Google Drive
You geeks out there will note that this program was officially released on Tuesday after months of speculation. Free space in the void to store your documents. You know: Diary. Hate-filled manifesto. Disturbing letters to Delta Burke you swear you’ll send someday. Things like that. And while that’s just peachy, I couldn’t be more disappointed. When I heard Google was rolling out a new program and giving away a bunch of free space, I thought I’d finally have a place to store all my wife’s junk. Apparently it doesn’t work that way, so I’ve got to shell out for rental space or one of those big, green Dumpsters. Thanks, Google. Thanks for nothing.
 
White Rock
So, the good people of Jim Beam just forked over in excess of $600 million clams for two of the local distilleries brands. Bottoms up, my friends. That’s good business. Just remember while toasting your boozy good fortune that I once worked at White Rock as an eager young newcomer to Lewiston. Worked my tail off, in fact, and for three long weeks. Twisting on caps, straightening labels, doing all that Laverne and Shirley stuff to get those bottles onto the shelves. So, I’ve done the math factoring in my contribution and working out the chunk of the windfall I’m due. $605 million . . . carry the two . . . account for pi . . . multiply by eleventeen . . . Yup. According to my notes, that comes out to just about a cool million. I’m happy to take a cashier’s check, but a briefcase stuffed with cash and Jagermeister would be better.
 
Blech
Just kidding. Hate Jagermeister. Tastes like licorice fermenting in an old boot.
 
Is there balm in Gilead?
Recognize that line? No? It’s from “The Raven.” The poem, not the new movie, of which I want no part. Poe as a crime-fighting stud instead of the melancholy mess he was? No thanks. I heard that to play the part of the raven, they brought in the toucan from the old Fruit Loops commercials. Stupid Hollywood.
 
Yawn
Boy, election season is heating up, isn’t it? Rancor. Accusations flying like ticker tape. Bold assertions and heated denials. I’d have a lot more to say about this, but I forget who’s running.
 

Mom of the year

So, I’m riding along one of the busiest streets in Lewiston during the commuter hour Friday afternoon. A young mother is crossing the street with her two kids in tow, the children tied together with some kind of harness. One falls down in the street and the other soon follows. There are cars flying up from downtown and coming over a rise that will block their view of the downed kids until they’re right on top of them. I’m stopped on the other side of the street and suffering heart palpitations, but did the nonplussed mom so much as put down her cell phone as the kids struggled to their feet? Nossir. She did not. Just awesome momming out there.

 
Hyperbole springs eternal
On Thursday night, I went racing to Walnut Street in Lewiston for a reported stabbing. The horror! Cops moved in cautiously. Paramedics waited. A tense crowd huddled in the street, waiting for further news about the atrocity. As it turned out, no one had been stabbed, he just had a cut. Not a gash from an ugly brawl but just a household cut. And not a serious one that required a band-aid or anything. Just a cut. A boo-boo. Somebody kissed it and we all went on our way.

Only subscribers are eligible to post comments. Please subscribe or to participate in the conversation. Here’s why.

Use the form below to reset your password. When you've submitted your account email, we will send an email with a reset code.