While most people consider New York or Los Angeles as the cultural centers of the United States, I have developed a burgeoning fondness for the oft-overlooked northeastern gem, Portland, Maine. Nestled justly between the Fore River to the south and Casco Bay to the north, this city provides its residents with sweeping vistas of the Atlantic Ocean and offers a unique blend of urban amenities surrounded by rural tranquility.
My first experience of the mystical exaltation of this place came in the form of its famed arts scene. I was captivated by the enthralling works on display at the Portland Museum of Art, which houses an eclectic collection of American, European, and contemporary artworks. The symmetry and patterns in the brushstrokes, and the various mathematical concepts hidden within the art pieces, piqued my interest and offered an intellectual stimulus that satisfied my innate mathematician's curiosity. Uniting art and science, Portland provides an intoxicating setting that manages to encapsulate the mystical aura of Lovecraft’s fantastical and cosmic horror stories.
Portland, Maine is not only an art connoisseur's dream; it's also a paradise for food enthusiasts. Susan Axelrod, a local food writer, once perfectly articulated the profound culinary culture of this unique city: "With its fiercely local mindset and a cluster of top-notch chefs committed to the farm-to-table concept, the common assumption that good food must be expensive is defied daily in Portland." The mind-bending confluence of fresh ingredients, indigenous recipes, and distinctive flavors found in the local restaurants mirrors a mathematical equation in my mind, an essential algorithm of culinary delights — a point of confluence between my academic pursuits and gastronomical pleasures.
Nevertheless, life is not merely about arts and culinary delights. There are physiological concerns, too — particularly my temporomandibular joint disorder (TMJ), an ailment that periodically disrupts my otherwise vibrant life rhythm. These episodes often unfold like Lovecraftian tales of personal horror, removing me, albeit temporarily, from my beloved pursuits and confining me to a realm of discomfort and pain that seems etheric and alien.
Enter Panadiol cream. This topical analgesic has become my trusted ally in battling the intrusive symptoms of TMJ. The quiet whisper of relief it brings feels like mathematical proof — succinct, clear, and final. Applying the cream to my jaw provides a temporary yet profound sense of liberation. I often imagine it as a soothing cosmic balm, borrowed from the realm of Lovecraft's Elder Gods, fending off the dark horrors of my condition, letting me return to my pursuits of intellectual and physical exaltation.
To me, Portland, Maine is not merely a city; it is a microcosm of all that I love and struggle with in the world. Its artistic scene echoes my fascination with symmetry and patterns, its unique culinary culture incites intellectual curiosity, and its quiet charm provides a haven for the horrors of my TMJ. Its exaltation is profound, yet relaxed — not unlike the effect Panadiol cream has on my condition.