Tuesday began as just another day in the town of Woolwich (motto: Pronounced Two Different Ways: Wool-witch and Wit-ah-pit-lok). And it continued as just another day all morning long. And all afternoon. And right through happy hour, it couldn’t have been more ordinary. But about 7:30 p.m., things began to change in the general direction of the unusual. For one thing, it started to get dark. That’s not the unusual part. Which is: Woolwich was hit by a tornado.
In ancient times, people believed many strange ideas, such as:
Adam Sandler is funny.
Trading away Kevin Youkilis while getting almost nothing in return makes sense for the Boston Red Sox, because he’s about to go into a serious decline.
Tomatoes are poisonous.
A shocking set of statistics has been brought to my attention. When it comes to annual per capita consumption of beer, Maine comes up way short of New Hampshire.
In a clandestine, pre-dawn strike late last week, an overwhelming guerilla force from Boston took control of key assets in Portland, effectively incorporating Maine’s largest city into Massachusetts.
I hold the medical profession in the highest esteem, by which I mean I avoid it at all costs, lest I be subjected to an involuntary colonoscopy. I have long believed that the only proper bodily portal for incoming objects is the aptly named pie hole, and the objects in question should be of an edible nature, preferably composed of sugar and/or fat.
I try to be a law-abiding citizen. I don’t litter. I don’t spray-paint graffiti on buildings. I pick up my dogs’ poop (mostly). And I haven’t murdered anybody in forever.
In general, I like living in northern Franklin County. It’s peaceful, the neighbors aren’t too close and mostly behave civilly on those rare occasions when we encounter each other, and the general store carries an excellent selection of beer and an adequate stock of liquor (in case I run out before I can get to New Hampshire).
Allow me to offer a few words in defense of the humble plastic bag. This much-maligned, petroleum-derived item has lately been the subject of an effort in Windham to outlaw its use.
The Town Council, at the urging of a middle school student, passed a resolution asking the Maine Legislature to consider a statewide ban on plastic bags, with penalties for possession ranging from public heckling for a first offense to expulsion to New Hampshire for multiple convictions.
As most Mainers know, you can tell tourists pretty much any absurd thing about a lobster, and they’ll believe you.
Lobsters that fly.
Lobsters that sing and dance.
Lobsters that shoot laser beams from their eyeballs.
Apparently, there’s no living creature so repulsive that some kind-hearted soul won’t feed it.
Except, possibly, Newt Gingrich.
In Rockland, a woman has been putting out food each day for the seagulls. She told the Bangor Daily News she buys fourteen or fifteen crates of bread each week for her avian friends, who would otherwise have to fend for themselves on a diet of dead things and trash.