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After months, maybe even half a year, of anticipation on the part of Munjoy Hill locals, Fat Baxter's, a shop owned and run by MJ Reed (photo) and her dog (Baxter), has finally opened for business. With paper covering its windows until the very last few days, and with only the mildest hints of “yummy nummies” and “hardware” from their hand painted placard we locals had virtually no idea what to expect. The shopping-for-everyday-food situation in Portland leaves much to be desired, and has recently gotten worse. Whole Foods, with its pseudo-green rep has come in, jacked up the prices on local goods, replaced the locally-owned Whole Grocer and bought out the only competition, Wild Oats, with a net result that there are far fewer whole foods available for purchase in this town. Once upon a time you could buy teff, the world’s smallest grain, in bulk (at the Whole Grocer), but that time is no more. In general, Whole Food’s emphasis on overpriced (and tempting) prepared food comes at the expense of availability of grocery items, and their narrow grocery and bulk aisles consistently come up short when compared w/ the soon-to-expire Wild Oats up the road. The only other big-time game in town is Hannaford, the local better-than-average supermarket chain – and for a big box impersonal experience we tend to favor them these days.

The for-real best market in town is the Rosemont Bakery over on Brighton Avenue – a reincarnation of the old Green Grocer that went out of business on Commercial Street after their produce door was blocked by developers (long, weird story). They sell scads of fresh produce, cheese, carefully selected wines, baked-on-the-premises breads and pastries, sandwiches, soups, and various kitchen staples. Given their square footage its simply astounding what they accomplish, and at a reasonable price too. Just as I leave Whole Foods every time feeling slightly ripped off and manipulated, I leave Rosemont feeling wholesome and excited about supporting the local economy – and what’s more, like I got a fair and tasty deal.

But Rosemont is out of the way for us, and closes at the unreasonable hour of 6pm (when Alex and I usually have not yet decided what’s for dinner, or even who’s making it). Some local source of produce and even good quick food bites – it would be foolish to hope for something as off the chart as Rosemont – would be a lifesaver for us. There’s Colluci’s , literally a stone’s throw from our apartment (it’s on Congress and North), a venerable institution w/ generally a staggering amount of empty shelf space, no comprehension that food without meat exists, and quite useful hours and beer and wine selections. Colluci’s works for household food items only in the direst pinch, and the only produce I tend to see there is limes in the Corona section. But they sell the New York Times, make big hot sweet muffins in the morning, and are good, good people.

But Fat Baxter’s comes in with the opportunity to fill a tremendous void in, imagine, many lives. For me, after more than three years living here in Portland, I cannot, and continue to have no desire to, get used to the suburban style of living - with one or two trips to the supermarket and planned meals etc. I know I’d be a better person for it, and would have finished not one but two operas by now if I could, but the spontaneity of life and the joy of deciding dinner based on what green sings loudest in the bin, would be lost. I like for there to be a real proximity between planning, buying and cooking, for better or worse, and I hate having to make stupid useless extra car trips to the mondo wallet and soul drainer that is Whole Foods (because I forgot the damn garlic, or because once – and I kid you not about this one – I thought I had left the cookbook in my wagon at WF, so drove all the way back there to find said wagon, which of course was empty, only to discover the cook book – now not so mildly ruffled – sitting on the roof of the car. A similar thing happened w/ my cat Pumpkin when I was a kid, but for that you’ll have to tune in later).

You’d think this was all leading up to a big review of Fat Baxtter’s, up on Congress, across-ish from Hilltop Coffee (which will relocate to the other half of the Fat Baxter’s building “sometime between Thanksgiving and Easter.” ) But no, we’ve only been once, just today, when the wheels were only starting to revolve. We got beautiful local broccoli, kale and asparagus, as well as some Tropicana orange juice, a box of kashi brand cereal, some silk soy milk (not our brand), and a nice looking cantaloupe. Almost no prices were marked, and M.J. Reed and her assistant were unable to get the cash register to spit out a receipt for me (first day woes), or even call up our total bill after we had paid it, so I can’t make real judgments about price. The total, which I ascertained later, seemed a bit too high, but I’ll let the jury stay out on that one. If Fat Baxter’s is to be meaningful over the long haul, I’d love for them to be at least somewhat competitive pricewise, although I’m willing to pay a bit more to support the little guy and avoid all those useless car trips. I sampled some delicious dips from the back little kitchen area, that has a very impressive looking menu (including Blue Mango veggie burgers, which I believe are currently served at the Dogfish Bar and Grill in town and are the best I’ve ever had), and I absorbed the generally good community vibe that was emanating from the place. The store was packed, and had been all day, and they stay open until 10 on Fridays and Saturdays, and 9 the rest of the week. Would that even most restaurants in this absurdly early town could say that, you know?

