Leaks, LePage, and Leftovers

“There is NOTHING to eat in here,” I often grumble, even after dutifully sealing a plate of leftovers in a Tupperware container the night before, only for it to sneak behind a bag of celery, lost forever.

When I open the refrigerator, I always expect whatever I’m looking for to position itself front and center. The idea of moving stuff aside to see what might be hiding under or behind that milk carton simply does not penetrate the tiny cluster of nerve cells I call a brain.

As most students of human behavior know, if I really wanted to find something to eat in the refrigerator, I probably could. Deep down inside, I would rather order pizza, or visualize a plate of nachos and meat loaf so it might magically materialize in front of me.

Our political system, in many ways, is like my refrigerator: there’s a lot of stuff in there we’d like to see, but not badly enough to actually look. So we ignore it until it starts to smell.

We can thank WikiLeaks.org, the group responsible for publishing 90,000 classified military documents about the War in Afghanistan, for reminding us that we really should do something about the string bean casserole from last Thanksgiving that still lurks way in back, behind the milk carton.

The documents reveal atrocities galore, but nothing new or surprising. Still, they have value because we live in a society in which it is easy to forget about the realities of war (unless you have a son or a brother or a cousin serving in the military).

Afghanistan has been a problem since the Russians invaded in the ‘80s. Remember that? No? Oh, right – you were ordering pizza. Well, if you think the U.S. just stood on the sidelines and crossed our fingers, hoping the Mujahideen guerrillas would defeat the Soviets without help, I have some yummy green bean casserole I’d like to sell you.

We say we want transparency in government, but when it comes down to it, we’d actually rather not know what’s really going on.

Take the race for governor. Republican Paul LePage recently accused a Democratic party official of inciting talk that LePage would not make a good governor because he is French Catholic.

You have to feel for LePage, because he seems to understand politics about as well as I understand microbiology. Racist comments by bloggers were not a story until he called out the Dem’s. His reaction makes it look like he can’t take the heat.

The best strategy would have been to ignore the fringe racists. If a reporter asks you about it, say, “It’s unfortunate that some people have to resort to ignorant tactics, but that’s politics.”

Instead, LePage attacked the Democrats, and when the media reported his attack, LePage responded by saying he would not longer talk to reporters.

Oy. Welcome to big boy politics, Paul.

We can conclude that if LePage somehow wins, he will pilot the government machinery like a Glaucoma victim at the helm of the Hindenburg. He will get nothing done.

Baldacci, a master politician, got things done. They may have been terrible things, but at least they got done.

Why? If someone insulted Baldacci’s Italian heritage, it’s hard to imagine him saying, “I know just the scumball who’s behind it. His name is So-And-So, and we’ll make sure he sleeps with the fishes tonight.”

LePage’s mistake was impulsively trying to uncover something (fringe nutjob mudslinging) the general public would rather ignore.

He opened that six-week-old leftover tuna salad, and how he has to live with the stink.

And so do we.

Boston on $10 a Minute

There are plenty of good reasons to plan a weekend getaway to Boston. Maybe you want to check to see if you act nervous around people who aren’t white.

Or perhaps you’re a history buff, and you get your jollies from walking past a monument that says:

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, ON THIS VERY SPOT, REGURGITATED A BAKED COD DINNER, OCTOBER 9, 1768.

Whatever the cause for your trip, the first step is to find a hotel. Generally, visitors to Boston have two lodging options:

1) A moderately-priced hotel with basic amenities like continental breakfast, fitness center, and free Internet, or

2) a hotel that is actually located somewhere in Massachusetts.

We managed a compromise – The Midtown Hotel, located right in the heart of Back Bay, near Fenway Park. The Midtown features, in its hotels.com profile, an impressive array of amenities like “private bathrooms,” “windows that open.”

But it was also the only option within our budget that did not also offer complimentary mugging.

Once you’ve booked your hotel, you actually have to drive to Boston. From our house, it’s about four hours, which gives us an excuse to stop and use one of those swanky new turnpike service areas, which offer a variety of healthy and energizing foods to lift the spirits of weary, sedentary travelers.

Just kidding. They have fast food and greasy pizza.

But the restrooms feature “Waterless Urinals,” a revolutionary technology that boldly suggests that you don’t necessarily need two gallons of water to get rid of ½ cup of urine.

Once you arrive in Boston, start randomly swerving and cutting off other drivers until you get to your hotel. Leave your car there and take The T, the local subway system, to all your various destinations.

For the privilege of one ride, you have to pay $1.75. You can get a “Charlie Card” from a helpful touch-screen kiosk. This allows you quick, electronic access to the turnstiles until you are broke.

Interesting note: The name “Charlie Card” comes from a 1948 folk song about a man who gets stuck on The T forever because of the ridiculous fare structure.

Despite the irony, you can’t go wrong with a name like “Charlie.” How many unlikeable people named “Charlie” have you heard of? Aside from the entire North Vietnamese army, I mean.

Anyway, once you’re underground riding the train, observe the rules of urban public transportation, which, coincidentally, are exactly the same as the rules for Interstate Public Restroom Urinal Use: Don’t make eye contact, don’t speak, don’t be seen studying the map, and don’t freak out just because some sketchy dude with a serpent tattoo on his face is standing right next to you, talking to himself about how much longer it will take before he can get off.

To pass the time on The T, think of places where you would like to emerge above ground. I personally recommend the Museum of Science, where you can pay exorbitant admission to watch your kids play on the escalator for two hours.

You gotta love Quincy Market, where people with a lot of spare time watch talented street performers, and several actually give them money.

Sort of like Portland, only they’re not prostitutes.

Once inside, you can accidentally spend the $20 bill you were saving for that hour of parking and get a turnpike service plaza meal served in a Styrofoam box.

On second thought, you should probably just stay home.