the cat

This is Isabelle. How did I get through Maine without her?

I’m not sure what slays me more here - the paw delicately covering her face as she sleeps, or the fact that she’s actually tucked herself in.

 

 

summer just got busy

I had a nice interview over at Chicago Public Radio on Tuesday and yesterday they called to offer me a part time internship position for the next 8 (or so) weeks, executive producing a two hour block of programming that will air on Vocalo/89.5 in mid-August. It will be almost entirely put together with contributions from their intern pool, and contributions from their user-generated upload site. Two hours is a lot - had to take a deep breath there for a bit, but it is going to consist of 6 twenty minute blocks on 6 different topics, which kind of makes the whole thing seem a lot more manageable. Kind of like life does, when you break it down one week at a time. For this I will be paid the grand sum of $0, which is the going intern rate. I am very proud to be making my first foray into the extremely lucrative world of radio. Watch me go!

AND I’m going to do my regular job as well, which basically means that whole lazy summer idea of long walks by the lake? GONE. But it is all for the good.

I’ve also been spending the last several nights catching up with one friend at a time, and I’d love to tell you all about the drunken evening that consisted of cosmopolitans and Katie grabbing her boobs on my back deck, but that would be blowing our sober and sophisticated cover. All I will admit to is that I have drunk more liquor in the last three days than I consumed in all of Maine. IT’S GOOD TO BE HOME.

chicago

HOME.  Absolutely thrilled.

god’s country

Made it as far as Maumee, Ohio - home of the Mac Daddy Antique Mall, which will be visited in the a.m.

Poster in the restaurant across the street from the hotel:

“TOLEDO COUNTRY LIMITS: WHERE GOD GOES COUNTRY.” Featuring a “casual country atmosphere” with “relevant messages.”

Come for the line dancing, stay for the Lord.

not one of the chosen

Last night 5 cars in the hotel parking lot were broken into.  All of them had GPS units and laptops and iPods stolen.  Considering that my car was visibly packed to the gills with STUFF I’m considering myself kinda lucky.   There is something to be said for choosing to pack your crap in big plastic bins and covering the whole pile with a bag of laundry.  NOT THAT APPEALING.

comfort

Mile 600.  500 left.  Comfort Inn in Erie, Pennsylvania.  The room here comes with a whirlpool bath built for two, and I have now whirlpooled myself into a prune, not that this is a hardship.

Sign in the lobby for the restaurant next door: EVERY WEDNESDAY NIGHT IS BIKE NIGHT AT THE QUAKER STEAK AND LUBE.

Tomorrow I will stop in Toledo and spend much quality time at the Mac Daddy Mother Ship of antique malls.  Calgon take me away.

homeward

Goodbye Maine.  I love you dearly.  The fact that you never really warmed up consistently and insisted on blowing cold wind right up until the end of May is but a pimple on the nose of my adoration, and I am choosing to look beyond it.

I put 370 miles on the car today, and am currently in Utica, where there is a Wendy’s Restaurant and a fire raging about 10 blocks away that has made the air here smell like a giant woodburning stove.

Rather sad, about the Maine, but also rather joyful about the Chicago.

Not joyful about the remaining 830 miles. Send nice thoughts.

(Realized earlier that I never opened up comments on the earlier post about the pieces that I produced.  That was exhaustion and distraction, methinks.  Regardless.  It is fixed.)

the graduate

I haven’t died, I have simply been very busy giving birth to some radio. It was a long and difficult labor. If you’d like to see the bouncing babies, check out the box widget on the right. There are 3 new pieces there: the Vox Pop that I did early in the term, and my two long story projects -

1. What You Choose to Look At - about the glass artist here in Maine that I was working with

2. The Davey Joe - about a family here in Maine that had a summer cottage on the coast

Home to Chicago at the end of this month. I can’t believe this is almost over. There was LL Bean shopping today, however, and it was good.

the circus

My friend Paula is doing her second radio piece about a circus that came through Portland.  She sent me a text message on her first day hanging out with the circus people.  It said, simply:

DOCUMENTARY SCHOOL ROCKS!