After one small visit I have to say that FB’s exceeded my expectations, and has warmed the concept of the coming winter (and the awful, awful World Series result that will probably arrive by tomorrow late night) quite a bit for me and mine. Speaking of mine – they even sell cat toys behind the counter! (A great step for Portland, which is not only meat obsessed, at the expense of vegetarians, but dog obsessed, at the expense of right-thinking people…by which I mean cat lovers). Here’s wishing them the best – and I’ll report back.

Our one sweltering stretch of weather has arrived here in Maine. We get one weekend each year, with maybe a few weekdays thrown in, where the needle hits the mid 90s and the population grinds to a stupefied, heat-drugged stumble. It's here now. Alex and I can't sleep, and we can't work so well. Maybe go to the beach? Believe me, we're thinking of it. The waters up here have begun their slow ascent to the bath-like 63 degree high point they'll hit some time in late July. The waters in this photo, and the foot, are probably closer to 58. That's me, walking from Pine Point to Black Point, a stretch of sea that's about a foot and a half deep, and a surreal martian landscape that's simply beyond the capacity of Mr. Moto to convey. This was last week already, though, and now I'm back trapped in my hot little studio working on a string quartet that will have its premiere in Serbia this coming August. It's a very strange, tonal little piece, that probably has no business being born but is forcing its way into the world all the same. I'll work on that for a spell today before I break down and head for the shore. I'd promise to write more, but you wouldn't believe me (those two record reviews took a lot out of me!).

We Northerners don't celebrate the vernal season like the rest of you - here's how we found our car, this lovely April 5th.

Well, we're finally on the map! My life is careening towards a big show up here in Portland on March 9. Actually having a bunch of little things here and there (see performances) but the big Kahuna, as it were, is on the 9th. I've got thirty + musicians involved, seven of whom are traveling up from New York. Got together a whole chamber orchestra by meself, got some press, having rehearsals, everything just moving along. Really the only thing now that can stop me is weather, and I'm becoming slightly obsessed. Apparently this coming Friday (the 2nd) is about to be obliterated by a foot of snow, which I take as a good sign. I mean after such a dry winter, will we really have two snow storms on two successive Fridays? If we do, my cast of thousands departs the next morning, the hall is booked for all potential snow dates, the grant money is burned, airline tickets purchased, posters printed and hung, and I am a pale shell of the man I used to be.

But the weather looks fine - right? "Mostly Cloudy." I'll take that! But what's with "poor" in the Event Conditions column. What's with THAT? What???

Say a prayer for me friends. Do a dance. Scheduling big events in March Maine is not for the faint of spleen.

Greetings – I present you first with an aborted attempt at blogging from this past February 14:

A big day this Valentine's Day was indeed. Lots of comings and goings. Yes, the blizzard came - I was inside not noticing it for much of the day, but there was a school cancellation and a snow ban, and in between all that Al and I managed to have breakfast out, and then she went to work and between my other worldly obligations I whipped up a nice romantic meal (what else? spaghetti with white clam sauce and broccoli rabe, even Spock would swoon). But the big comings and goings are these: Whole Foods opened its doors in Portland today, and Al Franken left the Air America airwaves to run for Senate in Minnesota. I have a few thoughts about each of these. Whole Foods. I don’t think you big city dwellers can begin to understand the excitement (and in some minority precincts, the dismay) that the arrival of a big store like this carries with it. I – and Alex too – thought I was crazy, walking around counting down the days and all

That’s where I ran out of time or steam, or a combination thereof. Preparing for my Thursday seminar AND cooking up a big romantic dinner (Norah Jones tix were the big prize) took some doing, even with the benefit of a snow day.

Anyway, I’ll try again to say a couple of things about Wednesday’s momentous events, with the benefit now of some perspective.

