The poor dear

To the nice lady at Shaw’s who said, and I quote: “Every time I see you in here, I feel like I’m seeing a celebrity. Put that in your little article.” Okay, here it is: I think you got a hold of a bad banana. We’re going to get you some help. There are 12-step programs for this kind of delusional state, but I’m thinking you need more like 36. By the way: if you tell anybody what I was buying at Shaw’s, I’ll deny it.

Red light, green light

What’s the deal with flaggers these days? I keep making the mistake of driving up Lincoln Street in Lewiston where construction work is ongoing. I think they’re taking out a section of the river out there and putting in a water slide. Or something. And anyway, driving up that one-mile stretch and you will be confronted with at least two flaggers before you get where you’re going. Do you nod to them as you pass? Wave hello? Are you supposed to tip the flaggers? Are they even called flaggers anymore? They make me uneasy, whatever they’re called. They have those radios. Who are they talking to? Are they relaying information about me to the principal’s office? Why are they so tan? Flag people freak me out. What do you want from me?

Magic Man!

It happened again. I’m sitting on the deck outside Gritty’s and across the bridge, The Magic Man comes strolling out of Great Falls, bandanna on his head, bags of bottles hanging from his fists. He’s walking with that determined stomp he is famed for but he’s not moving all that fast. Cut to the future, roughly six minutes from the time I first spotted the dude. I’m driving up East Avenue in Lewiston and there he is, stomping his way along the sidewalk. Same bandanna, same bags of returnables. Once again, The Magic Man has defied the normally unbreakable laws of space and time. I’m telling you, this guy could make Criss Angel cry.

Goodfellas

Henry Hill, the central character from the movie of that title, died this week after a long and violent life. How did I find out? I read when I went to get the papers, get the papers.

What?

If you’re not a Goodfellas fan, you probably didn’t understand the above remark. Important tip: You are not really a Goodfellas fan until you’ve seen the flick at least a dozen times and you want to watch it again like right now. Spoiler alert: A bunch of people get whacked and DeNiro snarls a lot.

Lady in black

So, I’m in the dunk tank. All kinds of familiar faces step up, throw balls, try to drown me. Nice going, bastards. I’ll get you for this. Meanwhile, a nice, young lady in black bought three balls, fired two in haste and then nailed the big, red button on the nose. I went down and by the time I surfaced (I’ll bet you didn’t know that dunk tanks are actually 30-feet deep and teeming with eels and tropical fish) she was gone. Who were you, mystery lady who was so eager to send me down into the fathoms? An ex-girlfriend? If so, I’d like to reiterate what I told you before: It wasn’t me. It was you.

Welcome to our pool

You know how many backyard swimming pools have signs that say something like “please don’t pee in our pool?” Dunk tanks don’t have signs like that. I’m just sayin.

mlaflamme@sunjournal.com