Portland Magazine

“You got me, right?”  Imagine, at this moment, my right thigh has decided to shake and shiver uncontrollably. I should mention that I’m not afraid of heights.

“Dan?”

“Yeah.”

“You still got me, right?”

“Yup.”

I keep moving, slowly, reaching and stepping higher with encouragement. It’s not that I don’t trust Dan; it’s that my fear of falling to a bloody death was overshadowing all other emotions at this time.

I live with three boys, two of which happen to be avid rock climbers. A few weekends ago I was invited to join them on a trip to Rumney, New Hampshire, which is one of the best spots in the East to climb. I love being outside, camping and backpacking is all I do over the summer, but this was my first experience outdoor climbing. And over the years of all the climbing movies and stories about “sick heel hooks” or “mad overhangs,” I figured I got a bit of a heads up on the whole climbing thing. If you’ve ever lived or been around rock climbers before, you know that any surface – an indent in the wall, a door ledge, or even an uneven siding – can be a “perfect crimp.” I was curious as to what it is about climbing that has my friends spending hours on the wall at the gym and planning vacations around great climbing spots.

“This is kind of scary.” I am, at this point, full body against the rock, which is a hair past 90 degrees. After chalking my hands (chalk helps grip), I try to rest a bit before the next move. My feet are standing on a few inches of rock. (“The trick is to trust your feet,” says Dan.) Well, it can be hard to trust the rubber on your sole when only the tips are not in the air.

“Want to lean back and see how it feels?” I’m still holding on. “Let go completely, I got you.”

“Yeah? For sure? Ok…” I relaxed, trusting Dan and letting my full weight sit in the harness–I stay in this position, hovering for a few minutes. After realizing Dan wasn’t going to let me anywhere near the ground, I felt exhilarated.

“Maya, you totally got this.”

“This is so much fun!” I was hooked when I saw the beauty of it—the rock that was full of unseen nooks and features, and the view of the forest in the distance just starting to yellow and orange. “Ok, one last try. I’m just going to go for it.”

My hands ran along every edge, every crock and ledge that was organically formed, desperately feeling for a little something to hold. My fingertips begin to throb and my forearm started feeling funny (climbers call it “pumped”); it’s hard to grip anything at this point.

“Ok, you got this!”

“You got me, right?”

I took a breath, traced the moves I was about to make in my mind, and told myself to stop worrying about falling. I reached, trusting Dan, the rope, a few carabiners, and my harness to save me. It was thrilling. My hands slipped off, my feet gave way from under me, and I hung suspended in the air. So, I leaned back and enjoyed the view as I came down.

I’ve been thinking about getting out and climbing ever since. I’ve heard Shagg Crag (Western Maine, out near Rumford and Bethal) is a great spot. There is also the Maine Rock Gym on Marginal Way, which I plan on visiting as soon as I have some time and money to spend. Climbing is a great sport for anyone who wants a little adventure and thrill, and it’s great to go with friends…especially ones you know will catch you.

– Maya Ranganathan

I was walking back from therapy at Material Objects when I saw a man-child running down Brackett Street with a ten-foot, metal “No Parking” sign (think Roman spearman), chasing another guy who could not keep his pants up. My first reaction was: wow, impressive—fascinating urban weaponry. How does one pull a “No Parking” sign out of the ground?? With fury!

Mostly, I was wondering what the f¢@& was going on. I love Pine-and-Brackett-streets drama: the drug deals, the confused yuppies caught in Reiche student crossfire, the D.U.I. arrest I heard the other night.

The kids fighting had gathered a rather large crowd. Just when I thought drama had reached its zenith, an emo-kid came out of the bushes—literally—with a keyboard. He sat down in the middle of the parking lot and began PLAYING THE PIANO.  His fingers fluttered away on the keyboard, while his painful tune filled the streets, adding serious depth (eh) to the fight scene.

My very own West End musical.

–Betsy Schluge

This past Tuesday, I had my first post-college class: the first in a
series of six called “Dreamwork: An Introduction,” offered by the
University of Southern Maine’s Center for Continuing Education. The
official description summarizes what the course is all about better
than I can, so I quote the relevant parts of it below:

“This course introduces you to different approaches to dream work, and
while we consider the ideas of Jung and Freud, our main work is
hands-on and practical. Each session involves the introduction of
techniques and then working as a group to grasp a dream that the
instructor presents… You will learn techniques for considering your
own dreams and initial steps to approach the dreams of others.”

