For some reason, 4,800 libraries are getting involved in this solar eclipse craze.

Things just took a turn to sexy town.

Your lifelong dream of donning creative sunglasses and looking like a less cool Ray Charles / Bono / Roy Orbison are about to be over.

With the celestial hysteria amping up regarding the impending August 21st solar eclipse, the Space Science Institute, the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, and Google are collaborating with 4,800 libraries to hand out over two million free pairs of protective eyewear. I'm sure they'll look like a poor man's Ray-Bans.

That said, this map detailing the 4,800 participating locations shows that some libraries are over a thousand miles away from the narrow peak viewing strip and will hardly have much of an eclipse at all. You're apt to harm your eyes as much by looking at a sunset on a partly cloudy day. Or watching Fox News.



Speaking of bubbling hysteria, CNN is now in a partnership with Volvo to "present" the "Eclipse of The Century." Swedish auto manufacturing is a natural relationship to have with astronomy.

Ahhhh, relief.

Like this, except...only one.

Drank too much water? Had the refried beans last night with dinner? Good news if nature calls while you're visiting the North Amherst, MA, library. A port-o-potty is on the way to help you out.

It seems the western Massachusetts hub for books doesn't have a bathroom at its disposal, which leads librarians to send visitors across a busy street to a shopping complex to scope out an available toilet.

Retired elementary school teacher Terry Johnson decided to offer assistance. Knowing that visitors spike in the summer months, Johnson offered to pay the $500-$650 fee of renting a port-o-potty and having it cleaned regularly.

The library actually ignored Johnson's offer at first because they acquired a former auto mechanic shop next door and thought they could modify the bathrooms inside it. Alas, the bathrooms didn't meet the Americans with Disabilities Act requirements, and fixing them wasn't feasible with budgetary constraints. The library was back to square one.

Luckily, Terry Johnson is a seemingly patient and kind woman, as when the town manager, Paul Bockelman, reached out weeks later to ask for the port-o-potty, Johnson still kept her side of the offer. The port-o-potty is on its way to offer relief to all those crossing their legs in anxiety.

Just don't bring a book in with you. There's only one port-o-potty after all, and people gotta go.

After 325-years, the site of the Salem witch trial hangings has a memorial marker.

The original memorial, with a bench for each victim.

For most of those 325-years, residents of Salem, MA, always went to a spot in town called Gallows Hill to commemorate the hangings. "Gallows" alone suggests hangings after all. In 1992, even famed Nobel Laureate Elie Wiesel spoke at the original Salem witch trial memorial dedication during the 300th anniversary. Yet, in the years since, new research has found that the nearby Proctor's Ledge was the actual site of the mass hangings.

The reason? According to The Smithsonian, after hanging and death, the bodies were thrown down below the ledge into "the crevice," a spot where families of the deceased could gather the body late at night and bury it privately. Based on historical records, Proctor's Ledge would be used to coincide with "the crevice."

Proctor's Ledge is named after one of the families affected by the witch trials. John Proctor was one of the 19 hanged, as he was a vocal critic of the hysteria at a time when it was best to keep quiet and maintain a low profile. Years later, his grandson bought the property where the hangings occurred, and it was named after the family.

The Proctors were such a key component to the entire debacle, they featured mightily in Arthur Miller's version of events when he wrote his famed play The Crucible about the trials. Three-time Oscar winner Daniel Day-Lewis, known to be highly choosy on roles he'd accept, found so much value in the trials, and specifically John Proctor, that he played the man in the most recent film adaptation of Miller's work.

On July 19th, Salem's mayor, Kimberley Driscoll, will dedicate a memorial at "the crevice" to commemorate the deaths that happened at Proctor's Ledge. The date aligns with the hangings of the first five victims, Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse, and Sarah Wildes, who died July 19, 1692.

Proctor himself wouldn't be killed until a month later on August 19th.

Poor school and rich school are not the same school.

The Commonwealth School, founded in 1957, is a tony private institution in Boston. With a yearly tuition of $40,000, it typically sends students off to MIT and Ivy League universities.

The Commonwealth Academy, founded in 2011, is a small private school 90-miles away in Springfield, MA. With a yearly tuition of under $1,200, it typically does not see students attend the elite educational colleges of America.

This hasn't stopped the School from filing a $2 million lawsuit against the Academy claiming "irreparable harm" and financial loss that is "presently incalculable" has occurred. Why? Because both facilities use the word "Commonwealth" in their name.

