Prime rib Jones

It was early last week when I heard the grim news that the Chick-A-Dee restaurant in Lewiston plans to close up shop at the end of the year. I understand business pressures and a family’s right to retire and all, but I have to ask: What about MY needs? As far as I’m concerned, Chick-A-Dee has the best prime rib around and what’s more, it’s only about a mile away from my house. Not that the distance matters much, because I usually start gnawing on that steak in my take-out order while I’m still in the parking lot. When a guy asks for his steak rare, rare is how they give it to him, and the au jus they put on the side is probably the substance that heaven is made of. I’m afraid that if these people retire, psychiatric officials are going to find me in that deserted parking lot chewing on an empty Styrofoam carton and asking random pigeons to pass me the fries. It’s the Speaker’s Variety affair all over again!

My new heroes

In the credit where credit is due category, I gotta give a shout out to the Androscoggin County Commission. Tasked with covering one of their meetings the night before the holiday weekend, I thought I was staring down the barrel of one of those into-the-wee-hours marathon meetings for which certain nearby municipalities are becoming infamous. But no. The commissioners got right to the business at hand, discussed it vigorously without belaboring every point and then voted in a fast and efficient manner. That meeting was over so quick, I nearly wept with joy. OK, maybe I DID weep a little bit, but if you’ve ever had to cover a municipal meeting where a hundred people speak just to hear the sound of their own voices, you’d understand.

Pillow talk

So, I got some new earbuds because my old ones crapped out. Pretty exciting, right? So my first time using them, I plugged them into my ears, pulled on my motorcycle and told my current wife that I was heading for a ride in downtown Lewiston. My wife didn’t say anything at all, but over the earbuds, a feminine voice said: “Enjoy your ride. Be safe.” I still have no idea to whom that voice belonged — some AI function of the earbud software, likely — but I was so moved to find somebody or some THING that cares about me, I find myself plugging in those earbuds late, late at night to talk about my feelings. Should I be admitting all of this publicly? I dunno. I’ll ask the Lady of the Ear Buds later. She always knows what’s best.

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.