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Lobster Crackpot

The New York Times ran an article yesterday about Linda L. Bean, granddaughter of LL Bean and an heiress to his vast fortune. For the past several years, Linda L. Bean has been executing on a business plan to “mass market Maine lobster the way Perdue does chicken” (here). Because it takes a kooky woman to make a cheap lobster.

I’ve never bought anything from LL Bean, and in fact I’ve been consciously boycotting the company for the past 5 years, precisely because of Linda Bean, who was previously known as Linda Bean Folkers but has either divorced or decided to market herself better. Linda Bean is a notorious figure in Maine, a “deeply religious, conservative Republican” who has tried to unsuccessfully buy her way into politics in two failed bids for Congress. She uses her fortune to fund right-wing causes like anti-gay rights campaigns, and is known to fraternize with televangelists and Christian cult leaders. But what really burns me about Bean: She once dismantled a 60-year old camping shelter on her vast Maine property, and constructed a barrier on a town-owned road that lead to the property and hiking trails, because she was upset over campfires and trash on her land. You’d think a women who lives off the largess of outdoor activity would try to find a more amendable solution.

Bean has funneled millions of dollars into her vision of becoming Maine’s lobster magnate. She’s buying wharves, warehouses, and processing stations. She started a chain of sandwich stands and restaurants called “Linda Bean’s Perfect Maine Lobster Roll”, with the goal of having at least 100 franchises nationwide in a year. And she’s been lobbying for costly Maine lobster certification to protect consumers from that fake Canadian crap lobster.

But although she’s making an impact on the lobster business, Bean focuses most of her attention on the marketing end of things. For instance, Bean is trying to re-brand the meat that comes from a lobster’s claws, under the belief that the word claws is “scary.” Her idea (patent pending)? “Linda Bean’s Lobster Cuddlers.” Cuddlers! Aw, because the wobster wuvs you! (Maybe my mind’s just diseased, but ‘dipping cuddlers in butter’ sounds downright naughty).

Bean is also planning on trademarking two phrases to describe her lobster offerings: “It Stirs Your Primal Senses” and “In a Class by Itself.”

“I love to work with words,” she said, admiring the latter phrase on a truck.

WTF? How are either of these phrases applicable to lobster rolls? When my primal senses are being stirred, its not because I’m looking at mayo-slathered lobster on white bread. Class, indeed.

“[Bean] has also commissioned local artisans to make tableware from lobster shells and a lobster claw pendant; both will be sold at her restaurants.”

The entire souvenir industry in Maine has been relying on the iconic lobster for decades. If Linda L. Bean thinks that she can peddle some some special, unique lobster crap that the world’s never seen before, she can go right ahead, but I think she’s overestimating the appeal of lobsters. It’s one thing to be in Maine and want to memoralize the idyllic vacation by buying a headband with wiggly lobster-claws (yes, I really did). It’s another thing to be in a restaurant and want to memoralize that delicious lobster roll you had for lunch by buying lobster-themed houseware.

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By Meredith – October 8, 2009

French Fried Culture

McDonald’s has confirmed that they will be opening a branch in Paris just steps from the entrance of the Louvre Museum, in the underground stonewalled ‘Carrousel du Louvre‘ (here).

More shocking than McDonald’s ballsy nerve in infiltrating one of the world’s greatest cultural bastions with burgers and fries is that the French surrendered! (Hmm… actually, I guess French surrendering isn’t too shocking.) They buckled under a Blitzkrieg of burger and milkshake!

If the French weren’t sufficiently repulsed by idea of the world’s preeminent symbol of capitalism, industrialism, and consumerism casting a garish red and yellow glow upon the world’s preeminent symbol of art, culture, and sublimity, then surely the thought of sweaty Americans making burger pitstops on their way to snap a picture of the Mona Lisa would have caused them to reconsider?

