Mary Phillips-Sandy

Man oh man, what a month. Sickness, death and packing tape, and — most recently — a fateful combination of bike + steep hill + pothole + blue Toyota + concrete + my face. Settle down, I typed ‘fateful’ not ‘fatal,’ and the ER doc gave me a handy list of brain damage symptoms to [...]

It’s hard to see at this size, but one of those signs says “grilled chicken.” I can’t muster the energy to get worked up about “illegals,” but I do think that people who order grilled chicken at a place like this should be deported, maybe from the planet.

Or, a lesson in context:
Very early this morning I decided to take a walk, so I got dressed and headed up the hill and down the gravel path and past the horse pasture and onto the paved road, in what I might’ve termed good spirits if my mind hadn’t been completely blank. For the first [...]

Overheard yesterday evening at Christy’s Country Store1, whilst purchasing certain occasional indulgences2:
Gent, to Cashier, in a tone of Confidence: That was my ex-wife, y’know. Just left. With that fella.
Cashier, to Gent: Oh re-ally? That planned?
Gent: Whaddya mean?
Cashier: She here cause you were?
Gent: Naw.
Cashier: She say hi?
Meaningful pause.
Gent: Yep.
Cashier: Well then.
Gent: Oh, I mean- she gimme [...]

Yesterday in the car headed north I flipped the radio to the news talk channel, where a Texan preacher was reciting Patrick Henry’s speech to the Virginia delegates, like really emoting it in a quintessentially Texan-preacher fashion, and when he was done the hennish host clucked “Wow, gosh, I am just SO inspired by that,” [...]

…or, “My best friend got married in New York City this weekend and the only pictures I took were of street detritus and the subway.”

Q: Why isn’t the train coming? What do I do? What’s going on?
A: Deal with it.

Discovered yesterday during a visit to the ancestral shire: The Chez has, via black letters on its yellow beer sign/marquee, endorsed Mayor Paul LePage for governor.
The shirtless gentlemen conducting business from a rusted LeBaron outside seemed neither to notice nor care, but one should never underestimate the Chez Bump.

This is what happens when well-intentioned people write about my homeland.
The Kennebec Café, named after the Kennebec river, is located in Fairfield (pop. 6,573, mostly blue collar families and the occasional moose) and also serves adjacent Waterville (pop. 15,605, including the 2,000 barefooted students of Colby College).
I can’t remember the last time a moose wandered [...]

Developments in the burgeoning Portland* blogroll, of which this Nut House is** a part: a tempest flares and is calmed (?) over at the anonymous Point (who is this fractious critic?). Meanwhile, someone or something who is obviously (?) a pseudonym is reviewing baked goods on the city’s preeminent music blog (??). (Related, will I [...]