Sounds intriguing, eh?

Some people don’t recall their dreams; others take little interest in
thinking or talking about them; but, at least anecdotally, I’ve found
that a good majority of people are quite curious about dreams and
dreaming. I’ll be sure to keep the blog updated if the class
precipitates any cool revelations.

(As a side-note, I had a dream the other night in which I found
myself, inexplicably, comparing the size of my right biceps muscle to
that of Sylvester Stallone. We’ll see what the instructor and the rest
of the class make of this one!)

The Center for Continuing Education (CCE) offers a bunch of courses
across three disciplines: Health and Human Services, Nonprofit
Management, and Business and Management. Course offerings range from
one-time courses in, for example, “Buddhist Psychology and its
Application to Counseling” to multi-day seminars in such areas as
grant writing or non-profit management. What I respect most about the
CCE is its democratic spirit; anyone who can pay the (very reasonable)
course fee can take whatever course they please. What motivates people
is a passion for on-going, lifelong learning in a structured classroom
environment.

It’s not that I intend to make this a sales-pitch for the USM Center
for Continuing Education…but I think its plethora of interesting
offerings warrants some blogosphere attention. It is just one of many
traits that make Portland such a vibrant culture.

–Collin “Biermeister” York

Today, I went to my favorite store in Portland to grab a sandwich.  The owner was in an argument with a cowering man who had stolen a bottle of wine.  In an attempt to redeem himself, the thief was returning it a day after.  Also, the thief was an employee (obviously, being fired on the spot)!  The owner screamed profanity, calling him out on his theft, pointedly saying ‘I’ll pay you back every penny I owe you just like I always have, and, by the way, you’re an asshole!’  The guy left with his head down, a red ball cap covering greasy black hair, pleading in apology.  A white haired customer said ‘Well, handled!’  The owner said he believes in ‘public shaming.’   It was intense and I left with mixed feelings.  How do we come to terms with this reality of theft and know the right way to deal with it?

–Adam Chittenden

For the past week, I have been on a strict egg diet, prepared in fun and exciting new ways: scrambled, and hard-boiled, scrambled, and hard-boiled. Until today….at work…. Thank you Associate Publisher Jesse! Because of your hard-work and dedication to Portland Magazine over the past 10 years, meat-deprived and impoverished interns like myself got to enjoy a feast of deliciousness.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate meat,” I whispered to Adam, a fellow intern. “Me either,” he whispered back, “Eat while we can.” We sat quietly on the couch, in a complete and utter food-trance.

The silence is broken by a tremendous hiccup on my behalf. I couldn’t control the rudeness of my hiccups, so I had to remove myself from the social scene.

Next, came the big, fat food-baby. I look around, and everyone’s got it. Itty-bitty Assistant Pub Karen is clutching her food-baby. Ad Director Anna declares, “This baby better come out within the next two weeks.” In time for her wedding, of course. Ad Exec Lexi chimes in, “It’s twins.” It’s a series of groans in the office for the next half-hour or so, and I have to take my belt off. A peek into the fabulous life of a publication company.

–Betsy Schluge

I know, I know. I’m the out-of-towner that needs to get with the program. Butter, much like bacon, makes everything better.

Now, I like lobster as much as the next person. But I have never in my life had it served up the way I did at a family friend’s home in Westbrook this weekend.

Picture the clueless California girl, sitting in a real Mainer’s home … very excited about having lobster somewhere NOT in a restaurant.

Now, in California … they serve us the tail with a little ramekin of butter for dipping. We think we’re being classy and cool when we order lobster tail.

Imagine my surprise when I’m handed a huge bowl of melted butter. My eyes swell and I’m immediately thinking that the lobster I’m going to eat has got to be a mutant.

Oh, little California girl … you’re so out of the loop. You don’t DIP the lobster meat in the bowl of butter … you dump it all in. ALL of it. And you spoon lobster meat with excess butter on ciabatta bread. And you enjoy. And come to the realization that paradise does in fact exist, and if you died tomorrow? You would die blissfully happy. Now, I’m pretty sure that I still have butter in my pores, but that’s alright.

Holy fried potatoes: State of Maine? You are absolutely my new best friend.

I don’t know if there’s an official name for this particular way of serving lobster: but I really don’t think I can eat lobster the same way. The rest of the United States? Keep your ramekins and measly portions of butter … give me the giant bowl of butter with the toasted ciabatta bread!

