You’re the inspiration

Ooh, baby. I’ve been hearing from some fans of the band Chicago since I wrote a scathing rant about the absurd number of their tunes in a recent Top 250 Rock Songs list.

I’ve heard complaints from family members, even, and those people know where I live. Others say I’ve lost all credibility after putting forth the notion that songs like “Break on Thru” and “Born to Run” are WAAAAAY better than “Saturday in the Park,” which landed suspiciously high on the list. And these music fans air their complaints with such passion that I’ll probably have to go in hiding again until the whole thing blows over. I could just apologize, but … it’s hard for me to say I’m sorry.

To be fair…

I don’t hate Chicago altogether. I like “Colour My World” quite a lot, and I really enjoy doing that “oohh woo HOO” part in the song “If You Leave Me Now.” The tune “Hard To Say I’m Sorry” is a little bit sappy, but it immediately sparks some damn fine memories from the ’80s. It’s just that I never really considered them a rock band and I’m resentful that the song “25 or 6 to 4” requires me to do math when all I want to do is sing at full volume and hammer on the steering wheel.

Is it gonna rain?

All day long I ride around downtown Lewiston and yet I almost never see the cool stuff. That’s OK. Maybe the downtown is just more grown up and reasonable these days. You know. Like me. Then I get a message like this in my inbox: “Am I crazy or did I just see a naked lady dancing with an umbrella at the Main/Sabattus Street intersection?” I’m really beating myself up for missing this one. The umbrella is a real nice touch. Reminds me of that thing with the naked guy and the pogo stick I encountered years ago. I still have dreams about that one.

Homophones are troublesome

Somebody wrote me on a sizzling Tuesday afternoon to point out that the sun looked particularly odd that day. But I misheard and told him, ‘Hey. Your son is probably just going through that gawky teenage phase that makes most youths look like aliens with bad skin. Why, you should have seen ME at that age,’ I told him. ’90 pounds, and half of it nose.’ Then he corrected me on the error and I looked up to the sky to acknowledge that the S-U-N did, in fact, look kind of weird. It was an awkward conversation and I don’t think the fellow will be calling me anymore.

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.