again: My LeBron Moment

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

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On my last day of classes at Kent State University in August of 2007, I sat in a corner of the Daily Kent Stater's newsroom, looking out the wall of full-length glass windows to the grassy hill outside. It was a sunny day, Ohio-perfect, & I was fully conscious of the fact that this was my last time to enjoy this part of my life. This was it, & I wanted to enjoy it as much as I could.

On the phone with my mom, sitting on my knees on a spinning chair as I watched students pass by outside, I told her: "I'm going to D.C. for a year, & then I'm going to come back to Ohio." I'd committed to a 12-month job in D.C., but I imagined grand plans for a life in Cleveland when it came to an end.

As much as I meant it at the time, that's not exaaaactly how it all ended up. At the end of that first year in D.C., I was offered a more permanent job - so I stayed, happily, & it was a fantastic three years of growth & friendship & learning to love myself. Eventually, I hit a bit of a rough patch (read: I quit my job & couldn't afford to stay), so I did move back to Ohio, but just for a brief four months. At the time, I was dating someone wonderful who just so happened to live in New Hampshire, mandated by the U.S. Coast Guard, so I found a job there & moved in with him. Then we moved again, also mandated by the Coast Guard, & then, when we eventually broke up, I moved back to D.C. because it seemed like the best place for me to be if I was going to be by myself again. Needless to say, I never really made it back to Ohio.

"You've moved a lot," people often tell me, out of sheer insistence upon stating the obvious. Yeah, guys, I know. I know.

I've moved a lot, & it hasn't always been easy or wonderful & it certainly wasn't part of my plan, but I don't regret my life or my choices or my locations. Still, I've always said I'd move back to Ohio "when the time is right." I've always known I'd go back eventually because I've always wanted to go back eventually. I returned to D.C. last November because I had an inexplicable sense that it was the place I needed to be at that time. From the outset, though, I knew this would a time-limited return to the District. I just hadn't decided exactly how limited that amount of time would be.

I still hadn't decided, right up until last month.

Last month, I spent two weeks visiting friends & family in Ohio, mentally planning my eventual return & what a life in Cleveland might look like for some future version of me. And then one weekday afternoon, as I was driving back to my mom's house after an afternoon at my favorite coffee shop in Kent, it dawned on me, one of those lightbulb-above-my-head kind of moments: "I could move back to Northeast Ohio right now, if I wanted to."

And as it turns out, I wanted to. I want to.

In a decree of fate, I returned to D.C. later that week to find that my rent will go up by $100 at the end of November, when my lease expires. Sure, I could stay here on a month-to-month basis, paying that higher rent & not saving a damn thing, but... why? Why bother? It's expensive here, so expensive that I can't afford to do most of the things that would allow me to enjoy my life here the way that life here ought to be enjoyed. And while I love my friends & my office & my life in D.C., the simple counter-argument against living here is just that Ohio beckons. Because Ohio has always beckoned.

So on November 21st, I'm going home.

The details don't matter; trust that I'll share them with you eventually. For now, all that matters is that this feels right. For the first time since I moved to D.C. in 2007, I'm moving because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. I'm not unemployed or bound to the military or in the middle of a breakup. I just want to be someplace else - so I'm going there.

An unexpectedly wise man from Akron once said, "In Northeast Ohio, nothing is given. Everything is earned. You work for what you have." And like LeBron, "I’m ready to accept the challenge. I’m coming home."

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If That's Movin' Up Then I'm Movin' Out

If That's Movin' Up Then I'm Movin' Out

Sunday, June 24, 2012

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A lot of people have a lot of questions, quite understandably, about the current status of my life & when Nathan & I are moving & whether I am panicking & so on. I actually just typed "packing" there instead of "panicking," which should give you some insight into my state of mine.

Here's a quick outline:

• The movers come tomorrow at noon to take away our stuff. Because we're using the military's contracted movers, we are not allowed to pack anything, which means our apartment still looks like we're not going anywhere.

• I leave New Hampshire for Ohio on Tuesday, where I'll stay until Sunday. My "sister" will be visiting from Venezuela/Texas & an old high school friend is getting married, so despite the bad timing, I know it'll be a great trip - but, yes, I feel moderate to severe guilt about leaving town mid-move.

