Spiffy new Hannaford bags

You’ve probably seen these awesome new shopping bags, which offer up alternative pronunciations of the store name, including “Hannafords” and “Hannafid” and “Hannies,” all of which are just delightful. My only regret is that they produced the bag without including the option for adding THE to the store name. Add THE to any store name and you suddenly sound like you’re 118 years old and someone who still thinks of THE A&P as newfangled. This also works with THE Walmart, although you’re so ancient, you probably still think of that place as THE Mammoth Mart, THE Grants or THE Zayre.

The holy alliance of nose-out parkers

And speaking of THE Hannafid — or any store, for that matter — don’t you just feel blessed when you find a parking spot and then the person in front of you drives away so that you’re able to pull up into the empty space and park nose out? For me, that’s the only way I ever get to park nose out because I’m not one of those lunatics who back into their parking spaces. When I find myself blessed with unearned, nose-out parking in a busy lot, I become convinced that it’s the best thing that will happen to me all day so I might as well go back to bed.

I’m practically Bill Gates

You people know I’m not one to brag. It’s one of the many, many great things about me. But this weekend, as I was upgrading my array of laptop computers to the latest version of Linux Mint, I discovered that one of my machines actually features a touch screen. A touch screen! Like I’m one of those superrich Silicon Valley types all up in here! I mean, what’s next? A yacht? An ascot? A haircut from an actual professional? But no, I still plan to associate with you little people even though I’m eons ahead of you now, technology-wise.

Bruised tailbones and random body parts

Saw a kid hauling a pretty mean looking sled up the slushy Lewiston streets the other day and it got me all nostalgic for the old days. It made me wonder if kids are still using those roll-up style sleds that were responsible for so much hillside carnage back in my sledding days. They were mainly just thin sheets of plastic that exposed our poor tailbones to abuse from every jutting rock or hard chunk of ice on the hill. The edges of those sleds were so sharp, if you so much as veered into another kid on the fast ride down the hill, bloody pieces of that kid would go sailing off into the snow. After three dismemberments and more tailbone annihilation than I could stand, I upgraded to a Retro Racer, at which point it became more about concussions, broken fingers and facial trauma. Darn fun times.

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.