Another evening out: PIG

I just returned from the Plum Island Grille, which luckily is a 5-minute drive from here. You know that island people (the non-tony ones) called it PIG, right? There's a funny story related to this - and here it is:

I was recently talking to a woman who works at a local establishment. She was telling me that one of the owners of PIG came into the establishment before the business opened and told her what the name was going to be, and asked her what she thought.

"Great!" she said. "We can call it PIG."

He was not happy with this revelation. She didn't say which owner it was. But we had a good chuckle over it.

Anyway, I went to PIG to meet Triple-D, who has requested that I remind everyone that the nickname stands for "Deep-Dish Diva" (because in a previous post I was talking about a debate about pizza and she was saying she preferred the deep-dish variety).

Apparently people have taken it to mean something else. I would not be that rude. I've got rather huge tracts of ... land ... myself, so I'm sensitive to this stuff. Minds out of the gutter, readers.

I drank two drinks, had some (mediocre) fried calamari and left her there, chatting up some dude. I needed to barf, or lie down, or both. Bleeccch.

She wanted me to chat up the dude's friend and tried to push me into it by insisting that I talk to him about this company GREENPUPPY.ORG, which is all about planting trees to compensate for one's carbon footprint. The dude's friend, it turns out, is in the lumber business.

She had earlier introduced me to the proprietor of Greenpuppy.org. She meant well, but I'm not good at chatting men up.

Don't know why I drink. Don't know why anyone drinks.

Can you hear me NOW?

I had a busy day today, broken up by a nice lunch with a pal at the Hungry Traveller in Salisbury.

I think we were the only people in there under the age of 70. I do not believe there is a place in Newburyport where you would go in at 1 p.m. and there were only senior citizens in there (although they did have a "senior special" menu).

The food was good, though. Real fried chicken where the meat was still as moist as a dewdrop on a petal.

One thing I have to say, though - it was very quiet. I mean, the silence was like the oral void in a library right before closing time.

I hadn't quite realized how noisy restaurants are until today.

As I grow older, I get more and more sensitive to loud noises (one reason I think senior citizens might not go to a "community center" that includes noisy children). For example, when the furnace comes on in this tiny cottage, the blower is loud to the exclusion of every other sound, including the TV. I sometimes want to run outside, hurl the cover off the entrance to the crawl space under the house, crawl in and pummel the furnace with my fists.

Don't usually have that reaction around people, by the way. Knew you'd be wondering.

Is the 'loud talking' of younger people related to use of cell phones? Because people seem to have become louder.

No, what I mean to say is, the vocal intonations of today's speaker is reminiscent of the stentorian tones taken by an imperial senator addressing a rowdy crowd in a Roman forum.

Our neighbor to the north

The whole thing about restaurants - at least The Barking Dog - in Amesbury being perhaps more willing to serve up "trendy" drinks reminds me of something someone said to me at the open studio.

"It was like moving to Ohio."

She was describing her move from Newburyport to Amesbury. Considering that if there wasn't a river there, Amesbury and Newburyport would be right on top of one another, that was quite a declaration.

I'm actually amazed that Amesbury did not "take off" before Newburyport did. OK, they aren't in such close proximity to the ocean and the downtown is not right on the river, but they have (sort of) better highway access. You have to drive a ways from I-95 to get to downtown Newburyport and it's kind of hard to find downtown once you're actually there but you don't know that because it's downtown residential.

Then, of course, you get to the main street (State St.) but it's one way coming at you and by then you've already passed the one-way street that is the one you should have gone down in the first place. That's why the mayor is proposing reversing the directions of Green and State streets.

And Amesbury's "part" of the river could arguably be said to be more beautiful.

Adding to my confusion is the two mayors. I'm not knocking our mayor; I'm more heaping praise on Thatcher Kezer, the mayor of Amesbury. He is more of a cut-and-dried kind of guy. You know exactly where he stands, he doesn't seem to back down that often, and he does not give a shit if everyone likes him or not.

When I was writing for the Amesbury News (also owned by Community Newspaper Co./Gatehouse Media) and covering Town Hall, I came in frequent contact with Kezer. I went to a "press conference" a couple of times (these involved DN Amesbury correspondent Katie Farrell and me, or just me in one case). Kezer would make his opening statement and we were supposed to, I guess, jump all over what he had just said.

I would just look at him and smile. And not just because he's a cutie. It was hard to find fault with his logic (although a lot of people in Amesbury would not agree, I know).

No resistance at all

Last night I had the strangest dream. This is how it went down, to the best of my recollection.

I was living in a big house (as opposed to the tiny one in which I actually reside) and it was in the middle of town instead of being on Plum Island. The strange part is that the offices, or at least the conference room, of the Daily News were in my house.

I think it was the kitchen because I was eating breakfast at a small table off to the side when all the reporters started filing in and taking their seats at this big conference table in the middle of the room. There was also some kind of reception area set up outside the kitchen.

After a while Will Courtney (city editor, I think) came in ... I have no idea what Will Courtney looks like, mind you, but in the way of dreams I knew it was he .... and I was immediately in conflict.

Should I stay or should I go? It was obviously a meeting with the reporters but it was also my house. After a couple of minutes, I decided to go, even though Will Courtney had smiled at me when he saw me sitting there. I believed, however, that at any moment he would ask me to leave. Even though it was my house.

I went to the living room and more reporters were streaming through the front door and walking straight through the living room, up a few steps and turning right into my kitchen, or whatever room it was.

After another little while they all went out again. I did not recognize any of them as DN reporters but I did recognize 2 of them from somewhere else that I couldn't quite put my finger on, in the dream.

You may see this as a manifestation of a secret longing to work at the DN, but in reality I believe it was all about my personal panorama and the way I deal with intrusions into said panorama. Nothing to do with the Daily News at all.