The Non-Expert
The Maine Attraction
Experts answer what they know. The Non-Expert answers anything. This week ROSECRANS BALDWIN helps a reader unravel his vacation anxieties with a guide to going rural.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Ways We're Saving Money (Of Recent Note)
- When It Sizzles (Letters From Paris)
- 2008 Editors' Awards for Online Excellence (Awards)
Also by Rosecrans Baldwin
» SEE MORE
- Today We Learn About Canada (May 30, 2008)
- Ladies First (May 16, 2008)
- Easy-Fake Oven (April 25, 2008)
Also in The Non-Expert
» SEE MORE
NEWSLETTER
Prize Lovers Apply Here
More addictive than heroin, more challenging than Sudoku: the TMN Map Quiz, delivered hot, fresh, and diabolical to your inbox every Friday.» SIGN UP
Have a question? Need some advice? Ignored by everyone else? Send us your questions via email. The Non-Expert handles all subjects and is updated on Fridays, and is written by a member of The Morning News staff.
* * *
Question: You guys are internet nerds, you have to have been in this situation. I’m going on vacation and my wife says I can’t bring my Blackberry. She says if I don’t bring it, then I’ll know I’m on vacation. I disagree. I’ll know I’m on vacation anyway (maybe because all the license plates say “Maine”?). I told her that she and I are attached at the hip, but Blackberry and I are surgically connected at the fingerpads. This did not go down well. Advise, please. —Mark T., Boston, MA.
Answer: Actually, the Non-Expert has never been in your situation, Mister I Just Made an Ass Out of Both of Us. The Non-Expert refuses to carry a Blackberry for exactly the situation you’re facing—divorce. But the problem of knowing whether you’re on vacation or not—whether or not you’re in Maine, the Pine Tree State—is a familiar one.
How to Know if You’re in Rural Maine, Not an Urban Center
—Work is pronounced “whairk.” Dear is pronounced “de-ah.” When you try imitating the accent in the safety of your car, your wife says, “De-ah, your accent could use some whairk.”
—The undergrowth is edible.
—Your neighbor’s name is Rat. You don’t know why he’s called Rat, but you’ve never heard him called anything else. But you worry about calling him Rat for the first time. Will it be presumptuous to call him Rat before you’ve tried out his Christian name? How will you go about discovering his Christian name? Dear god, what if Rat is his Christian name?
—Locals neither smile nor frown at you. They just wait for you to fail at something a child could have done, then say “Ayuh” and go about their business.
—Rat has recently started a new moneymaking enterprise. He operates out of his home selling fertilizer and clams. To advertise, he’s put a sign up at the end of the road. It reads, “RATS MANURE AND CLAMS.” The lack of apostrophe doesn’t seem to hurt sales.
—Phone calls from you to locals go something like this:
“Hello?”
“Hey, hi, how are you, this is Mark calling, look is Debbie there please?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, all right, well listen, do you think I could leave a message for her then, please?”
“OK.”
“Oh great, good. So just tell her it’s Mark calling on behalf of him and Nicole and we just loved the landscaping she did last week, the tulips and ferns look I mean just fricking gorgeous, she did a fantastic tremendous job and we really appreciate all the hard work and the attention she paid to what we’d asked for.”
“OK.”
“Wait, man, shoot, I didn’t introduce myself, sorry, I’m Mark, sorry, my wife’s name is Nicole, we’re over in Rockport you know, I mean just having a great time, on vacation obviously—like you couldn’t tell—but yeah, up from Boston for two weeks, thank god we’re out of the city this time of year, you know what I’m saying?”
“Yup.”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you her husband Dave?”
“Yup.”
“Hey, cool, well great to meet you, maybe you’ll have to come out for lobster some time, I bet you could show us a thing or two, right? I’ll look forward to it. Thanks Dave.”
“You betcha.”
—Lobsters and blueberries are exports, not delicacies.
