I decided when I was ready to transfer to a four-year university that the Gilmore Girls were reasonable, realistic representatives of New England, all of New England, and that I would like very much to live among them. We would speak really fast together, making obscure pop-culture references and forcing lesser Kennedy heirs fall in love with us all the while.
"Maine is in New England," I thought, "so it will be populated with the jaded, moneyed intellectuals whose company I so pine for." But, I thought, because it is quirky and a bit off the grid, Maine will have more to offer, much more! Maine will have moose! And lobstah! And lumberjacks! It will be the perfect combination! I will never want to leave! These are the thoughts that brought a Southern-California lifer with poor circulation and a low body-fat percentage to the Great White North. The Old Port Candy Company is what keeps me here.
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