Mr. P has a typically French view of McDonald’s. He fears the societal effects of fast food and he dreads the thought that his native country’s cuisine and eating habits are becoming more like those of his adopted country. But that wouldn’t stop him from going to McDonald’s if it was lunchtime and if it was convenient. The fact is, even though the French are scornful over the idea of McDonald’s, many of them still go to McDonald’s. It’s hot, cheap, fast, tasty food, and while they would vastly prefer sitting around a table for 3 hours for a 6-course meal, there’s just not enough hours in the day. Not if you want to keep your mistress happy, anyway.

So, think about this: If you go to the Louvre and you’re hungry, the less time that you spend eating, the more time you have to explore the museum. Bourgogne, terrine, and morbier may be cultural achievements in their own right, but they can’t really compete with the priceless antiquities, tapestries, painting, and sculpture within the Louvre. So in fact, if you really love fine art, you’d skip the lackadaisical service as the brasseries and bistros, and grab a le p’tit poivre at McDonald’s.

_mcdo_france

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By Meredith – October 6, 2009

This Season, on the Supreme Court…

Today was the season premiere of the Supreme Court. Oh good, I love this show!

Over the summer, the producers decided to spice up the cast by adding some color to the mix. Justice Sotomayor promises to be scads more entertaining than that dead fish Justice Souter, and the perfect empathetic foil for Justice Scalia, the Court’s unofficial villain ever since that season when he criticized Miranda rights and denied that we have a Constitutional right to privacy. Jerk off.

To kick things off, today the Court refused to hear a case involving the pro-life group Choose Life, who unsuccessfully sued the state of Illinois for discrimination because they refused to offer a specialty “Choose Life” license plate (here). Um, yeah folks, it’s only discrimination if the state issued “Choose Choice” license plates. Duh.

Though the docket does carry a number of controversial cases that will divide the Court down their stalwart ideological lines, according to the New York Times the season is expected to be “dominated by cases concerning corporations, compensation and the financial markets,” apparently stemming from the economic crises and the government’s subsequent intervention and regulation of the markets (here). That’s what I love about the Supreme Court: They know how to keep their material timely!

And no re-runs, either. “In recent terms, the business docket was studded with cases about employment discrimination, federal pre-emption of injury suits and the environment. With the exception of a single employment case, all of those categories are missing.” Because everyone knows that those federal pre-emption of injury suit cases are ratings death.

Although it looks like an eventful season for the Supremes, I’m worried that they’re not doing enough to remain relevant. I mean, in this go-go digital era with so many other things competing for our attention, it’s hard to expect people to care about just exactly “who” the Supreme Court is, “what” they do, and “why” they matter.

You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about maybe it’s time to let people see the “real” Supreme Court. I’m talking about a fly-on-the-wall, un- or semi-scripted look at the Supreme Court via an all-access camera crew. Placing the Justices in some sort of artificial living environment would be ideal. A weekly elimination round would be cool, if it’s constitutional. Perhaps there could even be competitions, where the US Supreme Court would face off against the UK Law Lords. Judical smack-down! Who can hear the most cases in a week? Ain’t no one gonna write a more scathing dissent than Ruth Bader Ginsburg!

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By Meredith – October 5, 2009

Carless Love

After 10 years of carlessness (7 years spent living in Boston at the mercy of the MBTA, and 3 years spent living in the inner ‘burbs with my husband and his Civic at my mercy), it appears that, for career advancement purposes, it is time for me to procure an automobile of my own.

Last week I did some research on buying cars. I read about gas mileage and safety features and financing, but more important, I wanted to know how to psychologically outwit the car salesmen. It is common knowledge that car salesmen are tricky, thieving, commission-hungry predators who operate with a lesser set of morals than the rest of us, and I won’t be swindled out of a couple of thou by a textbook ruse. So I did some Googling and the first page I found said, “You can forget about psychologically outwitting a car salesmen. You buy cars maybe once every 5 or 10 years; they sell cars everyday. ”

Petrifying. But we weren’t going into the car-buying process blindly. We had a pretty good idea what we wanted to buy: A 2010 Volkswagen Jetta TDI Diesel. We had a back-up choice: 2010 Honda Civic Hybrid. We had a good idea of what each should cost. And we were pretty confident that our driving passions would not be aroused by a mere test drive to the point where we’d acquiesce to the smarmy charms of a car salesman.

