Notes From SquigNation

Back To Reality

2009-09-18T08:29:00.000-07:00

I could feel blood pressure rise and a wave of stress come rolling in like a storm surge.
At first, I thought it was just because Dice-K was pitching again, but the list of things that needed doing in life made the edge-of-my-seat-while biting my fingernails anxiety of a Dice K start pale in comparison.
I had returned from vacation and life was returning to normal. I hate it when that happens.
This wasn’t any typical vacation. I was on the schooner Victory Chimes for a week. It is quite different from having a week off doing something else. When I’m spending a week or two relaxing at my beachfront cottage in Owls Head, I’m escaping from the world a bit and still manage to pay bills and keep track of the real world on occasion.
While on a schooner, it’s a different story. I returned to the mainland and discovered a week later that the Patriots had traded Richard Seymour. I learned that Republicans were trying to shout down the president (where were protests during the Bush disaster, I wonder?). Kanye West was making news and making me wonder who the hell is Kanye West and why should I care if he’s an idiot. Serena Williams was blowing a gasket on the tennis court drawing my attention to the sport of tennis briefly – very briefly.
While I was oblivious to what was happening in pop culture, I was also out of the loop in most aspects of my life. I lost track of what was happening at work. I had put off all bill paying and responsibilities until my return. My cottage rentals were taken care of for the time being. During my week-long sail, I had managed to put just about everything on hold.
All that was left to wonder was our destination each day, what kind of soup we might have for lunch, when or if Captain Fender Tender might annoy me enough to want to toss him overboard, whether the shirtless guy (who didn’t have a body to be shirtless) would actually wear different clothes at all during the week (he didn’t), whether there might be a good cat fight at the showers or if I could brow beat enough people to buy my book.
All in all it was a very good week. We had fantastic weather all week. There was no rain and no fog. We had sun every day, a few chilly temps and had some wind to sail by. The only drawback was some mosquitoes in the evening that forced us down below on some nights and a part in the steering mechanism that broke. That provided a delay but made things interesting as the Captain jury-rigged the steering and managed to get us back to Rockland without the use of a tow from a tugboat.
Even though it was my seventh trip on the Chimes, I was still able experience things I had not before. After sailing out of Rockland and through the Fox Island Thorofare, we crossed Eastern Penobscot Bay and anchored in Mackerel Cover at Swan’s Island. It was exactly where I thought we might go – in large part because I heard the captain say we were headed for Mackerel Cove. Hey, I’m a reporter. I’m a good listener and a nosey snoop.
From there we sailed up Somes Sound, which was a new treat, we then anchored in Bass Harbor that evening. We sailed to Brooklin the next day and watched another great sunset there. We were going to sail up the Eggemoggin Reach toward Castine the next morning but that’s when the broken steering pin was discovered. It forced a two-hour delay as the captain and crew tried to figure a way to fix a 100-year old part. Being too late on the tide to get under the Deer Isle Bridge, we sailed for Stonington instead. We anchored there for the evening, another first. That brief sail had bent the replacement pin the Captain had used to fix the steering problem. So, to be on the cautious side, he used the yawl boat to push us across Eastern Penobscot Bay. We anchored in the Thorofare and went ashore to North Haven and had lunch off Vinalhaven. Then we continued on to Rockland where we anchored inside the Breakwater for dinner. We had a wedding proposal on board that evening as well.
After dinner, the Captain decided it might be best to try to get into the dock that evening. So, under the cloak of darkness and limited steering, the Captain maneuvered the 100-foot three-master into the slip with ease. I was on fender duty that evening and barely had to react as the boat was guided into the marine quite smoothly. I don’t even park my car that effortlessly – as the scratches and dents on my rear bumper indicate.
But, the early arrival to the dock was too-soon-signal that the trip was over. Many began packing and taking things to their car Friday night. By Saturday morning, the trip was officially over. We said our good-byes and made our plans to rejoin the real world.
In past year’s I’ve had to make the leap quickly. One year I learned within a half hour of getting off the boat that my father had leukemia and had what could have been a few weeks to a few months to live. Another year I had a job interview on Monday for a publishing firm. I spent the next week sweating it out as one of three finalists over whether I might get the job and whether I actually wanted the job. I didn’t get it, probably because I didn’t know squat about the health care industry and my job would have been writing about it. I’m a sportswriter; my medical knowledge is limited to MRI and ACL.
This year I didn’t have events as significant as that to deal with upon my return, but it is still a challenge to catch up on the world and regain my normal schedule. I’m not awake at 6 a.m. to watch the sunrise anymore and I don’t have coffee delivered to me at 7 a.m. any longer. The things like coffee, bacon, sausage and eggs that I eat on board the Chimes are pretty much off limits for the rest of the year. I’m back to eating healthfully, I hope. I don’t have a cocktail hour at 4 p.m. every day and now snacks are no longer provided at 5 p.m.
What I do have is a job to get back up to speed on. I have bills to pay, rentals to book, books to sell, books to write and a Facebook page and blog that has been neglected. I have things to do, stress to manage and a pennant race to follow. Dice-K is pitching again. Tom Brady is playing on a wobbly knee (aren’t we all?). I have a life to live and distractions to distract me. Life isn’t as simple as it was a week ago. But I’m not eating till I’m stuffed this week and I have pretty good steering. So it isn’t all bad.
And, I have a vacation coming up in two weeks.

Tough Choices

2009-09-02T17:28:00.000-07:00

I've heard it described as beautiful, ideal and perfect.

The only thing I haven't heard the weather talking heads say is that "If you were going to be on vacation next week, you have picked the absolutely best week weather-wise - especially if you're going to be on a schooner."

They haven't said it yet but I know on one of the next weather updates they will.

The weather watch is just about complete. I've even started getting a gauge on the what the wind conditions might be. Right now, Monday and Tuesday is forecasting 5 to 10 knots, blowing out of the southwest. I'll take that.

So, now, I have an inkling of what the weather is going to be and what kind of wind we might have, which gives me a hint in which direction we'll sail.

Those are the first few things I think of as my trip on the Victory Chimes approaches.

My seventh trip on the three-masted schooner begins Sunday when I board the vessel and haul out Monday morning.

Now that the weather worries are taken care of, my attention turns to packing. I've got an idea what clothes need packing and what items should make the trip. I'm thinking it's going to be an all-shorts journey again this year, meaning only one token pair of jeans will get packed - unless of course, I decide to live dangerously.

So, that's one of the big decisions I have to make in the next day or so - whether I pack jeans or not.

Another choice I must address is my cocktail hour strategy. You see, when the Chimes drops anchor each day at four p.m. in some harbor in Penobscot Bay, the custom is to have the freezer lid open before the anchor even hits the mud. The various cocktails of choice begin to appear. Who thought sailing could be so challenging?

Of course, for me, the drink of choice becomes complicated. I used to pack a couple different six packs of beer and that would suit me for the week. But, I tend to get bored easily. I have the whole try-something-different-be-unusual-don't be repetitious thing going.

By Tuesday, I'd be sick of beer and want something else. So, last year I had beer and had provisions to mix drinks. This year I may do the same. I'll probably bring some brews but I also have a concoction of rye and Moxie that I might make - that should get people talking on board. I've also already got gin and tonic to mix but might opt for rum and ginger ale- is it bad luck to drink a Dark and Stormy on a boat? If I drink that and Lenny keeps whistling, we might be tempting fate a little too much.

Isn't it nice that the biggest choice and decisions revolve around long pants and what alcohol to bring on board?

That's what I like about sailing on the Chimes. I can toss aside all other problems, stress or things that sap my attention and focus. All that really matters is what kind of soup we're having for lunch, what I've got to drink with the appetizers at 4 p.m. and whether I can keep up with Lenny on lobster night. Last year, I failed miserably. I think he had 4 and I had 2.

I used care about where we're going. I still do a little. Being completely obsessed with where I'm going and what I'm doing next, I can't help but ponder where the boat is headed. I've already started thinking about where we're sailing Monday and it's Friday afternoon. The captain himself probably hasn't even thought about Monday's destination.

I've often sat on the aft deck and been able to listen (as opposed to eavesdrop) on the captain. I'd bring along my maritime chart and begin guessing by late morning where we might be going. Sometimes I'd be right - especially if I heard the captain say where we were going - and sometimes I'd be wrong, imagine that. Now, I don't really care. It's either likely that we'll go someplace I've been before and if we go someplace new, that will be awesome also.

I don't really have to worry about whose's going to be on board. I was fortunate when I tried the Labor Day sail - now officially called the Labor Day Hooker's Cruise - that I met a great group of people. So there will likely be 25 to 30 or so passengers on board next week and I already know close to half of them. It will be fun seeing them all again and picking up where we left off last year. There will also be some new people that will be fun to meet and help provide great times. Or they'll completely regret that they booked themselves with a batch of rug hookers and one smart ass sportswriter.

This is probably my favorite week of the year. It's a week of sailing out to sea and leaving most everything else behind. I said most everything else. I may do some keeping in touch with the mainland but otherwise, I'm out of circulation for the week. I'm chillaxin on a boat. I'm hauling sails. I'm eating and drinking. I'm trying to find the most gullible newbie onboard to tell far-fetched stories to - some of which are true and some of which are not. I don't think about work. I won't wonder how the Red Sox are doing. I won't have a to-do list in my head.

All that will really matter is what concoction I'll have at cocktail hour - or before and whether I'll regret not packing long pants or not.

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Goose Rocked

2009-08-06T18:10:00.000-07:00

A lady once asked me if I was interest in lighthouses.
My reply was “Some of them.”
After she offered a puzzled look, I had no choice but to explain. There are certain lighthouses I care about, specifically the Rockland Breakwater and Goose Rocks Lighthouse – as well as a few others. My grandfather and great grandfather served both of those stations respectively. If I’m perusing various gift shops for lighthouse items, as I was that day when the saleslady asked (and probably regretted doing so), that’s likely what I’m looking for.
Today, I made my annual pilgrimage to Goose Rocks in the Fox Island Thorofare, the channel that runs between North Haven and Vinalhaven. It seems as though my summer isn’t quite complete until I’ve travelled the 15 miles or so out to sea to visit a key part of my family history. My great grandfather was the longest serving keeper there, from the early or mid 1890’s to around 1920.
The Rockland Breakwater I see all the time. I see it when I drive into town for errands. I see it when I walk the mile long Breakwater, something I do quite often over the course of the season.
Getting to Goose Rocks, however, is a bit more problematic. I pretty much have to rely on a trip in my brother’s boat or hope we pass it while on my September sail on the Victory Chimes, something we often do. My first trip out there was actually in my cousin’s lobster boat. He hauled out and boatload of Millses for a quick visit.
This lighthouse is pretty unique in and of itself. It’s a sparkplug light and it is stuck in the middle of the channel. It sits on a submerged ledge. The only access is by boat, and you need to scale a ladder to get up onto the deck. It looks just like Spring Point Light in South Portland, but there’s no candy ass breakwater for people to walk out to it on.
What makes it special to me is what it means to our family history and how my own life unfolded. I’m convinced that that lighthouse set the stage for my life to play out the way it has, to some extent. Had my great grandfather never served there, my grandfather likely never would have settled in Rockland. He wouldn’t have married a St. George girl and my father wouldn’t have been born or at least grown up in Rockland where he met my mother. I probably wouldn’t be sitting here or own in a seaside cottage that my parents bought around 1950 in hopes of visiting their parents in Rockland during the summer.
I don’t get the same charged up excitement I had when I would first go out to see the lighthouse. My first trip was actually a ferry ride to North Haven. There we met up with a woman that gave us a tour of the island and provided us a great view of the lighthouse from the land. My next goal was to get close enough to the lighthouse to touch it.
Sure enough, a year later or so, my cousin took us out there, after he took many of his own family out there. I’ve been out there three times with my brother since and by it on the Victory Chimes a half dozen or so times. I also went out there when the government was selling it.
I even considered trying to buy it. My wallet thought better of it. So did my common sense. I figured since it would be a hassle just to get my guitar up that ladder there might be other more important items that might be even more problematic, especially since I didn’t own a boat.
I knew a girl I dated once that lived on Vinalhaven. I couldn’t help but wonder what she would have thought had I bought the lighthouse and word got around enough for her to realize I had bought it and could be seen sitting in an easy chair, cranking Smithereens tunes and waving at passing vessels. She’d have been shaking her head and thinking it’s a shame how fast I had lost my mind.
Anyway, now I’m delegated to visiting it on occasion. I’m not so much in awe of it as I once was but I still love going out there and seeing it. When I made that first trip in my cousin’s lobster boat two members of the family made the comment “Who’d want to live out here?” Meanwhile, I was thinking “Wouldn’t I love to live out here!”
I’ve been inside it a couple of times and hope to get a chance to stay overnight there sometime. The new owners, Beacon Preservation Inc., offer visits for donations for the lighthouse’s preservation. They’ve recently put up a new exhibit highlighting the light’s history at the Rockland Lighthouse Museum. Most of the photos on display are ones I provided and included a whole generation of Millses.
Of course, my picture isn’t one of them. But they were nice enough to put the cover of my novel on the display. We’ll be updating the display next week with items of my great grandfather and maybe even a copy of my book, which is loosely based on my great grandfather’s life before he joined the United States Lighthouse Service. Go to www.kevincmills.com for more info.
Today’s trip couldn’t have been better. We had calm seas all the way out. We passed seals and porpoises on the way, and made great time through the Thorofare. We got to the light and dropped anchor and just sat there and looked at the light and watched vessels go by. One of my Douglass ancestors, my great grandmother’s family, owned Burnt Island at one time, which is just beyond the lighthouse in the Little Thorofare. And my grandfather worked summers on Widow’s Island, which is across the Thorofare from the lighthouse, when there was a hospital there.
Just like when I take my walks out to the Breakwater, I can’t help but feel in touch with my family’s past when I get out to Goose Rocks. It is always a great trip and pleasure to be out there.
Of course, it isn’t like I don’t see the lighthouse when I’m not out there. I only have a couple paintings of it at home and have half a dozen pictures of it here in Owls Head.
And I’m always perusing gift shops for more - just don’t ask me what I’m looking for. I just might tell you.

Cuts You Up

2009-07-30T11:26:00.000-07:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I simply had three options. I could have waited out the tide, sitting on a beach nearby until the water had returned or I could have gone back around Spruce Head Island, braving a few swells along the way.

The other choice was to just up and get out of my kayak, walk across the mud flats and get to the water on the other side and continue on under the bridge at Spruce Head and paddle back home.
As I said, I thought it was a pretty good solution at the moment, especially for someone as impatient as I.
A few hours later while having a phone conversation, I acknowledged that maybe it wasn’t the brightest of ideas.
While on the phone, I explained that I needed a little nursing. “What did you do?” she asked. “Something stupid,” was my response.
Now I like to make cracks about me doing dumb things and showing a distinct lack of judgment. I’m actually the opposite. I like to think of myself as a fairly rational, sensible and calculating person that typically makes sound judgments and decisions. And yes, I’m sure there are numerous friends out there that would start a list and offer examples that prove otherwise.
That’s because I do tend do things once in a while that ultimately are laced with some regret afterwards, even if they typically make for a good story anyway. My feet bare the scars of that regret this week.
The other morning I had chosen to take my kayak out. I had a beautiful day with bright sunshine and warm temperatures. No, really, I wasn’t imagining it. There was sun, no fog, no rain. It was a miracle.
Anyway, I also had a low tide approaching. I shoved off about 8:30 a.m., proving that I am up at that hour on occasion. Low tide was at 10:30 a.m. I wasn’t sure how much water I’d have in the cove at dead low tide and I didn’t really feel like trudging through the mud and shells if I didn’t have enough water to get in. How ironic that is!
So, I started out paddling fully intending to take my sweet old time and time it just about right that I might come paddling back home by 11:30 or so, after the cove had begun to fill back up a bit.
I was initially planning on paddling straight across toward the Eastern side of Spruce Head and paddle that shoreline back toward the mainland. Seeing as it was fairly calm and I had a good as any opportunity to paddle out around the tip of Spruce Head, and had time to kill, I decide to do just that.
That tactical decision seemed to work just fine, even with a few large swells that made me sweat a little out in the open ocean. I navigated through Spruce Head Harbor and headed over toward the bridge that connects the island to the mainland. The water had emptied out, but I had thought that there was enough for me and my kayak to get through. As Fonzie used to say “I was wrrrrrrrrr”
Any approach to the bridge was blocked off by a ridge of mud and mussel shells. There was hardly any water. I really didn’t want to go back around Spruce Head again. I thought I might paddle over to Norton Island and take a siesta on the beach while the tide came back. Then I learned it was already 10:15. It was almost low tide. I figured I’d paddle around a bit and the water would come rushing back to provide me a quick and easy access to the bridge. Wrrrrrrrrr again.