–Taryn “Diego” Crane

If you’re lucky enough to not be sitting upstairs (in what I like to lovingly refer to the Harry Potter Cupboard over the Stairs/Computer Graveyard), you can tune in to the RANDOM things that get said between departments.

For example, Alison from accounting was showing me a photo of the morning glory that started blooming.

Fellow intern Josh pipes up: “Did you know that if you consume morning glory, it makes you hallucinate?”

Alison: “My chipmunks are eating it … does that mean I have hallucinating chipmunks?”

And then of course, I was helping the Design Director look for art for an upcoming issue, and my response was: “OH EM GEE! She’s hot!”

And I think, the assistant editor Karen was more shocked that I used chatspeak “OMG” in an actual conversation … started rhyming “OMG and B.O.B. and she’s super HA-PPPYYYY!”

I think this is what happens when you consume nothing but coffee and potato chips for 3 days. In college: it’s jet fuel. But in real world, caffeine and empty carbs does things to your brain.

–Taryn “Diego” Crane

On the East End in Portland, I met with a landlord who had been in real estate for 32 years. He claimed to have a deep knowledge of historic buildings in and around Portland.  The one I was seeing had ornate heaters and detailed woodwork.  It was gorgeous in the classical sense.  One design feature stuck out at me and I asked him, “Why are there two doors right next to each other going into the apartment from the hallway?” Inside, I observed one door in the living room, and on the other side of a small wall, the other door in the dining room.  He said, “Not to be ghoulish but they used to talk to the dead in the living room.”  I said, “What do you mean…” He said, “Well, the open coffin would be here in the living room. The folks would walk in the living room door, give respect to the deceased, and go to the dining room to speak with the family and then exit the door in the dining room.  The builders designed it for this occasion.  As I said, I know a lot about these buildings.  I’ve been doing this for a long time.” I thought it was very interesting.  And then he said, “It’s not haunted or anything like that!”

–Adam Chittenden

Is it just me or did Lady Gaga coming to Portland to protest don’t ask don’t tell just seem to appear suddenly out of the ether?  I mean, it was like at some point on Sunday afternoon everyone, in Maine, in unison, made a status update on their preferred social networking site that the good lady would be in town.  Fine.

Now, love her or hate her, there’s no denying that Lady Gaga is a spectacle worth seeing.  During a busy day of classes I could do little more than drive by but spectacle it was.  The crowd gathered was diverse, including some suits, some spikes, and some simple jeans and tees.   Gaga herself was uncharacteristically moderate in her appearance.  She wore a simple suit (Made of cloth.  And yes we do need to specify these days.) and giant glasses.  With Gaga not competing, the winner for outlandish outfit has to go to the man wearing only construction tape.  He wasn’t the kind of overweight creepy guy one would expect to show up to a rally wearing nothing but strips of plastic but rather a well built and moderately attractive man – ya know, for the ladies who are into that kind of thing.  I would say guys too but in the interest of national security I’d better not.

As we now know, senators Snowe and Collins both voted against this repeal of don’t ask don’t tell.  Thanks, Senators.  Maine has once again blocked gay rights.  We are so not allowed to sit at the cool table with the rest of the New England States.

–Joshua Lobkowicz

This week, I got to go to my first GreenDrinks gathering. Portland, Maine has SO much to offer, and I can’t seem to stop talking about it. Maybe it’s because I just moved here, and I’m a 20-something foodie in culinary paradise. Or maybe, after living in Missoula, Montana and Chicago, Illinois—two polar opposite cities in every single aspect—I think I have found the perfect combination of scale and civilization. One day I’m climbing Tumbledown Mountain, and the next I’m at Bayside Bowl joining hundreds of other young and “seasoned” professionals for September GreenDrinks. GreenDrinks is a cool and ingenious idea. Bring your own cup and get in for only $2. Don’t B.Y.O.C and get in for $5 (being a GreenDrinks virgin myself, I stood out like an eco-hater holding my plastic Solo cup). $2-$5 is your ticket to sample local brews, wines, and meads and mingle with Portland from 5:30-8pm. It is a great opportunity to meet and network with people, especially if you’re new in town. And if you’re searching for a conversation starter or feeling like the new kid, remind yourself that you are a part of the common denominator: you love the environment, right? Just try not to end up solo with your Solo 🙂 Dorky, I know.

–Betsy Schluge