I just called to say I love you

You know what I stink at? No, not that. I’m actually pretty great at that. But I’m really terrible at leaving voicemail messages. In my head, I’ll have a concise, eloquent narrative to leave for the recipient of my call and I’ll punch the phone numbers with absolute confidence. But then, after the beep, all that goes away and I start rambling wildly, often delivering anecdotes from my childhood that have nothing to do with the matter at hand. The more I try to save myself and reel it in, the more incoherent and awkward the message gets. When you end all of your voicemail messages with sonnets or haikus about elephants, you know you have a problem.

De-tickification

So, recently, I was diagnosed with some tick-borne illness that wrought havoc with me health-wise for a few weeks. Before that, because I’m kind of stupid, I was one who scoffed at warnings about ticks while I was out climbing mountains and such. Now? You ought to see my de-tickification ritual, bro. I basically nude up at the trailhead and go over my entire body with a sticky lint roller, which is exactly as fun as it sounds. Then I come home and shower, scouring myself so fiercely with a coarse sponge, the water actually starts to burn when it hits my flayed skin. After that, I do some sort of anti-pestilence dance ritual in my backyard, with chanting and incantations. I won’t describe that ritual because it can be dangerous for amateurs.

I got nowhere else to go!

I keep driving around downtown Lewiston to see how far they’ve gone tearing down the old bank building at Park and Pine streets. You know, back when that was Sun Journal property, there was a little space on a lower floor complete with a full kitchen, a sleeper sofa and even a TV. That was always my backup plan in case relationships went south. Now that the building is coming down, I don’t dare argue with my wife because I no longer have a backup plan. It’s not easy being me, you know.

Luftbaloons

For the first time that I can remember, I’ll be away on vacation while the Lewiston-Auburn Balloon Festival is underway back at home. I hope to be up on a mountain somewhere that weekend, but the habit of 25-plus years covering the event will probably have me asking “How are you enjoying the balloons so far?” of random hikers, forest rangers and small animals I come across.

Do you even hula, bro?

Saw a kid on Walnut Street in Lewiston the other day who was getting down with a by-God hula hoop like it was 1957 all up in here. I circled the block a few times to see if he might next produce a Slinky, a yo-yo, Stretch Armstrong, Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots, Lite Brite, Barrel of Monkeys, pick-up sticks or possibly one of those little gadgets that mooed at you when you turned it over.