Whole Foods. Yes – very exciting. Stores like this one are where Alex and I spend a good deal of our leisure time and disposable income. They moved in about a block away from Wild Oats, and some would see this as laying down the gauntlet. But the Oats actually started it, a few years before I got here, by moving into the same parking lot as the Whole Grocer – the locally owned shop that was ultimately bought out by Whole Foods. So my heart doesn’t bleed for Wild Oats. And also, Whole Foods has more or less confirmed the insanity of Wild Oats’ prices – not to mention their dishonesty (prices per half pound – as I’ve railed against elsewhere on this blog). If I had to throw the two stores head to had and compare, I’d note the following (I realize this may be of only local interest, but this is big news here - certainly the major event of the last week).

Produce
Whole Foods maybe a little bigger in this department, and their prices seem by and large to be more reasonable. (Many a time I’ve accidentally purchased something at Wild Oats – say a bag of celery for $6 – that I had to actually return in something of a rage after glancing at the ticker tape). Edge: Whole Foods

Bulk
Wild Oats certainly has a more inviting bulk section, although the prices – in keeping with their m.o. are higher. Whole Foods looks skimpy in this department, and it’s a shame because the store they bought out – the Whole Grocer – had such a wonderful bulk section. They even sold teff in bulk! They also had a great bulk loose tea section. That’s gone now. Edge: Wild Oats

Vegetarian Friendly
Both stores suck on this front. There’s a major anti-vegetarian backlash going on, at least for the past couple of years (ever glance at the NY Times Dining In/Dining Out section?) – and Portland, surprisingly, is particularly un-vegetarian friendly. Where else do you have a popular restaurant called “Duckfat” (I boycott them). Whole Foods has an absolutely enormous free range meat section, a huge chili and barbecue bar (3 kinds of chili, none vegetarian), and meat delicacies in all corners of the store. But is there any variety when it comes to Fake Bacon? (Morngingstar Farms makes the best – although it’s so toxic and chemically derived that I suppose if it won’t make you wretch you might as well eat the real stuff). A helpful worker actually had to go into the back of the store and dig out some tempeh strips from a box. Not what I was looking for. Because of Whole Foods' outright crassness in matters of the flesh, I give the Edge here to: Wild Oats.

Bakery
Wild Oats used to make these fabo macaroons, in plain and chocolate versions. But they have since gone the way of homemade gefilte fish (in this semitically challenged town). I still like their homemade bread though. The Whole Foods in Charlottesville, VA makes some of the best bread I’ve ever had in the States, lots featuring 100% whole grains. Not so at the new Whole Foods. The bakery is decent enough, but doesn’t really add much to the bakery discussion in town (Portland has good bakeries, but a shortage of serious whole grain bread). Edge: even.

Fish
The fish department at Whole Foods is triple the size of Wild Oats, and much more impressive looking. Prices are decent. I’d never go there while the Harbor Fish Market still has its doors open, but after 5:30pm, I’m glad to have this new option. Edge: Whole Foods

Café
Whole Foods has this whole Sushi-Bar/trattoria thing going on. Looks good, but basically amounts to just another expensive-ish restaurant in a town that’s got a glut. The Wild Oats café is more or less a place to grab stuff from the store and sit and eat it, complete with a microwave and generous fixings (including real maple syrup for your coffee). Edge: Even

Prepared Foods
Boy Whole Foods has a TON of prepared foods, both in salad bar and behind the counter format. In fact, I’d say the wealth of prepared food in Whole Foods accounts for the difference in size between the two stores. A lot of it is deeply pricey (are there really THAT many people in Portland who can afford to buy seared tuna at $24.99 a pound?), but it’s nice to have the options – despite my screed above about the abundance of meat products. Edge: Whole Foods

Overall Vibe
Since we spend a lot of time there, this sort of thing matters. Wild Oats definitely has a homier feel, while Whole Foods is going for the shock and awe approach. Wild Oats gives away a LOT more free samples of stuff – which rates pretty highly in my book. The Wild Oats parking lot is also more appropriately sized (bigger) and has those little depository spots for shopping carts. Edge: Wild Oats

Prices
Based on preliminary glances, Whole Foods kills in this department. Wild Oats will probably need to adjust their usurious policies if they plan to stay in business here long. Edge: Whole Foods

Overall Assessment: It’s nice to have another place to shop and some more options. But overall I’m struck by how little having Whole Foods really changes anything. I like seeing Wild Oats get their just desserts, and yet in a weird twist I’ll still probably continue to shop there for some stuff. And Whole Foods’ whole corporate M.O. will probably take a while in making itself plain. Of course, I wish I could support more local businesses. The obvious spot is Rosemont Bakery out on Brighton Avenue, and I do think that’s one of the best places in town – but it’s a bit of a haul, and alas I’m more of a creature of convenience than I generally care to admit. (There are very few places to buy produce in winter here). Edge: Even.

