Move over you smooching, love-sick saps. Here are some stories of good lovin’ gone bad – very bad.
By Charlene Arsenault and Noah R Bombard
Everyone’s got a story. And they’re not all surrounded by boxes of heart-shaped chocolates and diamond rings. And they don’t all have happy endings. Love is a many-splendored thing when it hits you just right. But let’s face it — sometimes, love just stinks.
To protect the innocent — and the downright dirty-rotten guilty — the names in the following sordid tales will remain anonymous. Worcester Magazine did verify the authors of each of these submissions, however. If the story bears a stark resemblance to something in your own life, be quiet about it — it might be just a coincidence.
Farewell, my old faithful friend. Our adventure together in this life is finally done. And oh, what a time we had. What a journey. From Idaho to Maine, from mountain summits to ocean shores, from gourmet dog food to whatever we could make out of Bisquick. In both dark times and bright you were my steadfast companion.
Indiana and me Jan. 25, 2012.
I thought it was I who had rescued you so long ago when I first saw you standing there 15 years ago in that cage — the last one on the left down that long row of barking dogs. I was 25, just a kid. You didn’t bark at me. You didn’t growl. You just looked at me — and then you wagged your tail. I knew you instantly — with your soulful eyes in which were bound all that is good, all that is gentle and all that is innocent. There was no question, you were coming home with me. I was there that day by chance; an unplanned visit. I had no idea our lives would be so bound together and for so long. You were among several dogs whose lives were to be ended within hours of that day. I couldn’t save them all, but I knew I had to save you.
Yes, I thought it was I who had rescued you. But as fate would have it, it was you who rescued me — time and time again. How many lives have we lived together? You’ve journeyed with me for more than a third of my life. From an empty church parking lot in Maine where we spent many cold nights sleeping in that tiny Civic. I was lost and lonely. Your nose would find its way through to the front seat in the middle of the night, nudging my ear. I had nothing but you and our friend Skidder, the three of us living in a car and working a hot dog stand during the day. People loved to pet you. You brought peace to everyone who touched you.
Indiana on Jan. 25, 2012.
You looked to me for food and for our next path. In return, you gave me hope and confidence. Our travels took us across the country, down may roads and many wooded trails. You never left my side. We threw the leash away years ago. You defied all the rules people tell you about dogs — don’t get in their face (you loved people in your face), don’t touch their food (you would gladly share if anyone actually wanted it).
When bitterness or anger shown on my face, you offered me affection and floppy ears. When I couldn’t muster the spirit to step out of bed, you were there to need me and give me purpose. Your outstretched paw said come pet me. Your eyes on the door told me there was a world out there waiting for us. Oh, what a book we wrote together — from wandering pilgrims living out of our car to domesticated family with a house to call home. You saw me married — even walked down the aisle with that foolish bow tie we made you wear. You saw me through that marriage and through a divorce, making sure that through it all, I was never alone. And then, I had a son. And you gave me the most wonderful gift you could have given. You loved him. And through all of those many years together, your lessons of patience and understanding prepared me for being a father. Such a gift can never be repaid. It can only be cherished.
The tears I shed over you are not tears of regret. They are tears fed by the enormous well of love you’ve spent your life filling within me. I know you didn’t want to leave us. Even when your body faded your eyes remained fixed on us, your tail wagged at our approach. Your spirit is tied to this earth and will be so long as those whose lives you touched draw breath. You will be with me forever — in the quiet woods, on the sunny grass. In the playful eyes of my son.
The iconic salesman who adorned America’s oldest continually bottled soda for decades disappeared from the label in 2007 when the brand was purchased by Cornucopia Beverages of Bedford, N.H.
After four years, it was time to bring him back, says brand manager Justin Conroy.
Stores in Northern New England have already begun carrying the new Moxie Man labels, and stores in Southern New England will soon follow.
The young man with the white coat and finger pointing at you who customers grew up with has been slightly updated – he’s got a website on him now (drinkmoxie.com).
The new Moxie can. (Photo by Rick Marden)
But with the eyeliner-wearing Moxie Man with his steely gaze back on the scene, some Northern New Englanders have begun complaining the soft drink has lost some of its legendary bite. I’ve had three friends in Maine complain over the past two weeks that something wacky is going on with Moxie. So, I called the one man with the distinctive taste buds to know the difference.
“It’s not what it used to be,” says Frank Anicetti, owner of Kennebec’s store in Lisbon Falls, Maine.
Anicetti should know. Aside from being a lifelong Moxie drinker and peddler of Moxie paraphernalia galore (a Moxie necktie anyone?), he organizes the annual Moxie Festival in Lisbon Falls that drew more than 50,000 fans last summer.
Anicetti says he usually drinks Diet Moxie as it has more of that original “bite” that fans love. When he twisted open a bottle recently, though, he was not pleased.