• Sometime while I'm gone, Nathan will drive to New Jersey & settle in.*

• On Sunday, I fly from Ohio to Boston & then bus to Portsmouth, where my car will be waiting for me at the station. Now homeless in New Hampshire, I will drive to my friends' place an hour away, where I'll crash in their guest room for the night.

• On Monday morning, I'll get up early to bid the Granite State adieu & drive the five hours to Red Bank, arriving at my new home sometime in the early afternoon. 

• We will spend Monday through Wednesday unpacking & settling in*, hopefully spending Wednesday evening at Red Bank's Independence Day festivities, which I'm told are fantastic.

The asterisk next to both instances of "settle in" signifies our biggest headache: Because we don't yet know when the military's movers can deliver our stuff, we may be sleeping on an air mattress for a couple of weeks, living out of suitcases & whatever we stuff into our cars.

This doesn't get a bullet point because it's a permeating, all-the-time thing: Throughout all of this, I will do my best not to vomit, pass out, scream, cry, or generally have a metal breakdown. Alas, the chances of my holding it all together are decreasing rapidly...

See you in New Jersey, my dear readers!

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Quirky Weekend, Lovely Life

Quirky Weekend, Lovely Life

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

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There's nothing quite like a three-day weekend to refresh a slightly downtrodden soul. Nathan had to work overnight on Friday, so I spent the evening drinking PBR in a can & catching up on reading blogs. No photos are available because I was so tired & downtrodden that I became immediately drunk & fell asleep early.

When I awoke on Saturday, Nathan was home... & cooking breakfast burritos! They were supposed to be breakfast tacos, but, um, he bought the big tortillas. Whatever, that doesn't make them any less delicious. I like anything that involves chorizo.

There's a joke in "American Reunion" in which Kevin rags on ex-girlfriend Vicky for posting photos of her meals online. Nathan likes to mention this any time I snap a pic of our culinary creations, but Instagram beckons, y'all, & I do not want to disappoint.

My friends Jeff & Michelle came up from Boston on Sunday, & we were proud to show them around Portsmouth & show off our cute little town - you know, right before we vacate it. I took another food photo because after 15 months in New England, I finally ate my first lobster roll - & let me tell you, it did not suck. Thanks to The River House for selling "lob dogs," four-inch lobster rolls that aren't too overwhelming for first-timers like me. And for having a sweet deck overlooking the Piscataqua River that was perfect for a sunny Sunday.

And then we had the best cream ever in the history of ever and took awkward pictures in front of some shark graffiti.


On Monday - BONUS WEEKEND! - Nate & I decided to walk downtown, which is about a two-mile walk. Not far, but just far enough that we don't do it very often, mostly because I am the absolute definition of an indoor kid. We neglected to consider the fact that it was a holiday & that there might be a parade happening (& honestly, what parade happens at 1pm?) but alas, a parade was about to begin just as we reached the square. A couple hundred people lined the streets, anxiously awaiting... an ambulance, two bands, MacGruff the crime dog, & assorted other city folk. The whole parade was exactly the length of one James Brown song - specifically "Get Up Offa That Thing," which I know because we watched the parade from inside a pizza place, & that's what was playing as it went by.

 

Nathan recently described Portsmouth as "white people run amok," & nothing says that quite like a Segway tour. What were they even touring?! What is there to say?! This is just, like, a side street in suburbia. "On your left, folks, you'll see a parking deck to the left, with some spacious metered spots to the right, and a bank up ahead. Enjoy the sites!"

On our way home, we stopped to look for a cache in a cemetery near our apartment. In the process, we were thrilled to find a hidden little precipice overlooking the river, where Nathan capitalized on the opportunity to skip a few rocks. I would totally want to have a picnic here sometime, if we weren't leaving town in four weeks.

 

I found the cache & subsequently marveled over this photo of me looking much, much skinnier than I actually am:

On our way home, we spotted this headstone. Did I feel bad giggling about someone's grave marker on Memorial day? Unequivocally yes. Could I resist? Clearly not.

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New England Eats

New England Eats

Friday, January 6, 2012

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I've made no secret of the fact that sometimes New England feels like a foreign land to me. What with the accents & the unspoken driving rules, I'm a fish out of Midwestern waters here sometimes.

We've already discussed the fact that New Englanders refer to milkshakes as "frappes" & that I'm not a fan of the top-loading hot dogs buns popular here.