While the School claims they didn't even know the Academy existed until 2015, School headmaster William Wharton tells the Boston Globe that the word is "a part of our identity, and it’s something that we ultimately have to protect." Nothing like stopping confusion among things by creating confusion in the first place.

One major sticking point is that Massachusetts officially goes by the title of Commonwealth of Massachusetts. (As do Kentucky, Pennsylvania, and Virginia.) With both institutions located in the same state, and thousands of different locations and buildings in the state all labeled with the word, it's a tricky argument by the School.

Then there's one other minor issue, if this isn't already too much commonwealth for you to handle in one sitting: There's already a separate Commonwealth Academy, located in Virginia, who says they're perfectly content with the similarly named school in Massachusetts.

A hearing on the matter is expected to be held on July 12th.

In the meantime, no common sense or common good can apparently come from "Commonwealth."

...and Louisiana definitely can't spell "definitely."

It was the week of the National Spelling Bee, when every awkward 6-to-14 year old who will be your future boss got on stage and impressed everyone with knowledge of obscure Latin-by-way-of-Middle-French words. This led everyone to question their own personal spelling abilities--and that's where Google came in.

The Great Google Machine dove into its search trends and found the most misspelled word by each state. They used search queries that started with "how to spell" followed by the word troubling people. The results turned out to be a snapshot of each state's psyche.

New Hampshire can't spell "diarrhea," nor can Arizona.

Florida struggles with "tomorrow," potentially because half of its residents might die before then.

South Dakota trips up on "gray," as the cold, desolate misery of living there infects their spelling. Michigan has "gray" concerns as well. But, you know. Michigan.

Minnesota wonders how to spell "broccoli," a mythical vegetable believed by locals to exist in faraway warmer climates.

Texas can't spell "niece," nor Nevada "cousin." Two words tripping up thousands of married couples in each state since the 1850s.

And then there's Massachusetts...which can't spell itself. That's right. The state with the most letters in its name, haphazardly thrown together as if blended in a Cuisinart, is troubling its own citizens to such a degree that people turn to Google for help.

Ohio doesn't have such problems since saying the state's name out loud practically spells itself. But Ohio can't spell "banana," so what do they know?

And then there were two: Ohio finally appoints a state poet laureate.

From the better late than never file:

Amit Majmudar has been named Ohio's first-ever state poet laureate. This leaves only two states to never have established the position in their respective histories--New Mexico and Massachusetts. (Although New Jersey and Pennsylvania abolished the position in their states during the Great Poetry Purge of 2003*. But at least they once had the position.)

No one really expects much out of New Mexico, save for some lovely vistas and turquoise jewelry. Massachusetts though? Roughly 765,000 colleges and universities crammed together, never mind countless famous writers, and not a single poet laureate to be found?

Sounds like someone's just being a contrarian.



*For reasons unknown, both states became irked by the notion of a state poet laureate in 2003. Because who needs culture, really?

The American southwest is apparently an education wasteland.

The Common Core Standards were adopted by forty-four states as an effort to improve student results in a variety of math and reading curriculum. Yet a recent study suggest that not only has improvement stagnated under the initiative, it might have resulted in worse performances.

According to a study at Education Week, scores have stalled or decreased--and by their metric of scoring (high school graduation rates, proficiency scores on tests, per pupil spending)--no state garnered an "A" grade. The best is Massachusetts, which earned a "B."

The American southwest/lower midwest is where the most troubling grades occur, with four of the five worst states residing there.

The five worst:
5. Arizona  (D+)
4. Oklahoma  (D+)
3. New Mexico  (D)
2. Nevada  (D)

Nevada holds the honor--or disturbance--of having the lowest percentage of graduating students from high school, at 60%.

But the worst state for education, according to Education Week's study?

1. Mississippi  (D)

Only 22% of Mississippian students in 4th and 8th grade are deemed proficient in either math or reading.

Sometimes it's hard picking on a state that's only found success in failure.

Ohio apparently has never had a state poet laureate.

Poet laureate is the kind of position every politician loves to support. It's right up there with naming an official state doughnut or declaring corn muffins the official state muffin. (Massachusetts is actually behind the corn muffin stance.) It makes the politician look like a lover of the arts, a lover of literacy, a lover of old-timey values, and they get to look like they're committed to a cause. In this case, committed to the cause of poetry.

