Suze would like me to write about autumn traditions. “My kids used to peg apples at each other,” she says. Ah, youth.
Dana suggested comparing the use of methamphetamine in Lewiston with the use of methamphetamine on the hit series “Breaking Bad.”
“How about tattoos?” Diane said. How about heavy metal, suggests a member of a heavy metal band. Why not tackle something fun, like welfare and unemployment, said a nice lady who clearly doesn’t know me very well.
That’s right, suckers. I’m fishing for column ideas on Facebook again. I suppose I should feel some shame over this, but hear me out. Some weeks, column ideas come in a fast, healthy stream. Some weeks, column ideas have a prostrate problem.
Besides, there is gold on Facebook. Such as this:
“During a recent move, me and my 19-year-old son went to get more boxes and a pizza with the U-Haul. Drove in back of Marden’s to have a slice. It was after hours and there were three cars gathered, exchanging recipes, so we circled the lot to a different area. After wolfing down a slice, my son says: ‘Mom, I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of one of these U-Hauls.’ So I figured, why not?
“So in he goes and I shut the big door. I turned onto Memorial Bridge when I see the blues. I’m wondering just how fast did I have this 17-foot truck going to warrant getting pulled over. The officer comes up and asks if I was just at Marden’s, because they had a report of a suspicious vehicle. I explained that WE were just finding a spot to eat pizza. The officer says, ‘Who’s WE?’ I lowered my head but had to say, ‘I have my son in the back of the truck …’ His look was almost as priceless as Ricky’s when I opened the door and the two cops’ flashlights (shone) on his face! I just explained that I’m from the country and that’s how we roll. Thanks, Lewiston PD, for having a sense of humor.”
You see that? There’s no way I’m coming up with that kind of story.
“Write about the fastest-growing sport in the world,” suggested a surprisingly non-surly lady named Amber. “Roller derby! There are currently four women’s and one men’s league in Maine, and tryouts last night brought in 29 women.”
And just like that, I have a story to pursue. My editors being a bunch of sadistic beasts, you just know this means I’ll be donning the gear and going out to the rink to get pummeled by 30 women with elbow pads.
Is this a great country or what?
Country living versus city living? “When I first moved to Auburn, I had to start questioning things I had always taken for granted,” said Lisa. “Like, you can’t just start burning your couch on the front lawn. And, no, you can’t just start selling your house contents without permission and a permit.”
Wait a minute, you can’t burn a couch on the front lawn in the city? There go my weekend plans.
“Write about nylons and how they used to last a long time,” suggested Wendy, which is really eerie because I was just thinking about that very same thing.
“Did you write about the fairs yet?” asked Bonny, and you can just hear the, “Well, duh!” tone in that simple sentence. I’ll bet when she wrote it, she had her hands on her hips and that exasperated wife look upon her face.
Fair enough (hee!). She’s right. Why the heck am I not writing about the fairs? The horses, the rides, the splendor of the muddy fairways … the cotton candy, the hawkers, the leering carnies with bad tattoos.
Wait a minute, is that the fair or is that the carnival? I always confuse the two. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve put this much work into my Facebook piece, I’m not going to put on the brakes and start writing about that sweet smell of hay mingling with the ticklish sent of frying sausages and candy apples.
“Put Xmas lights up and blasted a loud radio in the garden to keep the deer out,” wrote John, presumably from a nice, safe place with padded walls, “only to check it out that night and find a buck and a doe under the lights dancing to Henry Mancini in the zucchini. Roll that up in your Sun and Journal and smoke it.”
Which is exactly what I’m going to do, because now that I’ve tricked you all into writing my column for me again, I’ve got all kinds of time on my hands.
Suckers.
Mark LaFlamme is a Sun and Journal staff writer. Send wacky U-Haul stories and burning-couch photos to mlaflamme@sunjournal.com.
Send questions/comments to the editors.