Prediction: After all that, I think Wild Oats will close within a year.

Anyway, you heard it here first. Oh – I was going to say something or other about Al Franken, but since I’ve bored you all to tears by now, why don’t I wait until next post. (February break now, so hopefully I’ll up the frequency a touch).

It's that time again, the mother of all storms is on its way. But everybody's hedging their bets - between 8 and 30 inches, "wintry mix," "winter storm warning in effect, possible accumulation of one inch by 6am," "near white-out conditions." I feel like it's happened before, but I'll roll with it. Portland's already announced a snow ban for tomorrow night, which means Al and I have to drive our car down to a parking garage in town, and then go retrieve it at 6am Thursday - a ritual we've turned into a kind of family outing. Once upon a time it meant a hot chocolate at the Portland Public Market, but that grand edifice has bolted its doors and booted its tenants, so it will just be the swirling winds and the two of us, bundled like Michelin men. On nights like this one always wonders if it's worth staying up that extra hour to do that last bit of grading, or if it's best to roll the dice and see if mother nature grants an extension. Taking a look at that weather map, I see an absolute sea of snow coming our way - perched just south of Portland, creeping north and ready to envelop us in all that rich powdery fluffity. A whole one inch by 6AM, they're saying! Best ready my galoshes and soak me gruel. Something tells me tomorrow's gonna come, same as it always does, this time around.

Well here's how I spent the day and the night of New Year's eve (yes, you guessed it, reload and you'll see more pics). We gallavanted around Two Lights State Park in the sun and the snow, and then had a cast of thousands join Truth About Daisies at the Dogfish Bar and Grill on Free Street. Sure we had some sound issues, and I'm not sure any of the band was fully physically and mentally prepped for the 4.5 hour non-stop playing extravaganza, but all in all I think we came out on top. And I'm not sure I know a better way to usher in a brand new year than sitting, surrounded by dear friends, banging on drums and catterwauling my lungs out. Here's to all we have to look forward in this crooked number year!

Back from sunny New York, and in cloudy Maine. But Southern Maine today is something quite special, misty, chilly, it's romantic weather is what it is. And very New Englandy - makes me want to walk along the craggy coast smoking a corncob pipe or something. December will not be denied, it approaches with the fiercest of irresistible impulses, and I'm just letting it wash over me. Meanwhile the powers that be, in their wisdom, have left one tennis net up even this late in the season, and Neil Sattin and I are fighting the calendar with each passing volley. Today we played for about a half hour until Neil's fingers froze.

Whoop! There's my bagel....gotta run.

I'm not doing very well at keeping up with my blog duties, and I do apologize. It's a busy time is all I can say. Today Alex and I took the 45 minute journey out to Limerick, where we visited our friend Binney Brackett, who gave us a tour of her ancestral village. We got to peek inside all sorts of wonderful old farm houses, places where she grew up, and some built by her own great grandfather. What a connection to the land. This shot was taken by Mr. Moto through a screened in porch, and seemed just arty and strange enough to make the blog cut. It was a blustery and swirling kind of day, fewer leaves clinging to the trees and more circling through the air in that part of Maine, not so far from the New Hampshire border and even the town of Wolfboro where once upon a time I went to summer camp. Al and I are back in the saddle now, preparing to brace ourselves for another week of mayhem. Truth About Daisies played a fun gig at the Dogfish Bar and Grille last night. I swear, more people ought to hear us play - we're beginning to really put it together. Ah well...I promise to have something profound to say in this space some time soon. For now, I'm going to go for a run, since it's 4pm and it's, like, about to get dark. (insert contorted and evil internet ASCII face here)