Our first stop was at a Ford dealership, to check out our cheapest, economical choice: the Ford Focus. It was 9:30am and the collective sales force seemed a smite out-of-sorts, as if they had spent the night on couches covered in empty beer cans. The most easy-going salesman ever took us out to the rainy car lot and tried to muster enthusiasm about the Focus. “It was popular during Cash-for-Clunkers,” he said repeatedly. We took a test drive. The sterile dashboard of the Focus was depressing. Each bump on the road rattled my teeth. After talking the Focus’s economical virtues to death, the salesmen fell silent as I drove. Hell, he might of fallen asleep. After returning to the dealership, we quickly made an exit.

At Honda, we fell into the hands of a tall, suave salesmen with an arm tattoo poking out from under his cheap suit. We came in asking to see the new Civic Hybrid, and he immediately tried to sell us a used 2007 Hybrid with 50k miles for $16,000. Obviously, he was trying to press his luck straight away. When we rejected this ridiculous offer, he began to tell us why we didn’t want a Hybrid. The real reason was that they didn’t have any in stock, but he pulled up a software program that purported to show us that we’d pay more upfront for the Hybrid then we’d save on gas in the next 8-10 years. Since there were no Hybrids in stock, we test drove a regular Civic. Not bad. Roomier than we expected, with okay performance. The salesman projected such an air of confidence that we would buy the Civic that he seemed too stunned to put up a fight when we said that we’d think about it and left.

Next stop: Volkswagen. A tall, older man cornered us the second we entered the dealership. At first he appeared to be kindly and rather befuddled, but as he talked to us I realized that he was a career car salesmen, intent on handling us the way that a baker handles dough. He did his job well. We did fall in love with the 2010 Jetta TDI, and we were rather apprehensive when he repeatedly reminded us that he only has 1 in stock. But the more we resisted his charms, the more aggressive he became, and the more I wanted to leave. He kept going to talk to his manager and I got the feeling that his desk was bugged. Since we weren’t buying that day, he seemed as eager for us to leave as we were.

Finally, we went to another Volkswagen dealership so that Mr. P could test drive the Jetta TDI in manual. To my relief, we were approached by a female saleswoman. She was younger and had an expansive townie accent, giving me the (mistaken?) impression that she couldn’t possible swindle us. When we went for the test drive, she turned up the radio and didn’t mention half the attributes that the previous salesman mentioned. But she exerted no pressure on us, and praised us for not rushing into such an important decision. That’s the sort of tricky psychology that I like: Flattery!

So we’re sold on the 2010 Jetta TDI Diesel. Now all we have to do is buy it…

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By Meredith – October 4, 2009

Tom Cruise and I Share a Moment

Today, shortly after noon, I decided to take a lunchtime walk despite the chilly sunless weather that has beset Boston. I set off on my usual route, a roughly 1 1/2 mile loop down to Boston’s World Trade Center and then back via the waterfront. As I neared the WTC, I noticed four Boston Police officers standing on an overpass, peering down at a little-used stretch of highway that serves as a local connector to the Mass Pike (a product of the Big Dig, incidentally). Several other office workers on lunch were milling around, one woman with a silver digital camera clenched in her hand. So of course I stopped and stared at the eerily-empty highway.

I was about to ask one of the women “What are we staring at?” when the sound of rapid-fire gunshots rang out from the highway. Then, a strange convoy became visible. It was a truck towing a large platform that carried a car, some cameras and lighting equipment, and about two dozen people. The truck was going about 30mph and swerving all over the road while the sound of gunshots continued intermittently. Looks like Hollywood magic to me!

I was fairly certain that this was related to the Tom Cruise/Cameron Diaz moview Wichita that was filming in back of my office building on Monday, although my yoga teacher mentioned that a Ben Affleck movie had filmed in his neighborhood last weekend and that the producers put up signs warning residents of gunshots. He mentioned this during yoga class, as we were all bent over in Pigeon pose.

