Author: Jim Dowd

So, here is the deal. We have nice things. Way nicer than we should have, actually. For a town of 30K people with a pretty high poverty line we got all kinds of crazy-ass awesome stuff. Think about it, or go back and read this feature for the past six months.

We got art. We got drama and music. We got technology programs for kids. And we have The Backyard Growers, a Gloucester-created organization that helps people and schools grow their own food. Look, you know this is awesome, you’ve heard about it, but I just want to remind you they REGULARLY hear from kids that didn’t know carrots came from the ground. That’s worth your support right there.

Someone buried these things in here I guess…

But you’re tapped. You have donation fatigue. I get it. 

So fuck it, let’s let the Saudis pay for it.

We could skip the Russia thing and just fund them directly through this link, Highness. No? Ok, as you will.

You know how gas has fallen in price over the past six months because the House of Fauhd, the rulers of Saudi Arabia, are trying to bitch slap the Russians over natural gas shipments to China? Yeah, well they are. And because of it we’re saving like 20 bucks every time we fill up our tanks.

So, here’s how this works. You fill up your car. You look and see that it’s about half what you usually pay. Say to yourself, “I am going to donate the difference to Backyard Growers.” You can do this on as many tanks as you want- two or three or just one. But the deal is this:

Now the Saudi Arabians are funding Americans growing of their own healthy food and teaching their kids about small-scale agriculture. Does this piss them off? Of course it does because agriculture is about 30% of US fuel spend. You are therefore using their own money to make us healthier, smarter and best of all less fuel-intensive. You’re kicking them right in the Prince Abdullahs.

So here’s the link- video by the amazing Stephanie Cornell, another Cape Ann talent allowing us to punch way over our weight creativewise.

Once we get BYG out of a house and into a real space they can actually use their energy and time to bring the awesome to more and more families and kids. It’s like a second-round startup right now, they’re out of the garage and kicking ass.

So send them some of that light, sweet Saudi cash! (petroleum industry joke)

[Today’s guest post is brought to you by Clamtributor Jeremy McKeen of Nerdy Dad Shirt.]

I did it. I finally turned the heat on. I had to – you know, the kids. The Puritanical/woodsman/hermit germs inside my DNA protested most of the way, but in the end, logic prevailed (as did icy bones) and I bowed out of the great invisible race to be the most frugal, unflappable, and hardy New Englander we all hope to be.

You know what I’m talking about – that strange, paradoxical pride that has haunted Gloucester and New England since our ancestors first regretted crossing the land bridge millennia ago: the specter of our collective hubris resulting in a sort-of seasonal affective pride disorder  – that is, the stoic, unflinching, prideful miserly attitude we wear when it comes to “turning on the heat” at the joyous applause of our blue-faced spouses and children.

Winter, damn it. We’re from Gloucester, so bring it on. We’ll out-freeze any hermit from Maine (or wherever else they have snow) before we do anything weak or luxurious as starting to burn oil, gas, or wood. Come late November,  most of us will be essentially paying a second rent to the heating companies until March or, for the hardier stoics among us, from early December until late late February.

So what constitutes “turning the heat on” to these cold warriors? Any one of these qualifiers will knock you out of the competition (while you’re crying on the inside about how much keeping the house at 56 degrees will cost you over the next year of monthly installments):

1. Just so there’s no confusion about turning on the heat, YOU TURNED ON THE HEAT if you:

– turned on the heat

-turned on a space heater (or two or three)

– made a fire in the stove (or kept the oven on for an extra hour after using it for cooking)

– made a fire in the pellet stove

– turned on the heat just above the temperature outside

– turned on the heat

These all count, so no cheating. If you’re in it to win it, put on a second hat or a third pair of thermal longies.

2. You are not a morally superior person if you wait to turn the heat on. However, here is the spectrum:

– Late October Freshmen Townies: if you even think about having a conversation with your roommate or spouse about turning the heat on, or even complain about the cold before November first, there is a palpable shame felt throughout Fishtown. However, if your bones are brittle, you have young ones at home, or you’re simply a weak individual, then we understand. Sweatshirts, hats, insulation, and heavy socks are just not good enough for you. Grow a pair. (Of thermal socks).

