Lunchtime in Maine

I recently went to lunch in a little working harbor here in Maine.  It was very picturesque, the weather was beautiful, and the restaurant was right on a dock servicing local lobstermen.  So you could watch lobstermen unload their catch while you downed a freshly cooked one upstairs. 

Here comes the gotcha: this year, there is a glut of lobsters, so at around $2 a pound for the lobstermen at the dock, they are barely making fuel money.  Upstairs, THAT SAME DOCK is charging we touristas $14 for a lobster roll, using perhaps 1/2 a pound of meat.

Ahh, America.

Toilet Seats

At great personal risk, I must stand up to the ridiculous notion that men are somehow responsible for the position of toilet seats.  Happily, for once the Curmudgeon Handbook comes to our aid here: we hold doors open for people, we're OK with "ladies first," but put a toilet seat down every time you're done?  I don't think so.  

I grew up when women were expressing a desire to be "equals."  If I could hang on to a few notions of chivalry during those trying times, fine.  But where did this men are supposed to put toilet seats down when done thing come from?  It's pretty much a 50-50 shot for anyone in a 2-person household that the seat will be in the correct position when either of you enters, so what's all the fuss?  Either I have to move it or the other person has to, so why complicate things with an arbitrary rule?

Men of the world unite - We do doors, not toilet seats!

Body Piercings

I don't know how I missed this one when I was on about tattoos and the unshaven look, but it hasn't escaped my net altogether.  Growing up, proper society accepted unobtrusive holes in women's earlobes.  And back then we had National Geographic to see what other societies did - elongated earlobes, stretched lips, pierced noses, tied feet, the whole gamut of quaint cultural beauty tips.

So, of course, WE had to import some of those "quaint" cultural practices and "update" them for our - until then, at least - more civilized culture.  What are these people thinking?  Let's be honest - this stuff is revolting.  A zillion pierces per ear?  A pierced NOSE??  And the worst of all, a tongue stud - kind of a stealth piercing: you don't know it's there until the blighted person opens their mouth.  And then you're transfixed - watching the revolting thing bounce around during conversation you completely lose track of what's being said.  And I prefer not to even THINK about piercings that lurk in more hidden places.

At least we can hope that when these creative souls actually grow up and mature, sanity is readily restored.  The body heals holes, unlike when you inject ink into it.

Doggy Done Departed

I was recently at a dinner with a number of good friends, a setting that even a curmudgeon couldn't fault - good company, good drink, good food, even good weather.

During cocktails and a stunning array of appetizers, amidst delightful conversation, I couldn't help but notice a decorative box on the mantle.  Politely inquiring as to its provenance, seeing as how it was so prominently displayed, I was casually informed that it contained the ashes of their recently deceased dog.

What!?  I was aghast.  Incredulous, I inadvertently blurted out some exclamation that now escapes me and not one, but two other dear friends at the soirée chimed in that they, too, had dog remains on their mantles.

What ghoulish custom have I somehow missed, lo these many years?  I think, in the future - and for my mental health - I will simply avert my gaze from mantelpieces.

Clam Chowdah, Ayuh

I am quite the fan of clam chowder.  The only kind I recognize, of course, is New England clam chowdah - that New York tomato-based stuff is not even in the same league.  But, in the past, I, like many others, have encountered cream of potato soup with the hint of clamminess presented as the real thing.  Hah!  This curmudgeon is not so easily fooled.

But there is a flip side to this, I have discovered.  Having recently vacationed on the coast of Maine, I naturally tasted the local chowders.  These good-hearted people take their chowders seriously, and the apparent rule of thumb is the more clams the merrier.

For clam lovers, this can be heaven, but for normal people, well, not so much.  The discerning chowder lover requires the proper balance of stock, potatoes & clams.  If I wanted a milk-drenched pile of clams in a bowl, I think I would have specified that.

So, with our humble soup spoon in hand, we continue a quite enjoyable search for better and better New England clam chowder.