Which brings us to Ohio. The state senate unanimously passed a resolution to create the position of state poet laureate, a position that 44 other states have long gotten around to naming. For a state that produced such famed poets as Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni, and Paul Lawrence Dunbar, it appears an oversight made right.

Under the resolution passed, the governor will select someone to the position from a list of recommendations. Once chosen, the poet laureate will remain in office for four years and be required to hold four public readings. (It's a very intense work load.)

In case you're wondering, the five remaining states without a poet laureate are not some podunk like North Dakota or Nebraska. They are Massachusetts, Michigan, New Mexico, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania--the last two of whom which once had poet laureates, and then later abolished the position.

Which is why we can safely announce New Jersey and Pennsylvania hate poetry.

Some Famous Writer Once Lived Here: Amherst, Massachusetts

Some Famous Writer Once Lived Here is where we check out cities or towns that--you guessed it--a famous writer once lived. Picture the illegitimate lovechild between the US Census report and a tourist pamphlet from a local chamber of commerce. What's it like there today? Here's where we find out.


Today:  Emily Dickinson once lived in Amherst, Massachusetts:

Outside of Boston, whenever you think of a nebbish, scholarly, cultured New England type, the stereotype you're envisioning is largely located in Amherst, MA, where academic elitists blend with barefooted hobos in a delightful human fondue of awkwardness with a quaint, small town vibe.

Sure, she never left the house much, but that doesn't stop the good folk of this western Massachusetts enclave from building its agoraphobic reputation partly around Emily Dickinson and the socially uncomfortable, depression-inducing ideals you'd come to expect from a powerhouse literary neighborhood.

Amherst College, Hampshire College, and UMass-Amherst all call the town home, placing tens of thousands of students into the cozy confines of a rural New England hamlet. It's the equivalent of having an Insane Clown Posse concert in your grandma's living room.


The basics of Amherst, Massachusetts:

Location:
Just shy of 75 miles away as the crow flies from Boston, but nearly 100 miles on surface roads, Amherst is directly closer to Albany, NY, and Hartford, CT. But you should never want to visit Albany or Hartford under any circumstances, so 100 miles to Boston it is.

2010 Census:
Population: 37,819, up nearly 3,000 since 2000. Some college graduates just won't leave.

Racial Makeup: 76.9% white, 5.4% African American, 0.2% Native American, 10.9% Asian. Out of the 37,819 people in Amherst, only 13 defined themselves as a Pacific Islander, verifying once and for all that Amherst is nowhere near a Pacific island.

Good news for single men: 51.1% of the population is female, and only 99.98% of that population wants you to wear shoes.

10.6% of Amherst residents live below the poverty line, while 56% of the work force works in education. Sounds like those three colleges need to start paying their employees more coin.


What to see, what to do in Amherst:

Ravenous hungry caterpillars wear shoes.

Do you enjoy Emily Dickinson, but find looking at words to be too much of a hassle with the reading experience? Good news! The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art is located in Amherst. Is there a monument to The Very Hungry Caterpillar? There is if they know what's good for them.

After you're done examining the artistic complexity of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, head on down to the National Yiddish Book Center. As one One Yelp reviewer describes it, it's "worth a trip for the whole micschpokhe."

And when you're looking to take the edge off, there's the Amherst Farm Winery, where an old dairy barn has been converted into a modern, cozy, den of boozy deliciousness. $5 gets you a logo glass, a taste of five wines, and a brief buzz.

Of course, there's the Emily Dickinson Museum, a National Historic Landmark, and what used to be the poet's home during her secluded life. Remember, folks, agoraphobia is less depressing when you see it on a guided tour!


Where to eat in Amherst:

For intriguing menu item names alone, The Black Sheep Deli wins for sandwiches called the Purple People Eater (eggplant), Fowl Play (chicken), and the Humongous Fungus (grilled portobellos). It sounds creepier when you say "grilled fungus on a roll" though.

Bistro 63 at the Monkey Bar and Grille is a mouthful to say, as is their description of their Oyster Rockefeller, which includes "lemon butter parnod besciamella sauce." At least three of those are real words. That said, everything tastes more delicious when it sounds deceptively French and/or Italian.

Looking for a Denny's experience but with 99% less shame than a Denny's experience? Head over to the breakfasts of The Lone Wolf, which straddles the bitter culinary breakfast divide between Israel (Challah French Toast) and Mexico (Chilli Relenos).


Didn't Robert Frost once live in Amherst?

Gypsy.

