Island Talk

So, I was in Acadia National Park last week and it occurred to me how weird it would be if I were writing my weekly columns in that area instead of in the Lew. Instead of writing about gritty streets and the city’s dark underbelly, I’d likely be offering my reports on the goofy things that tourists are doing day to day. You know: who was spotted wearing socks on the beach; whose expensive outfit was ruined by a seagull with incredible aim; what real estate magnate sobbed when he was unable to find a parking spot near Jordan Pond House; whose wife was burned to cinders after passing out in the sun (she drinks, you know) for too long. The upside is that I’d almost never have to wear pants on the job.

I talk good

A soon to be ex-wife also informs me that the whole time we were in that neck of the woods, I continually pronounced “Acadia” as “Arcadia,” which we all know is just a low-brow thing to do. What do I care, though? I ain’t trying to impress no one no how.

A dream realized

While I was up on Cadillac Mountain, I lay my head back against the plaque that marked the mountain’s peak. By doing so, I ensured that for a brief time, my nose was the highest thing in all of Acadia. I’m pretty proud of that. Unfortunately, while I was down there, some stupid tourist thought my nose itself was another mountain and tried to scale it.

Meanwhile back in Lewiston …

It appears that while I was away, I missed a dump truck chase through downtown Lewiston that ended on a playground. Imagine the luck: I actually had that on my Lewiston Mischief Bingo card for the weekend! Unfortunately, there was no pogo stick fight in Kennedy Park, lawn dart impaling on the roof of the old Victor News or moped race at the muddy bottom of the Lewiston canal so I didn’t complete the row to win big prizes.

It speaks to me

On my first day back, someone suggested that I go downtown to check out some new artwork. Something involving a frog, I think the tipster said. And I DID head down there, too, fully intending to critique that artwork. Unfortunately, I have the attention span of a mollusk and got distracted by like, nine different things on Walnut Street alone and never made it downtown. I’m sure the artwork is stunning. Had I made it down there, I surely would have offered that “this frog brings to Lewiston a devastating interrogation of the deep need in each of us to share our most intimate shortcomings and desires. Truly, the artist’s masterful displacement of spatial norms lays bare the festering insecurities that plague the epoch in which we find ourselves trapped. The work walks a razor-thin line between beauty and madness, causing one to teeter to the point of swooning. Plus, I really dig the frog’s eyes and stuff.”

Mark LaFlamme is an award-winning Sun Journal reporter and columnist. He’s covered the nighttime police beat since 1994, which is just grand because he doesn’t like getting out of bed before noon. He is the author of eight published novels and rides a dual sport motorcycle everywhere he goes. Unless it’s winter, in which case he just sulks a lot.