2009 Portland, Maine Sex Offenders In The Workplace Calendar: Mr. February!

February... the shortest of months. That's a good thing in Maine because the coming of March is symbolic of springtime, or "le printemps," as the French say. During the cold and dark month of February, the people of Portland, Maine take solace in the wide variety of cozy neighborhood restaurants peppered throughout the city.

Our own Mr. February, Walter W. Jepson (b. 1960), is one of the unsung heroes that keep the restaurant industry ticking, those who make sure the doors to the town's favorite holes-in-the-wall are open on even the chilliest February evenings.

Walter, who on at least 7 occasions has snuggled up a little too closely with a person or persons under the age of fourteen (so closely in fact that genitals were somehow touched), is an employee of Silly's restaurant. Silly's, whose motto is: "As far as we can discern, the Universe is a very SILLY Place," is conveniently located on Washington Ave. near exit 8.

Just look at all the fabulous menu items at Silly's! Without Walter's hard work and attention to detail, there might be one less destination in our small town to enjoy an XTC pizza and a jar of Tang on a cold winter's night. Congratulations to the staff of Silly's, the residents surrounding  the Washington/Cumberland area, and of course to Walter himself, Mister February!

Click here to see others featured in the 2009 Portland, Maine Sex Offenders in the Workplace Calendar!

Maine 2009 Registered Sex Offenders In The Workplace Calendar!

Each month we'll take a look at a local citizen who has gone above and beyond to make Portland a better place to live and work. Mister January, Carl H. Anderson, is an employee of the Shipyard Brewery and has achieved the distinguished honor of a statutory rape hat-trick! Yes, three counts of gross sexual assault, or "Engaging in a sexual act with another person and the other person is not the actor's spouse and has not attained the age of 14 years."

Congratulations to Carl and his family. Who ever said mustaches were creepy? Look for him on the Shipyard Brewery tour!

Landlords Without Boarders.

Wow. There are a lot of shitty apartments in Portland, Maine. And it feels like we've seen them all in the past few days. All were two or three bedroom places priced between $1,000 and $1,350 per month: not top dollar in Portland, but not bottom dollar by any means. All were advertised either in the local paper, craigslist or just by a sign in the window. Most were either on the peninsula, near downtown or out by the University.

So let's see... there were three apartments that looked out onto gas station parking lots, one that had been painted black and pink by this weird African dude named Lado (the bathroom ceiling was also collapsing), one with laundry machines in a basement accessible only from the outside of the house, one next door to a Midas muffler shop on a busy street and four with dropped styrofoam ceilings (one of these with florescent office lights built in).

Then there was the basement apartment or "sub-dwelling" that the happy-go-lucky landlord "sometimes" occupied a part of. I recognized this man from the night he almost backed over me with his SUV in front of that very apartment as I walked my dog. He had yelled "Why don't you try wearing some other color besides black, moron!"

There was the place where we'd have to mow the lawn ourselves, the place with a loud common stairway above the only place a bed could go, the place that we'd need to flush out the furnace water every 30 days and the apartment with the bedroom looking out onto a home for mentally retarded adults. That place had a sweet non-functional fireplace and a landlord with a dyed mustache who lived upstairs.

There was an apartment that, during the day, always had a stretch Hummer parked in front, as there was a neighbor who moonlighted as a chauffeur. It was the early evening when we saw the place and we were lucky enough to see her leaving for work. She was about 21, tall and emaciated with a tight black polyester suit on and a cocked top hat, made-up like a prostitute.

Another place smelled so awful I almost threw up. There was a poor Pug dog crated in the bedroom, large feathers strewn about and a cat with no tail running around peeing on things; there was also a large boat stranded in the front yard. The landlord drove his Vespa across the grass to greet us, wearing a bicycle helmet.

We knew of a house on our block where the occupants owned a giant lynx with a chain-link collar. That place came up for rent but unfortunately it looked as if the lynx had trashed the place.

One apartment had exclusive access to a storage attic: at least 2,000 square feet of hot, unfinished space. Outside the ground-floor rental unit was a group of sunburned wiggers smoking and drinking at ten in the morning, bobbing and weaving to the sounds from a boom box underneath what would have been our baby's room.

The pièce de résistance was a tiny, dilapidated house out in South Portland that butted up to a sea of mammoth Citgo oil tanks, each seemingly the size of a football stadium. The neighbors had cars up on cinderblocks and kids wove through the streets of the weird little neighborhood on their bicycles alongside big-rig oil trucks.

We did find one place that we love. But it's one of two places that overtly doesn't want to rent to us because we have a baby. And a dog. And two cats. Apparently the downstairs neighbors are very sensitive to noise, so the landlord wants us (including our dog and baby) to meet with them. If the neighbors give us the seal of approval, then we're in! Good thing I didn't mention our snow leopard!

207 Wiggaz Be Havin' Dat F.A.S.

Portland, Maine has a bizarre abundance of wiggers in their teens and twenties seemingly either having been kicked in the head by a horse or born with fetal-alcohol syndrome.

Why Portland? Perhaps, it's a perfect storm: Maine is, as Barbara Ehrenreich says in Nickel and Dimed, the whitest state in the country (i guess somebody here needs to step up and be black), Maine is economically depressed, leaving Portland, its largest city, a regional destination for social services (cue the parade of impoverished, drunk mothers-to-be). And lastly, Portland experiences massive brain drain, the citizenry leaving only its pock-marked dunces limping behind.

