Wednesday, Sep. 30, 2009

Meet fascinating folks who won't call back

Somewhere in Raleigh, there's a biology teacher seeking a new home for a "well-kept" pet tarantula -- only $40, cage included.

Farther north in Wake Forest, there's a woman who had 50 pink flamingos stolen out of her front yard, a caper she blamed on a "drunken Saturday night un-planned activity."

Way south in Fuquay-Varina, there's a man who can spin a basketball on the tip of a pool cue, then balance the cue and ball on the end of his nose.

I'd love to tell you more about these marvelous people, but none of them will call me back.

So the theme today, two hours before I leave to take a week's vacation, is stories that almost made the paper -- lights kept hidden under a bushel by a tragic failure to communicate.

Some weeks the stars just don't align, no matter how many doorbells you ring.

I wish this weren't one of them, because it's roughly the one-year anniversary of this column. If you're reading it, thanks.

Call me if you spot anything unusual or heart-warming. I'm right here, waiting.

But I was just ice cold this week. About an hour ago, I tried to interview a homeless guy downtown who'd written "$10 for art supplies" on a slab of cardboard. He told me to bug off, and I'm usually very popular with the under-housed set.

About a week ago, I met a guy in Moore Square who plays football by himself every day from 2 to 4 p.m., tossing himself passes, dodging invisible tacklers, running the field end to end, refusing all requests to join in.

He would have made a nice story about a local curiosity, but it turns out he really believes the NFL is scouting him. I didn't want to dash his hopes in a weekly humor column. I'm supposed to be on the side of the underdog, after all.

Sometimes a story lacks an all-important conclusion.

Last year, I found a trail of blood leading half a block down Hargett Street, stopping at a large red puddle by a USA Today box.

Did somebody die buying a newspaper? I didn't know. Best to leave the mystery unspoken.

This morning, I found a seven of clubs card lying face-up on the sidewalk in the middle of Nash Square. Was it an omen? Who can say?

All I know is that somewhere, somebody is playing a really frustrating game of solitaire.

There's still a dozen-odd people I want to meet but can't quite find the time.

If you're the guy driving an ice cream truck around St. Augustine's College in the middle of the night blasting "Turkey in the Straw," one of these days I'm going to get out of bed and track you down in my pickup truck.

And I swear, this year I'm going to camp out in Oakwood Cemetery and find out who drapes the black cloth over the hanged Confederate soldier's grave.

But for now, I'm going to take a week and update the ol' ideers file. It'd be great if you'd send a few along.