I paddled around a small island. Beached the kayak for a bit and watched the osprey and noticed that periwinkles will peak out at you if you hold them in the water. Then I shoved off and went around part of Rackliff Island and into what we (meaning my Dad and I) call Baum’s Cove. After killing what I figured was a good hour or so, I made my way back toward the bridge, fully expecting there to be enough water. As I approached I realized it was as dry as it was before, if not more so.
That meant Mr. Rational and Sound Judgment had a choice to make. I went with instant gratification. I climbed out of my kayak with the full intent of walking through the mud flats and dragging it to water. Isn’t there a saying that says “You can lead a kayak to water but you may not survive with your feet and legs unscathed.”
It only took one step to tell me what I was in for. When I set foot into the mud and took that first legitimate step, I sank up to my knees. “This can’t be good” I thought to myself. Of course, I didn’t alter my plan, proving that when you mix my impatience with my stubbornness, it can be a bad combination.
I kept trudging along through the knee-deep mud. It was a struggle and exhausting, but I quickly realized that while I was breathing heavy and might be inviting a heart attack, I couldn’t take a break. If I stopped, I’d be stuck - for good (or at least until high tide floated my carcass out to sea).
Keep in mind, I’ve walked through the mud in my cove tons of times. I pushed my brother’s motor boat halfway out of the cove at low tide trying to get a jumpstart to North Haven one year. I had just plopped through the mud just a week before when a quick trip was cut short because of rapidly decreasing tide.
I finally reached a spot in the mussel ridge that seemed to have some sand in it and made it more stable. The crushed shells beneath my feet hurt a bit but it was still better than sinking up to my thighs and then trying to suck them back out of the muck. I reached the point where I could see the water but there will still a patch of mud and shells that I needed to get through. I hoped it wouldn’t be too treacherous. It was very treacherous. I sank three feet in with one step. With an abundance of shells mixed in with this mud, I was getting sliced and diced with each step.
I was providing ample entertainment for those on shore that was watching this adventure. Even the clammers busy at work nearby took a moment to gaze over at the damn fool trying to walk through the mud. Oh, and did I mention that I was barefoot? Had I been wearing any kind of footwear, it would have been lost in the mud.
I would pull my kayak ahead of me and push off it as I slogged through the final 10 yards or so. I finally got to water and settled back down into my kayak. My legs were covered in mud but I could still see scars and streams of blood trickling down my leg. The sting of the cold salt water on my wounds also announced that I had been hacked pretty good. For the first few minutes of kayaking back, I could feel that intense sting up and down my feet and legs. I started to wonder how much blood I was losing, since I could feel it on my foot peddle inside my kayak. I almost stopped to soak my legs in the water and wash them off along the way home but just kept paddling away.
I finally hit my beach a little after noon and washed off all the mud. Then I hobbled up to the house and showered them off. For the next 24 hours, it felt like my feet had been sunburned badly. It hurt to walk or simply wiggle my toes. The day after, it all looked even worse as all the little nicks and scars that I hadn’t noticed the day before appeared as they began to heal over.

I kind of figure that for all the clams and mussels I've eaten in my lifetime, a few of their distant cousins reaped a little retribution that day.

But don't worry. My annual trip on the Victory Chimes is in September. That features dinner out with my sailing friends the night we board, and it typically features fried clams for me. So, the scars may be healed by then, but I won't have forgotten. And I just may have an appetite for revenge that night.

A Matter Of Trust

2009-07-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

When the coverage began Friday night about the death of newscaster Walter Cronkite, one of the first things I heard was how he was considered the "most trusted journalist".

It immediately dawned on me that if I were to be described as a journalist, trusted would be the word I'd want.

That's what has always been my goal as a reporter. I wanted people to pick up the paper or magazine and see my name and immediately associate it with credibility. They'd read the story with full knowledge that they not only believed in my work but trusted it.

That's how I view other reporters. I see who the story is written by. If it is work by a journalist I respect, I'll likely read it and believe what I find in the story. If it is written by a reporter that I don't trust, I might bypass it completely or solely read it because I'm sure they'll have screwed up something so badly in the piece that I'll likely get a good laugh out of it.

I do the same for TV journalists. If Tim Russert reported something, I'd trust it. Same goes currently for someone like Chuck Todd or Andrea Mitchell. If it's one of those Fox nitwits, I won't even take it seriously. Most of the local sports talking heads are laughable. They try to be funny, when they're not and obviously lack knowledge of what they're covering. One TV journalist had to be rescued last week by their photographer - oh, sorry - their photo journalist - because when a golf ball was flying towards them and people yelled "Fore" they just stood there and nearly got hit.

Now, I know some people don't look at news the same way I do. It doesn't matter to them who is delivering the news. They don't care whose by-line is on the story. I've had people approach me to commend me for a story that they really liked - the only problem would be that I didn't write it.

Then there are others that when they hear my name, they'll be like "Oh yeah, I read your stuff all the time" or maybe they just remember my mug from the football picks we used to make.

It really doesn't matter to me whether they remember my name or not. I'm not in the business to literally make a name for myself. What I do care about is that if they do bother to remember my name that they associate that with quality work and trust.

I've been fortunate. I think I've been able to do that. I often show up at various sporting events and am told by coaches and athletic staff that they're glad to see me there - as opposed to other reporters that they can't stand or can't trust. Granted, sometimes they're happy to see me just so they don't have to report the score later.

I've had some tell me things off the record and beg me not to print it - citing the fact that another reporter they know would likely do just that, despite being told not to. That's a good way to give journalists a bad reputation.

When I was recognized by the Maine Interscholastic Athletic Administrator's Association last spring, one athletic director gave me one of the greatest compliments anyone had ever given me. He told me that people trusted me. And as if that weren't enough , he told me that I was one of the few that people could.

I work for a paper that could care less about the work I do or the credibility I've established. I can't remember the last time one of the powers that be commended me for a job well done and told me I was appreciated. Heck, when I was given the media award by the MIAAA last spring, the SJ made no mention of it in the paper or to me. I guess I can't complain. At least they gave me the night off, which is more than they were going to do for my father's funeral.

But, I'm not out to impress them. I'm not out to make a star out of myself like some reporters. I'm there to be a journalist. I want to to do quality work, treat the job and the people I deal with with respect and understanding. In turn, I want respect and trust.

I think I've not only been able to establish that but have also earned it. Coaches, players, fans and readers have come to understand, and hopefully appreciate, that.

The problem some newspapers have now is that they're losing that trust with readers and the people they're reporting on. I see many reporters that are just plain lazy and lacking knowledge about the event they're covering. Doing a half-assed job is just as good to them. There are others whose ego's are so big that they get in the way of their work and credibility. They like to brag about how much they do and how good they are - when they're not all that good at all.

I don't know how much time I've got left in this business. I've had one foot out the door numerous times. It is still a job I can enjoy and feel like I make a difference in.

Who knows where the newspaper business is going. The media is evolving into a faster-paced environment where the foundations of who, what, where, when and why are being replaced by sound bites, tweets and web posts. Journalists are trying to be media stars as opposed to doing their job credibly. It can be rather disgusting to watch because the job and its role is being diminished. I still think there is a place for trust in the media, but I fear that it is losing its place as journalism becomes more about entertainment and egos than it is about information and serving the public's interests.

I'm sure there will be a lot of talk about Cronkite's death and acknowledgement that he's of a by-gone era and that there won't be many like him anymore. That's kind of a scary thought.

I Kneeded That

2009-07-04T10:19:00.000-07:00

There are not many dates that linger in my crowded mind of trivial details – but July 5th is one of them.

There are only a handful of such dates that stir my emotions and spark my memory. Some are good recollections. Some are memories I’d just as well forget.

There’s April 27 – the day I was born. Guess I have to remember that one – as much as I try to forget it each year. But that was also the day I first saw the Smithereens play live. It was probably one of my best birthday’s ever.
There’s February 4 – that was the day I found the greatest girl in the world.

There’s September 11 – which I remember for obvious reasons – and some not so obvious.
There’s December 24 – that’s the day my father died. I can still hear the phone ring at 7:45 that morning – and I knew exactly what the call was about.

July 5 actually wasn’t a good day, but it turned out to be one of the best days of my life because of what it prompted.

That Friday morning was the day I blew out my knee, badly. I snapped my patella tendon – the one that keeps your kneecap in place. My doctor said it was one of the worst he’d seen. Having my kneecap sliding a quarter of the way up my thigh gave me a pretty good indication of that.

I violated just about every maritime superstition I knew of that day. I was going to sea on a Friday. The rowboat I was going to go out in had blue on it. I was probably whistling and ignoring the red sky in the morning just to completely tempt maritime fate.

The plan was to take two boats over to Port Clyde for the day. While my brother readied to depart in his, I was pulling up our rowboat – the Goomer Too – to ferry out to my Dad’s boat. Because of a severe thunderstorm the night before – which had me delirious with fright while at the fireworks in Thomaston (cause lightning freaks me out like nothing else) - the rowboat was full of water. I had to drag the boat up above the tide line to tip it over and dump it. Frustrated and impatient, I reached down and grabbed the bow of the aluminum boat, lifted it with one might heave and began dragging it up the beach. With the bow lifted, I stepped backward, needing only to go five feet or so. However, the storm the night before didn’t just bring rain, the riled seas brought lots of washed up seaweed, and as I stepped backward, my foot landed on seaweed.

Now, for you landlubbers out there, seaweed doesn’t really need a sign on it that says slippery when wet. That’s pretty much understood, and if you don’t know that , you should stay of the beach and rocks. Of course, even a know-it-all like me can get distracted enough to forget that.

When my foot hit the slippery seaweed, my leg went out from under me. With all my weight leaning backward, I fell right on my leg, popping my patella tendon with one giant severe snap.
I won’t even get into the whole drama of getting me off the beach. It wasn’t easy. A few hours later, I was in the hospital room. My knee had been surgically repaired. I was facing a long rehabilitation. My summer vacation was ruined, and I wouldn’t be able to drive for three months. For a brief few minutes, I felt pretty sorry for myself. I was lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut, so to speak.

But, it didn’t take long for me to snap out of it. I was helped by an eight-year old girl, my niece Caitlynne. She had been diagnosed with bone cancer that spring and had gone through drastic surgery just weeks before to save her life. I had actually seen her the week before my knee injury and was inspired by her strength and courage.

So, I sat in that hospital room determined not to let a little eight-year old girl show more guts than me. Right then and there, I put my game-face on. I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself anymore. I had the eye of the tiger. I was going to make this injury one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

I set goals for myself that day. While embarking on my rehab, I was going to get myself in shape. The recovery time was estimated to be about three months or more. I was determined to trim that. I was going to take on this challenge with a positive attitude and kick its ass.

I later took a Sports Psychology class that talked about dealing with adversity. We were shown a clock and it was divided into sections. The top of the clock, 11 to 12, was where your goals were, what your dreams are. The previous half or quarters were what you had to do to get there.

Around the 3 o’clock mark, however, was an obstacle. The prof said that quite often people encounter adversity on the way to that goal. If they don’t deal with it or overcome it, they remain stuck, living that never-ending cycle between 1 and 3. If you can endure that challenge and get over that adversity, you’re on the road toward your goal.

I related completely to that scenario. I've seen people get stuck in one bad moment and never get passed it. I didn't let that happen. From the first few moments of coherence after my surgery, I was determined to take something bad and make it good. I didn’t really know how I was going to do that. I had meager goals – eat right, lose weight, get in shape and rehab my knee with persistence. I did all that with an attitude that was determined and unrelenting. It taught me that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. I just needed the right attitude and to channel my stubbornness (which I have an abundance of). I didn’t just hobble past that hurdle. I took my crutches and beat it to smithereens. Then, I tossed the crutches away and limped off – glaring at anything else in my way with a “you wanna a piece this?” attitude, or something like it.
And, it paid off. I was driving almost two months to the day of my injury – without doctor’s permission of course. I returned home and began work a few weeks later. When the three-month recovery time estimate had elapsed, I’d been back at work for weeks and driving regularly. I was still building the strength in my knee but the daily walks and exercises had paid off. As if that weren’t enough, I lost about 30 pounds during that summer and would later drop about 40 more.

The benefits didn’t end there. Because of my lost vacation time and some awards I had won, I had extra time and prize money to spend. This was in the day when the paper actually rewarded us with cash bonuses for awards. Now, we might get a mention in the paper or ignored altogether.

I decided to use that time and money for something special. I decided to go on a schooner trip. The next July I sailed on the Victory Chimes. The following year I returned to the Chimes for a sail in September. It has become a yearly tradition, a week I anxiously await each year and has provided me a group of friends that are near and dear to my heart.

I think back to that July 5th now. I don’t really dwell too much on that morning and how my journey began. I still have the scar and my knee gets cranky once in a while – just like the rest of me.

It’s where I’ve gone and what I learned from that experience. It made me a better person. It taught me to be determined and committed to my cause and my goals. And I remain unrelenting in my pursuit of those dreams. I did turn a pretty bad morning into something special. The pain and misery I felt on the beach that day has been surpassed greatly by the resolve I’ve found inside and the benefits that came with it.

July 5 now reminds of the song “Beautiful Day”. It was one of the Leveller’s biggest hits in England. It goes “What a beautiful day, I’m the king of all time. And nothing is impossible in my all and powerful mind.”

How true. So, happy July 5, my independence day.

The Proof

2009-05-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

It has been the only item remaining on the list for sometime.

I made the list so long ago, I don’t even recall when it was. It was before my first guest appearance on television, before my first Maine Press Association award, before my first magazine article was published and before I was working a pro hockey beat - because all of those things were on that list of things I wanted to accomplish.

For the last few years, the only thing left on that “to do” list was to publish a novel.

Thursday, I came pretty close to accomplishing that feat. When the UPS man buzzed me, I knew what it was. My proof of Sons and Daughters of the Ocean had arrived.

I opened the package with great anticipation and even greater fear. After struggling to try and revamp the cover artwork and get it to work with my publisher's template, I was afraid it would look distasterous and I’d have to start all over again.

When I pulled it out, the front cover looked pretty cool. I liked it. And in my hand I held my novel - a piece of fiction I’ve been writing off and on for most of this decade. It’s been so long, I can’t even remember when I started it.

The story is based on some of my own family history. It chronicles life in a small Maine coastal town called Brooks Harbor. The story focuses on three teens - Alfred Miller, Sarah Dyer and Sammy Jones - that have grown up in a village where sea-faring and shipbuilding has shaped their lives. But their close proximity to the sea comes to change them more than any of them can imagine. It is a historical novel based on true stories culled from the rich maritime legacy of my ancestors.

I don’t even recall exactly how I this particular story became my first serious attempt at a novel. I have had other ideas. If I had a book for every book idea that goes through my brain, I’d have an entire library by now.

I know Sons and Daughters of the Ocean stemmed from the extensive research and writing I did for a book on Mills family history and then another book on the life of my grandfather. Both books were 350-plus pages and took many years to complete.

After completing my book on Mills history, I kind of followed the old newspaper adage of “write what you know.” And a new novel idea was born, one which I could actually see potential in and maybe even finish.

My great great grandfather was a reknowned shipbuilder and built one of the nations’ first three-masted schooners. My great grandfather sailed on schooners for about 20 years before becoming a lighthouse keeper. Their lives served as a bit of a template for this story.

This work was also inspired a bit by the Civil War trilogy by Michael and Jeff Shaara. The Killer Angels and the subsequent works Gods and Generals and The Last Full Measure were excellent historical novels. I wanted to take the history I had researched and do something similar. I even have enough material from my family history to do a three-part series. In fact, my second novel, Sea of Liberty, is a bit of a prequel to this story, but more on that later.

Writing this has been a bit of an ardous process. As much as I love writing, I discovered what a challenge it is to write a piece of fiction when you are so trained and accustomed to writing about actual events and people. When I sit down to write a newspaper story, I have all the facts, details and perspectives in front of me. Many times I've seen this person or team play and can write from my own perspective as well as their's. All I have to do is weave it all together with a little flair and creativity.

Writing a story without those facts, details and perspectives was a challenge. I had to draw on a creative writing mind that is not accustomed to making things up. Many people tell me "It's amazing how that mind of your's works." But it was a chore to develop a process and force myself to be able to create characters, events, details, moods and personalities from scratch. That's why Sons and Daughters of the Ocean draws from a lot of my own experiences. I'll be able to go through the novel and pick out various characters or instances that are based on actual people or occurences. More on that later.

To force myself to write wasn’t easy either. That’s what I do every day. I often crank out at least five stories per week, if not more. When I have down time and put my slightly overactive mind to rest, the last thing I want to do is force it to write.

Eventually, I managed to find a way to create a writing mood and got myself in the frame of mind to pluck away at this story. Little by little it would progress. There were times I lost interest or couldn’t find the time. There was one point where I went an entire year without touching this story or even thinking about it. There were times I almost scrapped one of the characters or a story line but didn’t.

