The trouble with snow, Maine and the tourist-drenched town of Freeport is that you can never tell what is a legitimate parking spot and what it made up.
Behind the Rite Aid, where I'd stopped to buy some forgotten items from home, I parked next to a car that was behind the building.
In all honesty, it was probably wishful thinking on my part, that the place was actually a spot. And I, with my loathsome MA license plate, was looked upon with disdain, when I returned to my spot after my errand, by the pepe unloading trash into the dumpster situated next to my made up parking spot .
I smiled at him and said, "Hi."
He looked at my car and said, "Chuh, this is a bad spot," in his Lewiston-y French Canadian accent (hence my naming him a pepe).
A crunchy, compact layer of snow is compressed onto all lots, so it's "use your imagination" time when in comes to parking.
I'm so self conscience, having a MA license plate here in Freeport. And staying at the relatively "swanky" Hilton. I want to holler to all prejudiced locals, "But I worked at M a st La ndin g! I'm relatively local! I know this area!"
'Tis no use. With the license plate from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts comes all its inherent Mass-hole prejudices, no matter the fact that I've driven down Bow St a bigillion times to get to work, no matter that I lived in five different towns and worked in 12 different towns of Maine. I have the dread Mass plates. I am guilty of being not from here.
Sad.
And also a microcosm of my feelings on being in Wey-boring again, instead of up here.
Repost: Books
June 29, 2006
We’re all bringing books to swap down the Cape this weekend. Claire suggested it by accident; she just wanted some suggestions for herself. I think it’s a brilliant idea, though.
Anyway, I’m reading “The Diary of Anais Nin” right now. I like it very much. I just read her entry contrasting her writing with Henry Miller’s. What was the adjective she used? I’ll expound later. People have returned from errands and I must disappear to my non-connected room.
Repost: Ramblings
Oh good lord- roving ramblings for the end of the month
June 29, 2006
We’re all home today. This is a recipe for disaster. As a result, I’m spending as much time upstairs as possible. I also stayed up late to work last night so I could sleep away the morning. This is my natural cycle, so why fight it?
Ding dong the witch is dead, sort of. I’m pleased that a tiny crack has been chinked into the fortress that is Guantanamo.
I’m haunted by the ghost of a seductress from traumatic Fall of ‘94. I don’t know why it was so traumatic. I suppose the stress of junior year, the stress of home, the stress of life in general as more adult responsibilities are put upon you.
What did I do as a result? What was my rebelling release? You know, it wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t end up thinking about it everytime I wandered into entertainment news. I’m just sorry for nice old Jos h Abe ll. He was a good guy. I tried to get in touch with him, but he isn’t available. We stopped talking in summer of 2000. All of the sudden, too. Maybe he was finally letting himself be angry at me for my shennigans against him with another boy back in 1994. (This hybridic guilt will be manifested in more profound prose. It’s three projects down the line.)
That’s it for general stuff. I’m going to do a blog about my books next.
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Ladies and Gentlemen, Mrs Gwenyth Pemberton-Smythe (GPS)
Santa's big present this year was a Garmin GPS device. It's quite lovely. I was able to get my food shopping for the New Year's Eve party done by knowing precisely where the closest grocery store was off of the highway on my way home from work.
I have it set to the British accent. She's quite lovely, too, actually. Very polite and articulate.
"In 200 yards, make a RIGHT... Turn RIGHT."
Sometimes as we're going along and the traffic is ridiculous (rare occurence in Mass, as I'm sure you can imagine) I imitate her.
"Move into the RIGHT lane because the f&^king idiot in the LEFT lane is only going fifty miles per hour. He obviously doesn't know how to drive in the fast lane. This is unfortunate."
My friend Anthony suggested I name her; something with the initials GPS.
On the way home from work, Alicia and I pieced out the perfect British sounding name as we bobbed and weaved through not-so-bad traffic.
B: Some sort of hyphenated name. Like Pemberton-Smith. What's a good G name? A British sounding one?
A: It's hard to think of any kind of G name.
B: Yeah. There's Gloria, but that's not British enough...Gretchen sounds too German. Ooh, how about Guinivere?
A: No, Gwyneth.
B: Yes! Gwyneth Pemberton-Smith.
A: I feel like it should be Smythe.
B: I was just thinking that! Okay, so, my Garmin lady is Mrs Gwyneth Pemberton-Smythe.
Alicia, by the way, has a TomTom. Her British Lady GPS voice is simply Emma Thompson, and there's no way around it.
Origins of GPS:
Gwyneth - Welch, poss. from the Welsh word "happiness"; other meanings: white, fair
Pemberton - variation of "Pemberley", where Mr Darcy
lived (with me)
Smythe - topographic name for someone who lived by a forge, or a metonymic occupational name for someone employed at a one, from Middle English smithe, smythy ‘smithy’. (from here)
Real origins of GPS - Global Positioning System.
http://www.garmin.com/garmin/cms/site/us
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