You may have seen an article in The Hartford Courant detailing the behavior of a bunch of teenage turds from Canton. Here’s the gist:
Kids from Canton chanted “Trump! Trump!”(and even made signs) during a basketball game at their opponents from Classical Magnet School.
I’m not sure I can think of a lamer, less creative chant to use on your opponents, but hey, what can you expect from Trump fans?
One might rush to associate this kind of incident with the sentient cheese doodle we elected President and the outburst of racist a-holery that has swept the country since then. You’d be partially, kinda, sorta wrong, though. (more…)
Westport’s Diversity Council had the seemingly progressive idea to hold an essay contest on the subject of “White Privilege”…and were surprised to find themselves facing backlash. Now, I don’t know what’s surprising about the push back because, if anything, the past couple of years have taught us that people who believe they are basically good don’t like the implication that they might not be perfect. Especially “good white people” which I’m sure Westport is full of…because the law of averages says that when there are that many white people in one place, many of them have to be good humans. (more…)
Okay, so technically it wasn’t a march, it was more of a rally. Nonetheless, it was impressive. After spending The Farmer’s birthday ignoring anything else that might have happened on that day–and reminding those that joined us around the bonfire that they were not allowed to talk of such things–we suited up for a protest. For me, that meant choosing between t-shirts and then strapping on my hiking boots.
Many years ago I was rushing from a friend’s Hartford apartment to the car on a cold winter night. I tripped a little, and assumed I’d hit a bump in the sidewalk with the toe of my shoe. But my friend, who was walking behind me, yelled, “Oh my God. A rat!” Yes, dear readers, a rat had run between my feet as I was jogging to the car, and I’d unwittingly kicked the little guy. At this point I screeched, broke out into a full out run, and started scratching at the car door! I had to get out of there, and go home and shower for hours.
Then I spent years in New York City where rats are like furtive little squirrels. You see them hanging out on the train tracks, and they scare the bejesus out of you when you’re sitting in the park and you see one scurry into a tree grate out of the corner of your eye. This is all to say, I thought I was used to rats.
This summer proved me wrong. I was digging around in a friend’s West End basement looking for painting supplies. Just as she finished saying the words, “My neighbor says there’s been a rat down here…” we heard the tell tale squeak of a frightened rat. I turned on a dime and sprang up the basement stairs, and then up another flight of stairs to her apartment. Somewhere in there I hit my hand on something and scratched it all to hell. It’s a miracle I’m not dead. (more…)
By virtue of some sort of miracle–or serious mistake that will cost someone their job–we managed to get press passes to the event of the season: The Gilmore Girls Fan Fest. While we were absolutely sure this festival was a work of literal genius, we didn’t know what to expect–especially when the notorious New England weather went from sunny and 80 degrees to rainy and cold, just in time for the festival. Nonetheless, the AP and I dragged ourselves out of bed early on Saturday morning, loaded into one of our beloved Subarus, and headed out to Washington Depot.
It took us a while to figure out the lay of the land, find “the old town garage”–otherwise known as a dirt lot–where we were supposed to park, and the press check-in area. But once we got our wits about us, we were off to the races. Most of the action was located in the town’s small center, where the sweet little Hickory Stick bookshop, Marty’s Cafe, Newbury Place, and the Washington Food Market account for most of the action. But on this particular day, there were local merchants handing out hot cider, food trucks, and big white tents housing screenings, animal adoption events, and knit-a-thons (which will make sense to Gilmore fans). (more…)
I’m not sure what the height of stupidity is. Donald Trump will figure it out soon. But I’m pretty sure what I did this morning ranks pretty high (or is it low?) on the Scale of Dumb Shit. And I did it all for the Gilmore Girls.
If you’re on social media, you probably heard that Netflix–in all of its sheer marketing genius–decided to celebrate the “anniversary” of Gilmore Girls by turning coffee shops across America into Luke’s Diner on October 5. And if you showed up early, you got free coffee! (more…)
Last Thursday something popped up in my Facebook feed: Kurt Metzger was going to be at the Hartford Funny Bone (which is actually the Manchester Funny Bone) over Labor Day weekend. I sent The Farmer a text telling him that I was buying tickets, because I didn’t want to wait for his opinion on the matter and risk the shows selling out. (more…)