—But what if Rat is his Christian name? Or what if he’s Buddhist, or one of those Jeff-Gordon-Is-My-God types? Will he think you’re being too familiar, calling him Rat? After all, the two of you have never met unless you count that one time, passing on the road, when you waved like the friendly summer neighbor you are and he stared through your head.
—The postman’s name is Barry. You drop by the post office to buy some stamps. While you’re waiting at the counter—Barry has to go searching in the back storeroom for the special “Birds of Maine” stamps you requested—an old man walks in. He’s not carrying any parcels. He stands next to you at the counter, shouts out, “Barry!” and then leaves. You hear a faint reply from the storeroom, “Hey there!” Then, while Barry’s ringing up your stamps, an old woman comes in empty-handed. She stands next to you and says, “Barry.” Barry doesn’t even look up, just says, “Hey there.” And the woman leaves.
The next time you’re driving by, you stop and walk in, look Barry dead in the eye, nod in his direction and say cheerfully, “Barry.” There’s a three-second pause. “Can I help you?” Barry asks.
—You’re driving a rental Ford Focus. He drives either a massive Ford F250 pickup or a green van with extra-large tires and some fossilized entrail waving stiffly from the radio antenna. Animal skins are stretched over big wooden planks in his front yard, leaning against the trees. He’s never without a pair of mirrored sunglasses. You’ve never seen him smile. It’s not easy playing Country Mouse when Rat’s nearby.
—The horsefly buzzing around your head doesn’t carry any transmittable diseases. Those belong to the snakes, ticks, lice, chiggers, and rabid mice in your basement. The raccoons in your woodshed have AIDS. The deer that skips through your backyard in the morning, the one you and your wife coo over, is a prancing Hazmat disaster. Do not fear the horsefly. He will merely bite your face and make you scream.
—Crystal Meth is easier to obtain in rural Maine than it is back home. So are crystals, and posters of wolves kissing dolphins in outer space.
—A truck pulls into the driveway. It’s dusk. You recognize the truck. Already you’re sick to your stomach. A stout, broad man in mirrored sunglasses climbs out with a burlap sack in one hand and a glass bottle in the other.
Him: “Hey there.”
You: “Hey.”
Him: “Rat.”
You: “Hey. I mean, I’m Mark. Nice to meet you.”
Him: “So we had some of these left over. They’re fresh this morning. Clams. The wife recommends a Chardonnay. We brought this one back from Napa last year. I’ve had worse.”
You: “Wow.”
Him: “Enjoy the vacation. We’ll be seeing ya.”
You: “Thanks…Rat.”
Question: You guys are internet nerds, you have to have been in this situation. I’m going on vacation and my wife says I can’t bring my Blackberry. She says if I don’t bring it, then I’ll know I’m on vacation. I disagree. I’ll know I’m on vacation anyway (maybe because all the license plates say “Maine”?). I told her that she and I are attached at the hip, but Blackberry and I are surgically connected at the fingerpads. This did not go down well. Advise, please. —Mark T., Boston, MA.
Answer: Actually, the Non-Expert has never been in your situation, Mister I Just Made an Ass Out of Both of Us. The Non-Expert refuses to carry a Blackberry for exactly the situation you’re facing—divorce. But the problem of knowing whether you’re on vacation or not—whether or not you’re in Maine, the Pine Tree State—is a familiar one.
How to Know if You’re in Rural Maine, Not an Urban Center
—Work is pronounced “whairk.” Dear is pronounced “de-ah.” When you try imitating the accent in the safety of your car, your wife says, “De-ah, your accent could use some whairk.”
—The undergrowth is edible.
—Your neighbor’s name is Rat. You don’t know why he’s called Rat, but you’ve never heard him called anything else. But you worry about calling him Rat for the first time. Will it be presumptuous to call him Rat before you’ve tried out his Christian name? How will you go about discovering his Christian name? Dear god, what if Rat is his Christian name?
—Locals neither smile nor frown at you. They just wait for you to fail at something a child could have done, then say “Ayuh” and go about their business.