Autumn comes and goes quickly here - by the time you notice it's happening it's more than halfway done. Tourists come from, supposedly anyway, all over the world to watch the leaves. I like em fine, although my years in Annandale, smack in the Hudson Valley, spoiled me forever as far as fall foliage goes. There's nothing like that particular arboreal splendor anywhere else in the world, so far as I know. So as beautiful as it gets here in fall, I'm still always waiting for something more, and by the time I realize that the something more's not coming, whatall there was in the first place is just about gone. An afternoon pre-class walk to fetch my late lunch, or early dinner if you will, bucked up my spirits in this regard at least a little. If the trees aren't quite the transcendence I'm looking for, their dance with the Maine sky - which is uniquely stunning at all times of the year - can make for some heart stopping visions. Good thing poor maligned little Mr. Moto was on hand for the celebration: The walk into town. Trodden by many a harried student and professor in search of something finer than what's on offer in the spaceship-like student commons. Even in Gorham, which never quite became a real college town, there aren't many options. The campus heading towards dusk. Not a soul in sight, but think of all the thinking and professing, and listen to the pianos pounding, the vocal warm-ups, the euphoneums ablowin'. And a happy sight, sometime before evening counterpoint class, at the GHOP (Gorham House of Pizza). What you don't see are the jalapenos in that eggplant sandwich!

Sorry Anne, I can't vote for you. And it's not just because your opponent is my former student, or because I never really got into that whole Fountainhead business. No. It's your atrocious grammar.

Hey - I've made it to the Phoenix, the local cool paper. I didn't even know. Not available on line, so I'll make it so...(frrom Sam Pfeifle's column on p. 18 of the September 29 issue)

Sibilance: Since former Phoenix "Classical" columnist Mark Scearce (sorry, J. Mark) skipped town, we haven't been paying much attention to the resident composer spot at USM's School of Music. Really, how could anybody replace that Scearce fire? Well, our bad for not noticing Dan Sonenberg before now. Word is he's into electronic music and jazz as much as classical and Broadway. Look for a recital of his works in the spring, featuring pieces from his opera, which is based on a Negro League baseball player. This is also another opportunity for us to call for the School of Music to come to Portland. Gorham is just not happening.

Yeah - it's true about Gorham. But it's not our fault. Still, I hope when March 9 rolls around people will make the trek that my colleagues and I make once or even twice a day. I mean, Bach walked hundreds of miles to hear Buxtehude play the organ, you know?
And I also hope New York people will come here my concert this coming Sunday.

Yeah, I'll admit it looks like a pretty enjoyable mid-September Sunday in Maine. But lest you think this was even a majority portion of my day, I'll give you the whole agenda, in retrospect.
6:30am - get up, turn off cell phone alarm (forgot to deactivate)
8:30am - saunter out of bed, super decadently, check email and surf a bit (the web, that is)
9:30-10:30am - run - my usual route, 5.5 miles including the back cove and poopy factory
11:15am - out to Wild Oats and Hannaford for the week's grocery shopping
12:30pm - Lunch with Al - tomatoes, mozzarella, basil, olive oil - can you say Italian holdover?
1:30-3:20pm - Grading theory and counterpoint papers
3:20-4pm - prepare bulgar salad for evening picnic, also skewer shrimp that Alex had marinating...
4:15pm - leave house with Alex for Higgins Beach, where I've not yet been this summer
4:40pm - Arrive at the beach and park illegally. The surfers are out in abundance and I feel like a child with my boogie board. The water is cool, but entirely tolerable, and the waves are enormous and crashing. I boogie board for about half an hour and am in paradise, my earthly troubles melted away.
5:20pm - Leave for Two Lights State Park.
5:30pm - Get to the park - the sign says they close at 6:30pm, so this barbecue better be quick. Al and I work fast, find a choice table, and grill away. I wish I could say it was entirely relaxing, but with the time pressure, not so much. We have corn and veggie burgers and shrimp and green peppers, and my bulgar, tomato, feta and basel salad (w/ lemon and olive oil dressing). Then we roast a few marshmallows and have a cookie. We're out only 5 minutes past closing time.
7pm - Stop off at Videoport to return videos and pick up The Sound of Music, which I'll use in Music Appreciation tomorrow night.
7:20pm - unpack, clean up.
8-9:30pm - Work on revising the libretto to the second act of my opera.
9:30pm-10:30pm - Send school-related emails
10:44pm - Think about the three classes I'm teaching tomorrow.
11pm - Blog
11:15 pm (forthcoming) go to bed.
So now you know.

Oh and P.S. - The Sea Dogs won it all today! I'll blog about the parade, if there is one.

