Bog Road

I love the northeast - I really do. Mostly, it's the shapes of the land, the smells of the soil and the trees and the friends, family and memories that live here that make it feel like home to me, but I love other things about it, too. I love the ubiquitous Stewart's Shops with their cheap, tasty ice cream (and the hygienically questionable make your own sundaes) and, of course, the availability of a wide variety of exciting beers I've gone without for three years (this hotel even sells them by the bottle in the lobby - Harpoon and Smuttynose, no less). I even love the metastatic proliferation of Dunkin' Donuts - I'm not sure all of America runs on Dunkin', but the parts of it north of Baltimore and east of Pittsburgh certainly could, assuming their insulin secretion is up to snuff. I'm a total sucker for their iced coffee - I haven't succumbed to the lure of the donuts themselves yet, but travels in Canada last summer made me a Timbit snob and I haven't quite gotten over that yet. I've got the ice cream and beer to flesh out my caloric intake, anyway. I also love the straightforwardness of the northeast - I know people in Minnesota thought I spoke my mind a little too much, but I'm no match for the total stranger who looked me in the eye the other day (while I was engaged in the very offensive act of ordering a milkshake) and said, "Fuck you, white trash." Okay, she seemed a little off-kilter in general - I've never seen anyone attack a quaint glass bottle of chocolate milk quite like this woman did - but I appreciated her willingness to speak her mind. Also, I went for an absolutely gorgeous run today (definitely on the Best Runs Ever list) on a road in New Hampshire called Bog Road - I really should not have been as surprised as I was when, after a couple of miles, I ended up at...a bog. Not a quaking one, but definitely a bog. I grew up in suburban Houston, where streets have pretty nature names (Coral Sands, Willow Shores, Sycamore Lake) that typically reference things that in no way occur in nature within, say, a few hours' drive (past the oil refineries and megachurches). While I appreciate the imaginary - I once had a set of no fewer than 8 made-up siblings, and I really like the show Dragon Tales - and understand the power of wishful thinking, especially in arboreally bereft areas like the outskirts of Houston, it's refreshing to have things be a little more literal. More on recent fun activities once I can coax some pics off my new camera...