I got the music in me

So, dashing and muscle-bound photographer Russ Dillingham and I are sitting in a lecture hall at Bates College Wednesday listening to an esteemed professor speak about the dark history of music. We’re talking Wagner here, and Beethoven and the role of music in Nazi Germany. Deep stuff. Heavy stuff. And right in the middle of it, Russ fumbled his phone with those massive paws he has and the music from Candy Crush began to blast through the room, all bright and jaunty and loud. Inspired by the crazy music, everybody got out of their seats and began to dance, including a few 80-year-old college professors who looked like slightly wrinkled versions of John Travolta out there. OK, that last part isn’t true, but the rest of it is.

Blood moon

In the wee hours Wednesday, I awoke suddenly in my bed as though some unseen hand had slipped out of the sky to tap my shoulder. It was the morning of the Blood Moon and I shuffled wearily from my bed, convinced that the sky had a message for me that must not be missed. I pulled on a pair of whatever it was laying next to my bed and stumbled outside, my face turned to the sky like a man awaiting a revelation. But of course this is Maine, and so the sky was filled end to end with clouds, which hid the moon’s message for me as effectively and completely as a vault door. Blood moon? What blood moon? But I got to wear something smooth and silky for a change, so I guess all is well that ends well.

Name that face

So, I was straddling my motorcycle Thursday night and watching the people of Operation Hot Spots do their thing. A pretty woman of about 30 wandered over and glanced at me with a frown and slitted eyes. “That face,” she said to a friend. “Why do I know that face?” I said nothing at all and after a minute or two, went on my merry way. Should I have stepped forward and introduced myself, thus curing her of the aggravating itch of failed memory? Perhaps. But it’s much more fun to let her believe that I might be some forgotten lover from the past, or some punk who owes her money.

You say the sweetest things

A touching note from a reader: “You are one of the reasons I still subscribe to the local paper, along with news, sports, weather, obits, Sunspots, horoscopes and of course, coupons.” He later added comics and the ability to house train his puppy to the list. Still . . . Touching.

Is it me?

Or are there more political advertisements than ever littering up our mailboxes these days? I’m going to have one printed up of me in a onesie or something and send it out to all the candidates. See how YOU like thinking you’ve got a postcard from a friend and then finding out it’s just more slick advertisement. Albeit a sexy one. I mean, onesies are hot!

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