Of course, then there was my continuous attempt to tinker and fix and rewrite and redo and meddle and critique. I honestly still don’t know whether this is any good or not. I learned a lot about the process of writing, and I was a better fiction writer by the end of this endeavor than I was a the beginning. So much so that I often contemplated starting the whole thing over again and starting anew, utilizing the skills I’ve developed. But I figured I wouldn’t actually change all that much and instead stuck to my incessant tinkering and meddling until I finally got so tired of working on it, that I decided it was time to get it published.

Now the proof copy sits in my hand. At one time I realized that if I had just one copy published, that would meet my goal. I wouldn’t even have to have anybody else read it.

But, deep down, I want people to read it. I don’t know whether people will become engrossed in the characters and the story. I don't know whether people will be rivetted and be unable to put it down. I hope so. but we’ll see. Readers can at least be entertained by some of the various things I put in for fun. More on that later.

I'm glad this process is nearly over. I've spent many years thinking about and working on this story. I'm excited about this project being nearly completed and am excited about the others I can devote my attention to.

I have my book Sidelined destined to be done later this year while Sea of Liberty is being written. I might even finish that in less than a decade. I hope so. I've already got two other story ideas for novels to follow it. One of which could be a sequel to this novel (but isn't about sailing).

I'll post more info and details about Sons and Daughters of the Ocean on my webpage (www.kevincmills.com) once it is up and running. The book should be on sale in the coming weeks. I'm hoping this morning was the last tinkering I am to do on it. Well, at least until I'm working on the screenplay for the Hollywood movie version.

Welcome Back My Friends To The Show That Never Ends

2009-03-31T13:12:00.000-07:00

With just one quick riff through the opening chords, it becomes obvious to me what song is coming.

And the chills already begin down my spine and goosebumps bubble up on my arms.

That’s how I often know a concert is really reaching into my soul and grabbing my attention.

On this night, the Bodeans had barely begun to play. But when Kurt Neumann began the opening sequence of "Dreams", I was taken away to a heaven filled with amplifiers, guitars and Kenny Aronoff’s steady thump from behind the drum kit (a sound I still hear in my head).

Just thinking about it takes me back to that September Sunday night. I had been through a stressful week, and it was only getting worse. This Bodeans show at the Paradise was just the first show I was going to that week. I had the White Stripes on Wednesday and Paul McCartney the following Monday. Three concerts, 800-something miles in eight days. That was the good stress to help me forget the bad stress.

When the Bodeans roared into “Dreams” that night and belted out the chorus “Ain’t this what dreams are made of." The chills on my arm answered with a definitive “Yes”. I remember thinking this is one of those things that truly makes me happy. It is one of the greatest feelings in the world.

I’ve been going to concerts since I was in high school. The first show I went to, as a licensed driver, was Survivor and REO Speedwagon. Yes, that dates me. I wish I could say it was their reunion tours. It wasn’t. Saga and Pat Benatar followed with the J. Giels Band up next. From then on, my life has revolved around waiting for the next show and the next onsale date.

There was even the time when I was doing concert reviews for the newspaper. Between gigs I’d go to for myself and ones I’d actually write about, I was going to a concert at least once a month for a good year or two.

I once made a list of all the concerts I’ve seen and all the venues I’d seen them in. I don’t recall the final number but it was lengthy. Heck, there are a handful of artists that add up to significant numbers on their own. Between Bruce Cockburn, the Bodeans, Ellis Paul, the Smithereens, Richard Shindell, U2 and REM, there’s over 30 shows right there.

There are some shows I probably don’t remember too much about, but I bet if pressed I could tell you a little something about each one. I have binders at home that serve as scrapbooks to all the shows I’ve been to. They’re filled with ticket stubs, set lists, newspaper advances, concert reviews and even autographs of Ronnie James Dio, Allison Krause, John Gorka, Patty Larkin, the Saw Doctors, the Moody Blues, Jars of Clay and Margo Timmins, of the Cowboy Junkies. I even have concert photos from the shows I shot pictures at, including the above photo of Paul Stanley. I thought security was going to toss me because after being told what not to do while shooting photos, I did exactly that. Got a good shot out of it.

There are still memories from the various shows that are inevitably burned into my mind. There was the disco ball and sweeping lights that circled Foxborough Stadium as David Gilmour roared through the guitar solo of "Comfortably Numb" at a Pink Floyd show. I can never forget that powerful moment where light and soaring notes combined to create a feast of sight and sound that carried you away for those moments.

There was Tony Levin’s bass that thundered in my chest with each note during a Peter Gabriel show. I was in the front row, standing right in front of the bass speaker, where every note thumped inside my body as Levin looked down and smiled.

There was Billy Duffy’s bad ass riff as the Cult roared through their best stuff. Those catchy power chords had me in awe. http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=51121946652&h=1dOO_&u=LrQMF

There was Bodean Sammy Llanas handing me his guitar pick after a stirring performance of “Naked”

There were the moshers and slam dancers that made the mistake of bumping into me. One got shoved forcefully into the stage as Live played at Great Wood during the Womad Festival. Another wound up on the floor, where other irritated concert goers began kicking him.

There was seeing McCartney for the first time. Being a lifelong Beatles fan, it was incredible to see one of the artists that had influenced so much of my musical foundation.

There was seeing a solo Peter Wolf at small club in Portland or the Dave Matthews Band at the Gray Cage at Bates College, sharing a bill with Big Head Todd and the Monsters.

There was the combination of mudslides and Social Distortion at Hampton Beach.

There was being in the seventh row as The Who played Quadrophenia. When Pete Townsend broke a string and was obviously frustrated, I hoped and prayed he smash the guitar. He didn't.

There was seeing legends I never thought I’d see, Roger McGuinn, Fleetwood Mac, Gordon Lightfoot, Simon and Garfunkel, Crosby, Still, Nash and Young and Rush.

There was the spur of the moment trip to a show in Augusta featuring 80’s metal bands and watching Cinderalla come out with some attitude and swagger and rock the house.

There was the first rock concert at the newly built FleetCenter, featuring REM.

There were second-row seats to see Radiohead, in their largest concert in America at that time - and the warmup band, Spiritualized, which I likened to the Moody Blues in a train wreck.

I could go on and on.
Some of the best concert going experiences were shared with friends. What got me thinking about writing about concerts is the fact that I went to see Shindell Sunday night in Portland. I went to the show with one of my favorite people. I’d looked forward to the evening for days. We drove down the Portland, relaxed in a pub in the afternoon before taking in the show. It was a fantastic day, and Shindell was excellent.

There was the Bodeans show at the Metro in Boston with another dear friend. It was great hanging out with her and watching the show. Even though she developed a crush on Kurt and wanted to become a groupie and follow the band to Providence for the next night.

There were a pair Smithereens shows with another cool girl I know. I even saw a Springsteen show with her years later. There was the Dokken/Sammy Hagar show at the Orpheum when a college buddy and I caught the train into Boston and barely caught the last train home. That friend and I caught AC DC in the old Boston Garden and then took a road trip to Portland from college a few years later to see the band again.

I saw The Firm at Boston Garden with my sister, who asked “Which one is Jimmy Page?” when the band took the stage. I saw a couple of shows with her, including the Moody Blues, when we met the band afterwards and she drooled all over Justin Hayward while getting his autograph.

There were the Pearl Jam shows which ticked off the powers to be at work when a group of coworkers and I took the weekend off to go to back-to-back shows at Great Woods. We missed the companies precious computer training sessions (which we made up in about 15 minutes later the following week) but had a great time.

I come across people all the time that have either never been to a concert or hardly ever go to one. I can’t imagine that. That experience is such a significant part of my life and existence that I can’t fathom it not being there.

Being a sports fan and a sports writer, the fan part gets lost sometimes. Sporting events are where I work. I enjoy the excitement and the atmosphere and am still surprised on occasion by what happens, but it is still my job. The emotional aspect of being a fan is often lost.

Concerts give that back to me. Granted I'm a pretty tame fan. I don't sing along (I'm there to hear the band sing not me and the tone-deaf people near me). I don't shout out requests. I don't get up and dance. I listen to the music. I watch the band. I analyze as only I can and enjoy the moment and the surroundings.

They’re social events, entertainment, opportunities to escape, a chance to lose oneself in the music (and a few mudslides and Irish drinks in a girlie glass). But the concert atmosphere does more than all that. It draws you into the world, connects you with the artists and their raw power, intensity, intimacy or the tender sounds of their voices and words - depending on the style of music. It can be a communal celebration, a shared experience for couples or an individual escape.

There will be times I will stop and pause and think to myself that I really need to go to a show. It’s like a junkie suddenly needing a fix. Sometimes I’ve thought that to myself and realized I had just gone to a concert a few nights before.

I don’t get to as many shows as I used to. I only go to see ones I really must see now. I don’t spend the ticket money that I used to or travel the distances I used to. But I still love the experience.

I’m fortunate to be thrilled by the excitement of sporting events or savor time spent on the water. Both are very unique experiences that I cherish. So is enjoying a good concert. It nearly gives me goosebumps thinking about it, but that’s the point. I go to the shows for the real thing.

My Father's Day

2009-03-08T07:15:00.000-07:00

My father sat in his chair reading contently.
It wasn’t an unusual sight. One of his favorite things to do would be to recline in his chair that overlooks our cove in Owls Head with a book in his hand. On this occasion, the story he was engrossed in was his own. This particular summer he was reading his memoirs. His own life story that he had written a year or so prior to that.
I’d watch him be completely enthralled in his own life story and tell him “Dad, it’s not like you don’t know how it ends.”
He’d laugh or at least acknowledge his smart ass son and comment about how interesting his memoirs were. I must say, he had a point. His story was quite incredible especially when you look at the man that rose from those early years of uncertainty and tragedy. In fact, he only wrote about his life up to the point that he got married and had kids. There wasn't much exciting to recant after that.
Today is my Dad’s birthday. There are a couple of ways I could recognize him on this day. I could spend the day in Owls Head at the place he loved and cherished. I could go out and buy a pie, something else he loved and cherished (but not for the same reasons). If I had gotten down to Owls Head, I would have visited the cemetery, even though I’m not sure his stone would be visible beneath all the snow. So I would have ended up working around the cottage doing various chores, all things he loved to do (even if he did fail to fully inform me about the significant amount of work and responsibility the place requires).
Since I couldn’t do all those, even though buying a pie option is still being considered, I thought I might write a blog about him.
One of the things that amazes me most about my Dad was the fact that he was such a normal person. I recall one lady referring to him as a gentleman – a gentle man, which he was (unless of course you accidentally back the car down the driveway by releasing the emergency break. His hand wasn’t so gentle on my backside in that instance).
He was a friend, a minister and a teacher to many, yet most people probably didn’t even know the adversity he faced growing up. In this day and age, his upbringing could have been described as a bit dysfunctional, but I’m sure he never would have called it that. I remember the morning of his memorial service and stopping by the church. I got into a conversation with the minister at the church and recounted some of the things my father went through as child. He wasn’t even aware of those hardships that my father faced.
My Dad was only a few years old when it was discovered that his mother had tuberculosis. My grandfather’s first wife died of that disease a year after their wedding in 1917. My grandfather married one of her closest friends, my grandmother, a few years later. My Dad, his two brothers and their mother spent much of the late 1920’s in a sanitorium. First they were in Fairfield and then were moved to Hebron.
Eventually all the boys were able to return home while Frances, their mother, stayed at the sanitorium in Hebron. My grandfather, a clerk at a manufacturer in Rockland, would make regular trips to Hebron when he could to visit Frances.
Most of my Dad’s interaction with his Mother was in the sanitorium. She died when he was just 10. From there, my grandfather raised his three young boys on his own. He worked hard but tried to make a good life for his boys. He made sure they were baptized, a wish made by Frances before she died. He gave them a fine upbringing and then watched all three go off to World War II. My Dad was a radio operator, and as a result he didn’t get sent to Europe until the late stages of the war. After the war, my Dad finished high school and went off to college, the first in his family to do so. He went to seminary and became an ordained minister.
Between reading his memoirs, researching the life of my grandfather and having numerous discussions about his life and upbringing, I know my Dad's story well. One day, he and I even made a trip out to Hebron. The place is all grown in and hardly any buildings remain, but he drew out a map and gave me a tour. Thanks to the sharp memory that I inherited, he remembered exactly where everything was. I drive by Greenwood Mountain fairly regularly think about that part of his life.
I can’t imagine growing up in such a scenario and certainly having limited access to your mother and then subsequently losing her at age 10 are circumstances that I can’t even fathom. I can’t help but think about the story of the day the telegram came to say that Frances was very ill. My grandfather tried to make arrangement to get off work and find care for the boys so he could drive to Hebron to be with Frances in her final hours. He didn’t make it. He got another message the following day telling him that she had died. My father recalls crying himself to sleep that night after learning that his mother was gone.
My Dad had a hard life early on. It was a life filled with hardship, adversity and disappointment. Yet, he never spoke of his upbringing in those terms. Life in the sanitorium, he said, provided him a place to live and play with kids his own age during the depression. It also allowed him interaction with his mother.
Between his mother and other influences at the sanitorium, the seeds of his desire to enter the ministry were sown. His father provided for his boys and was active in their lives in the church and the boy scouts. For a young life that was so difficult, my grandfather and father made the best of their circumstances.
And that was always my Dad. Like his father, he always moved forward and wasn’t burdened by misfortune. He lived a life of strength and courage, resembling one of his favorite scripture verses. You never heard him complain. He never showed any signs of bitterness for the travails he experienced as a boy. Those were the years that shaped him and defined him, and I think my Dad made sure they did so for the better. He used those experiences to make himself a better person and lived life with full knowledge that despite the adversity, he had many blessings as well.
I remember the day I learned the prognosis that he had gotten at Dana Farber. I had been away on a schooner vacation and returned home to hear what the doctor had said. My Dad initially downplayed it and said that it was leukemia, the worst-case scenario, and that he had to be sure he was careful with germs etc because his immune system couldn’t handle it. He made it sound like it was no big deal and nothing we hadn’t already been doing. It wasn’t until my Mother got me alone moments later when she explained that the real prognosis was that he could live another two weeks or another two months.
It turned out to be another two months. He died the day before Christmas, and I spent Christmas Eve writing his obituary. Never during that time did my Dad ever shows signs of anything but complete strength and courage, even though he knew his life was at its end. We spent those two months watching football games, watching Meet the Press, talking about the cottage and going through books and tools that he wanted to get rid of.
I could go on and on about various influences he had on me and my life. But as I reflect on his life and the hardships he endured, he proved to me that life is full of good and bad, but it can be what you make of it.
Hardship and adversity can break you down and ruin you or it can build you up and make you stronger. You can feel cursed or you can feel blessed. My Dad showed me that strength, courage and faith is enough to get you through most anything. Misfortune only dictates your life if you let it. He never did that. The simple blessing of his life shaped him and kept him going.
As I researched and wrote a 350-page history on the life of my grandfather, I developed a great admiration for a man who I hardly knew. He died when I was just six. In my Dad’s memoirs, he wrote about his own father “ Dad’s legacy was not in his property but in the life he lived and the faith he passed on to all three of us boys.”
That is great legacy left by my grandfather but one that my Dad also followed and left for me. My Dad was a better man for all he endured in his lifetime. As a result, I hope I am a better person, learning from him and his legacy.
Which has me thinking. I could go for a piece of pie. Happy Birthday Dad!

Hoopla

2009-02-12T13:23:00.000-08:00

This is a column I wrote a year ago about the basketball tournament, which starts in full Friday. It was our most read online basketball item. I thought I'd post it here - because I'm too tired and too lazy to attempt writing something better after finishing all the hoop previews for tomorrow's paper.