Weather here is extreme sport. I groused through much of this summer, pontificating to anyone and everyone who would listen that we were getting cheated out of our birthright (as Mainers) for a stunning season. Every beautiful day seemed to require payment in blood, or at lease piss and fog. Then August rolled in and I clamped shut my yapper and just absorbed. The month has been heaven sent, but even within these blissful heights of meteorological consistency, there are days that step forward from the pack. The nice days here, the really nice ones, are historical, epic. The whites glisten blindingly, the sea shimmers, the sky has the indefinable clarity and radiance peculiar to this most northeastern of states. Every player in the environment seems to be shouting "love me! love me!" and passersby nod knowingly to one another, as if they and they alone are sharing the same drug-informed string of revelations. So I walked home from my haircut and it was like some rural version of the opening scene from Everybody Says I Love You. Heck, even the narrow gauge railroad conductor, as his locomotive barreled along the Eastern Promenade Trail, looked as though he was ready to burst into song. I occasionally glanced down at a book I had planned to walk home reading (this photo captures just such an instance), but mostly it was just the blind shining love bouncing off bodies and the sea and sky, the glorious near-denouement of this most sacred of seasons.

A few more vacation snapshots - no time to really write. But from top to bottom: 1) Lobster headed into the sack, an intermediary spot on its way to better things; 2) a scenic overlook on our early afternoon hike; 3) beautiful Vinalhaven harbor; 4) I think it's called a galamander, or something - it used to haul the huge chunks of granite they took from Vinalhaven in the 19th century (and put into such buildings as St. John the Divine in NYC); 5) one of the island's many swimming quarries (a result of all that granite having been extracted); 6) the outside of Robert Indiana's in-town house, which is a converted Oddfellows Hall; 7) Me in the shirt that earned me far more abuse here than on the mainland.

Sorry to have missed you all these past couple of days. It was time for the Truth About Daisies retreat. Doug and Sheila rented a sweet little house on Vinalhaven, and I managed to drop in for an incredibly lovely 28 hours or so. Lots to tell and show about it, but I'm soooo sleepy. And it's suddenly cold(!!!!) here. And we have next to no oil, which is now something like $2.50 a gallon. Reality sneaks in with a vengeance. Anyway, I'll post more about the trip, unless something more exciting happens soon. Maybe I'll just post more pictures from my dopey camera phone. It requires so much less thought than actual writing, you know.

The locals stare out me almost incredulously when I tell them I've been swimming in East End Beach. I say it proudly, as if I've discovered the key to life here up on Munjoy Hill - you know, that it took a smart New Yorker like me to figure it out. I mean after all, there's a big sign right at the entrance that claims for the water quality the illustrious rank of "acceptable" (for swimming). Then I got ill. Alex was convinced it was the water, but I steadfastly denied it as I clutched my belly and lay in the fetal position. So then I did what anyone does when virtually anything happens: I went to the net. And I found this disturbing article from a few years ago. And from there I made it to the EPA's water facility monitoring site to read up on our friendly neighborhood wastewater facility (located a few hundred feet upstream of said E.E. beach). And there I learned that Portland Water Works has in the past been in "significant non-compliance" with acceptable federal standards for chlorine and [warning: it gets gross starting...now] fecal coliform levels. How non-compliant, you ask? Well, in the last quarter of 2004, which incidentally is when I took up residence here, the fecal coliform levels were at 4500% of the allowable limit. I thought I was kidding when I called the place "the poopie factory." Things have, to be sure, improved steadily since then, and the last reading, from the first part of this year, has the level at 150%. I feel so much better. Then I discovered that on the Maine Healthy Beaches site, you can actually check the Enterococci levels for water drawn from specific beaches. It's a confusing statistic, but the bottom line is that above 104 is bad. So looking at East End Beach, I see that the levels are for the most part quite fine. That is to say, most samples have the level lower than 10. But every so often it spikes up - like on Bastille Day this year, it was 323. That's three times the federal limit (which is itself controversial). Ostensibly there are supposed to be "advisories" on days such as this. But I've never seen one. And the water isn't even tested every day. And, I still have a little bit of a lingering stomach ache and I haven't been in the drink for a couple of days. And I emailed and called several people, including the beach manager, and no-one's gotten back to me. So to cut to the chase: I'm done swimming at East End Beach. And depressed as can be about it too. Good thing the EPA's really cracking the whip these days...

