My lost glove

I know many of you have been riveted by the recent saga of my lost motorcycle glove and all the drama that has followed. A few have even suggested that this matter might make for a fine Hollywood thriller, but these people were mostly very drunk at the time so I haven’t reached out to any producers just yet. Got an excellent tip over the weekend that the missing glove may have landed on Fair Street in Lewiston, but that turned out to be just a Nike flip-flop from somebody’s left foot. Or it was possibly a Tropicana orange juice bottle; the tipster was very unclear on the details.

Who am I?

Another nice fellow offered to create a genealogy chart to zero in on my true pedigree. I had one done a few years ago and, while it was interesting to learn more about my forebears, no definitive links were made between me and someone great, like Charlemagne or the guy who invented the urinal style toilet. It’s funny because deep in my bones, I feel a real connection to these people.

Terrible way to treat an ancestor

OK, I admit that I had to look up who Charlemagne was. I mainly used him as an example above because it’s a cool sounding name. But I tell you, I now feel a genuine connection to this “king of the Lombards who went on to unite most of Western and Central Europe.” In fact, I’m just going to go ahead and call him Uncle Char henceforth.

Whiz kids

And speaking of toilets, while I have utter sympathy for the Androscoggin County workers who have to toil in that decaying old building in Auburn, they DO have one of the finest urinals in all the land. We’re talking a wall-mounted john that rises majestically from the floor nearly all the way up to the ceiling. It’s far more breathtaking than some stupid fountain or statue you’ll find in any city square. Boy, I’d sure love to find out I’m related to the guy who built THAT puppy.

Johnny get your plunger

Does anyone actually call a toilet a “john” anymore or do I just sound 108 years old using the term? Maybe I should have gone with “can.” Or “loo.” Or maybe it doesn’t matter, anyway, because the editors will never allow such vulgarities. Guess we’ll find out.

Et tu, Cumby’s

So, like most of you, I am outraged by the recent changes to the Cumberland Farm rewards program. Now instead of getting a buck or so off the price of a cup of coffee, you have to shell out a certain amount of dough to get any kind of discount. It’s outrageous! Most likely. I really don’t know. I only learned about the whole rewards thingy like two weeks ago. But this is probably upsetting.

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.