Miller & Willie.

CLICK TO ENLARGE
I called up and got an annoyed sounding woman's "Hello?" I asked if I had reached Andrew's Brewing Company. I heard a shuffling and then a man's voice came on "Hello?" I asked again and he confirmed that I had the right number. I asked whether they do brewery tours (with the hope of meeting the animals pictured on the beer label). That's when I learned the tragic news.

The man on the phone said the dog and cat (Miller and Willie) are long dead. But, he said, they led good lives and are buried in the backyard. Oh, and there are plenty of other dogs and cats running around the brewery these days, I was assured. I asked the man's name and he sounded confused. "Andy." Of course, what was I thinking? This brewery doesn't even have a website, let alone a staff.

Andy said he doesn't much like giving tours, but he will if he has to. He's two hours north of Portland, not too far from Bar Harbor. He said if I give him a few days' notice, he could show me around on a Saturday. He usually cuts wood all day on Saturdays, he said. But he'd come out of the woods to show me the place. And added that I shouldn't expect too much. "It's no Shipyard Brewery, but the beer's better at least."

I also learned that Miller the dog had a brother named Nick, as if I needed another reason to drink this beer. Seriously, with this label, I don't know how Andrew's isn't a major contender.

The Young People.

Just when I was beginning to think that I was living in a backwater here in Maine, along comes the Portland Press Herald to the rescue with a cutting-edge column called NXT: Next Generation, in which a not-too-old and not-too-black Minnesotan named Justin Ellis "brings you dispatches about 'the young people' and what they do."

OMFG!

Snipers.

I absolutely love these three panels from Dan Clowes' Ice Haven. The line "An anonymous note speaks for everyone!" is brilliant; it must be what deluded, passive-aggressive neighbors actually tell themselves when they, say, leave a note on my car criticizing where I park.

Then, a few days later, an anonymous call to the police speaks for everyone when I'm rousted from bed on a Saturday morning by a cop pounding on my door telling me to move my car from its legal but apparently not-kosher-with-an-unnamed-neighbor spot. A spot which I pay to use.

And so, tail between legs, I go downstairs to move the car with the weight of at least one set of eyes on me as I begin to chip the ice from my windshield. Eyes, no doubt, on a pinched, chuckling, perhaps bearded face. Eyes most likely behind round wire-rimmed glasses. Glasses maybe a bit foggy from a steaming cup of coffee or tea clenched by the bitter fingers which had gripped the red pen to scrawl the note that spoke for everyone.

The 8th Destruction of Portland, Maine.

I was looking over the flap copy of this 1950's folding map of Portland, Maine recently (pictured and click-able above) and I learned that in the past 50 years or so, the population of Portland proper has dwindled from 81,000 to 63,000. Considering the hardship the city weathered prior to the 20th century (it was destroyed four times by fire and three times by war-- hence the Phoenix on the state seal), I am left to wonder what silent power is destroying the city now and whether this Phoenix has a ninth life?

Here's what the map people said back in the 50's (thank goodness for OCR):

PORTLAND INFORMATION

Portland, Maine's largest city, with a population of over 81,000, is the hub of a metropolitan area known as Greater Portland. This area includes South Portland, Cape Elizabeth, Scarboro, Westbrook and Falmouth, with a combined population of more than 155,000.

Portland was settled by two Englishmen, George Cleeves and Richard Tucker, in 1632 and was known by the Indians as Machigonne. It was known as Casco Neck until 1658, when the name was changed to Falmouth. On July 4, 1786, Portland was incorporated as a town; the city charter was adopted March 26, 1852. Portland became the capital of Maine and continued as the capital until 1831, when the state offices were removed to Augusta.

Greater Portland has more than 250 diversified industries. Several, such as pulp, lumber, furniture, paper, boxes, wood turning and cabinet work, and the processing and canning of farm and fishery products, are based on the natural resources of the region. Other products manufactured here are printing and publishing items, foundry products, stoves, wearing apparel, boots and shoes, elevators, industrial machinery. refrigeration equipment, marine hardware, clothespins, candy, card tables, bakery products, metal and paper containers, and metal culverts.

The city proper is located on a peninsula, almost entirely surrounded by water. Portland harbor is recognized as one of the deepest and safest on the Atlantic seaboard. Its piers are closer to the ocean than any other port. Many shipping lines make Portland a regular port of call. Principal cargoes include woodpulp, oil products, coal, grain, china, clay, bauxite, and lumber.

Portland is also the center of transportation and a distribution point for northern New England. It is the present terminus of the 107-mile-long Maine Turnpike which links Portsmouth, New Hampshire with Maine's capital city.

Today, Greater Portland continues as a major recreational area. In summer, public beaches accommodate hundreds daily. Only 15 miles to the south is famed Old Orchard Beach. There are many parks, playgrounds and athletic fields, an 18-hole municipal golf course, nine other courses, tennis courts, yacht clubs, indoor swimming pools, and many other healthful and recreational facilities.

Numerous sites, within easy walking distance, are of historic and scenic interest to visitors in Portland. On Fore Street are the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow birthplace and the sites of the first meeting house, erected in 1680, and the first settler's house. Portland Head Light, built in 1791, under President George Washington, First Parish Church, Fort Allen Park, Fort Gorges, Portland Observatory, and various other scenes and structures merit the attention of visitors.