Parched

For a hot sec. yesterday, I went to Rockport, MA for a healthy dose of ocean air. It's a picturesque town, to be sure, and like most tourist towns it has an array of candy/fudge/cupcake shops, sweatshirt stores, and art galleries that are situated on seagull-infested stoney bluffs that overlook the sea, which is all very good. But nice as it is, there is no way I'd be able to stay in Rockport for any space of time longer than 48 hours, or want to stay there for any more than five. Why? Because it's a dry town.

If ever there was a setting for a sticky, cozy bar with an ocean view and good beer, it would be Rockport. The fact that it's lacking in such amenities seems like an incredible tragedy.

Brent told me that Rockport is dry because, once upon a time the fishermens' wives got upset with their husbands always being drunk, so they took blunt objects and broke every bottle, cask and barrel of alcohol in the town. As we all know, women can be very scary when they want to be (though usually they are soft and kind and smell exclusively of roses). In this particular instance, the men of the town were too afraid to reintroduce alcohol to the locale and now it's banned by law (though I'm sure you can bring it in from, uh, wet towns and enjoy libations inside one's own dwelling). I don't know how true this story is- but it sounds about right.

Until this law changes, I will not go back to Rockport. Unless, of course, I really want some fudge and shellfish jewelry.