• Lobster rolls
  This one is a gimme. Maine is, hands down, the country's premier destination for lobster lovers, & lobster rolls are one of the most delicious ways to consume this popular crustacean. Lobster rolls are buttery grilled hot dog rolls (not the typical weird New England kind) filled with a cold lobster salad concoction of tail, claw & knuckle meat & mayo. Did you know that some New England McDonald's even sell a seasonal McLobster Roll? Not a joke.
  
  
• Anadama bread
  Made of cornmeal & molasses, this bread is a New England staple I've yet to see elsewhere in the country. I've never tried it, mostly because it sounds heavy & because the only place where I ever order toast (incidentally named The Friendly Toast) has such good cayenne-cheddar bread that I'd never dream of ordering anything different.
  
  
• Whoopie pies
  Apparently Maine & Pennsylvania are duking it out over who "owns" whoopie pies. Legislators in Maine voted it the state's official treat last March, much to the dismay of Keystone State residents, who call these sweet treats "gobs" & contend that the dessert's origins come from the Pennsylvania Dutch. Regardless, believe me on this one: New England loves its whoopie pies. No complaints here!
  
  
• Baked beans
  When ordering brunch in New England, your options are usually hash browns or baked beans. Say what? I love me some baked beans, I'd just never have thought to eat them from breakfast. Cookouts, yes, brunch no. But I guess it's not totally crazy: Why do you think Boston is called Beantown?!
  
  
• Roast beef
  I can't find any Internet proof of this craze other than the fact that a Google search for "New England roast beef" brings up pages & pages of sandwich joints that specialize in roast beef, which I'd never heard of before moving here, aside from Arby's. I can think of at least three roast beef shops in Portsmouth alone.
  
  
• Popovers
  A cross between a croissant & a custard, popovers are hollow, muffin-shaped pastry puffs that are crusty on the outside (in a good way) with a gooier, egg-like texture on the inside. They're great with jam & even better in soup, but I'd never heard of them before moving here.

By the way, Wikipedia tells me that Portsmouth is famous for its orange cake, which is not something I've seen anywhere. It's a shame, too, because, hey, that sounds kind of delicious.

So tell me: What foods are unique to your neck of the woods?

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Chili Festival: Disappointments & Tummyaches Abound

Chili Festival: Disappointments & Tummyaches Abound

Thursday, October 13, 2011

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Nate has been talking about the Prescott Park Chili Cook-Off for... well, since we began dating in July 2010. In 2009, he attended this event with friends, but we didn't make it last year when I was in town for a visit. This year, as chili fest weekend loomed nearer, he spread the word far & wide (OK, at work), & we prepared to gorge ourselves with the area's finest chili concoctions.

Accompanied by a friend, we rolled up to Portsmouth's Prescott Park around 2:00pm. Here's where I should note that the event website listed the chili festival as lasting from 10am until 5pm - meaning we had plenty of time to stuff ourselves with chili & beer.

Bursting with excitement & hunger, we paid the $15 cover, put down our $1 deposit on a spoon, bought eight drink tickets between us, & headed into the great unknown. Redhook Pilsner & chili spoon in hand, I was prepared:

But... tragedy struck. When we reached the chili arena (I made that term up), we found that local booths were already closing up shop. At stand after stand, we were told the chili was gone & no refills were coming! Only four booths of about 15 had chili left, so we hurriedly sampled the goods from the only local businesses still in the game: Mojo's BBQ Shack, Flatbread Company, Dos Amigos Burritos and TBT Subs. As the Flatbread chef was doling out scoops of their tasty vegetarian chili, the announcer's voice filled the park: "And now, it's time to announce our winners!" A single bowl of chili into the day, & we'd already missed the whole thing. We didn't get to vote, & we hardly got to eat!

OK, the truth is this: After four bowls of chili, I was beyond stuffed. But was it a leisurely experience? Did I get to choose from the chili I thought sounded tastiest? Was it an event worth $15 at the door without being told that it was basically over when we got there? A resounding "no" all around.

As the event came to a close, we raced to make use of our beer tickets:

And then went home to nap/disgest/gurgle. Overall? A bust. A delicious bust, but a hasty, disappointing bust nonetheless.

Hey, at least there were alpacas.

And they were for sale! That sure would show my neighbor with the really loud dog who's boss, huh? Take that, people in apartment #5!

