Around the world, people embrace certain status symbols: Diamond necklaces. Platinum cards. Rolls-Royces. Swiss bank accounts. Island getaways. In Rhode Island it’s a low-numbered license plate.
The idea that Rhode Islanders drive around checking out everyone else’s under-bumper is nothing new. It’s probably the main reason why nobody here uses directional signals. Blinkers waste time better spent counting the competition and deciphering vanity plates.
Rhody’s license plate angst is historic. Years ago the plates were black and white (instead of the state colors, blue and white) reportedly because the pols on Smith Hill were all Providence College Friars fans. Conspiracy theorists – most of them Keaney Blue-wearing University of Rhode Island Ram fans – will note that Friar colors are black and white. The fact that PC is a private college and URI is the state university added fuel to the license plate furor.
That all ended when the state finally settled on the latest incarnation of its plate – a blue wave cresting in a rectangle of white to represent the Ocean State. But following a trend that has been sweeping America, Rhody began to issue special edition plates to benefit charities. The osprey plate, promoting “Conservation Through Education,” jointly serves the Audubon Society of Rhode Island and Save The Bay. Mr. Potato Head graces the plate that supports The Rhode Island Community Food Bank. Proposed plates are in the works for the New England Patriots to aid the team’s charitable foundation and Providence WaterFire, to raise money for the popular but under-funded public art event.
Last November legislation was passed allowing for the creation of custom license plates that feature the historic Plum Beach Lighthouse. [The beacon is displayed on top of The North East Independent each week. Pt. Judith Lighthouse is the logo on the banner of The South County Independent.] It will generate revenue for the volunteer organization Friends of the Plum Beach Lighthouse, based in North Kingstown, to fund the upkeep of the structure.
In Jeremy D’Entremont’s “The Lighthouses of Rhode Island,” the author compiles various anecdotes of the “spark plug” by the Jamestown Verrazzano Bridge. One of the more bizarre notes that when the lighthouse was restored, cleaners removed 52 tons of pigeon, gull and cormorant guano – “up to four feet deep in the basement” – from inside the tower.
So New Englanders finally have an answer to the question, “Can there ever be too much lighthouse information?”
This week’s other question: What should be Rhode Island’s next specialty license plate?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Devil Wears Provda
Providence may never be confused with Milan, Paris, Manhattan or London. But at least the city is trying to dress the part.
The first-ever fashion week in Rhode Island’s capital city will take place June 6-12 with two invitation-only runway shows per day scheduled for the Marriott Providence, the Renaissance Providence Hotel and the Hotel Providence. A series of free receptions following the shows will allow members of the public to meet the designers and see creations up-close. In all, the work of 16 designers from New York, New England and "Elsewhere" will be featured (what Anonymous is to Biography, Elsewhere is to Geography) – including Woonsocket native and “Project Runway” contestant Jonathan Joseph Peters and at least one Rhode Island School of Design graduate.
The event is called StyleWeek Providence. Explaining the reason for bringing haute couture to DownCity, StyleWeek founder Rosanna Ortiz Sineal, a senior vice president at the Providence public relations firm Miamore Communications, was quoted in the ProJo as saying:
So go enjoy yourself looking at the "glammuh" next week, but just remember that in these parts a faded Red Sox cap and a pair of Keens can get you through a whole summer.
The question is: How would you describe Rhode Island style?
The first-ever fashion week in Rhode Island’s capital city will take place June 6-12 with two invitation-only runway shows per day scheduled for the Marriott Providence, the Renaissance Providence Hotel and the Hotel Providence. A series of free receptions following the shows will allow members of the public to meet the designers and see creations up-close. In all, the work of 16 designers from New York, New England and "Elsewhere" will be featured (what Anonymous is to Biography, Elsewhere is to Geography) – including Woonsocket native and “Project Runway” contestant Jonathan Joseph Peters and at least one Rhode Island School of Design graduate.
The event is called StyleWeek Providence. Explaining the reason for bringing haute couture to DownCity, StyleWeek founder Rosanna Ortiz Sineal, a senior vice president at the Providence public relations firm Miamore Communications, was quoted in the ProJo as saying:
I just noticed that fashion events in New England are not taken seriously. I wanted to use Providence as a canvas to focus on the business of fashion.Not to rain on the fashion parade, but methinks there is a reason why "fashion events in New England" are not taken seriously. Because nobody around here really cares whether their lime green purse was so last season or whether ruffled shirts accessorized by live parrots and eye patches are back in style. This tends to be a place that prefers things that last to things that are trendy. We've got Colonial houses still standing from the 1700s and Pilgrim hats good for any occasion that look as if they've never been out of the box.
So go enjoy yourself looking at the "glammuh" next week, but just remember that in these parts a faded Red Sox cap and a pair of Keens can get you through a whole summer.
The question is: How would you describe Rhode Island style?