There will be moments that last a lifetime. At basketball arenas all over the state over the next week, there will memories made, and entertainment you just can’t find elsewhere, no matter how many Hollywood writers end their strike.It’s basketball tourney time. It starts in full today, and it is one of my favorite days of the year. I look forward to this day and week almost as soon as the previous one ends. Even as I scramble to gather information for countless previews, it feels like a last stressful dash toward Christmas Day. Except, I guarantee, over the next week, you’ll receive something you wanted, and you’ll witness something you didn’t expect.There are numerous reasons I love the basketball tournaments. It is not the eight days of driving to Augusta or Portland (or both in one day). It’s not the 15 games or so I’ll write about or the games I’ll simply watch, which will number twice that, at least. It’s not even the drama of who might win. I made my predictions already. I know who’s going to win. Well, I think I do.What I like about the tournament is the atmosphere, the excitement, and the buzz around the arena when a game is on the line. People are yelling, screaming, praying. Bands are cranking out the tunes. Fans are on the edge of their seats. Coaches are on the edge of a coronary.I like the people that you see. It’s like a family reunion. Over the years, I’ve met plenty of great people in the basketball fraternity. The tournaments provide the opportunity to reunite. You catch up, watch games, talk hoops and share plenty of laughs.I can step through doors of the ACC and feel like I’ve traveled to another world. It is where basketball is played around the clock and nothing else matters. You have limited contact with the outside world. All you care about is who’s playing in the next game or where you go eat between sessions?There will be bands that absolutely rock. I still haven’t gotten all my hearing back since the MDI band came to the ACC for the Class B state championship game a few years back. I was seated at the press table toward that end of the arena. Their thunderous volume and close proximity gave me a mighty headache, but they were tremendous. I remember more about them than I do the game.There are fans that are inventive and entertaining. I remember the kid that wore a box and dressed up as a robot. It made me create my list of “Things I’d have to be intoxicated to do.” Wearing a box and dressing like a robot is still atop that list. There are students that enjoy being kids and have fun, without being obnoxious. Who can forget when the Dexter fans brought out the Dexter Tiger in a wooden cage prior to a state game? That was one of the best bits I’ve seen. What about the raucous Mt. Abram contingent last year? They were a force and certainly a boost to their Roadrunners.There will be games that are absolutely ugly. There will be blowouts. There will be times that you feel you’ve been there all day and it’s only 11:30 in the morning. You go long periods without seeing the sun, assuming the sun is shining. You’ll even drive through at least one snowstorm to get there. You might have to swear off coffee by the time the week is over.There are going to be fans that act like idiots. There will be parents that make you feel badly for their kids. There will be coaches and players that make mistakes and let their emotions and actions get the best of them. The bad side of high school sports will rare its ugly head in one form or another. We’re in a culture where lunacy and self-involvement are becoming the norm.But, there will also be great moments that you won’t forget. I just saw a Wells team Thursday night in which the Warriors Sarah Quint hit a 3-pointer in the final seconds to force overtime. Wells went on to win in overtime. Quint told me after the game that they set up plays like that and practiced them, but she never actually imagined she’d have to hit a shot in that situation. She did, and it was amazing. It’s a moment she’ll never forget and neither will the fans that saw a very entertaining game. Can Survivor beat that?The basketball tournaments give us the opportunity to see heroes that last for more than just one day. We see amazing moments and unbelievable developments. Maybe in the coming week, I’ll chronicle some of my favorite moments from years past.Granted, we can see fabulous feats on television. We can watch the greatest athletes in pro sports. We can see drama in the movies. People can even tune into their favorite reality show and snoop into other people’s lives for their own jollies.The basketball tournaments give us the best of all that, but these are our kids and our communities. It’s the kid that bags your groceries and works at the local fast food place. It’s a neighbor down the street. It’s the kid of a friend of yours. And, even if you don’t know the participants, you are pulled into their world as you watch them play their hearts out. These are real people. They’re people from your communities that are facing challenges and overcoming odds. They’re stepping up and achieving. They’re doing things many us only can only dream of doing.I remember when Dirigo won a state championship at the Bangor Auditorium. Shannon Daley finished off a broken play in the final seconds and scored with a short baseline jumper. I remember the whole play moment by moment, including the jig that Coach Gavin Kane danced at the final buzzer. Afterwards, I talked to Daley outside the locker room. With tears of joy, she exclaimed, “I scored the winning basket in the state championship.” It was a moment she couldn’t believe and couldn’t explain. It is a moment I’m sure she’ll never forget. It is still etched clearly in my mind, and I’m sure fans that saw it can still picture it as well. It was a moment of unexpected greatness that many Maine basketball players might experience today or tomorrow.As the coming week unfolds, take time to notice them. You’ll realize that there are things you won’t witness anywhere else or in any other way. We’ll see the unexpected, the unbelievable and the unforgettable. There will be moments that make us smile, moments that make us laugh, moments that bring us to tears, moments that we won’t soon forget. It’s just basketball and a great chance for communities to rally around their kids, but it gives us all a whole lot more.

Super Party

2009-01-28T09:23:00.000-08:00

Escargot, blue mohawks and a dude called Poopie.

Now that's a Super Bowl party.

With the game that nobody I know cares about this coming Sunday, it got me thinking about Super Bowl parties and some of the ones I've ventured to.

I'm not exactly a Super Bowl Party type. I like the game, the food and the "beverages" but not the crowd of bandwagon jumpers who are there just because a party is going down. It is a night that teases the socialite in me but turns off the loner gene that I possess.

I usually actually want to watch the game - and sometimes yell at the TV and throws things (like last year, but we don't talk about that game any longer). Sometimes a large crowd of partiers gets in the way of that.

It's kind of like the time a group of friends all gathered to watch the NCAA basketball Final Four one Saturday evening. We began watching the games and eating dinner at a local bar. The next thing we now we're crowding 11 people in van, cruising the back roads of Maine to go bar hopping. I remember nothing about the basketball games, but unfortunately, can't wipe away the vision of the Pimp Daddy mooning everybody. It was certainly a memorable and fun evening, but not because of the basketball.

So, most Super Bowls I've watched have remained low key. I've either watched them at home or watched them with a few friends and family. Since my niece's birthday is often right around Super Bowl Sunday, we often got together for both occasions. She didn't really like sharing her birthday party. So, we just moved her birthday from January to early November. Problem solved.

The most interesting Super Bowl party was the one mentioned above. I wasn't really even invited to it. The Patriots were playing the Eagles that night, and rather than give me the night off to enjoy the game, the SJ thought it might be a good idea to make me work. I was assigned Super Bowl party duty. Since I struck out finding somebody I knew that was holding a party to attend, write about and watch the game, I had others set up potential places to go.

I started with a guy holding an outdoor grilling party. He was tearing down the back of his house to rebuild for his mother. He had a batch of friends over to grill all kinds of food - including escargot. It provided me the great opportunity to refer to the T.O. Has B.O. T-shirts and dump on Payton Manning in the story.

After spending a little time there, I went over to a house of guys where they were giving themselves blue mohawks. One of the guys was nicknamed Poopie. He later left the party in a snit over the betting rules. I was able to watch most of the game there, but rushed back to the office in the second half to start writing. I finished my story while monitoring the game in the office. I finished it enough to catch the end of the Patriots win. Here's a link to the story http://www.sunjournal.com/story/101569-3/Sports/Patriotic_parties/

Of course, with my task for the evening done, I just sat around watched the game and made a nuisance of myself (one of my strengths). While the editors were trying to decide on a headline that would look good on a poster they were doing of the front page, I suggested "Threesome". For some reason, they chose not to use it.

Most of the gatherings I attended in college were pretty low key. The one I remember most was me and my roommate ordering pizza just before the game. We chowed down and then both fell asleep in the first quarter. We didn't miss much because the Dolphins got trounced. I did watch the Chicago-New England Super Bowl with a bunch of Bears fans, now that was fun.

When Scott Norwood missed his infamous field goal that cost the Bills a win, I was at a gathering in a Boston suburb. I don't even recall who was there that I actually knew. It was a party that my sister set me up with.

One memorable one, of course, was the Patriots first Super Bowl win. Thanks to the Portland Pirates, I had to cover one of their games that day in the afternoon. I didn't have time to get my story and go anywhere else after. Instead, I rushed out to Gorham to watch the game with my Dad. I still remember watching the game-wining field goal and thinking "They actually did it." It was cool to spend that evening and share that moment with my father.

As I write this I realize, as much as I like the game and the strategies of it, what has made the past Super Bowl parties memorable haven't been the game. I barely recall most of the games, except the Patriots games (with one exception that we no longer discuss). What I remember are the people, the setting and the fun we had.

Now I'm kind of in the mood for a Super Bowl party. I wonder how many football fans we can squeeze into a van?

Bye George

2009-01-20T10:24:00.000-08:00

See ya. Wouldn't want to be ya!

The Bush era, I mean the Bush error, is over. Good riddance.

I've spent the last few hours watching the final moments of his dictatorship, even though he hasn't dictated anything in about six months. I've revelled in watching him leave power in disgrace and ridicule.

The ego-maniac, self-serving, religious zealot, war mongering dictator I won't miss at all. The bumbling, moronic dufus will be sorely missed.

I thoroughly enjoyed watching Bush's final moments and was nearly brought to tears and/or jumping up and down (or flashing an obscene gesture at the TV) as Bush boarded the helicopter and flew away.

But I will miss ole jug-ears in a way. Watching David Letterman won't be the same with his "Great Moments in Presidential Speeches", playing clips of Bush and ridiculing him with his own words. Fortunately, the Late Show has a clip of a sneezing monkey to replace the speeches of a bumbling jackass.

I'll miss the mockery that Will Ferrell made of him on Saturday Night Live. I'll miss the jokes from Jay Leno or John Stewart. Fortunately, but also unfortunately, we won't have GW to kick around any more.

As much as I'd like to see Bush prosecuted, tarred and feathered or even waterboarded, I know he'll likely get away scot free and won't learn the meaning of accountability. So the only justice we get is to watch Bush leave office in shame and disgrace. And I've enjoyed every moment of it.

The jokes and ridicule he has endured by comedians has been great. He'll go down in history not only as incompetent but also a laughing stock. His stuttering, mumbling and bumbling define his policies and his cowboy legacy.

It has been a joy to watch him squirm the last few months. He'd been rendered a lame-duck and useless national figure. Even when he tried to bolster his own record and rewrite his own legacy, he came off as an idiot and wasn't taken seriously. The White House web site has already replaced Bush with photos of Obama, and the word "Failure" in the dictionary has already been updated with Bush's likeness.

It all couldn't have happened to a better guy. I took great pleasure in watching today's ceremonies, knowing full well how bad it made Bush look. He was booed by the crowd and given the "Hey, Hey Goodbye" treatment. Classic. I could barely contain myself when Dick Cheney was wheeled out in a wheelchair. He looked just like the evil banker in "It's a Wonderful Life" I thought for sure he was going to say "I'm going to ruin you George Bailey." Of course, Bush and Cheney likely would have ruined that savings and loan also.

How sweet was it to have Bush sitting there during Obama's speech and making him listen to the new President's indictment of the last eight years. He was forced to watch millions celebrate his removal.

Today's ceremonies were about renewal, change and restoring hope. In a matter of hours, the country took out the trash and kicked it to the curb. The nation now starts anew.

I only hope I don't have to see George Bush ever again - unless, of course, it is while he's on trial.

Super Bore

2009-01-19T07:48:00.001-08:00

The Super Bowl pairing has been set. We're now in for two exciting weeks of mindless hype about the Pittsburgh Steelers and Arizona Cardinals. Yikes.

I'm not sure what is worse, that this is what we have left of football season or that football season really is over and now I'm left to watching the Bruins and the Celtics. Or wondering when Jason Varitek will come crawling back to the Red Sox. What's really scary and I concluded yesterday that at least I've got the Daytona 500 to watch in a few weeks. If the only sport I've got left is are the Turn Lefties, I've got troubles.

Too bad they can't play the Super Bowl game tomorrow and get it over with. I can't stand the Steelers and I don't give a hoot about the Cardinals. I'm now left to root for a team that got its ass handed to them in the snow at Foxborough a few weeks ago. To think that hapless team could actually beat the Steelers, I have my doubts. So I have no interest in the Super Bowl. I just might take a hiatus and move to one of those counties that has never tried a Whopper. Maybe they don't get the Super Bowl either.

Now my opinion might be a bit skewed because I'm still in mourning over last year's Super Bowl. Any time the talk turns to last year's game, I change the channel and walk away from the conversation. Don't want to talk about it. Don't want to hear about it. It used to be the same with the 1978 Red Sox or the infamous Game 6 of the World Series. Those, however, don't quite sting anymore. Funny how two World Series championships alters your perspective.

Now this football season has been pretty much a lost cause from the beginning. When Tom Brady went down with a knee injury, I knew the Patriots chances of a Super Bowl title were gone. It was questionable to begin with because of the Pats defense, which only got worse, and more injured, as the year went on.

I followed the Patriots season with mild interest. I didn't want to get too excited with their wins or too aggravated with their losses. I maintained a mild curiosity of the NFL all season even though all the teams I can't stand appeared to be the front runners.

My interest got peaked as the playoff chase narrowed and the Patriots were in contention. Even though New England got squeezed out, I enjoyed watching the Jets and Cowboys fall apart.

Then as the playoffs continued I was thrilled to see Goober and Gomer Manning get heaved out of the mix. All of a sudden, the only team I couldn't stand that was left was Pittsburgh.

My hope was that Baltimore would take care of business, but rookie Joe Flacco turned into Joe Flunko and the Steelers are the favorites in two weeks.

I probably wouldn't be anymore excited if it were the Ravens and the Cardinals. My slight hope is the fact that I've been able to watch the teams I can't stomach go belly up. So maybe the Cardinals will give me one more thrill by stomping on the Steelers hopes. I wouldn't bet on it. I think the Steelers defense will eat Kurt Warner alive and give the Cardinals a good old beating. The Steelers will do to the Cardinals what the Patriots did to Warner and the Rams years ago. They're going to put a bigger hurt on Arizona than Obama did McCain.

So, that leaves me with no interest in hearing all the hype of the next two weeks. I'm not really interested in the game. The Super Bowl tends to annoy me anyway since it is another one of those events where every yahoo comes out of the woodwork and pretends they're a football fan for a day. They're more interested in the stupid commercials and the partying than the game itself. It would be like me showing up and acting all giddy for the finals of American Idol. And, it would be a cold day in hell when that happens.

So, Super Bowl Sunday, I'm thinking my schedule is free. No commitments. No games to watch. Do they still run the Andy Griffith Marathon on Super Bowl Sunday? Maybe I'll give Tom Brady and Giselle and call and see what their doing.

The Final Countdown On Crazy Train

2009-01-17T20:32:00.000-08:00

If I hear that blasted Europe song one more time, I'm going to hurl. That one-hit wonder from the 80's needs its own final countdown.

If another basketball team storms out to the sounds of Ozzy Osbourne, I'll be going off the rails of a crazy train.

In my profession, I hear warm-up music every night. Quite often it is the same batch of tiresome tunes. Most of them are songs I never liked to begin with, but now, I really can't stand them. Yet, I hear them over and over again.

It makes me want to stand in front of a speaker at a Disturbed show so my hearing will suffer, and I won't have to listen to the current crap I endure each night. Maybe I'll just start using the earplugs I bought when I did a car racing story from Kyle Busch's pit crew. But, those just dull the noise, not eliminate it.

One thing I know a little bit about is music. Okay, I think I know a little bit about everything (but I do, so live with it). I think I have some credibility when it comes to the songs I hear basketball teams play. And, in my professional opinion the current choice of music is tiresome, stale and just plain sucks.

So, I'm thinking I should hire myself out as a professional music consultant. You want a warm-up mix tape that rocks? I'm your music man.

I've even got proof that my way works. This summer my brother and I both painted our respective decks at our summer places on the coast. I had Metallica blasting through the boom box, along with a little REM's "Accelerator." My brother chose to paint his deck with doo-op music. When I went down to help him and heard his tunes of choice, I wanted to do shots of paint thinner. Well, want to guess whose deck got rained on by Mother Nature? Not mine. Mother Nature obviously likes Metallica.

Now I know music is a matter of personal tastes. I just put together a mix CD that is pretty killer. Yes, it makes Squiggy get quite jiggy. It opens with the Dropkick Murphy's followed by Eve 6, Pearl Jam, Disturbed, Buckcherry, Ronnie James Dio, the Killers, Evanescence, Foo Fighters, Fuel, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, AFI, the Exies and Puddle of Mudd (got to like a song that gets me singing "Maybe I'm the one that's just a little bit psycho" all day long) and then a little more Disturbed and Dropkick Murphy's.

If I don't feel like cranking up that disc, I've got the old standby's like Social Distortion, Metallica or the Crue's "Kickstart My Heart", which if I play while I'm on the treadmill, there's a good chance someone actually might have to kickstart my heart.

But, I doubt those tunes would please the guy that shows up at the workout room at work and likes to play tunes from the Country Music Television.

Now I'll admit my musical tastes have been criticized for decades now. My father always hoped that when I went off to college I'd take Music Appreciation class and actually develop a good taste in tunes. He said that's what happened to my brother. Look where it got him. He's painting to doo-op music - and facing Mother's Natures wrath for it.

I did take the Music Appreciation class. The only thing I recall is that I did take the class, but that is it. For someone who remembers just about everything, that must be a telling sign if I have no recollection of the class.

So, unfortunately for those tender-eared people out there, I still tend to listen to some pretty obnoxious stuff. When I'm in a good mood, it usually means I'm cranking the Smithereens or Social Distortion. Nothing like loving life while grooving to "In this world of pain I have no peer" or feel good songs like "Mommie's Little Monster" or "When the Angels Sing."

