The news story on the network evening news on the first day of this year reported that a small community in the Southwest had hooked into a new solar-power system, an event described as a boon to the area’s hardscrabble natives who were having a tough time making ends meet.

“I stayed up until midnight hooking up my VCR, stereo and theater system,” gushed one happy lady, leaving me to ponder the merits of installing a home theater system vs. putting food on the table and asking myself, “What is wrong with this picture?”

The resulting memo that I placed in my dawg-eared tickler file folder slugged “Column Fodder For A Slow Day” is one of many that has languished there, never to reach its potential. Which is probably just as well.

Now, with August knocking on the door and the semi-annual Purging Of The File at hand, I toss this baby out with the bath water, along with other material that had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Included in the lot is a note made during the annual high school basketball tournaments regarding the fate that should befall sportscasters who unfailingly have players shooting the basketball and “knocking it down” or “draining it,” instead of scoring. They also tell of players falling to the “ground,” rather than to the floor.

The reminder also cites sportscasters on the same broadcasting team, sitting side by side and working the same game, who give differing pronunciations of players’ names. One guy’s “York” is the other guy’s “Yawk.” The name “McLaughlin” is pronounced “McGlocklin” by one, “McLawlen” by the other, it occurring to neither man that something is amiss.

From the Hyperbole-Runs-Rampart Department is a jotting concerning a local television report about a polluted site in Orrington. The reporter doing the stand-up piece states that the site is “one of the most polluted in Maine and the nation.” The camera then zooms in on a speaker who calls the site “one of the most polluted in the nation and the world.” When Gov. Baldacci speaks about the situation the expectation is that the location will morph into one of the most polluted in the world and the universe. Alas, our fearless leader muffs the opportunity to shoot for the stars.

My stash includes lots of quotes too good to be forever locked away in a dawg-eared file folder. Here are two: “If he had a mind, there definitely was something on it.” (P.G. Wodehouse) “He lacks only three things to become one of America’s finest leaders: integrity, vision and wisdom.” (The author’s name does not readily spring to mind. Will Rogers, perhaps? H.L. Mencken? None of the above?)

A reporter’s semi-shorthand note – not meant for perusal by purists – concerns hurricanes: “How cum tv types refer Hurricane Dennis as ‘she’? Thot whole PC deal of alt. he/she names was so no hurt feelings. If ‘cane not called ‘he’ why give boy’s name?”

Another cryptic scribbling deals with pint-size schoolkids and their giant backpacks: “Why peewees req backpacks? What pssbly cud need carry? Slung too low. Schls shud hire Army drill instrctr show how wear. Or put chrpractr on staff…”

From the collection of backed-up material comes an old telephone bill explaining a “regulatory assessment fee” of $3.97: “This fee is not a tax or charge required by government. It recovers costs for interstate and international connection charges, property taxes, and regulatory proceedings and compliance.” So why not just include it in the basic rate monthly charge? you ask. Beats me. And apparently it stumps the automatons that answer the telephone company’s telephones, as well. (“If you wish to immediately be driven nuts by a talking computer with no clue what you are asking it, press 4. If you’d rather it took a little longer, press 5…”)

“Mattress handles” are the only two words written on the final piece of paper to be expunged from my file in this round. The reference is to those four cheapo little straps – two on each leading edge of the mattress – that are theoretically supposed to assist in handling the mattress when carting it from domicile to domicile or when periodically flipping it to keep things from getting out of kilter, comfort-wise.

If you can sit there and with a straight face tell me that you have never ripped those things from their flimsy moorings on your very first attempt to wrestle the damn mattress, you are a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

And better at stretching the truth, as well, I suspect.

NEWS columnist Kent Ward lives in Winterport. His e-mail address is olddawg@bangordailynews.net.