Dear Mr. Bighead, according to nationwide voter approval surveys, our nonsectarian, anchor baby President is receiving failing marks for his economic recovery policies. What say you about that? Signed, Mike Rowave, Inlet.
M-Row, in my born days, I’ve never seen so many transitory humans infesting the Big Woods. There’re Homo sapiens crawling from under every glacial erratic and from behind every butt-rotted beech. I can’t even pee in my own front yard without some passerby gawking at me. If we’re in collective financial ruin, how come I can’t get into Keyes’ Pancake House until 3pm for my sausage/gravy/biscuit breakfast? Every store I’m forced to enter is armpit to armpit shoppers. The cha-chinging of merchant cash registers is deafening. I must call Tina a month ahead to reserve the outdoor dumpster table at Frankie’s, and securing a bar stool after 4:30 pm for the Tap Room’s Monday Pastabilities, fuhgeddaboudit. (You go, Teresa Taylor). Evidently, the downtrodden are willing to spend their last thin dime for a chance to enjoy some R and R in the Big Woods.
Dear Bighead, with each passing summer, your rants become more predictable and perplexing. Are you off your meds? Signed, Adam Bomb, Thendara.
Thanks for noticing, A-Bomb. Licensed physicians will no longer prescribe me antipsychotic medications that include aberrant consumption of adult beverages warnings. So, no, I’m pharmaceutical free at the moment. In fact, as Bob Marley waxed poetically, “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind, it’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Sun-Shiny day.” So parents who allow their delightful cherubs to dig up my beach and leave it looking like it was carpet bombed by a squadron of B-52’s, badly trained dog owners who let their noble charges run amok, and fellow citizens who create so much noise pollution I can’t hear the 200 amp boom box sitting atop my left shoulder, beware. I shall continue to rage at life’s weighty injustices until eternal darkness engulfs me.
Dear Bighead, has this summer produced any surprises? Signed, Eileen Sideways, Number Four.
Sure has, ya ole sidewinder. Thanks to Jennifer and Sandy at Zone 3, I’m growing my own fennel and Pink Girl tomatoes, and enjoying awesome sweet corn. My fennel plant, Audrey Jr., is 6’ tall and we’ve already picked 15 bodacious Pink Girls off the red wood-size tomato plant on our front porch. I’m guessing Barry Bonds injected a Miracle Grow tomato food and Maine horse manure cocktail when he hit his major league record of 73 dingers back in 2001. The sweet corn is equal to any you can buy down on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. As for the fennel, “In your face disgrace, local souks! Who needs ya?” I’m in hog heaven. Oink, oink.
Dear Bigsy, Hamilton County’s biggest claim to fame: It’s the third largest county in NYS and has no working traffic signals. What’s Herkimer County famous for? Signed, Tyrone Shoelace, Too Long Lake.
Ty-Shoe, without a doubt its “4G Turn” on South Shore Road, adjacent to the Adirondack League Club gate. When approaching this entertaining bend in the road from the Inlet side, the driver/pilot is guided by a series of cautionary traffic signs straight outta Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure. In succession and within a matter of 300’, the driver is advised of a deer crossing, reducing speed to 25mph, then immediately accelerating to 45mph as you enter the turn, which blows up your G-suit, two more 45mph signs in the turn, no parking on the side of the road, then immediately reducing your speed to 30mph if you make it to the straight away. “They”, whoever “they” may be, actually suggest you to go slower in the straight-away? The humor’s palpable.
The persons(s) who prescribed the signage for 4G Turn have a wonderfully depraved sense of humor. Even funnier is approaching the same 90 degree curve from the Old Ferge side. There are zero cautionary signs leading up to the curve, and if you survive the turn, you are instructed to accelerate to 55mph. I guess once we Inletians have left our social security checks in Old Ferge, the heck with us, eh? Slingshot outta town fast, Jack. I hope “they” never lose their sense of humor and my great-grandkids get to experience the comedic thrill of 4G Turn for years to come.
Dear Fathead, I recently spotted you at the Adirondack Museum in Blue Mountain. I didn’t know you were so urbane. Signed, Rita Book, Blue Mountain Lake.
Ya, R-Boo, I be urbane. Actually, I attend the museum for the pulled pork bbq sandwiches and Lake Placid IPA at the Lake View Café. While there, I ran into some very sophisticated Limekiln Road neighbors, including Bob and Sheila Emmert, who for a pittance, cordially welcome and enlighten museum visitors. Bob knows the location of every restroom by heart. Sheila, a former school teacher, gave my significant other and her brother a pop quiz when they foolishly entered the Reising Schoolhouse. They both flunked and were assigned detention. Fortunately, I was taking a nap in the Adirondack lean-to display overlooking the trout pond. Bob later notified me my writing’s okay, but my sentences are too long. I also ran into Charlie Herr, our resident historian, who has an olden times column, “Herr-Story”, in that other local newspaper. Charlie was kind enough to inform me that I look better in my photo, than in person. All my neighbors are comedians. Throw Gary Lee in the mix and Limekiln Road’s become the Greenwich Village of Inlet. We used to be known for our dump bears.
Dear Bighead, Any last words for departing Editor, Leslie Bailey? Signed, Zaza from Minnehaha. “Ya done good, Leslie. Cheers.”