Indeed, but he lived everywhere in New England, so it hardly counts. Robert Frost was like a Johnny Cash song come to life.













Emily Dickinson's thoughts on her hometown:

"[C]ould it please your convenience to come so far as Amherst, I should be very glad, but I do not cross my father's ground to any house or town."

One word for every state: What Google auto-complete combines with your home state.

The Twitter account @Amazing_Maps tweeted out the map below, which combines every state with the one word Google's autocomplete uses to answer the question "Why is [name of state] so...?"

Massachusetts is smart and Oregon good, but other than that every state has some stigma--politically, economically, or culturally.

Or if you're Nebraska or Delaware, you're just boring.

Business Insider selects most famous book set in every U.S. state.

For example, Massachusetts gets Walden.

Washington gets Twilight.

Everyone can't be a winner.










photo: The Thoreau Society

Boston.com tries to find the humor in a situation.

Fitchburg, Massachusetts--which this blog has an association with--is less than desirable as a place to live.

Boston.com--and, by association, The Boston Globe--ranked the 20 richest and 20 poorest cities and towns out of Massachusetts' 351 total incorporated areas.

And it turns out that Fitchburg, despite being poor and trashy, has a literary reference, which the Globe proudly detailed during an examination of the city's poverty:

Fun Fact: Who knew that Fitchburg had a large wizarding population? The book "Quidditch Through the Ages" from the Harry Potter universe lists a team called the Fitchburg Finches as one of two representing the United States.

Harry Potter doesn't just kill off evil wizards, he even makes poverty fun and exciting! Hooooooray!






Photo: Aram Boghosian, The Boston Globe...of a commuter rail station. The happeningest place in all of Fitchburg.

The state of Vermont: Sponsored by Subaru.

I recently spent four days crossing northern Vermont during leaf-peeping season. (Nothing is easier on the wallet for a poor English major than just driving aimlessly. That is until gas prices shoot up again.) While the scenery was inspiring to write, I was too busy making mental notes about the people. The foundation for writing is often just the ability to observe. Though stereotypes are fun and work in a pinch, too.

First off, Vermont is made up of two types of people, and only two types of people. (Stereotyping, you say? Not so, if you've been to Vermont more than a few times in your life.) One type is the born-and-bred out in the countryside. They live in rusted double-wides with a Chevy/Ford pickup truck with 250,000 miles on it as their mode of transportation. They tend to have a thick and hefty beard, wear lots of random camo, have some scruffy dog that looks like it smokes two packs a day, and are the classic taciturn New Englander. If you chat them up, expect one word answers. Two word answers are reserved only if you marry them or buy dinner.

The other Vermonter is someone who moved in from elsewhere. They might have been born in Vermont, moved away, only to come back...or was born elsewhere, but felt the Kashi cereal magnetism that emanates from Vermont and felt drawn to its mountains of green. These people live in ornate Victorian homes that look like it was plucked from a Bronte sister book, run galleries for local artists, and grow their own manure pile in the backyard. They don't eat granola unless they've added a little extra tree bark for fiber. They drive Subarus. This is a fact. You will not drive in Vermont for more than 1/10th of a mile without seeing a half dozen Subarus fly past you. In fact, Vermont recently passed legislation that said the entire state is now just one giant Subaru dealership.

What is also clear about traveling throughout Vermont is that Robert Frost got around. Yes, Robert Frost was "New England's Poet." Apparently being New England's Poet meant he single-handedly kept the real estate market afloat in the early 20th century. This man seemingly owned homes, vacation spots, farms, dance clubs, yoga studios, and Chinese food restaurants. I've been to most every corner of New England over the years. At this point, it's clear Frost slept in more beds than Richard Gere in "American Gigolo." You drive for a half hour anywhere in northern New England and you're apt to see some Robert Frost real estate. (That includes one final piece of real estate: his burial plot in Bennington, VT.)

That's what makes Emily Dickinson easier to seek out. You might say she was a recluse or had some social anxiety disorder. I just say she was being kind and making things easier on a day tripper like myself. If Travelocity or Expedia want to hype a famous writer for tourists, they need to jump on the Emily Dickinson bandwagon. She's the anti-Frost, and especially the anti-Hemingway. (That's another blog for another day.) Birthplace? Home where she lived? Burial plot? Are you capable of walking 50ft without getting winded and needing a hit off an oxygen tank? If so, Emily is the woman for you! How helpful!

And best of all, you don't need to buy a Subaru to see it all.