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Keep the Quirks Comin'

Keep the Quirks Comin'

Monday, October 10, 2011

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If you haven't noticed by now, I'm mildly obsessed with regional differences - in dialect, in food, in thought. I've already written about the abomination that is the Boston Left, the penchant for vanity plates, & the Oh, God, that accent.

I've already done a round-up of New Hampshire oddities, but guess what? I found more.

1. I spent awhile looking at the menu of the Friendly Toast wondering what the hell a "regular frappe" was & asking aloud if they sold milkshakes. Apparently, frappes (pronounced "fraps") are milkshakes. If you order it as a milkshake, they ask you if you want ice cream in it. Wait, what? That's because a "milkshake" here is just flavored milk. Yes, really.
   
   
2. There is no normal bowling here. Instead, there's candlepin bowling, which is, as far as I can tell, the miniature golf of bowling. Stick-straight pins (called "wood" - ha), smaller balls & weird scoring. Regular bowling, which cannot be found here, is commonly referred to as "big-ball bowling." Candlepin bowling is only found in Canada, Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts... & one location in Wyoming, OH, which no one has ever heard of, so it doesn't count.
   
   
3. Hot dogs buns are different. I know, you're like, "Who notices this?" but hey, I do. Hot dog buns here aren't your typical doughy potato rolls. Apparently, what they have here are called "top-loading buns," which amount to a folded-up piece of white bread that doesn't hold up well against condiments. I don't like condiments, but that's not the point.

In short, I continue to discover that New England is a foreign land. Never fear: I shall report additional oddities as they are discovered.

Images: Bun , milkshake, bowling

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Rendez-Vous New England

Rendez-Vous New England

Thursday, September 29, 2011

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It's no secret that I don't really have any friends here. So when I read that Alison from Long Distance Loving & Jillian from Cornflake Dreams were hosting a swanky blogger meet-up earlier this month in Boston called Rendez-Vous New England, I decided I'd branch of out my hermit-like comfort zone & join in the fun.

I was nervous, yo. Remember that time I told you about how I have All of The Social Anxiety? It was in full force on Rendez-Vous New England Night. To eliminate the hassle of commuting in & out of the city, I'd booked a room at the unobtrusive-but-still-relatively-posh Charlesmark Hotel in downtown Boston & spent the hour-long lead-up to the evening frantically texting a friend who talked me down from my ridiculously unfounded social phobias. Finally, I headed to the hotel lounge to meet up with the other bloggers, none of whom I'd ever met or, for the most part, read before that night.

Guys, it was great. Lesson learned. I was comfortable & normal, & so were all of the other ladies (& one brave dude) in attendance. Once I got past my initial fear of conversing with (very fashionable) strangers, it was just like I'd known them all along. And I drank one of these, guaranteed to induce happiness & ease fears of social settings:

I also got to check not one but two things off my 101 in 1,001 List: "Go to a blogger meet-up" and "Buy myself a night in a hotel, just because."

Did I mention that there was swag? Because there was swag. Gift bags included earrings from Sheyna Jewelry, chocolate-covered apricots from someplace delicious, antibacterial wipes from Desiree Spinner Events, snacks from Popchips. Yeah, I'm done name-dropping. Except....

 

...that I won this really gorgeous necklace valued at $121 from Sheyna Jewelry, one of the event sponsors. Um, check this out:

Pretty, yes? And I have worn it almost daily since then, yes? If you're interested in owning one of your own or something similar (you can even design your own jewelry), visit Sheyna.com & enter the promo code "kate20" for 20% off. Now excuse me while I go create something splendid.

Photos from: 1, 2, 3, 4

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Bridge Over Covered Waters

Bridge Over Covered Waters

Sunday, September 18, 2011

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When I was a kid, I hated "drives" more than anything. On weekends, it was common for my parents to decide that we should "go for a drive," which just meant wandering aimlessly through the many open roads of Northeast Ohio - in the days before GPS, no less. Even now, I equate these drives with Amish country, where we often ended up.

