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Jan. 13th, 2006 12:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oakenguyMy mom and dad send me my hometown paper, the Norway-South Paris Advertiser-Democrat. Not to get all Lake Wobegon, but...okay, here's an example.
I'm looking at the front page. Let me emphasize: THE FRONT PAGE. Below the article headlined Dogs can still bark in Sumner and to the left of Blind musher featured at weekend dog sledding fair (*not* held in Sumner), is Canned Skunk. It's important enough to have one of the only two pictures on the page, a photo of a woman holding an empty tin can. Because this is America and we like to have things spelled out, the photo caption reads A SKUNK'S HEAD WAS STUCK IN HERE.
Really, what more is there to say?
Fifteen paragraphs worth, actually. The woman, on her way to work, saw a skunk wandering back and forth. She says "I thought it was odd because it was daylight." (Thus implying that she wades through skunks up to her neck after sunset.) When she got closer, she could see the skunk had a can on its head.
I quote again: The skunk walked up to her and bumped into her - but it did not spray.
(Note to self--never, EVER have this woman on my dodgeball team.)
"I figured at that point it would have sprayed me if I was going to get sprayed," the woman said. (See previous note re: complete ineptitude at dodging.) So she picked up the skunk and the can, wiggled his head loose, and watched him wander off docilely into the brush.
That's my hometown.
Just to contrast this: the other day I was driving down Comm Ave in Allston, heading for the store. It was midday, there was moderate traffic; when I stopped at a red light I was about three cars back. Three lane street. There were three SUVs in front of me, in front of and on each side of this blue Camry, but did I think anything of it? Of course not. Not until all the SUV doors opened at the same time, and about eight large men holding badges and walkie-talkies swarmed over the blue car yelling "Hands up where we can see them! UP!" As I watched, two very surprised-looking Hispanic men were patted down and cuffed while the car started to be searched; then the light changed and, not knowing what else to do, we all slowly and carefully drove past this little knot of turmoil.
I haven't found a word about this in either of the Boston daily papers.
I'm looking at the front page. Let me emphasize: THE FRONT PAGE. Below the article headlined Dogs can still bark in Sumner and to the left of Blind musher featured at weekend dog sledding fair (*not* held in Sumner), is Canned Skunk. It's important enough to have one of the only two pictures on the page, a photo of a woman holding an empty tin can. Because this is America and we like to have things spelled out, the photo caption reads A SKUNK'S HEAD WAS STUCK IN HERE.
Really, what more is there to say?
Fifteen paragraphs worth, actually. The woman, on her way to work, saw a skunk wandering back and forth. She says "I thought it was odd because it was daylight." (Thus implying that she wades through skunks up to her neck after sunset.) When she got closer, she could see the skunk had a can on its head.
I quote again: The skunk walked up to her and bumped into her - but it did not spray.
(Note to self--never, EVER have this woman on my dodgeball team.)
"I figured at that point it would have sprayed me if I was going to get sprayed," the woman said. (See previous note re: complete ineptitude at dodging.) So she picked up the skunk and the can, wiggled his head loose, and watched him wander off docilely into the brush.
That's my hometown.
Just to contrast this: the other day I was driving down Comm Ave in Allston, heading for the store. It was midday, there was moderate traffic; when I stopped at a red light I was about three cars back. Three lane street. There were three SUVs in front of me, in front of and on each side of this blue Camry, but did I think anything of it? Of course not. Not until all the SUV doors opened at the same time, and about eight large men holding badges and walkie-talkies swarmed over the blue car yelling "Hands up where we can see them! UP!" As I watched, two very surprised-looking Hispanic men were patted down and cuffed while the car started to be searched; then the light changed and, not knowing what else to do, we all slowly and carefully drove past this little knot of turmoil.
I haven't found a word about this in either of the Boston daily papers.