The convoy drove under the overpass and came to a halt right under my nose. I recognized Tom Cruise immediately because he wore the same clothes and reflective sunglasses that he had on Monday. He jumped on the hood of the car, then jumped off, then jumped on again, as if practicing the move. He talked to someone briefly and then looked around the road. And then, he looked up.

God strike me dead if the following paragraph isn’t the absolute truth:

Tom Cruise looked up at the overpass and saw me, two women, and a cop staring at him. Tom Cruise looked straight at me, smiled, and waved. I waved back. One of the women waved too, and yelled “Hi!”  But, I know he was looking at me. In fact, the cop even looked at me, as if wondering if I was acquainted with Tom Cruise, because why else would Tom Cruise smile and wave directly at me?

The convoy began slowly backing up on the highway, and everyone rushed to the other side of the overpass to watch. But I continued on my walk, positively glowing. Honestly, I’ve always thought Tom Cruise was kinda a jerk, but right now he’s like a God to me. That smile! Magical! Magnetic! Bewitching!

As a result of this Moment that Tom Cruise and I shared, I can affirm three truths:

  1. That Wichita looks like the dumbest movie ever but I’m seeing it anyway.
  2. That, despite the rumors, Tom Cruise is absolutely not gay.
  3. That I am worthy.

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By Meredith – October 1, 2009

The Solution to the Issue

Perhaps this has happened to you:

You’re sitting in a conference room, at your place of employment, listening to a band of co-workers discuss a looming issue that will result from the successful completion of a larger project… and you know what the solution to the issue is. Of course you know the solution, because you are the solution. It’s practically your job description.

Everyone in the room is waiting for you to raise your hand and volunteer 30 or so hours of your time to dedicate to the solution for the issue. Then, everyone will relax, the conversation will peter to a conclusion, the meeting will end, and you will return to your desk and check your stock portfolio.

But for some reason, despite being a somewhat exemplary employee who does not typically shirk from responsibility, you just don’t feel like it. You don’t want to have anything to do with this issue, and the thought of carrying out the tasks involved with the solution for this issue makes you want to go home and eat coconut oil-roasted almonds while watching streaming Netflix. That’s how you want to spend the precious time that you have been allotted on this Earth. Not by being the solution to the issue.

The innate nature of the issue requires you to take ownership of the solution, but cripes, can’t someone else do it? You sit there quietly as your co-worker volley the issue around the table, waiting for you to step up and spike the issue off of the table by volunteering to do what you are paid to do. Although several people at the meeting at higher-ranking, no one has the proper authority to task you with a project of this magnitude. Sure, they are dropping hints, glancing in your direction as they speak, repeating words that seemed honed to describe your core job responsibilities, but your name is not mentioned. Maybe it’s because they fear your reaction, maybe it’s because your boss died 3 months ago, or maybe it’s because you look aggressively evasive.

Finally, exasperation snaps you out of your silent rebellion. You say “Why don’t I…?” and then outline how you will solve the issue by doing what everyone has already agreed needs to be done. A slight sigh of relief ripples through the meeting’s attendants now that the stray action item has found its way to the proper home. Before you know it, a deadline has been set and progress checks have been established, the meeting is adjoined, and you leave the conference room, the new owner of an issue.

It’s moments like those that I wish I had pursued my dream of being a punk rock band groupie.

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By Meredith – September 30, 2009

I’m Seeing Stars! (Tom Cruise & Cameron Diaz)

Usually, the office on a Monday is a pretty dull place. But, usually, Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz aren’t there.

Yes, today we were working alongside the Tom Cruise and the Cameron Diaz, who were filming a scene for their movie Wichita in the parking lot at the rear of our building in Boston’s Fort Point neighborhood. We spent our morning watching the Hollywood magic from the windows.

scene

That's Cameron Diaz in the Yellow Dress

Specifically, for about 3 hours, we watched Cameron Diaz (dressed in a flouncy yellow dress, her blond hair long and lank) rush off an MBTA bus and take off down the sidwalk…

Cameron Dia running off an MBTA Bus

Cameron Dia running off an MBTA Bus

… followed by Tom Cruise (wearing metrosexual casual clothes, groomed, clean-cut), who is pursuing her off of the bus but not giving her chase. They repeated this over, and over, and over again, with little breaks in between during which equipment was moved and extras were shifted.