But this weekend, I became my parents. I was in Vermont for work & thought it'd be a great opportunity to, you know, go for a drive. Remembering fondly a trip to look for covered bridges with my dad, uncle & cousin when I was 6 or so, I decided I'd embark on a Vermont covered bridge hunt of my own. There was one in downtown Woodstock,  where I was visiting, & I figured the "hunt" would end there. This bridge is the second picture to come up when you do a Google Image search for "covered bridge," so I figured it'd be a good one, & I wasn't wrong:

Beautiful no? It's right in the middle of downtown Woodstock, still used as an everyday road through town. It may sound silly, but I've rarely felt so connected to my father as I did standing underneath this bridge. Quiet, old, a little bit eerie - I don't know much of my dad, but I knew he would've loved this one. It was just perfect.

A pair of shivering Floridians took this photo for me. Where is my left arm...?!

And the view from the bridge is gorgeous, though it betrays recent flooding in the area from Tropical Storm Irene:

When I explained to a local woman my interest in covered bridges, she let me know that there were two others in town! I couldn't find one of them, which was badly damaged in Hurricane Irene, but I happened across this one, which is, sadly, shut down because of aforementioned flooding & damage from flying debris. Still, this bridge fared better than so many of New England's historic covered bridges, which were washed away in Hurricane Irene. (For example, this video broke my heart.)

Seeing my Facebook posts, a friend suggested I head to her hometown to check out the longest wooden bridge in the U.S. (perhaps second only to New York's Old Blenheim Bridge, wiped away during August's storm). It was about half an hour out of my way, but what's half an hour when you've got all day free? I decided to go for it.

Along the way, I: stopped at a garage surely hosted by a woman storing bodies in her freezer; tried (to no avail) to visit a bakery located in an old firehouse; and wandered through a very, very old graveyard.

Finally, I stumbled across the Cornish-Windsor Covered Bridge when I literally, you know, went across it. It spans the Connecticut River between Windsor, VT, & Cornish, NH, & I spent the duration of my 15-second drive confident that mine was going to be the car that sent the old bridge crashing into the Connecticut. Let's be honest: Covered bridges are a little creepy.

This view is from the New Hampshire side, which is much better than the Vermont side, if I may say so myself. The Vermont side just looks like... a bridge. Here it is again, with Vermont's Mount Ascutney in the background. Don't you love the fine warning? Walk your damn horses, people!

I'm cranky to learn tonight that there are three other covered bridges in Cornish, just down the road from where I was. I wish I'd researched this beforehand! I could've scored half a dozen covered bridge sightings in one morning! And yes, I know I might be crazy, but I think I'm just become a covered bridge enthusiast. Anyone else? Bueller?

And now, in case you couldn't already tell, another requisite New-England-is-beautiful photo:

And finally, a question. Why on earth does the gas station I stopped at in Vermont carry this much bacon?!?!

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You're STILL So Vain...

You're STILL So Vain...

Monday, September 12, 2011

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Part One is here. Part Two is much more impressive, I promise.

I included Maine plates this time because the Pine Tree State served up some darn good ones. Must be a New England thing, not just a New Hampshire thing.

Which is your favorite? I'm particularly fond of "DANUBE" & particularly creeped out by "IVIDEOU."

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There's Nothing Right About a Boston Left

There's Nothing Right About a Boston Left

Friday, August 19, 2011

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I blogged yesterday about my New England driving woes, among them "sneaky left turns" - local drivers' habit of turning left in front of oncoming traffic as soon as the light turns from red to green. I thought I'd just encountered more than my fair share of rudeness on New Hampshire roads, but the post led to an incredible revelation: THE BOSTON LEFT IS AN ACTUAL THING.

Also known as a Pittsburgh Left, the Boston left is "a colloquial term for the driving practice of the first left-turning vehicle taking precedence over vehicles going straight through an intersection ... It is an illegal and controversial practice." (Yeah, I got that definition from Wikipedia. So sue me, this isn't a graded term paper.)

Conversation about the Boston Left on Twitter proved that it is controversial indeed. I'm told this is "common courtesy" in many places - not just New England or Pittsburgh. (As a Clevelander at heart, I like to pretend Pittsburgh doesn't exist, & that, if it does, it's backward as hell anyway, so for the purposes of this post, I shall ignore Pittsburgh.) (Except for the photo.) (Sorry, yinz.)  A fellow Ohioan even told me that it's so common in her part of the great Buckeye State that she'd never realized people don't do it!