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Slogans R Us
Good piece by Cynthia Needham of the ProJo last Wednesday on Rhode Island’s Sisyphean efforts to brand itself to the world. Most of the ad campaigns, as the reporter points out, have been dismal failures. Consider:
“The biggest little state in the union” was meant to build state pride, which was never lacking in the first place.
“America’s First Resort” was geared toward attracting the upscale traveler to our mansions and yacht-saturated waters. A better bet might have been pitching “America’s Last Resort” to the downscale traveler interested in our duckpin bowling alleys, mini-golf courses and weiner joints.
“Rhode Island - Our People Make Us Great” was the slogan of choice preferred by former Gov. Edward DiPrete, who eventually pled guilty to charges of bribery, extortion and racketeering.
“Unwind in Rhode Island” was an appeal to daytrippers. The campaign featured lush photos of coastal drives and rides on back roads through orchards and woods crowned in brilliant foliage. It was undermined by “Rewind in Rhode Island,” the state’s “Groundhog Day” problems with never-ending road construction and potholes the size of small galaxies.
“400 Miles of Rest Stops Ahead” was another pitch to the road tripper. Enticements included photos of couples lounging on white sand beaches near gently curling blue waves. Unfortunately, most people reading the ad thought it meant how long they still had to go in order to get to Maine.
Then the call went out to families. The picture changed to a kid happily playing in the surf, accompanied by the words: “This Summer, Put Your Kids Through the Rinse Cycle.” Yeah. It’s always a good idea to alienate your customers by insinuating that they have dirty kids.
Needless to say, none of Rhody’s slogans lasted long.
It’s not entirely the fault of marketing. Distilling the essence of Rhode Island to a bumper sticker sized phrase is a metaphysical impossibility. Another problem: There can only be one “I (Heart) New York.” “I (Heart) RI,” in addition to being derivative, doesn’t have the same cachet. And with the heart already taken, the rebus approach is probably not the way to go – although “Think RI,” expressed as “I (Light Bulb) RI” has a certain Edisonian cognitive charm.
Other possibilities:
“Rhode Island: We Are What We Are.”
“Rhode Island: New England Atmosphere, New York Attitude.”
“Got Fun? Rhody-Size It.”
“Rhode Island: Not for nothin’ but we need your money.”
Actually if I were “Mad Men”-ing this thing, I’d go with a series of simple, elegant, single panel photographs (culminating in 365 images overall, one for each day of the year) showing iconic Rhody scenes, with the slogan - “Rhode Island: Wicked Awesome.”
Short. Sweet. Colloquially correct. Got your wicked. Got your awesome. What else do you need?
This week’s question: What would be a good slogan for Rhode Island?
(Note: Early blog this week because of Monday travels, and next week there will be no Monday blog since your friendly neighborhood Monday blogger plans to be in a kayak or on a tennis court or at the beach or in the pub or all of the above, in no particular order. Check back after Memorial Day.)
“The biggest little state in the union” was meant to build state pride, which was never lacking in the first place.
“America’s First Resort” was geared toward attracting the upscale traveler to our mansions and yacht-saturated waters. A better bet might have been pitching “America’s Last Resort” to the downscale traveler interested in our duckpin bowling alleys, mini-golf courses and weiner joints.
“Rhode Island - Our People Make Us Great” was the slogan of choice preferred by former Gov. Edward DiPrete, who eventually pled guilty to charges of bribery, extortion and racketeering.
“Unwind in Rhode Island” was an appeal to daytrippers. The campaign featured lush photos of coastal drives and rides on back roads through orchards and woods crowned in brilliant foliage. It was undermined by “Rewind in Rhode Island,” the state’s “Groundhog Day” problems with never-ending road construction and potholes the size of small galaxies.
“400 Miles of Rest Stops Ahead” was another pitch to the road tripper. Enticements included photos of couples lounging on white sand beaches near gently curling blue waves. Unfortunately, most people reading the ad thought it meant how long they still had to go in order to get to Maine.
Then the call went out to families. The picture changed to a kid happily playing in the surf, accompanied by the words: “This Summer, Put Your Kids Through the Rinse Cycle.” Yeah. It’s always a good idea to alienate your customers by insinuating that they have dirty kids.
Needless to say, none of Rhody’s slogans lasted long.
It’s not entirely the fault of marketing. Distilling the essence of Rhode Island to a bumper sticker sized phrase is a metaphysical impossibility. Another problem: There can only be one “I (Heart) New York.” “I (Heart) RI,” in addition to being derivative, doesn’t have the same cachet. And with the heart already taken, the rebus approach is probably not the way to go – although “Think RI,” expressed as “I (Light Bulb) RI” has a certain Edisonian cognitive charm.
Other possibilities:
“Rhode Island: We Are What We Are.”
“Rhode Island: New England Atmosphere, New York Attitude.”
