People think that all of us Mainers are lumberjacks and lobsterman; we eat clam chowder for breakfast and pepper our sentences with "wicked"; we call moose, dress in shiny yellow sou'westers, bury our cats in pet semataries; all of us wear Bean Boots; trade dry one liners about not getting from there to here down at the variety store; live in quaint little cottages by the sea with views of pointed firs and Mount Cadillac rising in the distance; have a weird fetish for moderate Republican female senators; drink maple syrup straight from the tree; spend our Sundays locked in life and death curling matches; talk like a bad actors doing a bad version of a Down East accent; ayuh.

Having said that, here I am curling.