There Are No Puffin in Maine

Puffin are little tiny birds that live in the North Pole and can only be seen by Eskimos. They are also a delicious cereal. They do not, however, despite claims to the contrary, seem to exist in Maine. I had never before considered what it would be to see a puffin in person, and would never before have claimed to have wanted to do so, but then I moved to New Hampshire which apparently is next door to Maine, and that's where I was told puffin hang out, like, all the time. Now I had to see one. Capture and befriend one if possible. Forget moose, there're itty bitty flightless birds up here! They are flightless right? And grant wishes?

That was the plan at least. Kristen and I ventured up to Boothbay Harbor, Maine, this last weekend nominally in search of a charming bed and breakfast, but secretly to abscond with a magical sea parrot. Unfortunately it turns out they only seem to manifest in late spring and early summer in these parts of the planet so we failed. That should come as no great surprise considering puffin are probably as real as the chupacabra -- made up beasts to keep children in line. "Eat your soup or the puffin will get you!" What was perhaps more of a surprise, though, was that there are apparently no people in Maine either. March is still the off season for tourism in the area as it is typically still encased in snow and prowling with blood thirsty snow men, and so the town of Boothbay Harbor is still in the hands of a caretaker government consisting of a pair of snowbirds too old to migrate and a swarthy sea captain who just can't quit the sea. The town was sparsely populated during the day and all but abandoned at night. We could have looted the place at will had we only thought to bring a larger car. Seeing as off season also means cheap season though we went anyway, and it was great.

We stayed at the Welch House Inn, affectionately known, we imagined, as the Wench House Inn by the locals, and it was amazing. For $90 a night we had a beautiful room, a gorgeous view of the harbor, a tasty breakfast, a cozy gas fireplace, and a whirlpool bath. The owner was exceedingly friendly and helpful and made a delicious Gypsy Eggs Benedict which was both the first time I'd eaten Eggs Benedict and the first time I'd eaten gypsy. The whole experience was as I would expect a bed and breakfast experience to be were I to have ever before considered a bed and breakfast. I am not sure any other B&B will be able to compete now; we will forever be bed and breakfast snobs.

Tour guides say Maine is the land of lighthouses and that is true. Just look at our pictures -- they're stacked like dominoes. But Maine is also just as much the land of toll booths and toll ways as it seems you cannot drive on any highway without being asked for a dollar. As a man that prides himself on his supply of quarters he carries (I sometimes have to drive a toll road for work), I was quickly quarterless. Thankfully Kristen had an assortment of loose change scattered throughout her purse and we did not have to resort to offering the contents of my glove compartment in barter. I suspect the majority of the nation’s quarters are currently residing in Maine thanks to their toll booths, and I have a suspicion it is secretly feeding an underground pinball economy. 

Anyways, for those who have not been to Maine here is a summary. It is rocky. There are a lot of lighthouses because of said rocks. People say "wicked" a lot. Oh, and lobster.

Pink Slime is Ruining America and Poisoning Your Kids

Pink slime. Hide your children. Hide your wives. It's in your beef, and it's in your family. If the volume of attention a subject gets is any indication of its importance in life -- and it is -- pinky slimy slime is single-handedly destroying, corrupting and befouling everything, everywhere, all the time. Beware the slime Yahoo News tells me.

Thankfully we still have heroes. Thankfully we still have TV chefs, a feckless press, and a shallow social media which can all mobilize to save our great nation. Thanks to their tireless yet trendy efforts pink slime, or ammonia-treated ground beef filler as it is perhaps less pejoratively known, has been removed from a number of fast food chains and now, glory be, will be removed -- at least in part -- from our children's schools. With this great victory in mind let us revel.

Never will we have to be like the Native Americans who consumed all parts of the animal. Huzzah! That's what pets and Fancy Feast are for.

Never will we have to worry about infections from a food product never associated with infection. Hurray! But lets fret anyway. 

Never will we have to pay for ugly food. Hot dang! Instead we can pay more for normal, regular food.

Never will we have to worry about ammonia in our beef. Shazam! Just the ammonia in the hundreds of other food products.

Never will we have to think critically about a subject. Good gravy, holy moly! Blog posts and Internet petitions are sufficient substitutes for due discourse and democratic action.



Alright. This is getting boring already. Time to tweet about Kony. I hear he's dating one of the Kardashians.

The Winter of My Discontent

When I first moved to New Hampshire I was told to get my affairs in order, I would likely die this winter by snow storm. Inevitably at some point during the six months of continuous freezing maelstrom that is a Northern New England winter I would perish in a snow bank, in front of a snow plow, underneath a snow mobile, or inside a giant snow ball. The towns would all freeze over and the wilds would be no refuge. Especially seeing as how they would both be packed with blood thirsty snow men living in snow forts bent on righteous snow vengeance, the worst kind of vengeance.

Instead there was never more than a few inches of snow. Temperatures never got below zero. Only actually got to zero once the whole time. And my snot never froze to my face -- a true indicator of a good winter I am told. January was actually most notable for the amount of drizzle there was. It was an angry drizzle, no doubt, but just drizzle. I never got my chance to break a leg snow skiing, fall through the ice ice fishing, fall through the ice ice skating, fall through the ice snow shoeing, or even to build an army of eight foot tall snowman storm troopers a la Calvin and Hobbes. I was robbed. I was promised an icy death and all I got was a relatively temperate, boring waiting period between fall and spring.

Speaking of spring. It is now springing and I am told to anticipate the start of Mud Season where, from what I can gather, everything gets covered in mud. I'm not buying it, though. I come from a state where it rains mud! Unless I'm swept away in a river of brown goop sometime this April I will be unimpressed.

Not all was lost this winter. We did have enough time to build a tiny late season snowman -- err snowthing.

Part snowman. Part mothman. Trapped in two worlds, he is accepted in none. He will lead a life of tragic irony chasing the light that will one day be his demise. Coming to Lifetime this spring.