“Got Fun? Rhody-Size It.”
“Rhode Island: Not for nothin’ but we need your money.”
Actually if I were “Mad Men”-ing this thing, I’d go with a series of simple, elegant, single panel photographs (culminating in 365 images overall, one for each day of the year) showing iconic Rhody scenes, with the slogan - “Rhode Island: Wicked Awesome.”
Short. Sweet. Colloquially correct. Got your wicked. Got your awesome. What else do you need?
This week’s question: What would be a good slogan for Rhode Island?
(Note: Early blog this week because of Monday travels, and next week there will be no Monday blog since your friendly neighborhood Monday blogger plans to be in a kayak or on a tennis court or at the beach or in the pub or all of the above, in no particular order. Check back after Memorial Day.)
Monday, May 17, 2010
Palmetto Rhode
The question on everyone’s lips in South Carolina is: “Why is Rhode Island on a poster that is supposed to celebrate South Carolina culture?” (Actually that’s probably the third question, after “What’s that in the middle of our poster?” and “Where is Rhode Island?”)
Artist Maya Lin was selected to design the 2010 poster for the Spoleto Festival USA, one of the world’s top performing arts festivals, held annually in Charleston. For this year’s poster, titled “From Rhode Island to South Carolina,” she created a double panel deconstructed from a road atlas. The first presents the Ocean State in portrait format and the second shows the Palmetto State in landscape format. In the center of each, there is a crater-shaped hole (Rhode Island’s looks like an oyster), as if something has been dug away from its core.
Lin is no stranger to controversy. She is most famous for creating the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., which was viciously criticized at first but is now iconic – one of the most celebrated public art works of our time and the standard for what has become almost cliche in war memorial building.
Since the poster appeared, speculation has run rampant in the lower Carolina. Some say it’s merely a graphic association, since maps of Rhode Island and South Carolina appear in alphabetic order on an atlas. The festival’s general director Nigel Redden said that Lin revealed “a third dimension that typically we don’t see,” referring to the ambiguous relationship between the two states. Whatever the case, many are annoyed that Lin gave Rhode Island so much play in a festival that is one of South Carolina’s cultural highlights.
Trying to decipher the riddle, The Post and Courier of Charleston, S.C., reported that:
In a poll on public reaction to the poster conducted by the newspaper, 88 percent voted either “Don’t understand it” or “Don’t like it,” with only 12 percent saying they loved it or liked it.
More from The Post and Courier:
On the surface it seems a strange match. Two states: One Blue, one Red. One Union, one Confederate. They have Charleston; we have Charlestown. Rhode Island Red, South Carolina Gamecock. We share a few pirates in common. The same ocean. But otherwise, what’s the connection?
My two cents: It’s all about slavery and cultural identity. South Carolina was steeped in the slave trade and plantation culture, and in modern times it endured a very public controversy over the decision to continue flying the Confederate battle flag over the state house (until finally removing it in 2000). Meanwhile, Rhode Island’s role in the culture of slavery has received extensive examination in the press, the arts and academic circles in recent years. This November residents will be voting on a controversial referenda question about whether to keep the official name as “The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations.” So Lin’s rendering is a slightly subversive, somewhat cryptic tale and history lesson of two states that have more in common than they know.
Whether that's true or not, most South Carolinians seem to be boycotting the Rhode Island-centric poster. But Rhode Islanders looking for something to hang next to “Dogs Playing Poker” on their walls can purchase a copy online for $25.
This week’s question: “With what state in the Other 49 does Rhode Island share the most in common, and why?”
Artist Maya Lin was selected to design the 2010 poster for the Spoleto Festival USA, one of the world’s top performing arts festivals, held annually in Charleston. For this year’s poster, titled “From Rhode Island to South Carolina,” she created a double panel deconstructed from a road atlas. The first presents the Ocean State in portrait format and the second shows the Palmetto State in landscape format. In the center of each, there is a crater-shaped hole (Rhode Island’s looks like an oyster), as if something has been dug away from its core.
Lin is no stranger to controversy. She is most famous for creating the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., which was viciously criticized at first but is now iconic – one of the most celebrated public art works of our time and the standard for what has become almost cliche in war memorial building.
Since the poster appeared, speculation has run rampant in the lower Carolina. Some say it’s merely a graphic association, since maps of Rhode Island and South Carolina appear in alphabetic order on an atlas. The festival’s general director Nigel Redden said that Lin revealed “a third dimension that typically we don’t see,” referring to the ambiguous relationship between the two states. Whatever the case, many are annoyed that Lin gave Rhode Island so much play in a festival that is one of South Carolina’s cultural highlights.
Trying to decipher the riddle, The Post and Courier of Charleston, S.C., reported that:
Both states are original New World colonies; both relied heavily on boats (for whaling in one case, slavery in the other); both are on the East Coast; both have two words in their name.