Yeah, I know it looks bad. Like I've forsaken all responsibility, forsaken the studio even, and dedicated my days to beachbumming. Pictorial evidence to the contrary, however, I have actually been getting a few things done in the shop. August is tricky time for both Mainers and academics. Lovely as the days are, in the evenings there starts to be just that little nip, that little reminder that as everlasting as this summer seems, it will be over before you know it, before you've eaten your last blueberry pie even. And with the coldness comes the workaday life, back to the grind. So I suppose we all, okay maybe just me, get into this kind of midlife crisis mode (midlife of the summer, that is, even though it's far beyond that), and feel as if every day needs to be mined for its fleeting warmth and breezy blueness. So I've made a little commitment to swim in some body of water every day for the rest of the month. I've hit every day but August 1, actually. Mostly, it's a jump into the refreshing waters at the East End Beach, after I do my morning run. The water is lovely for us hardy northerners, not sure how the rest of you would fare. And then late afternoons are also a possibility. Yesterday Alex, Neil Sattin and I headed south again, this time for Crescent Beach State Park. Here's me (foreground) and Neil (background) in a moment that was every bit as paradisiacal as it looks.

Aired up Alex's sweet little Univega bike for a desperation trip over to Willard Beach in South Portland late this afternoon. Lots I could say, but here are some pictures instead. You'll note I was rescued in the early evening. And one little anecdote. Three kids, two boys and a girl, maybe six years old, were running past me. Boy 1 says: "last one to the playground is a rotten stinkbomb!" Several moments later, as the girl begins to lag behind a bit, she says, pensively, "rotten stinkbomb? Hey....I'm not playing!" Pretty smart kid, I'd say.

Sometimes waiting's not so bad, in the right spot. Alex's folks are in town so we're hitting the our tourist trail that we love so well. First two steps are almost always the Lobster Shack and then Maple's. Even on a cloudy evening, and those are in no short supply, the shack delights.

Hey - guess what? I'm out of the nineteenth century. Now, not only do I have a phone, but I have a camera-enabled bluetooth phone. So homemade photos, alas of a far inferior quality than previously, will return to Argh! - a blog. I thought you might like to see where these entries, and everything else I'm attempting to churn out this summer, come from. The hanging sculpture on the right - a gift from the great artist himself, Alonzo Davis - watches over me in times of doubt and sweat.

Four words, friends, and I'm not ashamed to say them: Iced. Caramel. Soy. Latte. Double shot, made with expertise, even love. Double shot? Why no, a single is fine. Oh no you di'nt. A single can't carry even the smallest of iced drinks. You wind up with coffee milk, and who wants coffee milk? No sir, not I. So in this sunny little closet on the hill, a concoction of the almost-vegan gods (almost because the caramel has dairy in it, sister). To be sure, the evil Seattle corporate coffee collective is here, but we locals, we Mainers, hardy and sensible lot that we are, pay them no mind whatsoever. A cold day indeed it will be before we meekly cross that threshold. So summer is here and Hilltop Coffee is its delightful self but in peak form, and the winds of joy are circulating with force in this artsy little enclave of Munjoy Hill. The San Francisco of Portland, I like to say. And the annual gentle stream of visitors has begun. Chip Whitesell and Gunny Sen, from Montreal, with bagels and biscuits. Montreal bagels are small, slightly cakelike, almost entirely unsalted, and really quite delightful. Would I take them over the best of New York bagels? Well maybe not the "Absolute" best, but certainly over the coffee cart/Deli balloons of fluff, and any day of the week over the Maine also-ran variety. Chip is on the faculty at McGill, a published expert on the music of Joni Mitchell and writing a book to boot. So Joni, who was rated the no. 9 best living songwriter in a recent Paste Magazine article (I'd probably put her around number 3, but oh well), was in the air and wouldn't you have loved to be a fly on the wall for that business, eh? We ferried en masse out to Long Island - not the one where I grew up, but its less inhabited namesake in the shimmering and glorious Casco Bay. And then with our dear friends safely on the road to Brunswick, I hit the Bay in earnest with Doug from Truth About Daisies. We paddled out in kayaks to a completely uninhabited pair of islands called the Brothers and had ourselves a picnic and brisk 30 second swim, and paddled back, me flush with the realization of my great ambition to become a seafaring kayaker. You put up with the endless May rain, the mud season, the slight isolation, the dearth of pizza by the slice, for this. A nice day in Maine is the pearl in the oyster, an unparalleled, gleaming affair that shuttles bliss through the bloodstream and sanctifies the spleen. But work we must, at least from time to time.

