Freakish weather

What’s this? 70-plus degrees in early March? The weekend weather was a mind game. I found myself complaining about being too hot when I climbed into the car. Was annoyed by a bug diving at my face out in the woods. Saw a guy wearing shorts at THE Dunkin’ and wasn’t tempted to make twirly finger motions around my temple. That’s it. Winter is over and spring is here. I’m going to go ahead and haul out my lawn mower and midriff mesh tank top.

It’s all your fault

Imagine my dismay when I woke up to find 70-degree weather on Tuesday only to recall that my motorcycle hadn’t been put back together yet from its long, winter’s rest. Boy, the names I called you as I cursed aloud and kicked things across my basement. I know you didn’t really have anything to do with this calamity, friend, but what was I supposed to do, blame myself?

Admitting the problem is the first step

You know what I’m rather hooked on? Walmart’s brand of effervescent cold medicine. You know, plop, plop, fizz, fizz and all that. It’s the poor man’s answer to Alka Seltzer Plus, pretty much, but man, this stuff is good for what ails you. The problem is that I’ve come to see it as a panacea. I’ll take it for general aches and sniffles, sure. But I’ll also take it for general irritability, bad moods, aggravation caused by encounters with editors, and feelings of listlessness caused by being utterly without a list. Since it’s fizzy like champagne, it’s also good for holiday celebrations. I’m not saying I have a problem with it, mind you. I could quit any time I want.

Wanna guess

How many tries it took before I spelled “effervescent” correctly? If you answered five times, you win a free dose of cold medicine. Meet me in Lewiston’s Kennedy Park and I’ll hook you up.

Eye candy

Bet you’re still thinking about that midriff mesh tank top thing, aren’t you? Ah, who can blame you. It’s a pretty hot look.

Spring forward, you stupid appliance

Everybody’s got that one clock that just refuses to keep up with daylight saving time changes. For me, it’s the microwave. Every time I pop microwave popcorn I travel back in time an hour. Ah, an hour into the past. Those were different times, all right. Better times.

The season of embarrassment

When I’m in the car in weather like this, I tend to forget that my windows are down. This is a problem since I spend so much time swearing at other drivers, stating aloud funny thoughts that have just occurred to me, and singing in a high falsetto to some terrible song on my playlist. When another driver spots me engaged in this kind of behavior, I tend to just freeze up, hoping that if I look normal enough for a few moments, he’ll assume it was some other dork doing all that caterwauling.

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.