In a poll on public reaction to the poster conducted by the newspaper, 88 percent voted either “Don’t understand it” or “Don’t like it,” with only 12 percent saying they loved it or liked it.
More from The Post and Courier:
Jennifer Blackman, who works at the S.C. Aquarium, saw the poster at Rising High Cafe on East Bay Street.
“I’m trying to figure it out,” she said. “It’s the Rhode Island thing that’s confusing.”
Ellen Dressler Moryl, director of the city of Charleston’s Office of Cultural Affairs and chief curator of the Piccolo Spoleto Festival, said the excavations in Lin’s image look like ears and seem to be asking, “Are you really listening?”
At first baffled by the Rhode Island-South Carolina connection, Moryl experienced a bolt of understanding. Rhode Island, she said, has the oldest synagogue building in America; Charlestown has the oldest synagogue in continuous use in America.
That must be it, she said.
On the surface it seems a strange match. Two states: One Blue, one Red. One Union, one Confederate. They have Charleston; we have Charlestown. Rhode Island Red, South Carolina Gamecock. We share a few pirates in common. The same ocean. But otherwise, what’s the connection?
My two cents: It’s all about slavery and cultural identity. South Carolina was steeped in the slave trade and plantation culture, and in modern times it endured a very public controversy over the decision to continue flying the Confederate battle flag over the state house (until finally removing it in 2000). Meanwhile, Rhode Island’s role in the culture of slavery has received extensive examination in the press, the arts and academic circles in recent years. This November residents will be voting on a controversial referenda question about whether to keep the official name as “The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations.” So Lin’s rendering is a slightly subversive, somewhat cryptic tale and history lesson of two states that have more in common than they know.
Whether that's true or not, most South Carolinians seem to be boycotting the Rhode Island-centric poster. But Rhode Islanders looking for something to hang next to “Dogs Playing Poker” on their walls can purchase a copy online for $25.
This week’s question: “With what state in the Other 49 does Rhode Island share the most in common, and why?”
Monday, May 10, 2010
Joe to Go
Apparently G.I. Joe has a posse. Teeming multitudes of fans and collectors go for all things Joe around the world, and at the beginning of this month thousands of them arrived at home base alpha, descending upon Rhode Island for the 17th annual G.I. Joe Collectors Convention. The fact that there already have been 16 of these conventions around the world is surprising enough. Even odder: It’s the first time Joe groupies have gathered in the birthplace of the world’s most famous fighting figure.
In the interests of accuracy – and despite most wire service reports to the contrary – it should be noted that Providence isn’t actually home to the headquarters of Hasbro, the toy company that created G.I. Joe. That’s Pawtucket. But Providence is the nation’s only true city-state, so the error is a common one. It’s the same impulse that often locates T.F. Green Airport in Providence, even though it’s really in Warwick.
Anyway, they came from as far away as Belgium, Japan and Singapore to buy, trade, talk some Joe and meet “Joelebrities” – such as the original patent holder, a box artist and a marketing manager. Some of the Joe-heads dressed as characters from the ever-expanding Joeniverse, like the Baroness, Roadblock and Tunnel Rat.
“Joe Con,” as it’s known to collectors, was a plastic love-fest for “America’s moveable fighting man,” born in Pawtucket in 1964 as a 12-inch action figure, the anti-doll to Ken and Barbie. While the ravages of age have taken a physical toll (Joe has suffered from chronic shrinkage, and now measures around 3 inches), the years have been kind in a commercial sense. Star of big and small screen, with a mushrooming line of toy products and tie-ins, Joe is the little plastic piece of Americana that just won’t go away. So long as there are accessories and sealed boxes to make childhood memories tangible, there will be Joe.
All of this G.I. Joe talk reminds me that it has been a while since I’ve seen one of those tourism campaign Mr. Potato Heads anywhere in Rhode Island. A decade ago, Hasbro’s other star was the subject of a Cows on Parade-style tourism initiative in which artists made 6-foot Potato Heads and plopped them in communities around the state, much to the delight of local vandals. Rhode Island tourism officials apparently never considered that Mr. Potato Head is a toy that actually encourages vandalism. Anyway, these things eventually wore out their welcome. Pawtucket was smart enough to re-gift its spud statue to its sister-town of Belper, England a few years ago. The good folks of Belper hated it and tried to send it back. I never heard what eventually happened, but I can only assume that Pawtucket instituted the time-honored “no take-backs” rule among siblings.
This week’s question: Where have all the giant Mr. Potato Heads gone?
Slick for size
Friend, fellow Rhody-phile and reader Tom Viall passed along a recent size-of-Rhode-Islandism back when the Louisiana oil spill was roughly a spewing Rhode Island. Although weather will play a role in determining how big the slick actually gets, they’re no longer measuring it in Ocean States. Sadly, we may be talking about a goopy Montana before all is said and done.