– First (through third) frosty fishtownies: this is most of us even though we won’t admit it, putting the heat on somewhere between November first and that night when you just need to put the heat on (if it’s November, the heat will be on). It will be too cold for these people to spend any more time outside cleaning up the beach toys and chairs (these can all be bought again next year); they will have just enough energy to clear off the radiators of clothes and books before huddling down on the couch for the winter.

– Fourth or fifth-frost frugalistas: you’ve made it to the point where most sane people put the heat on, at least one cold night when it dips down below freezing. But most of us are still wearing windbreakers in 40 degree weather. You know that, right?

– Still Frozen around the time of the Town Tree Lighting: you still have the AC in and the windows are cracked just a little; by the time the sun goes down at 4:30 during these days, the air taunts your blood to stop moving so fast (and the walk from the Fisherman statue into town after the annual parade and Tree lighting is physically painful, although you’re already wearing a peacoat and scarf). However, this Chilly Willy isn’t about to break.

– Only Cold By Christmas-Level-Stoic: This hardy Gloucesterite turns on the heat on Christmas Eve, just in time for Santa to forego the chimney and leave the presents outside by the woodpile. Somehow this person will outlive us all or be found, frozen

– Those waiting for the “Insulated Igloo” Effect : an urban myth, this person goes from first frost to Valentine’s Day without heat – not even a little for those pipes to not freeze and burst. This must be a legend passed down through the years about a landlord who just got in from Florida to turn on the heat in the summer rental/winter home, or a Batman villain come to life here on Cape Ann. But once we get those thirty-eight inches of snow, your house will be insulated somewhat by the snow itself. It’s science.

3. So we’re all competing in this yearly unspoken competition. Here’s the correct formula to figure out when you should feel shame for doing the unspeakable and turning over your clams to the whale blubber and oil industrial complex:

– If this were an actual competition (and it is in the minds of millions), everyone has to hold out until at least November 1 unless you’re from a warmer climate that biologically makes it unbearable for you – or you’re from a colder climate that gives you a biological advantage. If you’re not from Gloucester, then you must be from New England or a comparable climate. Adjust for variables one week. We’re on the honor system here.

– Apartment vs. house: knowing how heat travels, if you live in an apartment above people, then subtract a week for every floor above the first floor you’re on. If you live above a pizzeria or restaurant kitchen, subtract three weeks and give the Clam writers a sweet deal on treats. If you live in a house, then good luck heating that thing (no subtractions for you).

– Big people vs. little people: all things being fair, bigger people are warmer, so for every grown person in the house over one person, subtract three days. For every child, add three days, and for every newborn-through-toddler, add ten days. Old people are always cold, so no extra days for them. If you’re co-sleeping with your entire family in a Medieval hut while gathered around a camp fire, you win.

4. Solutions for a warmer home:

– Live underground, but like close to the Earth’s core, or wherever it’s warmest.

– Build a house around your house, and insulate the area between houses.

– Move out of Gloucester.  Anywhere south of New Jersey is warmer and more obnoxious most of the time.

– Start a pizzeria and live upstairs right above the ovens.

– Stay away from your home from breakfast until bedtime, and then when you arrive home from work, run inside straight to bed, wearing enough clothes or blankets to keep you warm. Shower at the Y or work. Winter is only a few months long.

– Co-sleep with your children. They are little heaters given to you by nature.

5. Finally, the “winners” are…

– Anyone who rents a second floor apartment whose heat is included in the rent

– Anyone who lives above a year-round pizzeria (they have those in Gloucester right?)

– Anyone who lies about when they turned the heat on

– The oil and energy companies

May the heat index always be in your favor.

So, imagine you don’t like Star Trek.

 I know, I know, that’s a big ask. I mean here you are at The Clam where we generally assume that you, our reader, are at least semi-literate in 80’s post punk, 18th Century maritime jargon and pretty much the entire mainstream Science Fiction cannon in order to comprehend any given post. I mean, why else would you be here? But just imagine for a second that Star Trek is just not your “thing.”

Oh Jesus, not you too.

Now further imagine that for reasons unknown our culture gave the entire month of March over to the love of Star Trek. It was everywhere, all over TV, the radio and the Internet. Four to six weeks of it, pushed by every major aspect of the culture but especially retail and media marketing which fed back into a massive consumer consumption machine.

