Talk of the town: It happens to all guys

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A ca-ca storm by any other name

Don’t you hate it when someone describes the weather as “inclement?” If it’s not a four-letter word profane enough to get you kicked out of church, it’s not an adequate way to describe our recent weather. Maybe YOU’RE inclement, did you ever think of that? OK, I’ll go look it up.

Now that’s commitment

No matter how fierce last Sunday’s storm got, I kept seeing people walking in the roads, moving slowly and bent into the wind. Hardcore Mainers, right? Getting where they want to go in spite of the weather? Well, sort of. Most of the people I spotted in this manner were moving slowly, not because it was storming out there but because they were using their smart phones. Hell, they didn’t even look up when plow trucks roared by, just inches from their shins. Seriously, bruh? You’re walking in traffic on one of the wildest weather days of the season, but God forbid you miss seeing what your BFF is having for dinner that night, am I right? I kept checking Facebook, expecting to see somebody’s status update reporting: “Run over by beer truck. Presently buried head-first in snowbank. So, whatcha having for dinner?”

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Live leisurely or die

I also spied a lot of people out and about in the storms who were wearing pajama bottoms and, presumably, slippers. These are people who insist on being comfortable even if it kills them.

It was probably awesome

On one glorious night last week, we got treated to a full moon, an eclipse and a comet. And by “treated to” I mean “We didn’t see nuthin.” This is Maine, are you kidding? The very minute the eclipse was to occur, fat, thick clouds rolled into the area. You could practically hear them giggling as they blocked all the marvels that the cosmos had to offer.

My bad

I was wrong to repeatedly bemoan January while it was here. I know that now.

‘Self-described gang-banger denies charges.’

That was a headline in last Wednesday’s paper. I dunno. Do real gang-bangers actually go around describing themselves that way? Seems kind of gauche. You never heard train robbers back in the day jumping off their horses and announcing to terrified train passengers: “Look out, everybody! I’m an American old West bandit!” You never heard mustache-twirling men in black hats declaring “Look at me, I’m a vaudeville villain!” as he tied a pretty lady to the railroad tracks.

Wait a minute . . . 

How would I know what old West train robbers and mustachioed villains said as they went about their work? Look at me, everybody! I’m a hyperbolic simpleton desperate to fill column space so he can eat an ice cream sandwich and go on with his life!

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