Why I like being a nerd

(This essay was written by my niece, Laura Mills, as part of her college application. It struck a chord with me, and I thought others might enjoy it)

A universal part of high school life is the practice of assigning specific social labels to various sub sets of students who were previously homogenous. Thus, a group of five “best friends” who were once bonded throughout their elementary school years by things such as living in the same neighborhood, or their love of softball, suddenly find themselves assigned to a whole new social order.

Right about the time they begin high school these five people who once considered themselves so similar are suddenly tagged as being very different, and their new social labels seem to stick better than any adhesive you can buy at Home Depot.

The lexicon of this phenomenon is as familiar to people who graduated from high school during the Eisenhower Administration as it is to people who cannot remember a time without the internet or cable television.

Even as you read these labels, you will likely - - if only subconsciously - - instantly assign faces from your high school experience into these convenient categories. They are known as the “jocks,” the “princesses,” the “brains,” the “slackers,” and yes, the “nerds.” I am a proud member of the latter of these groups.

While Hollywood has done its best to glorify our particular social subset with movies such as the 1984 classic, Revenge of the Nerds, the Breakfast Club and just about any other John Hughes movie, there are some unavoidable realities and consequences that escape the feeble attempts to recreate high school on the silver screen.

I’m told that life goes on beyond high school, but these labels and their meanings seem to linger much longer than whatever fashion sense seemed so important at the time. Really, who wears bell bottoms anymore? But you probably remember what social group you were assigned to in high school. It’s also quite possible that your label had a profound effect upon every social interaction you’ve had since you dressed in a gown and marched across a gymnasium while Pomp and Circumstance was played on a loudspeaker.

What do you think of when hear the word nerd? Maybe you were a nerd, maybe not, but you probably know a few people who were nerds. From my perspective, nerds are much less likely to need several hours of psychotherapy or court-ordered phone calls with probation officers within ten years of high school graduation.

Nerds, by their very definition, are not afraid of being true to their own essential character. Generally speaking, nerds are less frantic than non-nerds in the race to shed our childhood joys, fantasies and innocence during society’s push toward adulthood. Children don’t worry about what label is affixed to the back of their pants. Children like to play games, and their social awkwardness is forgiven because of their age.

But if a fifteen-year-old likes to play games, doesn’t care about their clothing labels and appears socially awkward, he or she is labeled as a nerd. Apparently, society rejects those who linger in childhood innocence.

Nerds reject the notion that we must conform to any other subset. We are the mongrels, the ones who cannot be so conveniently labeled by our SAT scores, our ability to throw a baseball or the net income of our parents. But there is a price to pay for our refusal to blend in and conform. The grinding wheels of society come to a screeching halt when one of the cogs snaps and refuses to roll along.

Non-nerds are very intolerant of those who refuse to play by the game of life as pre-determined by some sort of universal power that assigned our labels on the day after freshman orientation. Those punishments can be severe, especially when they are placed on the shoulders of young people with still-developing egos.

Even primitive cultures understand the significance and pain of being ostracized. Being cast aside or shunned by your peers is a battle scar that can take years to heal, but I think nerds become stronger as a result of this ultimate rejection.

Consider the words of German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche: “That which does not kill us only makes us stronger.” Some people say high school can be tough. That may be true, but other aspects of the human condition can also make for tough circumstances and are certainly more costly, such as the so-called mid-life crisis.

I don’t know of any statistical evidence to prove this next point, but I’m willing to bet those who were nerds in high school have better developed the skills necessary to adapt to an often cruel world than those jocks and princesses who pine for the glory days of the winning touchdown or being named senior prom queen.

Beauty fades and athletic ability wanes with the passage of time. But the strength and enduring spirit of surviving high school as a nerd can be carried to the grave.

That’s why I am proud of being a nerd, and am very much looking forward to my 25th high school reunion.

I only wonder if the labels will survive.

Health Care: An Inconvienent Truth

The tide has turned on our economy. Millions of Americans are out of work. The real estate market is in the toilet and consumer confidence is at an all time low. Our nation's current economic picture is very similar to what was happening in 1930s Germany, a country that was especially hit hard by the Depression that also rocked America in 1929.

The time is ripe to rise up against the corporations. You know those legalized collections of people who like to make a profit. It seems profit is a bad thing now.

I guess we're lucky that the Democrats have control of our state and national economy because we all know only the Democrats care about the working class...the little people like you and me...

In the midst of all this economic crisis, our country is focused upon "reforming" our nation's health care system. Many people, it seems, are fed up with the greedy insurance companies that would rather focus on profits than healing the sick. But beyond the sound bites and the rhetoric of Nancy Pelosi are some inconvenient truths.

Take, for example, the following nuggets of information that you will not hear from the folks at Change for America or Michael Moore, who is making a pretty penny on his latest movie, which did not use union workers.

According to a PricewaterhouseCoopers’ study, in 2007 health plans had an average profit margin of 3% (THREE PERCENT)

According to a study by RAND Health for the California HealthCare Foundation “…medical costs explain nearly 89 percent of [health plan] revenue increases.”

According to Kaiser Health News (not exactly a bastion of conservative thought), “the major causes of health care’s escalating costs are the rising prices and the increased use of medical services, including hospital stays, prescription drugs, new technologies and doctor visits.”

According to CMS data, over 40 years, the real costs of private health insurance have grown at an annual rate of 5.2 percent. Benefits, as measured by the cost of health care services to members, have grown at real rate of 5.3 percent over the same time period. Administrative costs have grown more slowly, at a real rate of about 4.9 percent since 1966.