Wow. Cameron Diaz’s job is every bit as monotonous as mine.

Tom Cruise & Crew

Tom Cruise & Crew

There are much better photos on the internet of the Wichita film set (here for one), but for some reason, my crappy pictures taken from my office window feel special.

I have friends in Los Angeles and New York who chicly complain about how the presense of a film crew in their metropolis can be disruptive to their lives. But we savor these disruptions here in Boston, which is a tiny speck of a city that aspires to global importance. Of course, we’d prefer to be disrupted by stars a little less washed-up than Cruise and Diaz, but at least director James Mangold (Walk the Line, 3:10 to Yuma, Girl Interrupted) holds some promise.

IMBD has this plot summary for Wichita:

An action-comedy that begins when a small-town woman (Diaz) has a chance encounter with a mysterious man (Cruise). He is either the man of her dreams or, perhaps … her nightmares. Amid shifting allegiances and unexpected betrayals, they are swept up in a whirlwind of globe-hopping adventure and world-changing secrets.

Wow, that sounds incredibly insipid! Unfortunately, now I have to go see Wichita, just to find out how the “getting off the bus” scene turns out.

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By Meredith – September 28, 2009

Scenes from a Pennsylvanian Excursion

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The remnants of a $12 Nathan’s hotdog lunch at the Molly Pitcher rest stop along the New Jersey Turnpike. Mr. P’s highly-functional metabolism can handle an inordinate intake of vegetable-based fatty, starchy, sugary, chemically processed foodstuffs; me, I had a liter of Fiji water for lunch to keep my endocrine system solvent.

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The world’s most unabashed Best Man giving a toast that turned out to be a roast, as he revealed trivial but cringing details about the happy couple, including the stunning realization that the Bride chews tobacco.

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During the Best Man’s toast, the bridesmaids looked ready to pounce on the Best Man and rip out his windpipe to protect their beautiful Bride, who was quite literally blushing.

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The Bride’s father dancing with his new son-in-law. It was hard to tell who was leading. There was a surprising amount of same-gendered dancing considering we were in Lancaster, PA.

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On the outskirts of Lancaster, there is a tourist attraction called the Amish Farm and House. It features an Amish home built in 1805 (shown above), a 15-acre farm that showcases Amish agricultural practices, an authentic Amish school house, and a cadre of antique Amish artifacts. It’s also now located IN TARGET’S PARKING LOT.

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Mr. P is about to discover the sticky sweet delights of genuine Pennsylvania Dutch shoo-fly pie at Dutch Haven. His pronouncement: “It’s better than I thought it would be.”

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Tucked in an obscure corner of Valley Forge National Park called Walnut Hill is a grand sycamore tree with sprawling limbs that have sank into the ground only to reemerge into sweeping arcs that are sturdy enough to support at least two men:

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By Meredith – September 27, 2009

Ted Kennedy’s Empty Seat and Stuff

Last  week at the hair salon, I was sitting in a chair and reading a magazine while I waited for my blondness to burgeon, and I couldn’t help eavesdropping on the youngish woman next to me banter with her hairdresser as her long brown hair was being installed with foil highlights. “Couldn’t help eavesdropping.” In fact, if my ears weren’t surrounded by caustic hair dye, I would have covered them with my hands to prevent eavesdropping on her various insipid serendipitous realizations that the world, in fact, revolves around her.

Foil highlights take a long time, and her small talk began to run dry. Then, “Isn’t all that Ted Kennedy stuff so sad?”

“What Ted Kennedy stuff?” the hairdresser asked.

“You know, about how he died?”