Now, I should mention that I do have some quality tastes in music. Out of the 500 or so CD's, I have some pretty good stuff and a wide variety, including my favorites like Richard Shindell, the Bodeans, John Wetton, Buddy Miller, the Levellers, Peter Gabriel etc. But, none of those are great warm-up songs.

But, I'd be psyched to hear a basketball team come out to the Bodeans "Closer To Free" (heck, I've heard it played in the grocery store) or the Levellers' "One Way" or a good Gabriel tune, but that's unlikely to happen. Besides, there are better choices, and it just takes a bit a creativity and a sense of humor. And I got both!

A team like the Cougars could come storming out to Ted Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever". A team called the Ramblers could use Led Zep's "Ramble On". Even a local team called the Red Eddies (I have no idea why) could use Sammy Hagar's "Red". A winless team could use The Killers' "Mr. Brightside" as their theme song. Now, that would be funny. There's got to be something good for a team like the Blue Devils. Just about any Ronnie James Dio song mentions devils. Better yet, go with the Cult's "Lil Devil". If a team thinks their coach is a complete nimrod, they could go with Disturbed's cover of "Land of Confusion." If a team wants to display some attitude, go with the Crue's Wild Side. And, nobody could go wrong with the Cult. Pick "Rain", "She Sells Sanctuary" or "Love Removal Machine."

Speaking of the Cult, have you seen my head on YouTube? Check out the Cult video from Hampton Beach. That's my melon around the 20 second mark or so. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMTc7v9Bprw

If team's want to go with the AC DC, put away "You Shook Me" and go with "For Those About To Rock" (you can't go wrong with a song with cannons in it) or the new song "Rock and Roll Train". Since I'm usually at girls' basketball games, the Smithereens "A Girl Like You" would be pretty cool. I could even sing along since I know all the words.

Now, I know teams pick music they like to groove to and their particular tastes dictate what junk they stick in the CD player. They're not too concerned with appeasing the musical tastes of the people in the stands.

But, keep in mind, if the Poison Pen shows up at your gym, ready to write something about your team, wouldn't you want to keep him happy by playing tunes he likes? I'm not threatening or anything, but do you really want to test my patience with a few minutes of "The Final Countdown" or "Crazy Train"?

So, next time a team puts together a new set list for warm-ups, they might be wise to pick a selection from the Squiggy Soundtrack. Remember, a happy Poison Pen is far better than the alternative. Just let it be known that you've been warned.

Snow Day

2008-12-12T07:50:00.000-08:00

Gotta love winter.
All of a sudden Mother Nature dumps a batch of snow or freezing rain on us and the world stands still, and I get a day, maybe even two, off. Now that's a Winter Wonderland.
Thursday, I didn't even expect it or see it coming. From what I'd heard the weather was coming in Thursday night. Maybe it would effect Friday, but I was counting on covering the basketball game I was assigned Thursday evening. I just happened to watch the noon news and discovered that schools were cancelling left and right. I made a quick call and my game was off. Woo Hoo!!
And, it seems unlikely many games will get played today. Another day off.
Now keep in mind, I'll end up covering a game, maybe two, on Saturday when they all get made up. So, I just end up switching days off. Still, I like the idea where suddenly, I have the day off and don't have to go anywhere or do anything. And, since the weather is so bad, I can just hunker down at home.
Of course, I'll grumble when I have to clear off my car. I won't like it when there's a snow storm and schools don't cancel games, meaning I'll have to drive through the slop to get to and from the game. I'll have to shovel some snow and trudge through the mess and slop that winter leaves. All that probably outweighs having a day off, but I'll take the gift of a snow day.
It is still like when I was a kid in school. There'd be a threat of bad weather. I'd forgo doing the homework or studying for a test, hoping Mother Nature would cut me a break. I'd be delivering papers in the morning just waiting for the fire horn signal or some sign that school was cancelled. It would be the ultimate thrill when I'd hear the blessed news. Of course, it was quite a downer if I discovered school was on as planned. That's when it might be time to strike up the fake cough and fever, which usually never worked.
Of course, the snow day would come and go and I still wouldn't bother and get my homework done or study for the test I got a reprieve for.
We have weather days other times of the year. We'll have rain outs in the fall or spring. Those just don't seem to be the same. The rain will flood the fields and make them unplayable but the rest of life goes on.
On a snow day, you try and avoid going anywhere. It's like the world just stops.
The closest I can come to something like this is during the summer when I'm on the coast. If we get a rain day there and we're fogged in, that nixes most plans. There will be no boat trips, no bike trips and probably even a walk on the beach isn't worth the effort. So, the bad weather gives the go ahead to just sit back and read and do nothing or waste a day to go into town and do errands.
Still, the snow day can't be beat. It's like getting a gift from Mother Nature. The weather is saying, "Here, take the day off. Do nothing. Enjoy."
Thank you. I think I will.

Idle Minds Want to Know.

2008-12-04T13:16:00.000-08:00

Now what?
The election is over. The Red Sox season is long done. The Patriots, well my hopes for them disappeared when Sammy Morris forgot he was supposed to block and watched his defender take out Tom Brady's knee. Oops. Sorry dude. My bad.
So, now I'm not sure what to do with myself. And that can't be good. Idle minds cause trouble. Just imagine what my idle mind can come up with? I fear to think of it myself.
All I need to do is open a folder on my computer. It's called the "Best of Squig". It has all the things I've created when the wheels in my mind are set in motion. There's the rewritten Night Before Christmas, a rewritten Jingle Bells, there's a number of phony stories and press releases I made up and sent to friends. I've got photos I've doctored. Heck, I've got a new version of the 12 Days of Christmas half written in my head right now.
The last month has seen a perfect storm of sorts that has left poor Squiggy with too much time on his hands and too few things of interest to focus his attention. If I didn't have that work thing to waste my time, I'd likely be going stir crazy - as opposed to just plain regular crazy. I've always said my mind was like one of those little gerbils running endlessly on the wheel. Well, Squig's wheel is spinning but finding little to fuel it.
I followed the election on a day-to-day basis for the better part of two years. I'm still interested in the political world but watching those shows just aren't the same. First of all, they're mostly talking about economics these days. If I knew anything about economics I likely wouldn't have been a sportswriter. I might have found a way to use my skills for some real coin. But, then again, maybe my skills only warrant the paltry sum of pennies I receive every two weeks.
The political campaigns also moved much faster than the political news now. They spent a good part of two weeks talking about Barack Obama's cabinet, especially Hillary Clinton. There are times I actually turn off the political stuff because it's too boring. The news cycle is too slow. They're talking about the same old stuff day after day.
Now the baseball season ended long ago, but all summer long, I've had the Red Sox to keep track of. Just like the election, I'd monitor the Sox status on a daily basis. Here in New England, we've gotten pretty spoiled where we simply await the next championship. The Sox came close but fell just short.
Typically, that'd be okay. They can't win it every year. Every other year suits me just fine. But, in other years, the Patriots would just pick up when the Sox season ended. But, with Brady's injury and everybody elses injury, and the fact that they have no defense, the Patsies have been too hard to watch. I long for the days when they'd blow out teams by 50 points. It was a relaxing afternoon of enjoying a little ass kicking. Now watching the Patriots takes patience, and I don't have patience. They actually seem to do better when I try not to show any interest.
It is obvious that the Pats may not make the playoffs, and even if they do, they won't go far. What is worse is that all the teams that are likely contenders for the Super Bowl are teams I can't stand. I may not be able to stomach any of the NFL postseason. I fear I might have to resort to watching the WNBA or rodeo's.
I do have the Boston Celtics, but their real season doesn't begin until April, when the playoffs start. So, it's hard to get too excited about them or follow them. Sames goes for the Bruins.
On top of all that, I just closed up our place on the coast and may not be back there for months.
So, with no election, no Sox, no Patriots, no seaside getaway to hold my interest, SquigNation is a bit unsure of what to do.
The local basketball season starts up tomorrow. That's a good sign, but I'm not sure if it is enough to keep me focused and out of mischief. We can only hope.
Now, what can I use for the 8th Day of Christmas?

Bush Whacked

2008-11-05T07:38:00.000-08:00

Thanks George.
I never thought I'd have anything good to say about W - good and nasty maybe. But, the fact is what happened on election day can be credited to George W. Bush. What became a Barack Obama ass kicking of John McCain and his party would never have happened if it weren't for W.
The Cowboy President created the climate that spawned Tuesday's reaction. His policies made a country cry out for help. His politics deserved and demanded change. His vision needed correction and direction. Obama was the right candidate at the right time. It was an electoral atmosphere that W created. Thanks George.
For all the failure we've seen over the last eight years and all the disgusting politics Bush has abused us with, Tuesday was judgement day. The war monger, the dictator, the man who conspired more than he inspired got what was coming to him. It was a beautiful thing to see as the United States of America gave George W. Bush the middle finger.
His poll numbers are almost lower than the number of doughnuts in a box of dozen. He's become a laughing stock. He's been shunned by his own party. His legacy will be as one of the worst and most incompetent presidents in our nation's history. As if that all is not fitting enough for this man's actions and evils, America repudiated him in a major way. The electorate opened a super-sized can of whoop ass on Bush and the GOP. The defeat might so damage the GOP party name that it might be years before it recovers. And Bush will be to blame. Yes, paybacks are a bitch.
I thought Obama would win the presidency the day he announced a year ago. I said Obama would win by six points or so and that he'd reach 51 or 52 percent. I even thought he surpass the 300 electoral college total. I didn't expect that he'd go over 350 and deliver a thumping this bad. He won in the Northeast, Midwest and the West. He even had some success in the South. The GOP, as one pundit put it, has been quarantined to the South. He won where he was expected to win and more. I took to watching the coverage on FoxNews, just because it was too much fun to watch their mopey faces and mournful appearance.
It's a monumental victory. Who would have thought an African-American, whose family were immigrants, would win the Presidency in such fashion. It's a historic moment and a repudiation of the racism that has plagued this country forever.
But, this victory goes well beyond race and black and white. It is a U-Turn from the policies and actions of a failed Bush. It doesn't just defeat the hatred of racism, it also defeats the Bush politics of fear and smear. American finally demanded solution instead of pollution from its leadership.
Bush took the oath of office claiming to be a uniter instead of a divider. Instead, he was the most divisive commander in chief I've ever seen. He claimed to be a man of faith but his actions and intentions bordered on evil. He was a hypocrite, a dictator, a religious zealot, a terrorist in cowboy boots. He lived by strong arm politics. He rule by fear. He didn't lead. He bullied. He had no morals and had no shame. He took our country backward and doomed it for who knows how many years to come. His legacy is one of greed, incompetence, a disregard of the constitution and the rule of law. He didn't serve America or its people. He served himself and his warped ideology. He ruled as if trying to show how tough he was, as if the W who'd always been a failure and a nitwit had finally become a bad ass. Instead, he just proved how big a failure he really is. He didn't have the Midas Touch. He had the Bush Touch, where everything he touched he screwed up miserably.
It all added up to retribution Tuesday. He presidency and his policies were authoritatively given the stamp of repudiation. America said, in no uncertain terms, "George, you're fired!"
W will be put out to pasture on his ranch and rest on his millions and get some cushy job with his oil buddies and live the high life. He'll rest on the laurels he thinks he has. He probably should be brought up on charges or put in jail or at least given a good flogging. Instead, he'll join the elite of presidential disgraces. At least the message is clear. The electorate spoke in volumes. Justice was served. Bush got what he deserved and took his party down with him.
I remember doing a story on the problems in coaching a few years ago. One coach, when asked if things will improve, said that it wouldn't be the current generation that changes things. He said it will be the next generation that does it. They'll have grown up under the poor conditions that exist and will have learned from them. Then the change will come.
That may have happened to some degree Tuesday. I've often said that America should demand more from its leaders. Tuesday, it finally did. Bush proved you can fool some of the people some of the time but not all of the people all of the time.

So, again, thanks George. Mission Accomplished.

And The Winner Is ...

2008-10-29T07:51:00.000-07:00

Maritime lore states that when the rats are leaving the ship before it hauls out, it is a clear sign that the ship is doomed.
That's how I now see John McCain's presidential campaign. Republicans are tossing McCain under the bus and endorsing Barack Obama. McCain campaign people are playing the blame game - with each other. There's even talk that McCain and his running mate, Sarah Palin, are at odds. Maybe even Palin is more interested now in campaigning for 2012 than for 2008. It appears the good ship McCain is taking on water. What a shame.
I had intended to make an election prediction some time ago. I had already mulled over how I thought the election would go and had honed in on the final percentages. But, I thought I'd wait for the debates and see how things shaped up after that. Then the entire election changed. What was once a close race that bore some analysis became an apparent landslide that warranted a postmortem. Now it seems the only question might be how bad the final damage is.
We're just over a week away from election day and here is how the race has shaped up.
Obama
I think he's run a decent race. I was a little nervous a month or so ago. It seemed that McCain's negative attacks were working. Obama was slow to counter. His ability to seal the deal and connect with working-class voters wasn't showing any great improvement. For a few days, I started to wonder whether McCain might actually be able to win this race.
Then McCain opened his mouth, told us how the economy was strong and watched as the financial structure of this country crumbled.
Suddenly, the Obama that seemed too calm, too above it all had just the right temperament and demeanor. He was cool under pressure and showed poise during the crisis. Funny how that happens. He demonstrated the same in the debates. He also showed a grasp of the issues and sealed the deal with voters as to whether he could walk the walk and talk the talk of a president. He's been gaining ground ever since.
It seemed that his change message was resonating but his inexperience was a concern. Once voters saw him handle a crisis and heard his message and saw him calm and collected, they were convinced he could not only be electable but successful as commander in chief. Meanwhile, McCain appeared erratic, temperamental and desperate to come to grips with what was happening. As steady as Obama appeared, McCain looked equally unsteady. Meanwhile, Palin didn't have such a great week either.
Obama hasn't made the mistakes to derail his campaign. He established a 50-state strategy and established a formidable grassroots campaign that may give his campaign a huge advantage against what appears to be a very unorganized and inconsistent McCain campaign.
Obama's pick of Biden has been okay. I know think he might have been able to get away with a Tim Kaine selection, but certainly Biden bolstered the ticket. He also did fine in the debate. He hasn't been the pit bull I expected and hasn't been the guy to help Obama win over the working-class voters as I had hoped. For the most part, I think Biden has had just a minor positive impact on the race. His mouth has only gotten him into trouble on occassion.
The landscape and climate has certainly worked in Obama's favor, and he's done well to take advantage. He's proved himself in tough situations and sold his message effectively. He even got away from the too professorial explanations he once had for questions. Even though he doesn't seem to have the intense fire or connection with voters that you hope for, that has helped him to a degree. He's appeared calm and steady and proven himself to be a leader. His polls show that he's winning over the electorate all over the map and in all categories.
There aren't many things I can think of that Obama could have or should have done better. I can't say he's run a perfect campaign, but he's run a good one, thorough, well-planned and with a consistent message. He's proven himself as a leader and shown he has a grasp of the issues and an ability to communicate it to the electorate.
McCain
First of all, I once liked McCain. I liked him because he seemed like a moderate and a straight shooter. When John Kerry won the nomination, I actually hoped McCain would be his running mate. I thought that would be a good ticket.
That McCain is not the same candidate I've seen in this election. He's sold his soul to the darker side of the GOP. He's caved in to the religious right and become a slave to the Bible thumping, flag waving, rhetoric spewing, fear mongers of whacko right. He's turned himself into such a narrow-minded candidate that he's a caricature of his former straight-talking self. His campaign has become more about pollution than solution. And, that's why he's getting his ass kicked.