She had to get more tape, so yesterday she drove up to Augusta, where the circus had moved on to, and I tagged along to meet the people she’s been working with.  My favorite was Svenson, who has a goat act.  Keep an eagle eye on those goats.  One of them might be eating your jeans.

a picture post

In the last 48 hours I’ve had several emails from people wanting to know about the lack of an update, and I know - it’s been a little quiet on this site in the last week, not because I didn’t have things to write about, but mostly because doing something creative would really have gotten in the way of all of my massive anxiety. I mean, I could put my energy into blogging, but the panic is really going well for me right now, and I’d hate to fuck that up.

THERE ARE ONLY THREE WEEKS LEFT ON THIS COURSE.

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH WORK THERE IS LEFT TO DO? DO YOU? DO YOU? Because if you do, and if you are completely freaking out and losing your shit, well that’s fabulous - come sit by me and have a beer. Maybe four.

I still need to restructure my first radio piece, and I’ve only just started making headway on my second piece. It was supposed to be about Maine accents, but now it’s about the Patriot’s Day Storm of 2007 - the worst storm to hit Maine in 12 years. Today I spent the morning with a couple who lost their beloved summer cottage that they’ve had in the family for 42 years - the one they brought their kids and grandkids to - and I know I’m supposed to be an outside observer, a non-emotional documentarian, but when this couple started describing the home they’d lost, all of the memories washed out to sea, well, um, you’d have gotten a little choked up too.

Anyway, so by the by, I took pictures today of the little town where I’ve been working. Words cannot express how tiny and pretty it is and how “old Maine” it feels, so the pictures are gonna have to do.

i ken leee

Bulgarian Idol.

It’s all in the subtitles.

a little story

So I have to admit that my little trip home to Chicago a week and a half ago, super quick though it was, made me a little home sick. Chicago was warm and sunny and full of familiar things and good friends and I was very much all, “Hey Chicago! I miss you! I’m here! Maine ain’t all that, it’s you I love!” Even the crazy wacked out scary man at the bus stop who looked like he might want to kill me dead didn’t deter me from my little moment of urban adoration.

But then I got back here, and I was all, “ok Portland, you’re cute too, even though you are totally kicking my ass right now and I’m totally exhausted, but you have sea gulls and a big bay and brick paved streets and drivers who stop for pedestrians and people who smile, so maybe you’re not so bad.”

Anyway, this is all just sort of a lumpy little intro into telling y’all about the trash here. Portland is very SERIOUS about their trash and recycling. It all had to be explained to me when I got here. All recyclables go in one big blue plastic bin - all of it - paper, cardboard, cans, bottles, and no separating. You don’t even have to clean out your cans and bottles. The city comes around once a week and empties out your bin and takes it away.

On the same day they come and get your trash, and all trash has to be in official blue “City of Portland” trash bags. No Hefty Bags for the Portlanders. These bags have to be bought specially. They’re not cheap either, a parcel of 30 bags costs about $8.00. I think the cost of the bags underwrites the cost of trash removal…

Anyway, I bought more bags this week and the new lot were gray bags - all the old bags were blue bags. No big deal, I’m thinking, they’ve changed the color. Well, last night I put out my trash, along with all my neighbors, and this morning all their trash was gone, and my little gray trash bag was still there. Rejected by the trash men.

Evidence, below. One lone trash bag sitting atop my empty recycling bin.

I call the city (the number is nicely printed on the outside of the bag) and a nice woman says, “you have the wrong color, you need to call Rite Aid and tell them they sold you the wrong bags.” So I call Rite Aid. Rite Aid calls the Person in Charge of City Trash, and it turns out they changed the color and their trash men were supposed to know this and take the gray bags, but their trash men weren’t paying attention, and now I have a bag of trash on my curb.

So - and here is why I’m telling you this story - I go into Rite Aid and the manager says, “here is the cell phone number for the man in charge of Portland trash, he told me to tell you to call him and he’s going to help you.” So I call this man, very nice man, name of Ernie - (love that) - and I say Ernie, what can I do?

And Ernie says, “don’t you worry, we messed up, I’M GOING TO COME GET YOUR TRASH PERSONALLY.”

And then…wait for it…ERNIE CAME AND GOT MY TRASH PERSONALLY. And he shook my hand and told me how sorry he was that his trash guys didn’t pick up my trash and that it wouldn’t happen again.

Ohhhh Maine, I’m sorry that I cheated on you with Chicago last week. Chicago wouldn’t have come to get my trash, Chicago would have told me to shove it. MAINE: You have been redeemed by your trash man.