My taste in everything except beer, whiskey, and second wives is highly questionable.
This was the week when famous documentary filmmaker Ken Burns discovered America used to have something called “Prohibition,” which was a constitutional amendment prohibiting teenagers from having sex.
Oh, wait, that was actually a different constitutional amendment called “Abstinence.” Prohibition was intended to keep teenagers from drinking alcohol and then having sex.
What to wear? What to have for dinner? God, I’m tired of making decisions! What time do we have to leave for the potluck? What should I make for the potluck, and when do I put it in the oven so it’s still warm when it gets there, but not too hot to handle? Sometimes, I think if I have to make another decision, my head will explode!
Part of being a grownup is making decisions, of course. It kind of comes with the territory. Ever wonder why kids have more energy than we do? Stuff’s decided for ‘em!
I know what you’re thinking. You're thinking I’m devoting much of this posting to the case of the students suspended from Medomak Valley High School in Waldoboro for wearing breast-cancer-awareness bracelets that said “I (heart) boobies” just so I can use the word “boobies” a lot.
So last Wednesday, I’m having Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, and Shirley over to the house for a little birthday celebration for Celeste, right? Got the place all spiffed up. I wish I could be more relaxed when entertaining, but I just can’t. It’s important to me that everything’s looking good, clean and tidy. Set the table the day before, so I don’t get jammed up last minute. Splurged on some fresh flowers.
By the time I noticed the thing growing under my front porch, it was bigger than a basketball. It had sort of a sickly yellow color in daylight, but at night it pulsated with a blue-green glow. A couple of days later, it ate a squirrel. Then, it absorbed most of the neighbor’s kid and one of those Smart Cars. It sometimes sent out strange waves that interfered with satellite TV reception and the navigational systems of passing airplanes. Most alarming, at night, it sent tendrils under the front door, down the hallway and into the liquor cabinet.
Saturday morning, I went to a yoga class with my niece, Caitlin. She’s been bugging me for ages to go with her, and I figured now’s as good a time as any. Summer’s over, and I’m trying to get back on the good foot, diet and exercise-wise. Besides, Zumba doesn’t start up again ‘til October, so what the heck, right? As they say, the older you get, the more important it is to try new things.
Comedian: Where does a guy from Portland sit down?
Sucker: I dunno. Where?
Comedian: On his butt, of course.
Sucker (picking up blunt object): This is gonna hurt you almost as much as that hurt me.
All joking aside (consumer alert: author is lying), there isn’t much humor in the question of where Portlanders will plunk their derrieres when they tire of walking on the city’s new Bayside Trail.
Unless you happen to think artists are funny.
Which I do.
A friend of mine died last week: heart attack, from out of nowhere. Joanne was a wonderful woman: full of life, a joy to be around. We were friendly in high school, then drifted. That happens. But I’d just seen her at our reunion this summer, and we struck up a great conversation. Joanne lives, well, lived in Connecticut, but we promised each other we’d get together for lunch the next time she was in town visiting her parents.
The Portland Sea Dogs left town this week, narrowly avoiding sheriff’s deputies seeking to enforce a court order to cease and desist impersonating a baseball team.