—Rat has recently started a new moneymaking enterprise. He operates out of his home selling fertilizer and clams. To advertise, he’s put a sign up at the end of the road. It reads, “RATS MANURE AND CLAMS.” The lack of apostrophe doesn’t seem to hurt sales.
—Phone calls from you to locals go something like this:
“Hello?”
“Hey, hi, how are you, this is Mark calling, look is Debbie there please?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, all right, well listen, do you think I could leave a message for her then, please?”
“OK.”
“Oh great, good. So just tell her it’s Mark calling on behalf of him and Nicole and we just loved the landscaping she did last week, the tulips and ferns look I mean just fricking gorgeous, she did a fantastic tremendous job and we really appreciate all the hard work and the attention she paid to what we’d asked for.”
“OK.”
“Wait, man, shoot, I didn’t introduce myself, sorry, I’m Mark, sorry, my wife’s name is Nicole, we’re over in Rockport you know, I mean just having a great time, on vacation obviously—like you couldn’t tell—but yeah, up from Boston for two weeks, thank god we’re out of the city this time of year, you know what I’m saying?”
“Yup.”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you her husband Dave?”
“Yup.”
“Hey, cool, well great to meet you, maybe you’ll have to come out for lobster some time, I bet you could show us a thing or two, right? I’ll look forward to it. Thanks Dave.”
“You betcha.”
—Lobsters and blueberries are exports, not delicacies.
—But what if Rat is his Christian name? Or what if he’s Buddhist, or one of those Jeff-Gordon-Is-My-God types? Will he think you’re being too familiar, calling him Rat? After all, the two of you have never met unless you count that one time, passing on the road, when you waved like the friendly summer neighbor you are and he stared through your head.
—The postman’s name is Barry. You drop by the post office to buy some stamps. While you’re waiting at the counter—Barry has to go searching in the back storeroom for the special “Birds of Maine” stamps you requested—an old man walks in. He’s not carrying any parcels. He stands next to you at the counter, shouts out, “Barry!” and then leaves. You hear a faint reply from the storeroom, “Hey there!” Then, while Barry’s ringing up your stamps, an old woman comes in empty-handed. She stands next to you and says, “Barry.” Barry doesn’t even look up, just says, “Hey there.” And the woman leaves.
The next time you’re driving by, you stop and walk in, look Barry dead in the eye, nod in his direction and say cheerfully, “Barry.” There’s a three-second pause. “Can I help you?” Barry asks.
—You’re driving a rental Ford Focus. He drives either a massive Ford F250 pickup or a green van with extra-large tires and some fossilized entrail waving stiffly from the radio antenna. Animal skins are stretched over big wooden planks in his front yard, leaning against the trees. He’s never without a pair of mirrored sunglasses. You’ve never seen him smile. It’s not easy playing Country Mouse when Rat’s nearby.
—The horsefly buzzing around your head doesn’t carry any transmittable diseases. Those belong to the snakes, ticks, lice, chiggers, and rabid mice in your basement. The raccoons in your woodshed have AIDS. The deer that skips through your backyard in the morning, the one you and your wife coo over, is a prancing Hazmat disaster. Do not fear the horsefly. He will merely bite your face and make you scream.
—Crystal Meth is easier to obtain in rural Maine than it is back home. So are crystals, and posters of wolves kissing dolphins in outer space.
—A truck pulls into the driveway. It’s dusk. You recognize the truck. Already you’re sick to your stomach. A stout, broad man in mirrored sunglasses climbs out with a burlap sack in one hand and a glass bottle in the other.
Him: “Hey there.”
You: “Hey.”
Him: “Rat.”
You: “Hey. I mean, I’m Mark. Nice to meet you.”
Him: “So we had some of these left over. They’re fresh this morning. Clams. The wife recommends a Chardonnay. We brought this one back from Napa last year. I’ve had worse.”
You: “Wow.”
Him: “Enjoy the vacation. We’ll be seeing ya.”
You: “Thanks…Rat.”
—Published July 21, 2006
