Editor’s Note

Time flies when you’re having fun. Or not. The last time I subjected myself to the trial of having an “official” portrait taken was in the summer of 2009. That shot has aged much better than I have, but it was time to let it go.

Why does mud get such a bad rap? It’s what politicians sling when they run out of good arguments. It’s what your name becomes when you screw up publicly. It’s also the nickname of the “off” season that is now upon us.

What would Gen. John Stark think of guru Baba Ram Dass? Editor Rick Broussard expands on that thought, plus introduces our new special issue Lifelong New Hampshire.

About a year ago this month, my wife and I received a special honor at the New Hampshire Theatre Awards —mostly just for being stage parents who didn’t quit when our kids grew up, but I took advantage of the opportunity.

You may have noticed our latest foray into multimedia: our Cubicle Concerts series, mentioned on our “About” page (in October) or on house ads (like the one to the left), and perhaps you’ve even taken a few minutes to watch and listen to a few of them. I hope so.

New Hampshire’s most celebrated poet wrote those lines in one of his lesser-known poems, appropriately titled “New Hampshire.” I say “lesser known” but not unappreciated.

A few years ago, my wife and I were walking in Portsmouth’s Market Square — people-watching, of course. My wife was dressed as a monarch butterfly and I wore the plush orange skin of a human-size red spotted newt.

But it was too late. I was already emotionally bound to my Scottish “heritage,” which mostly took shape in my desire to wear a kilt, play the pipes and go hunting Nessie in the lochs of the Highlands. When I…

My family ran a traveling puppet theater when I was growing up, so it was this last attraction that I was most looking forward to seeing at the big shebang at Manchester’s Northeast Delta Dental Stadium in June. Sadly, I…

It was an impulse buy. I didn’t even look at the price (pricey) because it was displayed with some hand-wrapped cuts of cheese so I could tell it was from a local dairy — two of my favorite words —…