The so-called honorable John McCain resorted to racist tactics, divisive themes, lying and any other tactic of desperation he could think of. He's come off as a grumpy and tired old man with outdated ideas.
McCain has had a couple of good moments in this campaign. I thought his attack on Obama being a celebrity was effective. He had the high ground on the experience issue. His ability to attrack indepents made him a candidate Obama should have feared. His Joe the Plummer rhetoric and "Spread the Wealth" attacks had potential.
But, McCain never took advantage of all that. He brought in Palin, nullifying his charges of Obama's celebrity and inexperience. His ability to reach the independents was compromised when he went to such great length to embrace the religious right's agenda.
Palin is an obvious mistake. McCain looks like he was pandering to the conservatives and to women. It's a desperate move that backfired. Palin has become a laughing stock to everyone but GOP's base. Her celebrity status brought energy to the campaign on one front but damaged its credibility on so many others. Trying to be so-called reformers was a way to shake things up, something McCain needed. He hadn't distanced himself with the failure that is George W. Bush. So, he needed something to sell to the electorate. His appeal with Palin was limited and will likely cost him more votes than he gets.
I don't know whether another VP candidate might have been better. Mitt Romney might have helped but might have hurt just as much - even though his help in Michigan and on the economy might have been a benefit. I can't help but think Tom Ridge might have been a good choice, especially helping in Pennsylvania, but who knows how much the right would have revolted. I wonder if Mike Huckabee might have made the base happy without all the credibility issues that Palin brought.
Anyway, his VP choice was a mixed bag (with lipstick). It killed his ability to nail Obama on the experience and celebrity issue.
By embracing the right so closely, he also sacrificed his hope of reaching middle of the road voters. He wasn't going to disavow Bush, until he made a desperate attempt of it last week. So any hope of a broader appeal to the electorate wasn't happening.
McCain's campaign has also been a mess. It's been unorganized and inconsistent. Each day he's brought a different message. Often he's contradicted himself. Gaffs like not knowing how many houses he had or not knowing who or what he was talking about in interviews didn't give voters confidence in the 70-plus year old who only looks young when he's appearing in footage where he's helping an elderly Nancy Reagan walk.
Then came the economic crisis. McCain said the fundamental of the economy were strong and then he contradicted himself. He looked desperate and clueless during that week. His stunt of suspending his campaign and blowing off David Lettermen didn't help. McCain very well may have lost the election in that span of a few days.
Basically, McCain had hoped to destroy the credibility of Obama. Voters would be left with no other choice but to pick the safer, more experienced candidate. Unfortunately for McCain, Obama handled himself well, he didn't self destruct and couldn't be destroyed. As Obama solidified his credibility and candidacy, McCain unravelled in his.
Since then, McCain has appeared as a desperate, irrational, temperamental and out of touch candidate grasping at straws to sway voters. And he's only made things worse.
Summary
Elections always come down to the lesser of two evils. McCain had hoped to so destroy Obama and any credibility he had, that voters would not dare vote for him. But, if anything, McCain has proven to be the more unreliable and scarier of the two candidates. Obama has survived relatively unscathed and weathered the negative tactics and the poor economic times well. McCain hasn't been as fortunate. The election was supposed to be a referendum on Obama, when he passed that test, McCain had nothing else. Ultimately, McCain has proven to be the greater risk, looking more like the status quo with no new ideas. For a change electorate looking for leadership, hope and something new, McCain hasn't offered it. He's offered more of the same politics and negative hypocritical rhetoric. And this time, the electorate seems to be smartening up and aren't falling for it. I think McCain definitely had a chance to win this election but he's run a poor and narrow-minded campaign. In the end, I think McCain lost this election just as much as Obama will have won it. He couldn't sell the electorate on an unfit Obama, and he also couldn't sell the electorate on why he's the better option.
Prediction
Originally, I thought it might be a five-point race. I didn't think Obama would get into the 50-percent range. So, I was going to predict that it would be a 48-43 Obama win. Now, I do think Obama can hit 50. I think the double-digit margin might tighten before the end of election day, but I think the final numbers will be around 50 or 51 to 43-44. It will be a margin somewhere between six and eight points.
As for the electoral map, I'm thinking Obama is headed for over 300. I have a feeling McCain might be able to secure Ohio and/or Florida but Obama will win most of everything else in the swing states - like Colorado, Iowa, Indiana, Virginia, Pennsylvania, Michigan, New Mexico and New Hampshire. He might pick up a few more red states, since there's been an average of a 14-point swing in 10 states that Bush won in 2004. They're all headed Obama's way now.

The high voter turnout should help Obama. A youth vote, which usually doesn't appear, might make a difference for Obama. Obama's grassroots organization should be strong to get out voters. But who knows what kind of BS the GOP will pull to nullify votes or sabotage election counts. In one state, the GOP was already trying to tell people the election is Wednesday, instead of Tuesday.

By Tuesday, the McCain camp could be in such disarray that GOP voters might just stay home and give up, promtping an Obama landslide. I think McCain will put up a decent enough showing, as GOP voters hope to salvage some of the senatorial and congressional races, to keep it within that six to eight point margin. But continuouss chaos on the GOP side and a momentum swing for Obama could make it an ugly night for McCain.

Victory Chimes 2008

2008-09-13T01:00:00.000-07:00

I can almost guarantee it.

Over the course of six days on the Victory Chimes, I pretty much know what is going to happen. Amidst all the heaving and hauling, sleeping and snoring, eating and drinking, laughing and laughing more, a week aboard the nation’s oldest three-masted schooner is quite predictable. I’m assuredly guaranteed to:

Forget about work.
Forget about land.
Leave all stress ashore.
Eat myself silly - or should I say sillier.
I’ll relish life aboard a boat.
I’ll smell the sea breeze.
I’ll smell something good cooking in the galley.
By the end of the week, I just might smell a bit myself - but won’t care.
I’ll laugh until my eyes water or my sides hurt - or both.
I’ll enjoy a good Uncle Enoch story - even if I’ve heard them all before.
I’ll get to watch the sunrise with a short-haired little cutie named Raquel.
I’ll offer a few favors to a couple of hookers - might even get some in return.
I’ll tell some sucker from away that if the lobster buoy handles point straight up, that mean’s they’re full.
I’ll see seals, porpoises, eagles and osprey.
I’ll explain to somebody that the bird they see is a sea gull not an eagle or that is a cormorant, not a loon.
I’ll sail the coast of Maine and love every second of it.
I’ll dred the final trip into Rockland Harbor and the subsequent docking.
I’ll see friends I haven’t seen in a year but pick up right where we left off the previous September.
We’ll share stories about trips past and make memories for trips of the future.
I’ll leave the vessel with less than I boarded with - meaning all my alcohol will be consumed.
I’ll experience or see something new.
I'll consume more cups of coffee in a week than I will all year - same likely goes for eggs, bacon, sausage and lobster.
Try as I might, I still won't eat as many lobsters as Lenny - same probably goes for bacon.

I'll wear shorts the entire week.
I won't put on a jacket unless I absolutely can't hack it any longer.
I'll be part of as many conversations about knitting as I will about sports, if not more. (And that is scary).
I'll meet some really cool people.
I won't be the most annoying person on board (not as long as Captain Fender Tender graces us each fall)
My summer-long (or year-long) anticipation of Labor Day will be well worth the wait.

Despite knowing what to expect now after six trips, each journey is different. Just like how the rug hookers are always working on new projects. It's always a new adventure for all. What kind of hookers did you think I meant?

The last few years the week has only topped the previous year. Last week's journey certainly didn't disappoint. We had sun and wind every day. We even got a little fog at the end. It was another great week and affirmation that a better vacation could not be had. Well, unless of course, there were REAL hookers on board.

Sunday

We boarded the night before. But a group of us like to be fashionably late. Nearly a dozen of us sailing veterans met for dinner after loading our luggage on the vessel. After dinner, we returned to the ship and began mingling with the rest of the passengers and checking out our rooms. I stuck to my strength. I opened up a beer and introduced myself. We hit it off so well, I met another just like it.

During the night, there came a scream from one of the cabins. We assumed it was either a nightmare, Captain Fender Tender was walking around without his shirt or Salty Sally's Turn Down Service had the wrong room again.

Monday

I'd been excited as soon as I heard the forecast for the first day. Temps were to be in the 80's and the winds were to be 15 to 20 knots. I was up early watching the sea gulls fight. The wait to set sail was a bit agonizing, but it always is. This time we waited even longer. Because of gusts of up to 30 knots, the Captain didn't want to attempt to leave the dock until winds subsided. The RNC hadn't even begun yet and the hot air was blowing across the country. After lunch, about a three-hour delay, we pulled away, getting an up close and stern-view of the Coast Guard cutter that we nearly backed into. I made the backing up beeping noise just to be on the safe side.

We had good wind across Penobscot Bay, and it didn't let up once we got to the Fox Island Thorofare. Because the wind was so brisk, the Captain decided to call it a day after two hours. We dropped the hook near the schooner American Eagle. We ran the yawl boat ashore for some to visit North Haven. The rest stayed aboard and got their game face on for lobster night.

After devouring enough lobster to make Mary Tyler Moore split her Capri pants, we were able to watch a glorious sunset and a night sky full of stars. A week like this was going to be tough to take.

Tuesday

We were off early with some good wind for the second day in a row. We sailed past Goose Rocks Lighthouse, also known as "My Lighthouse". We sailed across Eastern Penobscot Bay and cut through Merchant's Row near Stonington. We had a great view of Isle Au Haut as we entered Jericho Bay. It seemed as though we were headed for Bass Harbor or Swan's Island, but as we made our way toward Blue Hill Bay, the wind got a bit fluky. It was nice sailing back and forth. As the afternoon progressed, the Captain steered the vessel toward Brooklyn. We anchored there in a quiet and cozy cove. Most of us had been there before, but it is a nice peaceful setting, and there's always an array of boats nearby. The Mary Day came in and anchored there as well but too far away to throw dinner rolls at.

Wednesday

Brooklyn has been the setting for some pretty good sunrises, and this morning was no different. It made for some nice photos. Captain had talked about possibly sailing toward Mount Desert Island, depending on the wind direction. Instead, we hauled out early and sailed on the Easterly breeze down the Eggemoggin Reach. It meant for another trip under the Deer Isle-Stonington bridge, which is always a treat. The clearance didn't seem as close as it was last year, but it always seems to be a tight fit. We continued out around Cape Rosier and near Islesboro before going to Castine. Some went ashore, getting rained on in the process. The rest of us watched ships come and go and marvelled at the Maine Maritime Academy sailors training in small two-man racing sailboats.

After leaving the mooring at Castine, we headed for the cove near Holbrook Island. The Mary Day was already there having its lobster bake ashore. We thought about crashing the party or boarding their vessel while they were on the beach. But the appetizers distracted us. We had another nice sunset. The cloudiness overhead cleared out enough to see the stars in the sky that night. The bell buoy echoed loudly in the distance with notes from a Lynyrd Skynyrd song.

Thursday

The sunrise was a bit tame, rising up over Brooksville in a hurry. We were looking at a warm sunny day. After breakfast, the vessel went across the cove and dropped anchor near Holbrook Island. Some went ashore to walk along the shore. The really cool people stayed aboard and had a photo shoot and watched the crew wash the deck. Now that's entertainment.

Later in the morning, we beat down Western Penobscot Bay. We sailed past Searsport, Belfast and Islesboro. The wind was light early on. So light that I could hear the porpoises rise to the surface before I'd see them. Of course, it helps to know what they sound like.

The wind kicked up later in the afternoon. We beat back and forth across the bay until sailing past Grindle Point Light and into the harbor at Islesboro. We gawked at the "fixer uppers" along the shore. The Grace Bailey and Stephen Taber joined us.

We got a couple of Uncle Enoch stories before the Captain took Raquel (his dog) ashore. Later that night, we got a little raucous on deck. A boat came in late to the house that was formerly owned by actress Kirstie Alley. We thought for sure it was the Jenny Craig police coming to confiscate donuts. We briefly captured a hostage from the Stephen Taber but returned her for no ransom. Just because we're kind-hearted schooner bums. We tried to laugh louder than those on the Taber to prove we were having more fun. I think it worked.

Friday

We pulled out of Islesboro fairly early. Didn't want all the rich people to feel envious. We had inside info that we were headed for Rockland, but many of us figured that already. But we were also told that we might have a special docking because of precautions from the impending storm. Oh boy!

Before all that, however, we got a pretty good sail. We sailed out into Western Penobscot Bay. We cut through the islands off Islesboro and made toward North Haven. The Isaac H. Evans passed us and fired its cannon at us. We didn't lose focus on lunch though as they sailed on past. We sailed by the Owls Head Lighthouse and through the Mussel Ridge Channel. We reached the backside of Ash Island and neared Otter Island before turning back.

Apparently, they had toyed with the idea of taking me home and dropping me off, per unanimous vote, but they decided they could tolerate me a little while longer.

By the time we reached Owls Head Light again, the fog was moving in. When we reached the bay, we were fogged in all around. People were bundling up. Even I had to duck down to my bunk to change - media cards. I was still wearing shorts and a t-shirt - and a few goosebumps.

We could hear the Owls Head fog horn for a bit. Then, apparently, in an attempt to save energy the horn halted. Fortunately, we were close enough to Rockland to hear the horn at the Breakwater and see the orange glow from the Home Depot. That helped us find our way - in addition to the radar the Captain has.

We anchored at the South End. Many of the other Rockland schooners came in to anchor with us, but after supper, we ditched them. Psyche! We went over to the dock near the Coast Guard station and backed our way into a space there. The Captain even did it blindfolded. Good thing Captain Fender Tender was on duty to save us all.

Being at the dock introduced us all to the real world again, despite shrieks of "Noooo!"", allowing us to go to our cars or walk the streets of Rockland. After settling in, many gathered on the deck with brews, M&M's and some stories from the Captain. We couldn't hear the other schooners, but it still sounded like we were having more fun. Three masts always are more fun than two.

Saturday

There was no sunrise, but we got to see a fine display of ladder tossing. Someone from the marine hurled an aluminum ladder into the road after tripping on it. Then he hurled it again. He earned a score of 8.75 from the judges, the lower scorer, of course, coming from the Russian judge.

As the rain began, we unloaded and the crew rejoiced to be rid of us all. We all departed and went home to sleep and begrudgingly return to our lives. Until next year.

The Tragedy Continues

2008-09-11T09:32:00.000-07:00

It is like an episode of the television series 24.
There's terrorist attacks, intelligence failures and a bumbling president. They've all led to chaos, mass casualties, a catastrophic attack on humanity and destruction of horrific proportions.
Unfortunately, it isn't just another show filled with so many casualties that you lose count or a Jack Bauer exclaiming "Damn it" with each roadblock he finds between him and heroism.
This is real. So real that a childhood friend was in one of those buildings and perished. His family received a portion of his remains, identified by DNA, years later. A former National Hockey League player and scout that I had shared many press boxes with was on one of the planes, heading for Los Angeles.
I've been watching the rebroadcast of the tragedy of September 11, 2001. It came on just before 9 a.m. and has been showing the minute-by-minute broadcast all morning. I happened to catch the beginning of it and have been hooked on reliving the drama and destruction all over again.
Many of these breaking news stories that get saturated with coverage by the cable news channels seem surreal. It's as if it is all just a TV drama and not true. Obviously 9/11 was something different. It was unbelievable to watch unfold, the breakdown in our leadership, our intelligence and our security. Our government failed us. It was evident not just on the TV screen but in the lives of people we knew.
As I've watched the rebroadcast of what happened that day, I'm reminded how horrific the whole thing was. We've settled back into our comfort zone and come to grips with the tragedy that happened that day. We've lost that feeling of horror, insecurity and mourning from sevens years ago. It has almost become like another bad day in history that our emotional attachment has left behind.
As I watch it all unfold again, I feel as though today should be a national holiday. It might actually be a holiday that doesn't get minimized by commercialization, car sales or a reason to party because we have the day off, but I never underestimate the callousness and stupidity in this country. Of course, a national holiday to honor what happened that day would bring out the flag waving, my country right or wrong, fanatics that sometimes blend idiotic with Patriotic. I've already started getting the propaganda emails telling us to "never forget".
Now seven years later, we haven't forgotten but as I look back on how 9/11 has shaped our country since it happened, it not only scares me but disgusts me.
Have we learned from that day? Are we better off since that tragedy? Are we more secure than we were back then?
Obviously, our travel has changed. Security is tighter. It has changed our mindset in this country. That is unfortunate but necessary. Maybe our intelligence has been shored up and security is better to prevent something like that. But I thought we were immune to that on 9/10/2001. We might be better prepared to handle an attack such as that, but maybe not an attack of a different nature - a nuclear bomb or a chemical weapon. I have no faith or trust in my government that things have improved. President Bush has been more intent on covering his own ass the last few years than protecting our shores. John McCain doesn't even known that Czechoslovakia doesn't exist anymore. That makes me feel secure. I have a little bit of faith in Barack Obama, but I'd be naive to believe government incompetence and bureaucracies would change so dramatically. I seriously believe that 9/11 taught us a lesson but one that we haven't learned from - at least enough to prevent a similar failure. We've actually spawned more terrorist and encouraged more hatred of our country in the last seven years. That doesn't make me feel more secure.
While the horrors of that day hasn't made us better equipped to thwart such an attack, the unity that was a result of the tragedy has all but evaporated. I remember the scene at the Super Bowl the following February, Bono, the lead singer of U2, was performing during the halftime show. The screen in the background rolled the names of those killed. He opened his jacket to reveal an American flag stitched inside. It was a great emotional moment.
There was feeling of unity not just nationally but all over the world. There was a sense that we could rise above such hatred and tragedy, especially if we rallied around each other. We did that - for a little while.
Since then, we've been inundated with partisan politics. We returned to a Divided States of America. Our politics promote and exploit that division while our electorate accepts it.
It is disgusting to think that yesterday the hot political story was about a "lipstick on a pig" comment that was taken out of context and used to smear and distort. Today, a truce has been called between campaigns. Tomorrow, they'll be back smearing each other and avoiding the facts that the country truly needs to address. With such a tragedy being recognized and so many lost lives being honored, you'd think our politicians could do better. Instead, they trivialize 9/11 and insult us and our concerns. And, again, the electorate doesn't demand better. But, if we don't expect civility in the world around us, why demand it in our political arena?
The worst has to be the politicization of 9/11. Bush declared that terrorism against the United States would not stand. Last I knew, the perpetrators of the attacks have not been brought to justice. Just like Bush hasn't found/fired the culprits the the CIA leak that he vowed to investigate. Instead, we've attacked a country that had little to do with 9/11. Meanwhile, the memory of the 9/11 victims were used and abused to justify such a war. Who's the religious zealot performing terrorist acts now? I could barely stand to what as Bush spoke at memorial services today. Here was the man who exploited 9/11 more than anyone and trounced on the memory of the murdered, standing their offering faint praise and platitudes.
Just last week at the Republican National Convention, the most graphic video footage of the 9/11 tragedy was shown. The drum beat continues. Playing on the fears of Americans, that awful day in 2001 is now used as a political tool. Scare tactics try to justify the current evils of past and potential future administrators while swaying a fearful electorate. It is sad, disgusting and offensive that the lives lost on that day are used in such a way. I can't help but wonder if the terrorists have actually won sometimes when I see how such a historic and tragic day has been tainted and martyred.
As I've watched the replayed coverage of 9/11 this morning, I've recalled the success and the failures that have arose from that day. Unfortunately, the latter is greater.
In our darkest hour, we had the chance to rise from the ashes and show the greatness that our country was founded upon. Instead, our leadership was as hapless post 9/11 as it was pre 9/11. We were told to shop. Instead of bringing out the best in our country, the tragedy has produced the worst.
I mourn the tragedy all over again today and feel sad that our country let us down seven years ago. I feel a greater sadness for the failings that I've seen since 9/11.

