Have you seen the Red Lobster commercial with a lobsterwoman from Spruce Head and two lighthouses? Roseledge Books Regular Steve is sure the first is Marshall Point lighthouse, five miles down the peninsula from RB. I was also sure until I saw it one too many times while knitting during reruns of “The Closer.“ Now I think they may have fiddled with the picture because there should be no cottages or land to the left. Charlie says I’m not picturing it from the air. Humpf, I say. Clearly this deserves several trips to the lighthouse next summer for on-site inspections, arguments and glasses of wine. I can hardly wait. Meanwhile I am posting two of Charlie’s pictures of Marshall Point, mostly because I just like them.
TV's Marshall Point is more from right where there is no land to the left.
And is the second lighthouse Pemaquid? Think Edward Hopper, but I‘m not at all sure. And a RB person who moved to Hawaii (hiss) asks, “What’s with the woman hauling red lobsters from the ocean?” Shrewd eyes do not fade, even when they are entirely too far away.
Lots in the news these days about what is factual, true, real, fiddled, created, imagined, retold, remembered, falsified, or subject to every other convolution that happens in the game of telephone, the stories of the Irish, or the findings of data hounds. The review of John D’Agata’s ’s book, The Lifespan of a Fact may be all you need to read of a long discourse on this matter, which is good because it won’t be out in paper yet this summer. And Mike Daisey’s comments about Steve Jobs and Apple in China are mostly useful for the conversation about what journalism is or is not.
Charlie's Marshall Point. I love it, but what is it -- art, truth, terrific?
Personally, I take things with a grain of salt and figure the point being made falls somewhere between documented and speculative. Thus it is I’ve never fretted about fiction/non-fiction distinctions or paid much attention to authority, except maybe to question it or figure out how to change it. And I never consider an argument settled.
So it was that my mostly Scandinavian neighbors and I got together last week on St. Patrick’s Day to argue one more time about whether the Irish or the Vikings got here first. As always, I argued for the Irish and thought I won. The Irish coffee was maybe not as good as usual with Redi-Whip instead of real whipped cream, but then as the Dane among us pointed out, none of us is as good as we once were. More seasoned, though.
And always happy to hear about new evidence to support the Irish-first hypothesis. Mention in Icelandic mysteries, Greenland travels or arctic explorations, maybe?