 Large, inflatable starships bearing the registration number “NCC-1701” are on lawns. Romulan Birds of Prey hang in doorways, if you’re caught under one you have to finish an entire glass of kali-fal. The whole freaking town decks itself out in full Federation livery starting at a ceremony in mid-February where the Mayor, local leaders and townsfolk gather to ceremonially launch the Enterprise out of Drydock while all the various school bands have to come and play “Where No Man Has Gone Before” by Alexander Courage. Frigging Spock is everywhere.

[Clameditor’s note: The original draft of this post read “Kirk is everywhere” but Carolyn Kirk is actually the name of our Mayor. So it’s Spock. That’s why.] 

Everywhere you go people are speaking in Klingon, shooting fake phasers at each other, talking about their favorite episodes and the office is full of cupcakes shaped like Tribbles. In fact they have a whole day where you had to dress up like your favorite character and exchange Trekkie-related gifts. Oh, and the only performance your drama-inclined kid can be in during March is “Wrath of Kahn, The Musical” (featuring the songs “KAAAAAAHNNNN!” and “Put Some Jiffyspock in the Microwave, Baby!”). Of course there is also “Fleet Fest” at  school and at work you have to be a “Secret Betazoid” to someone, figuring out what they want and getting it for them. Every. Damn. Day.

And remember, you don’t hate Star Trek. You just never really got into it.

Worse, what if what you really like is 70’s BBC produced Space 1999, the show about Earth’s moon blasted out of orbit and the people living on the base there get shunted around the galaxy having all kinds of adventures? Well-meaning people attempt to assure you Star Trek month is really about that too (and maybe they shove an Eagle somewhere on one of the tables of decorations next to the shuttlecraft), because they are basically the same, right? THEY ARE NOT THE FUCKING SAME! You’d obviously celebrate Space 1999 on September 13, the day that Moonbase Alpha broke away from Earth orbit and began its journey through the cosmos. Sure, March is the month where they discovered Maya and she’s cool, but for a 1999 fan, nothing can beat September. And the assholes over at Fox News don’t want anyone to say, “Happy Science Fiction Month” anyway because March is about Star Trek, dammit and nothing else, but nice try with that.

Just no.

So here you are, stuck with Trek month. How tedious do you find all this? Our guess is pretty fucking tedious.

This is our culture right now. It’s a massive tailgate/cosplay dedicated to one particular fan group. And unlike real tailgate parties and cosplay events, it’s not taking place at an isolated stadium or in a conference center, it’s happening everywhere making it impossible to avoid. And let’s be honest, that’s all this is: a big tailgate/cosplay event. If it were a real religious holiday people would be kicking each other’s asses to buy discount mangers at Wal Mart, but the religious aspect is at best a side-nod. The parts people pay attention to are the secular manifestations- the trees, decorations, gifts and so on. Those may be traditions people enjoy, but they are not commanded by any holy text or scripture.

All I have to say to the Internet here is “Thank You.”

The basic rule for fan cultures is this: It’s opt-in, not opt out. No one has to like Firefly or Buffy or Fursuits, but if you’re into it, that’s great. We all know that in order for our own particular fandom to be respected we have to make room for everyone’s. And you might admit, even if you don’t personally get into it, that steampunk shit looks pretty cool. Encouraging diversity and individual expression is where creativity comes from, but that only happens when people feel included rather than excluded.

So it’s time to tell all the overenthusiastic Christmas boosters to dial it back on the enforced Yuletide inclusion. Everybody: the media, Wallgreens, that one chick in the office who blows the entire snack budget for the month on nogg. This is especially important during the first two weeks of December. Let people not participate. For those who do, find out how they want to engage, don’t just make assumptions. Especially don’t hand someone a Santa hat and some red and green beads (why are there beads now with everything?) and expect them to appreciate having to be “festive” in the way you like to be. There is nothing worse than a cheerleader who can’t shut up about how awesome the team is for five seconds. It makes outsiders assume they are masking deeply repressed doubts.

The Children Will Achieve Perfection

Oh, and that Borg on the Shelf thing has to stop. That shit is just creepy.