In the interests of accuracy – and despite most wire service reports to the contrary – it should be noted that Providence isn’t actually home to the headquarters of Hasbro, the toy company that created G.I. Joe. That’s Pawtucket. But Providence is the nation’s only true city-state, so the error is a common one. It’s the same impulse that often locates T.F. Green Airport in Providence, even though it’s really in Warwick.
Anyway, they came from as far away as Belgium, Japan and Singapore to buy, trade, talk some Joe and meet “Joelebrities” – such as the original patent holder, a box artist and a marketing manager. Some of the Joe-heads dressed as characters from the ever-expanding Joeniverse, like the Baroness, Roadblock and Tunnel Rat.
“Joe Con,” as it’s known to collectors, was a plastic love-fest for “America’s moveable fighting man,” born in Pawtucket in 1964 as a 12-inch action figure, the anti-doll to Ken and Barbie. While the ravages of age have taken a physical toll (Joe has suffered from chronic shrinkage, and now measures around 3 inches), the years have been kind in a commercial sense. Star of big and small screen, with a mushrooming line of toy products and tie-ins, Joe is the little plastic piece of Americana that just won’t go away. So long as there are accessories and sealed boxes to make childhood memories tangible, there will be Joe.
All of this G.I. Joe talk reminds me that it has been a while since I’ve seen one of those tourism campaign Mr. Potato Heads anywhere in Rhode Island. A decade ago, Hasbro’s other star was the subject of a Cows on Parade-style tourism initiative in which artists made 6-foot Potato Heads and plopped them in communities around the state, much to the delight of local vandals. Rhode Island tourism officials apparently never considered that Mr. Potato Head is a toy that actually encourages vandalism. Anyway, these things eventually wore out their welcome. Pawtucket was smart enough to re-gift its spud statue to its sister-town of Belper, England a few years ago. The good folks of Belper hated it and tried to send it back. I never heard what eventually happened, but I can only assume that Pawtucket instituted the time-honored “no take-backs” rule among siblings.
This week’s question: Where have all the giant Mr. Potato Heads gone?
Slick for size
Friend, fellow Rhody-phile and reader Tom Viall passed along a recent size-of-Rhode-Islandism back when the Louisiana oil spill was roughly a spewing Rhode Island. Although weather will play a role in determining how big the slick actually gets, they’re no longer measuring it in Ocean States. Sadly, we may be talking about a goopy Montana before all is said and done.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Rhode Islander
Comedian Jeff Foxworthy built a career out of one gag: “You Might Be a Redneck If…” Readers of my Independent column, “Flotsam & Jetsam,” occasionally endure an Ocean State spin on that idea called “You Know You’re a Rhode Islander When…” In honor of tomorrow’s anniversary of Rhode Island Independence Day, I thought it might be a good time to revive the feature, borrowing liberally from my old columns, with a few new one-liners in the mix. So…
You Might Be a Littleneck If…
The world is your quahog.
Joe Mollicone still owes you money.
Celebrity means a float in the Bristol Fourth of July Parade.
You were there when Dylan went electric.
You order a cup of clam chowder and the waitress asks if you want red, white or clear.
You think of your inferiority complex as a superiority complex.
You’ve never met an adjective that couldn’t be improved by placing the word “wicked” in front of it.
Not even Martha Stewart can come up with more ways to use pizza dough.
You still call Twin River “Lincoln Downs” and remember betting on the horses before it went to the dogs.
You take the interstate just to find out how high the Powerball jackpot is today.
You can pronounce words in Italian, Portuguese, Narragansett and Wampanoag better than words in English.
You elected a Whitehouse to Congress.
You consider coffee one of the humors.
More people you know follow sailing than NASCAR.
You’ve eaten a Wimpy Skippy and a Murder Burger.
You’ve never eat at Long John Silver’s or Red Lobster.
You see your first snowflake of the year and wonder if there will be school in Foster-Glocester.
You know someone who claims a family heritage that dates back to both the Mayflower and the mob.
You have a Buddy story.
You think a whole season of “The Amazing Race” could be built around trying to get from Watch Hill to Woonsocket.
You once dangled a souvenir in a bucket behind home plate at McCoy Stadium to get a PawSox player’s autograph.
Your first experience going “all the way” was at a New York System Weiner joint.
You once bought a date to a horror movie at the Rustic Drive-In.
You accidentally click on your directional signal while driving and worry that the blinking green arrow is a sign of engine trouble.
You think all Ping-Pong balls come with numbers on them.
Sometimes you like to go to package stores just to browse.
You’ve given lottery tickets as stocking stuffers.
You have a boat in the yard that has never been in the water.
You believe that breakfast should have no curfew.
Your second home is about a 15-minute drive away from your first.
NBC stands for Narragansett Brewing Company, not National Broadcasting Company.
You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need at Ocean State Job Lot.