Yes, all that “stuff” about Ted Kennedy dying last month was so sad, but Massachusetts is moving on. Yesterday the State Senate approved a law that allows Governor Deval Patrick to appoint an interim successor to Kennedy’s Senate seat, a measure which may have some affect on national health care reform given the Democrat’s razor-thin two-thirds majority. Ironically, this law had been active up until John Kerry’s unfortunate Presidential bid, when Massachusetts began having nightmares about then-Governor Mitt the Mormon appointing some whacknut Republican to fill Kerry’s Senate seat, so a law was passed that unfilled Senate seats should remain empty until the special election. Perhaps we should feel more sheepish about passing blatantly partisan laws, but come on. Like we’re going to disregard Ted Kennedy’s dying wish. That’s how plagues start!

So, freed of that little snag, the real question is: Who is going to win the special election for Kennedy’s Senate seat in January? As of today, no Kennedys have thrown their gold-plated names into the hat, leaving the Democrats with the typical menu of options: Entrenched Massachusetts pols (Attorney General Martha Coakley, Congressmen Michael Capuano and Stephen Lynch), business moguls (Boston Celtics owner Stephen Pagliuca), and liberal fringe long-shots who everybody would like to see in the Senate but, for some reason, nobody ever votes for (City Year co-founder Alan Khazei).

For a brief, scary time period, it seemed possible that former Red Sox pitcher Curt Shilling might run on the Republican ticket. Really. Stop laughing, I’m serious.

By virtue of Shilling’s ability to throw a tiny ball really fast, with a high degree of accuracy, and while suffering a ruptured ankle tendon, Shilling had been encouraged to run for the US Senate by a number of Republicans for whom he has campaigned, included Senator John McCain (if McCain’s vision of Sarah Palin as Vice President didn’t testify to the man’s senility, surely this?) And Shilling seemed to be toying with the idea, perhaps intoxicated by the prospect of sauntering into the Senate, his three World Series rings sparkling in the dimly lit chamber, his wife Shonda firmly at his side… but ultimately even Shilling found the notion re-freaking-diculous. “It just did not make sense,” he admitted as he bowed out yesterday on an HBO talk show (here).

So right now, the smart money is on Martha Coakley. Of course, if Joe Kennedy decides to run, even the dumb money is on Joe.

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By Meredith – September 23, 2009

Modern-day Vagabonds

Thanks to the Governor of South Carolina, whenever I hear that someone is “hiking the Appalachian Trial,” I wonder if it’s a snarky euphemism for flying to South America to have an extramarital affair. “He’s having a mid-life crisis, and he wanted some adventure, and he needed an ego boast, so he decided to hike the Appalachian Trail.” It works on both levels.

According to the Wall Street Journal, the unemployment rate has spurred 100s of more people to hike the Appalachian Trail this year (here). And when I say “hike the Appalachian Trail,” I mean, um, hike the actual Appalachian Trail. The WSJ speculates that the rise is due to all of the disemployed bohemians who are too lazy to find a job, but not too lazy to hike 2,200 miles.

The WSJ article says that AT hikers budget $1/mile, although the AMC says $1.50/mile, and I’ve certainly heard of hikers spending more than $10,000 on their gear, food, the occasional hotel room, and travel expenses. Still, all in all, it’s probably cheaper to hike the Appalachian Trail than carry on an extramarital affair with a woman in South America (i.e., “hiking the Appalachian Trail.”) Because divorce can get expensive.

To finance their trek, some hikers venture off of the AT to do odd jobs and farm work for a few extra bucks. I’m sure the Wall Street Journal‘s readers were outraged to read about these hippies receiving under-the-table pay. All that tax revenue, lost to these evading long hairs. And they’re going to raise the capital gains tax to 20%!

As Jon Stewart would say, here is your moment of Zen:

“We thought there was a correlation between people who would hike the 2,200 miles and an incredible work ethic,” says the 40-year-old entrepreneur, a former Wall Street trader who, besides farming, also operates an asset-management firm. “Turns out those people tend to be athletic hippies, just looking to have fun forever.”

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By Meredith – September 21, 2009