Sorry about that. Kelli and I flew off to Maine. We spent most of our time on Mt. Desert Island. "Desert," in this case, is pronounced "dessert" (with a French accent, if you like). It was good and quiet. We drove along the coast in our pathetic PT Cruiser (Touring Edition), from Portland to Bar Harbor, listening to the new TV on the Radio. It starts off like a Sonic Youth song, but the drums change it all. And then the vocals change it more. Of the words I could make out: Hey hey, my baby / Won't you lay your hands on me / Mirror my malady / Transfer my tragedy. We decided that he really does sound like Peter Gabriel.
And then. We wrapped ourselves in blankets of green and ate lots of lobster. We had:
1. lobster rolls
2. lobster mashed potatoes
3. lobster pizza
4. lobster bisque
5. stuffed lobster
6. lobster in our pasta. Matt, the laidback innkeeper, told us to stay away from the: 7. lobster ice-cream. So we did. The blueberry ice-cream, however, was good. We pushed our bodies to the top of Camden Hills and looked out at the tiny ships and the tall white steeples. We rode our bikes around rocky paths to the top of Acadia and wondered if we'd ever find the way down. We did. We visited the home where Wadsworth Longfellow was born and the cemetery where he was buried. We slept well and woke to green trees and soft rain.
In a gift shop on Main Street, I noticed something about the music: it sounded alive. I didn't stop to consider it much, but continued reading through the funny greeting cards. And then. Kelli pointed it out to me:
"There's a McIntosh preamp."
Their needles quivered against the blue light like sails against the big sky.
"And those are Phase Electronics speakers," said the guy behind the counter.
"It's funny," I told him, "I didn't see the gear until just now, but I noticed right away that the music had hi-end sound."
As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I wondered what they meant.
2. lobster mashed potatoes
3. lobster pizza
4. lobster bisque
5. stuffed lobster
6. lobster in our pasta. Matt, the laidback innkeeper, told us to stay away from the: 7. lobster ice-cream. So we did. The blueberry ice-cream, however, was good. We pushed our bodies to the top of Camden Hills and looked out at the tiny ships and the tall white steeples. We rode our bikes around rocky paths to the top of Acadia and wondered if we'd ever find the way down. We did. We visited the home where Wadsworth Longfellow was born and the cemetery where he was buried. We slept well and woke to green trees and soft rain.