You bought tickets for the Broadway show “Wicked” thinking it was about Rhode Island.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas until you see the colored lights gleaming on the giant New England Pest Control termite overlooking I-95.
You never have to worry, because you know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy.
You have a Blizzard of ’78 story.
You choose your news channel based upon how much you trust the meteorologist.
Hiking the highest point in the state is the equivalent of five minutes on the Stairmaster.
It’s 20-below zero outside and the clerk at Dunkin’ Donuts asks whether you want your coffee hot or iced.
You order it iced.
You know somebody who knows Kevin Bacon.
You once took the Awful Awful challenge (“drink three, get one free”) and lost.
You know the menu at Gregg’s by heart, but always ask to see it anyway.
You’ve been to Pawtucket, Pawtuxet and Pawcatuck (Conn.) in the same day, but missed the whimsy.
You like your termites at least 58 feet long.
You’re suspicious of white eggs.
You can identify every condiment in the relish tray at Newport Creamery.
You call a night watchman a “security god” and the metal boundary that sometimes replaces a Jersey barrier a “god rail.”
You call a national sports radio show to mention how you were reading about “the PawSox in the ProJo while waiting in line at Benny’s” and expect the rest of the country to understand you.
You have friends on the East Bay who will never meet your friends on the West Bay.
You believe that a community can never have enough pharmacies or convenience stores.
You’d rather listen to a foghorn than the radio.
You’ve eaten a spinach pie at the beach.
You’ve got one headlight out but prefer to think of the glass as half full.
After you retire, you check the obituaries, your Powerball numbers and the weather, in that order.
You’ve eaten one clam cake too many.
You kind of miss the old Jamestown Bridge.
You think this could be the year that Miss Rhode Island makes the final cut.
You’d like to see how the Big Blue Bug would do against Mothra in a cage match.
Going out for coffee is always Plan B.
You don’t think of brown, green and red as colors but as a university, an airport and a chicken.
You prefer the counter to the booth.
You’ve used a quahog shell as an ashtray.
Hearing the phrase “Baywatch” makes you think of Trudy Coxe, not Pamela Anderson.
When it comes to corruption, you think that Rhode Island is like a Spinal Tap amplifier: It can go to 11.
You still have nightmares about driving endlessly around a Ring Road.
You have six degrees of separation from a Cardi brother.
In your neighborhood, lawn animals outnumber live ones.
You think people who aren’t willing to haggle shouldn’t hold yard sales.
Your epitaph reads: “YOU KILLED ME.”
The world gets a little fuzzy north of the Blackstone and south of the Pawcatuck.
Some of your favorite musical memories occurred at a barn in Matunuck and a tent in Warwick.
You once ran a red light because you were distracted by the Dancing Cop.
Someone invites you to a night of bowling and you ask, “Big ball or small ball?”
You grew up thinking everybody ate fish sticks on Friday.
When you hear the phrase “nectar of the gods,” you think: “coffee cabinet.”
As your last meal before being executed, you’d go for the buffet.
Somebody on your block owns a retired greyhound.
You divide the world into Autocrat people and Eclipse people.
Your GPS unit comes with a setting that gives directions by landmarks that no longer exist.
You throw out your car’s alignment by hitting a pothole and figure the next pothole will take care of it.
You judge people based on their condiment choices.
You see the monster in “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” and think, “all-you-can-eat calamari.”
Every time you scratch, you hope to see dollar signs.
What happens in Hope Valley stays in Hope Valley.
Your turn: You know you’re a Rhode Islander when…?
You Might Be a Littleneck If…
The world is your quahog.
Joe Mollicone still owes you money.
Celebrity means a float in the Bristol Fourth of July Parade.
You were there when Dylan went electric.
You order a cup of clam chowder and the waitress asks if you want red, white or clear.
You think of your inferiority complex as a superiority complex.
You’ve never met an adjective that couldn’t be improved by placing the word “wicked” in front of it.
Not even Martha Stewart can come up with more ways to use pizza dough.
You still call Twin River “Lincoln Downs” and remember betting on the horses before it went to the dogs.
You take the interstate just to find out how high the Powerball jackpot is today.
You can pronounce words in Italian, Portuguese, Narragansett and Wampanoag better than words in English.
You elected a Whitehouse to Congress.
You consider coffee one of the humors.
More people you know follow sailing than NASCAR.
You’ve eaten a Wimpy Skippy and a Murder Burger.
You’ve never eat at Long John Silver’s or Red Lobster.
You see your first snowflake of the year and wonder if there will be school in Foster-Glocester.
You know someone who claims a family heritage that dates back to both the Mayflower and the mob.
You have a Buddy story.
You think a whole season of “The Amazing Race” could be built around trying to get from Watch Hill to Woonsocket.
You once dangled a souvenir in a bucket behind home plate at McCoy Stadium to get a PawSox player’s autograph.