Needless to say, I'm shocked. I am, quite clearly, up in arms about the concept of the Boston Left, & I have a lot of questions. Among them: How did this come about? Am I actually a jerk for following the rules of the road & honking at the people who sneak in left turns just as I'm about to propel myself legally forward? Do New Englanders recognize that this driving method is unique to them, or do they employ this practice when driving elsewhere, too? Is it taught in drivers' ed? If a left-turner causes an accident while observing the "common courtesy" of the Boston Left, who's at fault?

In closing, doesn't anyone else think this is nuts?

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Maine Knows Lobsters

Maine Knows Lobsters

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

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Every time we've driven by Warren's Lobster House, Nathan tells me the same thing: "A girl on my old boat says people drive from hours away to go to that place." So when lobster-loving Becca came to visit for a weekend, I knew where we were headed.

I find it difficult to believe Warren's hasn't yet appeared on the Food Network or some show devoted to the consumption of mass quantities of delicious food. Adam Richman & Guy Fieri, you're missing out on a good one - Warren's knows kitsch, but it also knows tasty seafood. And salad bars, apparently.

Upon their entrance into Warren's, I heard a few folks make statements like, "What's the big deal?" & I confess to feeling somewhat the same. Warren's initially seems like one of those godawful places your grandparents take you to - roomy leather booths, seating for a million, crying babies, weird wallpaper, wooden paneling, GIANT SALAD BAR. But then you open the menu, & it's clear Warren's is no joke.

Becca & I had a window seat, & the deck outside us was littered with lobster parts. So that also confirmed that, you know, Warren's means business. Or murder.

Undaunted by the carcasses of recently deceased crustaceans within her view, Becca went whole-hog on her dinner - or, should I say, whole lobster. A 1.5-pound lobster, that is:

Not sure how to eat this sucker? Warren's will teach you! This handy how-to placemat explains & illustrates exactly how to best defile the body lain before you:

But Becca's an expert. An enthusiastic expert. No placemat for her! Girl definitely knows her lobstercide:

And she's got the carnage to provide it:

As for me? I went a safer route:

 

Coconut shrimp, for those less inclined to play with their food. And less interested in handling their previously living dinners' innards & eyeballs.

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Now THAT's Using Your Head

Now THAT's Using Your Head

Monday, August 1, 2011

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My best friend Becca was in town visiting this weekend, so I took her sightseeing around the metropolis that is downtown Portsmouth. This is where I should note that Becca is a born-&-bred Manhattanite who fled D.C. after a year to return to her beloved Big Apple. She got her driver's license last month at age 26 after learning to drive on the mean streets of the big city, & the first time she ever rode in a car with me (2007), she begged me to take her through a fast food drive-thru because they don't exist in her hometown city.

As I pointed out the lobster roll cart & a boutique with going-out-of-business sales, Becca seemed overwhelmed. "I'm on sensory overload!" she exclaimed as we passed the Starbucks on the corner of Portsmouth's one "major" downtown intersection. I laughed - a New Yorker, on sensory overload in little old New England?

And then we turned to the right. And saw this.

Who says the crazies only live in the big cities?

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Chalkin' It Up to New England Language Barriers

Chalkin' It Up to New England Language Barriers

Friday, July 8, 2011

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Yesterday, I decided to switch up my normal routine, which consists of wearing sweatpants to work until noon, showering on my lunch break, & working from my home office until the end of the work day.

"Be around people!" I told myself. "See the sun!" So I got in my Civic, bound for the downtown Starbucks, in the heart of it all. I parked a block away, paid my $2, & got to work. When two hours had passed, I got up, walked that block, paid my $2 for another two hours, & got back to work. When I walked to my car later, before the second round had expired, I found this gift on my windshield from the Portsmouth PD:

The ticket threw me for a loop, because my meter hadn't yet expired. The ticket was written at 3:36, but my meter ticket clearly showed that I'd paid through 3:58. Being the diligent adult I am, I picked up the phone & dialed city hall to better understand what I was being ticketed for.

This is where it becomes obvious that I do not speak New Englander Endlandese English. Without exaggeration, the conversation went as follows:

"They chawked y'TY-ahs," the woman on the line told me impatiently.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, seeking clarity.
"They chawked y'TY-ahs!" she yelled again. Helpful.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what this means," I said, losing patience & hope & confidence in my mastery of the English language.
"Chawk! They chawked y'TY-ahs!"
Sigh.