In support of my point below - compare today's widget weather forecast to the one below. Nuff said?

Even the widgets are lying about the weather these days. The emergence of the sun remains perpetually in the forecast, but always slated for some future date, two or three days away. Yesterday's widget had sun for Wednesday. Now it's pushed back to Thursday. I'm betting June. And even the weathermen are in denial. They've stopped acknowledging that it's time to build an ark, and they greet each new low pressure system, each new storm, as if it's a novel occurrence. Actually, that's not entirely true. The TV news mentioned last night that we've broken the record for rainfall in May (in Portland, that is), and that we're very close to breaking the record for rainfall in any month. Ever. In Portland, Maine. Think about that.

Here's why I'm not getting much work done this weekend. Plus, it isn't every day you see a little yellow man growing out of a tulip patch.

This is sort of an inside joke - but the bottom line is, this license plate IS available. And even though I'm not much of a vanity plate type of guy, I am a Mainer, and Mainers get vanity plates. With such frequency, in fact, that you can actually pop onto the motor vehicle bureau's web page and check the availability of the plate you want. AND get a free preview. How much you wanna bet that you're there right now?
Hey Look: This one's available
But that probably wouldn't do much for the longevity of my car, or my person. Not much sense of humor about such things in these parts, as I've already mentioned in this space.
I'd respect whosoever got pissed off by this one:



But I guess tops would really be:

Why oh why must I have only one car??

Well, Spring break is fading out in style. And I swear on all that is holy that this will not become the Maine weather blog. But today it was sunny, and then we hopped in the car and drove back out to Two Lights but it rained once we got there, so we drove back home and did some work. I was grading stuff, and Al was painting. Then the rains stopped and the sun crept back out, and the whole apartment was flooded with Krazy Orange Light, and I grabbed Alex's paintbrushes from her and yanked her out the door to go rainbow chasing and there it was...this beautiful radiance. And we counterintuitively ran towards the water, away from the rainbow, thinking that we'd find something even better there, or maybe that the rainbow was kind of like the sun, and that you can't REALLY run away from it. But when we got to the water - the Eastern Promenade - the rainbow had faded and it was kinda dark, and it was raining again too. So we walked back in the rain, past the new elementary school that overlooks the harbor from on high, and then had oysters and fried fish and salad and watched 3 episodes of Battlestar Gallactica - which was discipline, because there still was a fourth on the disc. And I look back at what has been wrought over this week - this website for starters - and I see that it is good, and now, I rest.

See - this is what they do to you here. Throw in a few just stunning days in March and early April, psyche you into letting down your guard, mothballing the winter jacket and all, and then phwoosh, 24 inches of snow, or 27 straight days of rain and clouds (see May 2005). This photo is taken at Two Lights State Park today (took it meself), where I've been almost every day this week. I actually went today and sat out on the rocks and graded, telling myself that this is what my life IS here, you know? And there are days when it is, like today, and there you have it. But as idyllic as this looks, I'll confess that on my way to the park I passed a big sign at Dunkin Donuts that said HOME OF THE $.99 LATTE, and I slammed on the brakes and swerved in, and while I was there, I figured, why not a chocolate butternut donut too, since you can't always get those at all Dunkins. And the other photo I was thinking of featuring as the first ever photo on my blog was of a coffee and a donut, you know, with the sea in the background - sort of the perversion by man of all that is holy, but then I reconsidered and I put this one up. Cause this is my life. Every day.

Should I or shouldn't I? I have the capability...

Oh okay - I will. At least for now. But watch for this blog to disappear suddenly and without warning. Really. Watch for it.

No time really to blog right now though - Southern Maine is enduring a bout of unbelievably gorgeous weather. Alex and I hit the Lobster Shack, which is open for the season (don't believe their website), and stuffed our faces full of fried clams as the sun began to set over an array of red picnic tables and the Atlantic. I thought as we walked among the rocks, this place will be open for the next 7 months. Paradise found.

Maybe I'll post a picture some time.

Ciao...