Your first experience going “all the way” was at a New York System Weiner joint.
You once bought a date to a horror movie at the Rustic Drive-In.
You accidentally click on your directional signal while driving and worry that the blinking green arrow is a sign of engine trouble.
You think all Ping-Pong balls come with numbers on them.
Sometimes you like to go to package stores just to browse.
You’ve given lottery tickets as stocking stuffers.
You have a boat in the yard that has never been in the water.
You believe that breakfast should have no curfew.
Your second home is about a 15-minute drive away from your first.
NBC stands for Narragansett Brewing Company, not National Broadcasting Company.
You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need at Ocean State Job Lot.
You bought tickets for the Broadway show “Wicked” thinking it was about Rhode Island.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas until you see the colored lights gleaming on the giant New England Pest Control termite overlooking I-95.
You never have to worry, because you know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy.
You have a Blizzard of ’78 story.
You choose your news channel based upon how much you trust the meteorologist.
Hiking the highest point in the state is the equivalent of five minutes on the Stairmaster.
It’s 20-below zero outside and the clerk at Dunkin’ Donuts asks whether you want your coffee hot or iced.
You order it iced.
You know somebody who knows Kevin Bacon.
You once took the Awful Awful challenge (“drink three, get one free”) and lost.
You know the menu at Gregg’s by heart, but always ask to see it anyway.
You’ve been to Pawtucket, Pawtuxet and Pawcatuck (Conn.) in the same day, but missed the whimsy.
You like your termites at least 58 feet long.
You’re suspicious of white eggs.
You can identify every condiment in the relish tray at Newport Creamery.
You call a night watchman a “security god” and the metal boundary that sometimes replaces a Jersey barrier a “god rail.”
You call a national sports radio show to mention how you were reading about “the PawSox in the ProJo while waiting in line at Benny’s” and expect the rest of the country to understand you.
You have friends on the East Bay who will never meet your friends on the West Bay.
You believe that a community can never have enough pharmacies or convenience stores.
You’d rather listen to a foghorn than the radio.
You’ve eaten a spinach pie at the beach.
You’ve got one headlight out but prefer to think of the glass as half full.
After you retire, you check the obituaries, your Powerball numbers and the weather, in that order.
You’ve eaten one clam cake too many.
You kind of miss the old Jamestown Bridge.
You think this could be the year that Miss Rhode Island makes the final cut.
You’d like to see how the Big Blue Bug would do against Mothra in a cage match.
Going out for coffee is always Plan B.
You don’t think of brown, green and red as colors but as a university, an airport and a chicken.
You prefer the counter to the booth.
You’ve used a quahog shell as an ashtray.
Hearing the phrase “Baywatch” makes you think of Trudy Coxe, not Pamela Anderson.
When it comes to corruption, you think that Rhode Island is like a Spinal Tap amplifier: It can go to 11.
You still have nightmares about driving endlessly around a Ring Road.
You have six degrees of separation from a Cardi brother.
In your neighborhood, lawn animals outnumber live ones.
You think people who aren’t willing to haggle shouldn’t hold yard sales.
Your epitaph reads: “YOU KILLED ME.”
The world gets a little fuzzy north of the Blackstone and south of the Pawcatuck.
Some of your favorite musical memories occurred at a barn in Matunuck and a tent in Warwick.
You once ran a red light because you were distracted by the Dancing Cop.
Someone invites you to a night of bowling and you ask, “Big ball or small ball?”
You grew up thinking everybody ate fish sticks on Friday.
When you hear the phrase “nectar of the gods,” you think: “coffee cabinet.”
As your last meal before being executed, you’d go for the buffet.
Somebody on your block owns a retired greyhound.
You divide the world into Autocrat people and Eclipse people.
Your GPS unit comes with a setting that gives directions by landmarks that no longer exist.
You throw out your car’s alignment by hitting a pothole and figure the next pothole will take care of it.
You judge people based on their condiment choices.
You see the monster in “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” and think, “all-you-can-eat calamari.”
Every time you scratch, you hope to see dollar signs.
What happens in Hope Valley stays in Hope Valley.
Your turn: You know you’re a Rhode Islander when…?
Monday, April 26, 2010
Token redemption
It sounds like an oxymoron, or maybe we’re giving too much credit to the “oxy” part of the word, but last Friday the R.I. Turnpike and Bridge Authority restored our faith in PR jargon. The agency has this message for all Rhode Islanders or anyone passing through who hasn’t cleaned out his car in awhile:
For questions about token redemption, call 401-423-0800 or visit www.ritba.org.