“The one I had yesterday was more like a fruit drink,” he said.
Conroy refutes any formula change, however, saying the company has made no changes to the concentrate that is shipped to bottlers and used to make Moxie.
Formula changes are a sore subject for Moxie fans. Longtime drinkers may recall the blunder the company made in the 1960s when it completely revamped Moxie as a fruit beverage. Sales reportedly plummeted and something close to the original drink was quickly brought back.
“We’re always mindful of past mistakes,” Conroy says.
Conroy says depending on the water source a bottler uses and the individual batch preparation, there can be some minor fluctuations in flavor from one soda to another. Locally, Moxie is bottled by the Polar Beverage Corp. here in Worcester.
“That’s true,” Anicetti says. “The Moxie we drink up here tastes a little different than what you get in Massachusetts.”
Has Cornucopia pulled a fast one on Moxie loyalists or did folks in parts of Maine just get a botched batch of Moxie? If only the Moxie Man could speak.
The Associated Press released a revised version of its Social Media Guidelines for its employees this month. There’s a lot of really good, sensible stuff in there (recognition of journalist’s personal brands, encouraging engagement with readers, etc.).
One area of note, however, is not a new subject of debate among journalists on social media: Does following someone on Twitter or “liking” a page or friending a political candidate or cause on Facebook translate into an endorsement? AP recognizes that this isn’t necessarily so, but is concerned about the perceptions of what it calls “people unfamiliar with the protocol of social networks.” So, AP discourages the practice. It’s an issue I think legacy media companies tend to overly concern themselves with.
Now, I must point out that this doesn’t seem to be a concrete rule for AP — the guidelines say employees should “avoid” these interactions. Nevertheless, it’s an interesting point of discussion for any journalist out there in the social media playing field.
From the journalist’s perspective, making these connections in social media is about building a personal community of sources. Social media is, at its best, interactive. Although beginners sometimes mistake it as simply a new way to broadcast — publishing links to stories with no interaction. They’re missing out on the best part of social media, which is plugging in to a large community of people of various political persuasions. Input from this community is as valuable as output to it. Should you follow the mayor on Twitter? Absolutely. Should you follow his opponent in the upcoming election? Naturally. Follow your friends. Follow the competition. Follow and like anything that makes you a better informed journalist. Yes, you can create lists in Twitter and there are ways to get around a direct connection. But is it really necessary? Will people confuse your motives? Not if they’re genuinely balanced.
What would be some potential ways to screw this up?
Friend, like or follow only people of a particular party or persuasion.
Engage with people on these platforms in a way that shows a strong bias or reflects badly on the company you work for.
Can professional journalists avoid doing that? Yes. Those misuses aside, it seems that we journalists on social media shouldn’t overly concern ourselves with the perceptions of those who aren’t on social media.
Three months after closing 63 “underperforming” restaurants as part of a voluntary Chapter 11 bankruptcy, Friendly’s closed an additional 37 stores Sunday after being unable to renegotiate leases with property owners. With that move, that iconic ice cream place your parents took you to as a kid significantly scaled back its presence on the local eatery scene.
Is it a sign of the end for Friendly’s or simply a restructuring that could leave the slimmed-down fast food chain financially sound? It’s anybody’s guess. But first, the more important question on the minds of Friendly’s fans in Central Massachusetts — what’s left?
Taking a look Central Mass. in the Worcester/Leominster region there are eight restaurants left.
Those still open:
Leominster — 482 North Main Street. 978-537-9787
Gardner — 18 Pearson Boulevard. 978-630-1821
Holden — 1060 Main Street. 508-829-2991
Worcester — 966 Grafton Street. 508-798-3298
Sudbury — 457 Boston Post Road. 978-443-2033
Auburn — 697 Southbridge Street. 508-832-3102
Webster — 129 East Main Street. 508-943-8533
Milford — 17 Medway Road. 508-473-7398
From a map view, that’s not horrible. There may not be several Friendly’s within a 10 min. drive of your door as there once was, but there’s still a smattering of them left spread out in the region. With the closure of the additional 37, Friendly’s says it has now emerged from Chapter 11 bankruptcy. That means the future is theirs to either grow, survive or die.
It definitely has a chance to survive. When the chain closed the Monument Square location in Leominster my son and I used to go to we drifted over to the one left on North Main Street. It was packed. We’ve been back twice since. Each time there’s been a wait for a seat. Despite a growing reputation for what many see as poor customer service and quality control, Friendly’s has a decades-old brand with sentimental attachments. With fewer stores left, those that are left are pulling in customers from a wider area. Sure, the economy is tough, but plenty of chains are doing well. With massive debt no longer looming over the chain, the Supermelt is squarely in Friendly’s court.
Move over you smooching, love-sick saps. Here are some stories of good lovin’ gone bad – very bad.
