Talk of the Town Ernie Anderson

Empty nest syndrome
My friends, I’m distraught. One minute I was watching the action in the nest full of young phoebes above my doorway. Glanced away for just a second and the next time I looked, there they were: gone. I tell you, with those birds flown, my life has become drab and dull and pointless and I don’t know what to do with myself. Maybe I’ll go back to school and get a degree in pottery or something. Perhaps I’ll run off and have a meaningless affair just to feel valued again. Or maybe — and I like this idea more and more — I’ll just follow the chicks wherever they go, questioning their behavior and criticizing their every life choice. By golly, I’ll get my hair all done up in curlers and everything! Those birds NEED me!

The walls are closing in
Thought I was stuck in an elevator at Auburn City Hall on Wednesday and had me a mini-freak out. I don’t like elevators, you know, and this one just refused to respond to my frantic button mashing. Wouldn’t go up and wouldn’t go down no matter what button I pushed or what prayers I uttered. That closed door started to feel like the wall of a tomb and I’ll tell you: I was starting to plot a bold, Hollywood-style escape through the ceiling hatch. I’m not saying I panicked during those horrifying 45 seconds, but if that elevator didn’t reek of pee when I got into it, well it may have by the time I got out.

So, how are you enjoying Archibald?
Word on the street is that weather nerds (or possibly media nerds) are mulling the idea of naming heatwaves, in the same way that they name blizzards and tropical storms. Frankly, I hate the idea. When every part of you is dripping sweat, including parts you didn’t even know you HAD, you don’t need to know the proper name of the weather system that vexes you. To achieve instant cooling, you only have to utter that one, talismanic phrase heat sufferers have been using for eons: “%$#@!,” is all you have to say, “it’s !#@[email protected]! HOT!”

This bird has flown
Say, now that I have no birds to photograph, just what the hell am I supposed to do with this super expensive (nine bucks at Walmart) selfie-stick I just bought for that purpose? Am I going to be one of those guys who walks around filming himself and prattling on and on about nothing? Because I already have a system for prattling on and on about nothing and it’s working just fine.

Summer solstice
Every year on this date, I like to wander around saying to anybody who will listen: “Boy, what a long day, huh?” Weirdly, nobody ever laughs. Sometimes I think you people just don’t get my sophisticated, high-brow wit.

Oooh!
I just had a good idea for the selfie-stick and I think you’re going to like it. I just need one volunteer to help hold my pants up.


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