On Maine

I went to Maine last weekend. It's more or less pretty fucking awesome.

When people think, weekend road trip from New York City... I don't think they think "Maine!" often enough. They may think "Boston!" or "Philly!" or "DC!". They are nothing compared to Maine. Nothing. On top of this, all of these are "been there, done that" sorta places where you really can't leave much of a mark. In Maine, you really can... and if you drive erratically and well over the speed limit, you can be in Maine from New York City in about 4.5-5 hours (sooner if you don't stop for a McFlurry after severe disappointment because the one flaw in Maine is that the fuckers close their Dairy Queen to celebrate Christ becoming a bunny rabbit or some bullshit).

Anyways. How to change Maine:

-Take a diverse posse. We had an Afghani and a Phillipino. This effectively quadrupled the ethnic diversity of Maine.

-Also, be a fatass who loves CHUNKS of lobster. How can this forever change the landscape of Maine, you may be asking - well, simply put, you can put the Maine lobster on the endangered list for a week or two after your visit with a little dedication.

I could go on at length about the charms of Maine. There's the beaches with water that is surprisingly clear, but that are as fucking cold and windy as a witch's genital sack in late March. There's the "Stud of Kennebunkport" who runs a novelty shop wherein you can purchase glow sticks (for a dollar!!!) to be used later in your hotel room and who, sadly, is married. There's a surprisingly large number of fudge shops where you can discover the best smell on earth is liquid toffee and almonds being poured out onto a marble top to harden. One can stay at the Kennebunk Inn, that is haunted by a ghost named Sylus Perkins and who makes his presence known by throwing beer glasses (translation: one night someone got drunk and threw a glass and made up a story about a ghost named Sylus). When you ask, "Where's the nightlife?" the answer will always be - wherever you are, even if you're in a haunted Inn drinking champagne from a bottle and watching aforementioned Phillipino dazzle you with glowsticks on string.

But really... all of these petty details are nothing when compared with true reason to go to Maine:
That is a 1.25 pound lobster served with a cup of clam chowder, goat island mussels, and a beer of your choice..... for $33.95.


Let me leave you with this thought - remember that story about the woman who lived in a bathroom for two years and her ass got fused to the toilet seat and when you heard about it you said, how the fuck does this happen? How could someone just sit in a bathroom for two years and live off of having her boyfriend bring her food everyday? This can't be real, can it???

Well... let's just say that if I lived in Maine... I would inhabit a bathroom at Federal Jack's or Allison's Restaurant and have the waitresses bring me lobster in some form every four hours (be it roll, whole, or chunk)... except unlike that crazy woman I would stay there for far longer than 2 years.