It went on like this for some time, her defining the phrase by repeating the phrase, & me failing to understand either the words or the meaning. Finally, I was able to deduce that the police used chalk to mark my tires around noon, then ticketed me when I fed the meter instead of moving my car upon expiry of my initial meter. I didn't actually realize it was illegal to do that, nor did I realize "chalking tires" was a thing, both of which contributed heavily to the misunderstanding.

More importantly, I felt like an idiot. I am able to perfectly understand my friends from Peru, Venezuela, Japan, Israel - all "difficult" accents that don't faze me. But throw a bona fide New Englander in the mix, & it's like I'm fresh off the boat. Say what?

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Redneck Disney World

Redneck Disney World

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

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At the southernmost tip of the great state of Maine lies a magical place known as the Kittery Trading Post. When you Google this mythical land, the subcategories that show up include "shooting accessories, "ammunition & magazines," "hunting clothing & footwear" & "archery," which should give you a feel for where this is going.

This moose greets you at the entrance. Similar moose greet you at the other entrances - because this place is freaking huge, multiple suburban blocks long & three floors high, so as far as I can tell, there are approximately a bazillion ways to get in. I once asked an employee for directions out & when I said, "I came in near the big moose," she asked, "Which one?" But lest you think this cadre of moose complete the KTP's taxidermied troops...

Would a zoom help? And maybe some big red circles to help you identify each dead animal? OK, here you go:

Yeah, I don't even know what some of those are. Is that a mountain goat? And that's just one wall! Kittery Trading Post is a veritable Where's Waldo of formerly living forest creatures.

But if formerly living forest creatures are too creepy for you - though I can't see why they would be - KTP also sells the cuddly creatures featured below. This is also a great way to prepare small children to their futures as expert marksmen.

The Foursquare reviews of the Kittery Trading Post are largely positive &, I assume, largely written by hunters & archers. I think I'm on Scott K.'s side:

But three floors is room for a lot of crap, which I have taken great pains to thoroughly explore. KTP specializes in actual hardcore outdoorsy gear, with the second floor almost entirely devoted to camping gear, kayaking equipment & the like. Because I am one of life's least outdoorsy individuals, I have yet to explore this area, but I have put lots of effort into checking out KTP's many tchotchkes, which is Yiddish for "crap that accumulates dust on shelves." If there's one thing I like, it's tchotchkes. Here's a smattering of some of my favorites:

At KTP, it also becomes obvious that these Mainers really embrace their Northeast roots. Just about everything in the store screams, "ALL WE HAVE IN THIS STATE IS MOOSE & LOBSTER & TOTAL WILDERNESS!"

But KTP is more than just a souvenir haven for Maine-bound tourists! It also sells items of great practical use. For example, if you're a lady cowhand in search of a new pair of overalls to wear while mucking in animal dung all day, KTP has just the section for you:

And you'll need shoes for all that dung-steppin', so don't forget to stop by KTP's shoe section*, where you can go hog-wild over the latest style of Dingos. Next wall over: UGGs. I kid you not.

If you fancy yourself a homemaker who values locally sourced foods, you'll love KTP's fascinatingly excessive selection of jellies & jams, stocked with everything from classic Strawberry Jam to the naughtier Spiced Rum Butterscotch Sauce to savory choices like Roasted Garlic Onion jam.**

And if you've got an unsightly hitch on the back o' yer truck, KTP can help you cover it up... with even more sightly plastic hitch covers in the shapes of feathered & furry friends! Turkeys, for example. And coyotes, but you have to pronounce it "KI-yotes," please, like the locals. And, um, buoys, for all you animal-haters out there who still want to cover your hitches in style. God, I've never used the word "style" so liberally in my life.

 

If you want to know the truth, I'm mildly obsessed with the Kittery Trading Post. OBVIOUSLY. It really is like redneck Disney World, but without the princesses & excessive branding. It's the Country Bear Jamboree come to life! At least they own it:

And in case, at the end of your visit, you're feeling overwhelmed by the dirty sin of consumerism, just stop by the bathroom on your way out, where your friendly local evangelicals have left reminders for you of Jesus's love. Atop the soap dispenser.

*Full disclosure: I bought a pair of discounted Sperry Topsiders here.
**Let's face it, this shiz is delicious; I can't bring myself to hate.

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