Some of you older folks might remember a time when I’d occasionally write entire columns about the fact that I had no idea whatsoever what to write about. It’s hard to believe now.

As a writer, you mature. You learn to work your way out of slumps and dry spells. When I recall those columns, I cringe. I thank the writing gods for blessing me with new ways to fill white space.

Mostly I thank Facebook.

That’s right, eye-rollers, I’m going to the Facebook well again. You can hardly blame me — it’s like an automated idea machine in there. I type in “I need ideas for a column,” and bam! There are dozens of them — some of them nearly coherent — rolling down the page like an idea fountain. Or an oozing sore.

Topping the list this week: “HOW ABOUT FOCUSING ON THE FACT THAT NO MATTER HOW MUCH MONEY YOU SPEND YOU CAN NEVER GET A ‘THANK YOU’ FROM A CASHIER!”

A very lucid, timely and thought-provoking idea. So naturally, my response was to go over to that person’s house and use a leftover firecracker to blow the caps lock key right off their keyboard. You’re welcome.

The topic is a popular one. Cash-out at a store register, thank the cashier, you’ll often be rewarded with a “yup,” “uh huh” or complete silence. On Facebook, we pontificated over this matter in a reasoned way.

The conversation began with a discussion of how businesses shouldn’t hire cashiers who can’t manage common courtesy in the presence of customers. It descended quickly into an “I-had-a-more-thankless-job-than-you” kind of competition. I tried to wow them with tales from my gas station days, but when one young lady jumped in with stories about cleaning vomit from a Big Apple restroom, I bowed out.

“How about Black Friday and how it gets earlier and earlier every year.”

True dat. These days, you can get yourself trampled at a department store any time after Labor Day. And when you elbow-crawl your bloody carcass out of the store, the clerk who comes to mop up your innards won’t even say thank you. Not that you’d hear him, anyway, what with your ear having been torn off and stuffed into some old lady’s handbag.

“Richard Harris vs. Donna Summer: the MacArthur Park debate rages on.”

This one is simple. If you want to snap your fingers and tap your foot, listen to the Donna Summer version. If you want to weep hot tears while you’re drinking Drano in your closet, go with Harris. My God, that song is morbid.

“You should write about America’s obsession with the sex lives of politicians and other prominent public officials.”

Alas, I covered that topic a few weeks ago while writing about the many delicious details of Zumbagate. Plus, I make nightly entries in my journal titled, “Who’s Having Sex and With Whom?” It’s got a little lock on the cover, so don’t even try to read it.

“Joint Facebook accounts and what it (possibly) says about your marriage.”

Ah, yes. The Siamese Facebook account. John and Felicity Snodgrass are so close, they consider themselves one entity. Until Felicity is caught giving Facebook pokes, if you get my drift, to the landscaper. At which point the account is renamed John and That Cheating Shrew Felicity and it’s still more annoying than sad.

“Why we thank God for all our blessings on Thanksgiving by committing the sin of gluttony.”

Until a reader weighed in with this one, I had no idea that Thanksgiving was this month. I’m still waiting for my invite, hint, hint, wink, wink.

“You could mention the Plenty of Fish singles night at the bog hoot this Friday.”

A flagrant bid for some free advertising in my precious column space. You know what? I admire the initiative. I’ll allow it.

“Dating advice for the 50-something crowd.”

Well, how about that timing? Get yourself to Bog Hoot, miss. But first, a mint.

“How the term ‘epic’ is overused.”

It is. Also, “just sayin’.” Lord, how I’ve come to despise “just sayin’.” It’s the modern version of “pardon me for saying so.” People feel that they can make any outlandish, rude or disgusting comment and if they top it off with “just sayin’,” you have to forgive their stupidity.

“I saw a strange animal in Lewiston today kinda looked like a fox but it was mangy and missing half its fur.”

I don’t know what it was, but that mutt better acclimate and leave its culture of mangy hairlessness at the door.

“How about industrial hemp?”

Sorry, Cheech. I’m afraid that just writing about herbage might cause me to fail my monthly drug test. I don’t even use pot holders for fear of turning up a positive reading.

“How about writing something positive.”

Hoo, hoo! Boy, we all got a good laugh over that. Something positive! Good one, funny man.

I regret nothing about my return to the Facebook well of column ideas. Facebook reflects the mindset of our community. It is almost literally the pulse of the nation, as clearly demonstrated by the above suggestions and others that followed.

There was a frank discussion about the definition of the term “wazoo.” There was a suggestion that I let auto-correct write my entire column. There were a few references to the election, but I generally discard those. There are too many bitter souls among us who will switch a conversation to recent politics no matter what the context. When their dentists ask them to describe their oral pain, they will respond: “It all started with the GOP’s failure to connect with Hispanic voters …”

Facebook is the new water cooler, the local tavern where you can get drunk in your peejays and talk about your feelings with complete strangers. That means I spend less time in my peejays at actual bars and more time tackling the big issues, like how “wazoo” should be properly used in a term paper or resume.

As a writer, I’ve really matured.

Mark LaFlamme is a Sun Journal staff writer. If you have column ideas out the wazoo, email him at mlaflamme.com. Just sayin’.

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