A Quayle of a Pick

2008-08-29T17:36:00.000-07:00

As the radio crackled with static, the NBC radio affiliate broke in with a news flash. John McCain's pick for VP was about to be announced.

Through the white noise I thought I heard the name Palin.

"Wow," I thought. "He picked Michael Palin."

I couldn't help but think about the Monty Python star singing the "Lumberjack Song" at the Gathering of Doom and Evil next week in Minnesota.

Then I saw clips of the actual announcement of McCain's VP, saw the poofy hair and realized it wasn't Michael Palin. He had picked one of the B52's. Okay, singing "Love Shack" at the convention next week would be a hoot also.

Then I got all the facts. It was Sarah Palin. The governor of Alaska. I guess the Dems have to give up on the Eskimo and Polar Bear vote.

Seriously, I remember hearing Palin's name, but I dismissed it. Remember, I had said that my gut felt that McCain would pick a name out of the blue. I wasn't thinking he'd pick one almost out of the continent.

He barely knows Palin himself. I don't know whether it's just his thing for former beauty pageant contestants or whether started to peruse a list of potential state governors and got too tired by the time he reached Alaska.

Palin is certainly an interesting choice. Obviously, McCain wanted to shake up things a bit. Of course, Walter Mondale felt he needed to shake things up and selected Geraldine Ferraro. How did that work out? Ronald Reagan could have run with Bonzo the chimp and won easily. (He didn't run with a chimp, however, but with the father of a jackass).

Palin is newbie governor who is probably a card caring member of the Pat Buchanan Fan Club. She's ultra conservative, bordering on extreme. Obviously, McCain's hope is that Palin will shore up his base and energize the throng of conservatives - also known as the close-minded religious zealots. It's like he picked a combination of Grizzly Adams and Mrs. Ned Flanders.

To do that, however, he has sacrificed his theme of questioning Obama's readiness. He really can't harp on Obama's lack of experience when as Keith Olbermann stated "Palin makes Obama look like John Adams." That was McCain's best argument against Obama. Actually, it was his only argument.

With Palin, he'll now focus on the message of being reformers and mavericks. It will be their counter claim to Obama's change message. But when their politics are so extreme and conservative, I don't know how maverick they can be to independents or anyone else. As Bob Casey said, they're so aligned with Bush and Cheney, they're not mavericks, they're sidekicks.

She softens the appearance that McCain is a rich old crow that is out of touch with working American's. He still is, but she doesn't seem to be. She eats moose for crying out loud.

I don't see what states Palin helps McCain win - other than Alaska (which McCain was going to win anyway). Certainly, she might drum up support in the conservative blocks, but I think Joe Biden's populist message works better in places like Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania.

Palin, I think, is a bit of a hail Mary pick. McCain needed something out of the norm. As I said before, I thought McCain would want to find something other than the Pawlenty's, Romney's and typical stiff white Grand Old Party bores. Palin is kind of like a third-down-and-very-long play. It might be a play he felt he needed. The polls already have McCain down by seven or eight points and that was before Obama's speech Thursday. His only hope might have been to change the dynamics and bit. And, I suppose, it might work.

But, I doubt it. I think there might be some backlash from some Republicans. Pawlenty and Romney's people are already miffed. Some are calling this the worst pick since Old Man Bush picked Dan Quayle.

I think her lack of experience will be revealed at some point. Joe Biden will have to be careful against her in a debate (he can't appear to bully her) but he should be able to expose her weaknesses. The fact that McCain is 72 and just picked a VP, who admitted hasn't paid much attention to foreign policy, is pretty scary. I think that won't play well.

I don't think Palin will help draw the Hillary Clinton voters. They're not going to jump on the bandwagon of someone that extreme. If anything, her selection might produce blowback. McCain picking a women looks a little like pandering or, worse, degrading, assuming soccer mom's will just up vote for her because she's a woman.

I think the negatives will ultimately outweigh the positives. I see Palin becoming a bit of a laughing stock, a female Dan Quayle from Alaska. I think her lack of experience will be exposed at some point. Somewhere along the line, I see her being a major detriment - that's saying a lot when McCain doesn't even know Czechoslovakia no longer exists or can't tell Sunni from Shiites.

She has a good story and appears to be a tough and promising candidate, but I don't think she's ready for prime time. The media scrutiny she faces in Alaska might pale in comparison to the national press. Notice I said "pale in" get it?

I think that will come into play and ultimately, this pick by McCain will be a failure. Usually, the VP pick doesn't decide elections, just ask Dan Quayle, but I think if Palin is a bust, it could be significant enough in a close race. Voters will ultimately decide that she is not change that they can believe in.

Of course, if she does a killer version of the "Lumberjack Song" at the convention, all bets are off.

Prime Chimes Times

2008-08-25T11:04:00.000-07:00

Next week I sail on the Victory Chimes for the sixth straight year. It is a week I anxiously await all year long. I'll recap my trip when I return, but for now, here's a look back at the previous six years. Every day aboard the historic three-masted schooner is great day, but here are my favorite days on the Victory Chimes:

July 2003 - From Burnt Coat Harbor to the islands off Stonington

Anchored in Burnt Coat Harbor, on the South side of Swan's Island, we waited a bit in the morning hoping that the fog would lift. It did slightly, but it still lingered as we left.

When we got into Jericho Bay we were greeted with fog, rain and heavy winds. The Captain said at one point it was gusting nearly 40 miles per hour. The boat was rocking pretty good.

The weather was so poor on deck, they chose to have lunch down below. It was the first time I noticed that the texture on the tables in the saloon is such that the plates don't slide.

Two girls from Florida had already been wrapped up in their winter parkas the day before. The blustery wind and rollicking seas didn't help their warmth or their stomachs.

Me, on the other hand, loved it. I sat on the bench on the quarterdeck and watched the ship toss back and forth. The wind would hit the sails like a fist and make the vessel lurch. I sat back cheering silently with every gust.

We were headed toward Stonington but the fog was so thick, the Captain chose to duck in for cover near Hells Half Acre and Coombs Island.

We anchored there for the night and took a quick trip ashore to Coombs Island in the afternoon. We sat around in the fog that evening and shared ghost stories.

We've had heavy wind and rough seas on other days in my six years but nothing like that trip across Jericho Bay.

July 2003 - From Stonington across Eastern Penobscot Bay to Carver's Cove off the Fox Island Thorofare.

Anchored amidst the islands off Stonington, we left that spot in the morning and yawled it over to Stonington itself. Still foggy from the weather the day before, boats were going ashore for sightseeing in Stonington. The Captain warned that thunder showers could be possible. Of course, forgetting that he has the weather radar at his disposal, I looked at the skies and figured, it doesn't look too bad. I didn't pack any foul weather gear and went ashore.

Sure enough, a heavy thunderstorm came through. And, I don't like thunderstorms. As the skies opened and the thunder rumbled, I hunkered under cover in the Purple Fish. It's an eclectic little shop with antiques/junk. One of the owners makes bookmarks with the schooners on them. Her husband sings sea shanties. He wasn't there that day. Good thing, listening to him sing as I anxiously awaited the storms to stop would have been too much to take.

I skipped the first trip back to the boat, but when the yawl boat began coming back, I had no choice but to venture into the thunderstorm. Running on a bad knee, that had been surgically repaired the year before, I hobbled my way down the street and back to the harbor. We crowded into the yawl boat and began the short trip back to the Chimes, only to see it rain harder. Michael commented that "It always rains when we go into Stonington." Now he tells us.

We huddled under a tarp but were all soaked. As the picture proves.

After leaving Stonington, we inched our way through fog across Eastern Penobscot Bay. The seas were pretty heavy. There were significant swells that had the ship rolling. I loved it, but one girl from Florida wasn't too enthused. She was sea sick most of the afternoon. The Captain wasn't too pleased either when another ship cut him off in the fog. He got a good yelling at.

We crossed the bay and entered the Fox Island Thorofare. I could hear Goose Rocks Lighthouse but couldn't see it. We maneuvered around so as to drop the hook inside Carver's Cove. It's a small cove behind Widow's Island on the Eastern entrance to the Thorofare.

It was an early anchorage for us but as the afternoon progressed the sun came out and the fog burned off. Michael gathered us all around and began to tell us a story which began "No $#%^, there we were." He then chronicled a less than fictional tale about warning people not to go into Stonington. The people ignored him and got soaked in the process, despite the efforts of the heroic future first mate. It had us all laughing heartily, and his little intro became out catch phrase for the rest of the week.
In the evening, we cracked open a bottle of wine someone had purchased in Stonington. There was no beer to be found in town at that time. A small group of us hung around on deck and got a bit unruly as the evening went on. At one point, Abby had to warn us that we were too noisy. She didn't want us to wake Todd, the first mate. We tried to quiet down and suggested the sign language teacher tell us jokes in sign language. That didn't help us quiet down at all. She even started teaching us dirty words in sign language. It only provoked more laughter and noise.

I wrote a bit of a poem later in the week. It referred to that evening with the lines "Abby came up, gave us heck. She threw our asses off the deck."

I ended that day by trying to sleep topside. I had been able to look at Goose Rocks all day and watch it shine its light that evening. I wanted to sleep on deck with its red light flashing and fog horn sounding. After a little while, I gave up on sleeping on deck and returned to my bunk.

It was one of the funnest days I've had on board, but the best thing was being able to spend the day with Goose Rocks in view and watching it shine at night.

September 2004, Swan's Island

We sailed out the first day through the Fox Island Thorough, past Stonington and into Blue Hill Bay. We anchored at Swan's Island, but unlike the previous year when we visited Burnt Coat Harbor, we were on the other side of the island. That evening we saw one of the most glorious sunsets I have ever seen. Looking across Blue Hill Bay and towards Mount Desert Island, the entire sky glowed with incredible light and colors. Sunsets and sunrises have provided some of the greatest moments on board the Chimes, but none of them compared to dusk that evening.

September 2004, From Brooklin, to Bucks Harbor, around Cape Rosier and into a cove outside Castine Harbor.

I'm not sure we ever saw the sun this day. It was the second day of the trip. We were anchored in Brooklin, where the Wooden Boat school is. We awoke to heavy fog. We went ashore and checked out Wooden Boat during the morning. This was the time that a group from Wooden Boat approached Michael as we unloaded at the dock. They asked whether they could take some students out to visit the Chimes. Michael's reply, pointing to their gear on the dock, was "Depends how much beer you have in that bag." They didn't seem to know what to make of that answer. I just laughed all the way up the pier.

As the fog lifted later, we made our way down the Eggemoggin Reach. It was my first trip down the Reach, and subsequently, the first venture under the Deer Isle-Stonington bridge. By late morning/afternoon, we were stopping for a quick visit to Buck's Harbor. We went ashore there and were on our way around Cape Rosier. We didn't have much wind. The yawl boat pushed us much of the way around Cape Rosier. Though we didn't have the sun, we had a good view of the land. We all sat on the starboard side of the vessel spotting bald eagles and gawking at the houses.

We pulled into a cove near Holbrook Island and Nautilus Rock and spent the night. A storm was coming the following day. We visited Castine that next morning and returned to the same anchorage to wait out the rain. One guy, from Kentucky, asked Michael "Isn't this where we last night?" He answered emphatically, "No -- Last night we were right over there." Pointing to a spot a few yards or so away.

September 2004, From outside Castine down Western Penobscot Bay to Owls Head and then to Rockland.

After waiting out the weather Thursday, we used the fifth day of the trip to sail down Western Penobscot Bay. We left our anchorage near Holbrook Island as the fog began to lift. It remained cloudy for much of the day, but we had good wind. Our bow was bouncing up and down most of the voyage down the Bay.

We had a great view of Islesboro and the mainland, from Searsport, to Belfast, Camden, Rockport and Rockland.

Goldie, a galley hand that year, decorated a potato and brought it on deck. The Captain put it on display with his charts. We named the potato, but I forget it's name. It was later chomped on by Raquel, the Captain's dog.

We pulled into Owls Head later in the day. A boat went ashore, and I decided to go along, even though visiting Owls Head Harbor or the lighthouse is not a rare opportunity.

I sat on the rocks to take pictures of the Chimes at anchor but then realized that the vessel wasn't anchored anymore. It was moving. It had raised the anchor and pulled out of the harbor. I was wondering what was going on, but figured the ship wasn't leaving (even if it wanted to). The Captain's wife and dog were still ashore. Plus, I was in Owls Head. I was only a few miles from home.

When we returned to the Chimes, the appetizers were served, a dip using the leftover lobster. At the same time, the Captain announced we were leaving Owls Head Harbor. He was dragging his anchor, and he wanted to try Rockland Harbor. Because the wind was blowing so hard, the crew needed our help in getting the vessel underway. So, we had to divide our attention between sailing and eating the appetizers. Sometimes sailing can be hard. Needless to say, we had a flawless sail set - and got back to the lobster dip.

We got under sail and out around Owls Head Lighthouse (photo to the left). We were met with a potent wind that blew across Rockland Harbor. We had a pretty good sail. The Captain, at one point yelled out to the cook, "Hold on to the turkey's Pammy!" The final night on board typically means a turkey dinner.

We anchored inside the Rockland Breakwater and had nice sunset that evening, despite the glow of the Home Depot.

The next morning, Raquel and I watched a wonderful dawn as the sun rose over North Haven and the Breakwater.

September 2005 From Port Clyde to Isle Au Haut

I awoke to the sound of the Port Clyde fishing boats leaving the Harbor as the day broke. It was a nice quiet sunrise with fishing boats, sloops and the schooner American Eagle in the harbor with us.

We started the second day of the trip by hauling out late because we had to wait on getting lobsters. There was talk the night before that we'd be headed for Monhegan Island. Of course, I had forgotten to charge my camera battery that morning while the generator was on. So, I begged Kelli to see if she could "charge my battery" for me in the galley. She did so, only if I promised to get her a Sun Journal Red Sox Championship t-shirt (which I did).

When we finally passed Marshall Point Lighthouse, the Captain steered the vessel East instead of West. He said because of a storm making its way, he wanted to be in Penobscot Bay instead. Sitting on the bench on the quarterdeck (where I can eavesdrop on the Captain's conversations), I heard him say we might go to a particular harbor. I didn't recognize the name but looked it up on my chart and discovered it was on the Eastern Penobscot Bay side of Vinalhaven.

We sailed through the outer channel of the Mussel Ridge Islands, which we had sailed the day before. I spotted my cottage in a brief instance as we passed the slight opening where I could view it through binoculars.

As we approached Vinalhaven, I spotted a whale in the water. The Captain saw it also, but I think we were the only ones that got a look at it.

We sailed past Heron Neck Light and could see Saddleback as well. At one point, the Captain began talking on the radio about anchoring in Isle Au Haut. That pleased me because I'd always wanted to go to Isle Au Haut.