Turns out RITBA isn’t actually trivializing the release of sin. It is merely informing us that the day is coming when we will no longer be able to trade in a brass coin with the Newport Pell Bridge imprint on it for an 83-cent check from the state. Token holders have until May 15 to get reimbursed for dropping off their bridge coins to the RIBTA customer service center. After that date, all collected tokens will be sold for their scrap metal value. The coins were replaced by the awkwardly-named E-ZPass transponder system last spring. The new transaction eliminates humans and token-catching baskets and the human error of missing the basket while tossing your token on the move. It involves a little white box that you put on your windshield, which sends a signal to the automated tollbooth to lift an orange-colored arm that lets you cross the bridge. (The arms used to be green, until Rhode Islanders kept smashing through them, prompting the color change.) The little white box also counts how many times you pass through a toll and calculates how much to charge your credit card. I’m told certain models of the little white box will even do your taxes.
Not for nothin’: UK edition
Rhode Islanders aren’t the only folks who understand the rhetorical eloquence and sway of a good “not for nothin’” barb. In the “Talking points” section of the March 27 edition of the British magazine The Week, editors made good use of the phrase. The report concerned the suspected corruption of the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas, which was complicit in allowing the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species to reject a worldwide ban on fishing for Atlantic bluefin tuna, even though stocks have declined to 15 percent of their historic levels. The decision likely served as a death warrant to the entire species, prompting The Week’s editors to write: “Not for nothing has this body been dubbed the ‘International Conspiracy to Catch All Tuna.’” Brilliant, despite the too-proper spelling of “nothing,” which no doubt takes a bit of the oomph out of the gibe for purists of Rhode Islandese.
Eyjafjallajokull
Oops. Had my fingers on the wrong keys and ended up typing an Icelandic volcano.
But come to think of it, the volcanic ash cloud from Iceland has dominated the headlines for a couple of weeks now without a single size of Rhode Island reference. The closest I could find was buried in the comments section of a Huffington Post story. In a thread about natural disasters and global warming, poster Rob the Plumber (no relation to Joe, apparently), had this to say:
But of course we already knew that. (See “Floating Rhody,” posted April 5.) Still, the thought of doomsday arriving in the shape of Rhode Island-sized clouds made from volcanic ash traveling the globe on prevailing winds may inspire a little token redemption after all.
At any rate, the volcanic plume has created travel nightmares for millions, which, as we like to say, got us to thinkin’: What is your best worst travel story?
For questions about token redemption, call 401-423-0800 or visit www.ritba.org.
Turns out RITBA isn’t actually trivializing the release of sin. It is merely informing us that the day is coming when we will no longer be able to trade in a brass coin with the Newport Pell Bridge imprint on it for an 83-cent check from the state. Token holders have until May 15 to get reimbursed for dropping off their bridge coins to the RIBTA customer service center. After that date, all collected tokens will be sold for their scrap metal value. The coins were replaced by the awkwardly-named E-ZPass transponder system last spring. The new transaction eliminates humans and token-catching baskets and the human error of missing the basket while tossing your token on the move. It involves a little white box that you put on your windshield, which sends a signal to the automated tollbooth to lift an orange-colored arm that lets you cross the bridge. (The arms used to be green, until Rhode Islanders kept smashing through them, prompting the color change.) The little white box also counts how many times you pass through a toll and calculates how much to charge your credit card. I’m told certain models of the little white box will even do your taxes.
Not for nothin’: UK edition
Rhode Islanders aren’t the only folks who understand the rhetorical eloquence and sway of a good “not for nothin’” barb. In the “Talking points” section of the March 27 edition of the British magazine The Week, editors made good use of the phrase. The report concerned the suspected corruption of the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas, which was complicit in allowing the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species to reject a worldwide ban on fishing for Atlantic bluefin tuna, even though stocks have declined to 15 percent of their historic levels. The decision likely served as a death warrant to the entire species, prompting The Week’s editors to write: “Not for nothing has this body been dubbed the ‘International Conspiracy to Catch All Tuna.’” Brilliant, despite the too-proper spelling of “nothing,” which no doubt takes a bit of the oomph out of the gibe for purists of Rhode Islandese.
Eyjafjallajokull
Oops. Had my fingers on the wrong keys and ended up typing an Icelandic volcano.
But come to think of it, the volcanic ash cloud from Iceland has dominated the headlines for a couple of weeks now without a single size of Rhode Island reference. The closest I could find was buried in the comments section of a Huffington Post story. In a thread about natural disasters and global warming, poster Rob the Plumber (no relation to Joe, apparently), had this to say:
Global warming has resulted in acceleration of glacial calving in the northern hemisphere and increased seasonal breakouts of polar bergs. In the south, ice sheets in Antarctica are breaking off, resulting in icebergs the size of Rhode Island.
But of course we already knew that. (See “Floating Rhody,” posted April 5.) Still, the thought of doomsday arriving in the shape of Rhode Island-sized clouds made from volcanic ash traveling the globe on prevailing winds may inspire a little token redemption after all.
At any rate, the volcanic plume has created travel nightmares for millions, which, as we like to say, got us to thinkin’: What is your best worst travel story?
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