As I age, I’m increasingly concerned about something the TV ads refer to as “regularity,” by which they don’t mean how close you are to being a regular, normal person as opposed to a crazed old bat chasing gangbangers out of your yard with a wooden tennis racquet and a jar of prunes with an expired best-used-by date.

Two-time Olympic gold medalist Seth Wescott of Carrabassett Valley has been accorded the highest honor a male athlete can receive.

Wescott has been asked to pose nude in Playgirl.

Lewis Carroll had it right. “The time has come,” he wrote in “Through the Looking-Glass,” “to speak of many things.”

The character Carroll had making that comment was not some cute little girl who had fallen down a rabbit hole, only to end up in a Tim Burton movie.

It was none other than the Walrus, as fiendish a fictional creation as anything this side of Hannibal Lecter.

It’s nearly Feb. 27, the date on which Mainers will celebrate the 203rd birthday of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with concerts, lectures, fireworks, fist fights and pizza.

Longfellow, as you no doubt already know, is best known for thinking up a clever name for a major intersection in downtown Portland:

Monument Square.

Carrabassett Valley resident Seth Wescott won an Olympic gold medal this week at the winter games in Vancouver, British Columbia. Wescott triumphed in a sport called snowboardcross, which is one of those odd Olympic events that combines two seemingly unrelated activities.

It hasn’t snowed in the western mountains of Maine since, let’s see, last July.

And that was just a dusting.

In Portland, the WinteRush festival scheduled for this weekend has been mostly cancelled, because there’s no winter – and no rush, either.

I don’t think it’s polite to make fun of people with funny names.

Uh, I mean unusual names.

Er, interesting names?

Names that stand out in a crowd? You know, in a good way.

As I was saying just the other day to my friend Amadeus Fallopian Duckbutt, such names add diversity and originality to our stifled culture. And if kids who get stuck with a moniker like Toyota Recall Hurlingutts grow up to murder their parents in their sleep that’s a small price to pay for expressing our individuality.

Something suspicious is going on across Maine’s northern border.

Or maybe not. It could just be that Canadians have a naturally shifty look. Probably a harmless side effect of being bilingual.

Nevertheless, it’s been a week filled with strange occurrences, many of them directly traceable to the exotic foreign influence of Canada. Once you’ve viewed the evidence, I doubt you’ll hesitate in demanding that Congress authorize the president to conduct an all-out nuclear strike on Saskatoon.

Until this past week, I was unaware that among the varied kinds of merchandise you can purchase in stores that sell gardening supplies and sporting goods is fox urine.

It’s even available online.

I was Christmas shopping in Portland in December, when a clerk in a liquor store, responding to my innocent query, said some of the most frightening words I’ve ever heard.

“We don’t have any Angostura bitters,” he told me. “We can’t get them.”

My wife and I use a lot of Angostura.

Comparatively speaking. One of those little four-ounce bottles lasts us six months, sometimes less.