He hadn't anchored there in quite some time but decided to give it a try. It made for a later anchorage than usual and had Raquel "anxious" about getting ashore to find a fire hydrant.

We anchored just outside the Thorofare. It was Lobster Night. So Lenny had his game-face on.
He and I went claw to claw and each finished with four. It was the first and last time I was able to keep up with him on Lobster Night.

That evening we had a glorious sunset and hung around on deck to hear some stories. Michael and I discussed whether we could see Goose Rocks Light from where we were. He said we couldn't. I was adamant that we could.

It was a great trip across that part of the Bay, but being able to anchor alongside Isle Au Haut (and go ashore the following morning) fulfilled my hopes of seeing that part of the Maine coast.

September 2005, Smith Cove, down Western Penobscot Bay to Islesboro
Smith Cove, from what I understand, is near where some of my ancestors had their shipbuilding operation. My great, great grandfather's house was barely visable from our anchorage, and it was exciting to be in a cove where my Mills, Douglass, Wasson and Farnham ancestors certainly had sailed.

I was up early and got some great photos of the sunrise. After breakfast, we hauled out and tied up to the mooring outside Castine. Some went ashore. Having been in Castine the year before, I stayed on board.

I went below at one point, and Kelli said something about what Adele was doing in the galley. She literally pushed me into the galley to give me a look. Before I knew it, I was holding blueberries on a donut while Adele turned the pastry into a female. Let's just say the blueberries I was holding in place were not the eyes. We would name it Vickie, and I've never looked at donuts the same way since.

When we pulled out of Castine, we headed down Western Penobscot Bay. We didn't have as much wind as we had the year before on a similar sail, but we had sun.

At one point, I went down below in the afternoon. I descended the rear companionway and began down the hall. I heard Kelli say "Here comes Kevin, he'll help you." I turned around and ran the other way, but my curiosity got the best of me. Having not learned by lesson with the donuts, I had to investigate what Adele was up to now.

When I got to the saloon, she had a coat hanger in her hand. She asked if I could straighten it. Being the big strong brute that I am, I did just that. I asked her what she needed the wire for, and she told me she had dropped her cell phone down the bilge.

She led me into her room and showed me the hole it had fallen down. Apparently, she had put the phone by the port hole, not knowing the hole was there. When the phone slipped from her grasp, it went down the hole a good three feet.

I stuck my hand into the hole but could only reach down as far as my elbow. I put the wire in to see how deep the hole was, and there was no way an arm was going to reach down far enough. At least not a huge bulging bicep like mine. So, the plan was that Adele would use the wire. I'd hold a flashlight into the hole so she could see. I cleared the top bunk of boxes (that's where the ship's store merchandise was stored). She climbed onto the top bunk and began fishing into the hole. After a few moments, she was able to hook it and bring it up. She was a pretty happy girl, and I had done my good deed for the day.

We sailed into Islesboro in the late afternoon and anchored there for the night. We had a fantastic sunset, but it was also a bit bittersweet because it was our final night and we'd be sailing back to Rockland the next morning.

September 2006, From Swan's Island, through Stonington, across Eastern Penobscot Bay into the Little Thorofare by North Haven.

We had anchored at Swan's Island on Wednesday and sailed out through Stonington Thursday. It was the sunniest day of the week. Therefore, it had been determined that the couple on board that had planned to get married would be wed on this day. What we didn't know was where the wedding would take place.

As we sailed across Eastern Penobscot Bay, I had hopes of going to Carver's Cove. That's where we had anchored on my first trip. It was one of my favorites spots because I could see Goose Rocks Lighthouse. I hadn't been sitting on the quarterdeck to listen in for any clues the Captain might give. I was daring him to surprise me.

But, judging by the direction and the time of the afternoon, I thought Carver's Cove might be likely. I was excited. That's certainly where I'd want to get married. (Like it would ever be my decision).

But, just as we got near the entrance to the Thorofare, he tacked to the Northeast - away from the Fox Island Thorofare. At first, I thought maybe he was just doing an about to kill time before anchoring, but soon enough, he was headed in between the islands off North Haven. It was what is called the Little Thorofare. It's a small opening between North Haven, Stimpson Island, Burnt Island and Calderwood. One of my Douglass ancestors once owned one of those islands.

We dropped anchor and had the wedding that afternoon. It was a nice sunny day for it and the brief ceremony went off well. We had plenty of photographers and even some video coverage of the event. Adele and Sally had put together a nice basket of gifts we had all collected for the bride and groom. I did my part by not hiding that basket on Adele and Sally. (I had told them where they could store it so it wouldn't be seen. I thought for a moment that I could move it elsewhere but didn't, knowing I'd be the immediate and only suspect).

We sat around following the wedding and discussed having a party that evening. That's when Mark told us that he had beer in his room.

We had the wedding cake on deck under a nice sunset. During the evening, we stood around and laughed about Mark's comment about beer in his room. Someone mentioned that we should all go visit him, knocking on his door expecting a party. My idea was that we should be IN his room when he arrived. When he appeared headed for his room, we gathered whoever we could and rushed down the back companionway. We all hid in Mark's room. We had arranged for his father to stall him a little. When he opened the door, we all shouted and made like there was a party going on. It was pretty funny.

The fog moved in that evening. I couldn't see Goose Rocks from where we were anchored, but I sat on deck and listened to its fog horn echoing through the Thorofare.

September 2007, From Bass Harbor out to Frenchboro around Swan's Island and into Stonington.

Bass Harbor is a lot like Port Clyde. Early in the morning, the fishermen are up and on their way. Many had passed us before the sun even came up over MDI. I was up early to watch the sunset.

We had no idea where we might be headed. Being Wednesday morning, there were many possibilities. Some hoped for Bar Harbor or Southwest Harbor. Swans Island seemed feasible.

We pulled up anchor and sailed out past Bass Harbor Light. From there, we continued South as if we were headed out to sea. We passed the Gott Islands and could see Great Duck Island in the distance.

We got well offshore and had a great view of the mountains on Mount Desert Island. We were so far out we were all on alert to spot whales. We had a sunny day and some good wind.

We sailed out past Frenchboro and got out to the backside of Swan's Island. At one point out there, we could see the back side of Isle Au Haut, but the most impressive part of the trip was we could see the mountains on MDI on the right while on the left were the Camden Hills. It's not often someone can see both mountain ranges in one panoramic view, but we had it.

We had lunch down below because it was too windy. That's when the whale appeared. A call came down from topside that a whale had been sighted. People raced up on deck to get a look.

There were a couple of other sightings later in the day.

As we neared Isle Au Haut, we tacked into Jericho Bay and charted a course toward Stonington. We pulled into a small inlet between islands, just across from Stonington Harbor.

We actually pulled in fairly early in the day. It allowed me to take the rowboat and row around the cove a bit. Two other passengers took the kayak out and got into a bit of trouble when they paddled outside of the cove and around the islands. Apparently, the "stay within view" order didn't register with them.

We had a nice sunset that evening, capping off a wonderful day where we all got to sail somewhere none of us had ever been.

Biden His Time

2008-08-23T18:01:00.000-07:00

Told ya.

I decided that Joe Biden would be the VP candidate for Barack Obama before the Democratic nominee himself made his selection. I picked Biden last Sunday. Obama decided on him later in the week. I think it was a good choice by both of us.

I like Biden because of his foreign policy credentials and his attack-dog ability, but I like him even more now that I've had a chance to think it over at length. His populist style, his energetic campaigning and his straight talking is not only a good fit but should make Obama a better candidate.

I see Biden being Obama's hit man. He'll protect him and give him space and allow him to stay on message. The bullying that has knocked Obama off track in recent weeks should end with Biden. His bark is as good as his bite. The fact that he's a regular Joe makes him all that much better.

I liken it to the role a hockey tough guy provides the skill guys on the ice in a hockey. Biden will earn respect for his toughness and his experience and that will not only bolster Obama but help ground him for the working-class blue collar voters he needs to reach. I really liked Jim Webb as a potential running mate, but I think Biden brings a lot of things Webb did and more.

As for the Republicans, as I said before, I think Biden's selection forces McCain's hand a bit. I think he has to go with Romney. He might want to pick Tom Ridge or Joe Liebermann, but he can't because he has to bow down to the conservatives. He might want Tim Pawlenty, but McCain knows he can't match up with Biden.

That leaves McCain with his own change candidate - because Romney has changed his position so often. I don't think he wants to pick Romney. If he can find a way and a reason to pick somebody else and still have a chance to win, he will. I don't see that happening though. He has to go with Romney.

And, I can't wait to see Romney have a sit-down with Biden in a debate. Pretty Boy Romney might just get that verbal wedgie he deserves.

One last thing. Anybody notice that Obama's text message that announced Biden as his VP came at 3 a.m.? Remember, Hillary Clinton ran that "3 a.m. ad" which questioned what happens if an emergency call comes in at 3 a.m. None of the pundits have picked up on that so far. It might be just a coincidence, but I think it would be funny if Obama's people sat around and said "wouldn't it be funny to send the text message at 3 a.m (with that ad in mind).

Veep, Veep Part Deuce

2008-08-20T09:31:00.000-07:00

Since I posted my VP picks, Biden has become the favorite to be Obama's right-hand man. Apparently, they WERE waiting for my input. It seems likely that Biden will be the guy.

The Republicans appear less certain. I think their pick may have a great deal to do with what Obama does. If Biden is the selection, I wonder if Pawlenty's stock drops. I see Biden opening a can of whoop-ass on Pawlenty in a debate. I think McCain would prefer someone like Ridge or Liebermann but knows the fallout from the right could be fatal. He may stick with Pawlenty or feel as though he has to suck it up and pick Romney and his hair gel.

It may depend on where McCain stands in another week or so. If he needs a safe pick, Pawlenty is the guy. If needs to take a risk he might go for Ridge or Liebermann. If he settles for something in between, it will be Romney. I think he really wants Ridge or Liebermann.

Of course, Obama has scheduled to campaign appearance Saturday in Springfield. That might fuel speculation that Obama has indeed selected Ralph Wiggum. If that's the case, McCain would have no choice but to select Ned Flanders.

Veep, Veep!!

2008-08-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

Who's going to be vice-president?

Who gets to oversee the fumagation and excoricism after ridding the VP quarters of the dark and evil presence that currently lingers there? Hopefully, it is someone that has a copy of the Constitution, some ethics and the name of a good exterminator.

The current VP stakes doesn't have the entire nation or world on the edge of their seats in anticipation - unless, of course, Michael Phelps were in the running. I had thought I'd make predictions for the two VP candidates, but when I went on vacation, I figured the selections would be made by the time I returned. Apparently, they're awaiting my approval. So here goes.

Democrats: For the longest time, I thought for sure it would be Jim Webb. He's a senator from Virginia with military credo. He seemed perfect. He's tough and fiesty. I was convicnced he was the man for Barack Obama. Then Webb pulled himself out of contention.
So, I've been unsure ever since. The list of names has been pretty constant lately.
Senator Jack Reed was mentioned briefly. I figure if I hadn't heard of the guy, that can't be good.

Republican Chuck Hagel was mentioned. I don't see that happening, but now that I see the race shaping up as I do, it might not be such a bad move.
Indiana's Evan Bayh has been talked about, but I don't see the benefits. Bayh might help bring Indiana, but he didn't do that convincingly for Hilaray Clinton in the primary. She narrowly edged out Obama. He has some national security, but Bayh is stiffer than Al Gore and twice as boring. He'd be a safe pick, but Obama needs his VP to bring something to the table.
I'd love to see Colin Powell, even if he is linked to the Bush disaster. But, I don't expect Powell to agree to it.
Virginia's Tim Kaine is another leading candidate. A few weeks ago, I thought he was the guy, but I think he's faded. He's a fresh face and brings some of the same essence of change that Obama does, but his weaknesses are the same as Obama. He's lacking in experience, especially in foreign policy. Had this pick been made a few weeks ago, Kaine likely would have been the man. If Obama was comfortably ahead, same thing. But the race has changed in recent weeks. The need for Obama to shore up his national security cred is vital now. That rules Kaine out.
Kansas' Kathleen Sebelius has been mentioned as well. Picking another women besides Hillary would not go over well with Hillary's faithful. So that won't happen.
Al Gore's name has even been tossed about. Yeah, right. He would have won the nomination easily had he run, but he didn't. With that in mind, he's not going to be VP again.
Sam Nunn has been another name suggested. I'm not convinced that it might not be Nunn. He brings the qualities that Obama needs with his foreign policy experience. I think Nunn could be a safer bet than some, but he's also a bit dry and blah.
So, where does that leave us? Even now, I can't help but think that there's somebody else that hasn't been mentioned that Obama will pick, but I can't think of another that fits the bill. Besides, what Obama needs at this point is a name with cred behind it.
I think that brings us to Senator Joe Biden. I didn't like the idea of Biden when I first heard it. Too old and too Washington, I thought. That still rings true. He's not exactly the symbol of the change message that Obama brings. But, the way the campaign has gone lately, McCain has made some headway with his questioning of Obama's experience and leadership. The election is going to be won or lost based on a referendum on Obama. If voters question his readiness and experience, he's doomed. Biden can combat that. Biden brings tremendous foreign policy experience. He's been visable and viable in all global issues. Another thing he'd bring to the ticket is the ability to be an attack dog. Biden does have a bit of foot-in-mouth disease, but his outspokenness and fiery demeanor is just what Obama needs. McCain and the Republicans are going to only get nastier. Obama either doesn't have the stomach to fight that convincingly or wants to appear above that fray. He needs somebody that can fight back for him. Biden can do that.
I think if you imagine who the Republicans might put up and envision a VP debate with Biden and whoever McCain selects, it could be a Biden KO - unless he says something stupid.
Biden won't a safe choice and isn't exactly a bold one either, but I think it is a move that Obama has to make. Kaine fits better in terms of message but Biden fills a gap Obama can't afford to ignore.
Republicans:
McCain needs somebody young, fresh faced and the embodiment of new times and new direction. So, yes, that would be Barrack Obama.
Seriously, that's the image McCain needs to rectify. McCain has the experience and he has the compelling story. Nobody questions his ability to lead or be forceful in world matters. Thus far, on the campain, however, he's also looked old, confused and lost in his message. He's stated that he's clueless about the economy. A fresh face could shore that up, but it also may mean dipping into a pool of lesser known and lesser experienced candidates.
Condi Rice has been mentioned. That'd be a stupid pick. He's trying to appear as though he's distancing himself from the current chaos on Pennsylvania Avenue. Picking an incompentent just because she's a woman won't help.
Tom Ridge has been mentioned. He'd be a good pick, if he can deliver Pennsylvania, but I'm not sure that he can. Ridge is also pro-choice. Recent reactions from the religious right indicate he'd be doomed if he picked a pro-choice VP.
So, that nixes Joe Liebermann too. I'm not sure he'd be a good pick anyway. He was okay for Al Gore, but he just looks like a bitter old Democrat trying to remain relevant. He's not going to make much difference in the election, unless he can deliver Florida and the Jewish vote. I don't think he'd play well with the religious base (fanatics).
Minnesota's Tim Pawlenty is another name mentioned quite a bit. He seems to be a likely candidate. I frankly don't know squat about him, other than he's a young governor from a swing state. He sounds like a safe pick, and that might suffice for McCain.
But, I think Mitt Romney is the obvious choice for McCain. Romney is fairly young, he has experience with the economy. He could help win Michigan and shore up votes in the Western states. He seems to fit McCain's bill in many ways.
However, I think McCain feels the same about Romney as I do. He's an ego-driven, waffling, rich pretty boy. He's the kind of guy you want to beat the crap out of and give him a wedgy. He's proven he'll say anything to satisfy constituents - like tell the NRA what a hunter he is when can't name anything he's hunted or talk about how he and his father "marched" with Martin Luther King (neither of them ever marched with King). A war hero like McCain would contrast sharply with a coward like Romney, whose sons have served the country well - by working in his failed campaign.
Romney makes sense but the fact that McCain can't stand him, makes me think Romney won't pick him.

I was going to say that McCain will pick somebody not on the list of recently mentioned candidates. Whether that's a Mike Bloomberg, Mike Huckabee or Charlie Crist, I don't know. I have a hunch that McCain will go with somebody that's a bit out of the blue - but still a safe bet. But, the more I think about it, it seems as though Pawlenty suits him. He's young, midwestern, a governor and fairly safe. (Even though, I'd bet Biden eats him alive in a debate).

It may even hinge on whom Obama selects. My gut says it will be a name out of the blue, but my head says it will be Pawlenty.

Of course, if Phelps declares his candidacy it could become like the Simpson's episode when both parties frantically court Ralph Wiggum. His campaign ad shows a picture of Ralph sitting on Lincoln's lap at the Lincoln Memorial, with finger planted in nose and the slogan "Pick A Winner."