State of Bliss: A Shout-Out to Maine

I recently returned from a well-timed trip to Maine. "Well-timed" because New York City in the summertime isn't always the best place to be when you're…sensitive, like I am. This is the time of year when I have to contend with hordes of smelly foreign tourists who stop dead in their tracks on the sidewalk in front of such exotic wonders as the Hershey's Store and the Olive Garden. (Please tell me why you would come to New York City, a food mecca, and go to the Olive Garden. Think outside the factory-frozen box, people!) I really enjoy walking around the city, but because of the crowds here during the warm months, I always run the risk of losing it and saying or doing something that could get me into trouble. So there was no better time like the present (last week, to be exact) to get the H-E-double-L out of here and escape to a cooler clime with more outdoor square footage per capita. Maine.

Immediately upon exiting the plane door did I realize what a fine decision I'd made. The air was crisp and moist and smelled of pine. So much more preferable to the foul, stagnant odor of piss and hot dogs. As the week progressed, I realized how different I felt: I was calm, happy…and nice! I had no desire to broadcast any social rules because I did not need to; people there were kind and humane and respectful of one another's space. I did not come across one nasty person. I did not get bumped into or stepped on. There were no intrusive cell-phone conversations. Maybe this is just how it is when you have easy access to ocean, forest, and mountains.

One of the biggest delights of all, however, was that the entire time there (about a week), I did not encounter one dirty public toilet. Not one. From the airport to the national park to restaurants and back to the airport again, not once did I have to wipe up someone else's pee, shoo away a stranger's errant pubes, or tip-toe around puddles in front of the toilet bowl. Good people of Maine, I have to ask: Did all of your mamas just raise you right, or does there exist a little army of bathroom elves who are on the job 24-7?

The only breach of etiquette observed during my week away was committed by an Asian tourist in a lobster pound. He was an old man but had a voracious appetite. That vacuum guy Charles Dyson might have learned a thing or two about suction by watching this man practically make out with his lobster (I'm pretty sure I saw tongue). After this man had orally removed every conceivable piece of nutrition that the crustacean had to offer, he proceeded to let rip the longest, loudest, wettest-sounding fart in the history of the world. And his family had no reaction to this -- they just kept right on eating as if nothing had happened. Note to self: Do not travel to Asia.