Late last night, I realized I was missing something.
I’ve owned a house on Mt. Desert Island for nearly a year. It’s a nice house, but it has a problem. It doesn’t have a name.
Martha Stewart’s 26-acre estate in Seal Harbor is named “Skylands.” My one-acre compound may not be as large or pink as hers, but dammit it deserves a name.
So for the next few days, I will be considering what to call the grounds that make up my island home. It must be pretentious enough to instill fear in the townspeople, yet warm enough to not frighten my children. I’m considering something with the word “farm” in it, since we have a handful of chickens and I have eaten a few tomatoes that I grew. Something containing “wood” would work, since we’re surrounded by trees. But I’m open to anything. I really need a nice name to paint on a rock next to the “Severe Tire Damage” sign I’m planning on putting near our driveway to discourage tourists from turning around there.
So suggest away, in the comments section. Besides the “farm” and “wood” explanations I gave above, here are a few other things to keep in mind:
- Our dog, Elly, enjoys running around and urinating on all areas of the grounds
- The wind chill should be under -40 later tonight
- Some famous Mt. Desert Island landowners, besides Martha: David Rockefeller, Caspar Weinberger, Jimmy Buffett, Paul Newman, Connie Chung and Maury Povich
- I call the property a “compound” because we have a nice big shed, a smaller garden shed, a chicken coop, and a doghouse
- The word “lobster” is not acceptable in any function whatsoever
Lyrics that come to mind when I see this photo:
I laid a divorcee in New York City
I had to put up some kind of a fight
The lady then she covered me with roses
She blew my nose and then she blew my mind
- Honky-Tonk Women
When I'm ridin' round the world
and I'm doin' this and I'm signing that
and I'm tryin' to make some girl
who tells me baby better come back later next week
'cause you see I'm on losing streak
- (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction
Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint
So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste
- Sympathy for the Devil
And also one that must put the Democrat Party into fits:
Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Ed. note: Tony Pierce has been doing this sort of thing for years.
Today’s entry from the past was written in July 2000. It is about relationships and betrayal:
I held her head in my hands this morning and whispered, “I forgive you.”
She had made me so angry last night that I couldn’t bear to look at her. The evening was spent in steely silence, as I replayed her betrayal over and over in my mind. She had taken away the one thing I wanted most with no regard to my feelings, and I wanted her to suffer for it.
I went to bed upset, always the wrong thing to do, cringing from her attempts at physical contact. When I awoke this morning to see her warm brown eyes sadly seeking forgiveness, however, I finally realized what an obstinate jerk I was being. She’s family, and she will always be more important than any other thing the world may provide.
I know she’s just a dog, but it was a damn good turkey sandwich.
The crime wave on the island continues, shockingly claiming new species amongst its participants:
BAR HARBOR — Two black-and-white oxen ran up the Indian Point Road Saturday morning. Shortly after, they returned to their farm.
Shortly after what, precisely? After stealing ashtrays, perhaps?
For once, I can announce inactivity ahead of time. More posting the afternoon of February 6, including: Police Beat, From the Grave, some observations on the United Nations, and maybe a recipe or two.
Jonathan David Genrich, born today at 9:01 AM in Bar Harbor, Maine. 7 lbs. 14.4 oz., 23 inches long.
Mama and baby are fine. Daddy is exhausted, which is odd considering how little work he did.
Every year, some respectable friends of mine throw a lavish Christmas party in suburban Boston. One of the highlights is the annual Yankee Swap, where inappropriate gag gifts wind up in the hands of those who covet them least. My take this year was a calendar of quotes from the President, which seems to have been a big seller over the holidays.
The calendar, billed as “the very curious language of George W. Bush,” is supposed to help the owner feel smug and superior while reading verbal gaffes from a guy who admittedly is not a very good public speaker. Curiously, however, the quotes they’ve chosen almost always make me more sympathetic towards the guy. For example, here is today’s entry:
“We ought to make the pie higher.”
The calendar’s creators apparently want us all to think the following: “Higher? He should have said bigger! Ha ha! What a dumb monkey the President is!”
Well guess what, cheese: higher is bigger. Ever been to Pizzeria Uno? They don’t increase the diameter of their pizza pie to make it bigger — they make it a deeper and therefore higher pie. A higher Yao Ming is a bigger basketball player than Allen Iverson. A higher Sears Tower is a bigger building than a one-story schoolhouse. And a higher Bill Clinton is….oh, I’m sorry, he never inhaled, right?
So if the President wants to make a higher pie, resulting in everyone’s individual piece being higher as well, he’s more than welcome to do it. Just don’t change the recipe to require a few more tablespoons of my tax dollars.
On the drive to work today, the local morning news clowns announced that Caribou, a city roughly 220 miles north of my island home, was experiencing freezing fog. That’s ludicrous. It’s enough to make me send this suggestion over to Augusta for consideration as the new state motto:
Maine: Ain’t Nothin’ We Can’t Freeze