According to Kaiser Health News, “With the nation’s health care spending estimated at $2.5 trillion this year, even the elimination of insurers’ profits and executive compensation would lower health care spending by just 0.5 percent.”

In 2006, health plan profits of the top 10 for profit health plans accounted for 0.5%of total health care spending; in 2007, 0.6%; and, in 2008, 0.5%.

Well, there you go. There's no question that our current system needs reform and that working Americans should have access to adequate and safe health care, but Congress ought to focus on solving the problem instead of stirring the class warfare pot. Putting the health insurance companies out of business will create another huge void in the private sector, put millions of people out of work and further grow our escalating federal government that has already put the moves on banking, automotive manufacturing and the mortgage industries.

If you trust the federal government to take care of you, ask yourself: Would I want to live in public housing? Do I prefer public transportation? Even if you answer YES to both of those questions, ask a native American how well it worked out trusting the federal government.

Double Standards & Memory Impairment

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
-- George Santayana

I write these words just one day after the eighth anniversary of September 11, 2001, a day like so many others lately when the fracture between political ideologies in America seems to grow exponentially with each passing hour.

The only plausible theory for this situation involves a chain of events that transpired in a galaxy far, far away…a long time ago and was thus missed by NASA.

Perhaps so many of us were so enraptured with the election of Barack Obama that we failed to notice the giant meteor that was racing toward planet earth on November 6, 2008.

That meteor seemingly collided with something much larger in outer space. The fallout from the collision resulted in an explosion that sent millions and millions of tiny meteor fragments streaming into our atmosphere virtually unnoticed.

Strangely, these pieces of galactic shrapnel landed mostly in the United States, causing significant brain damage to millions of unsuspecting victims who now cannot seem to remember much of what happened before President Obama’s election except to say that it was bad… very bad.

Frankly, I think George W. Bush was – in many ways – the worst president in recent memory. In 2004, I held my nose and voted for John Kerry. Four years later, I held my nose again and voted for John McCain. This piece is important information.

Undoubtedly, many people will dismiss the entirety of this rant simply because its author did not vote for President Obama.

Why would I make such an ignorant, cold-hearted decision? There are plenty of theories out there to explain people like me. Let’s start with some of the most popular.

Theory 1: I am a racist. Hmmm.
Does this mean that Democrats who chose Obama over Clinton during the 2008 primaries were misogynists?

What about all the people who opposed the appointment of Associate Justice Clarence Thomas to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1991? Did the meteor shower impair our memories to the extent that we cannot remember the vitriol which surrounded those hearings just 18 years ago?

Frankly, my own memory seems a bit fuzzy because I don’t recall the charge of racism being leveled at then members of the Senate Judiciary Committee, including Joe Biden or Ted Kennedy. I don’t think they are racists. Do you?

Theory 2: I am a right-wing nut job. We’re getting warmer.

Yes. I am a registered Republican. If you listen to the likes of Chris Matthews, John Stewart or House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, you may believe that people like me are uneducated, gun-toting, homophobic, Bible-thumpin’ bigots with big hedge funds and even bigger SUVs.

We don’t care about the environment, civil rights or the plight of the working poor. We fantasize about “Nailin’ Palin” and search the night skies for UFOs that are likely government spy planes. We are angry white men who shoot kittens for sport and chant “Drill, baby drill” while stocking up on ammunition, bottled water and canned goods.

Hmmm. We’ll get back to this a little later, but let’s get back to this apparent loss of our national memory before I forget why I decided to pen this rant.

Earlier this week, President Obama delivered a thought-provoking and inspiring speech to our nation’s school children. In my opinion, it was one of the best speeches to ever come out of the White House, right up there with JFK’s inaugural address and FDR’s “Day of Infamy” speech in December 1941.

Some people got upset about the prospect of President Obama using his bully pulpit to somehow “indoctrinate” our nation’s youth about the value of hard work, perseverance and the concept of personal responsibility. They invoked Orwellian images of Big Brother and likened the concept to Hitler’s “brown-shirt” strategy.

We heard about all this because our national media is becoming very adept at downloading YouTube videos and surfing internet blogs. It was, in a single word, nonsense.
But Democrats would never attempt to stifle speech, would they?

Please join me and step into the “Way Back Machine” and set the dials to October 1991. Back then, Republican George Bush Sr. (41) was the president and Congress was controlled by Democrats.

The recent objections to Obama’s speech pale in comparison to what happened in 1991.
Congress called for an investigation and asked the Government Accounting Office (GAO) to determine how much public money was used to deliver the president’s speech. The National Education Association roundly criticized the president. The media went nuts as best evidenced by a front-page story in the Washington Post.

From an article this week in the Washington Examiner, http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/opinion/blogs/beltway-confidential/When-Bush-spoke-to-students-Democrats-investigated-held-hearings-57694347.html
“ Lost in all the denouncing and investigating was the fact that Bush's speech itself, like Obama's today, was entirely unremarkable. "Block out the kids who think it's not cool to be smart," the president told students. "If someone goofs off today, are they cool? Are they still cool years from now, when they're stuck in a dead end job. Don't let peer pressure stand between you and your dreams.”

And finally, there seems to be a growing call for civility and decorum these days, especially with regard to the President and respect for the office.

That’s a good thing. But let’s again step into the “Way Back Machine” and set the dials for December 2008.

Do you even have a vague sense of the unbridled joy Democratic activists and the media expressed when shoes were thrown at President George W. Bush? What about the angry and hate-filled outbursts that happened all over the country by “Code Pink” members?

I see. We should only be civil sometimes. Come on, really. Don’t ever forget that some animals are more equal than other animals.

And that about wraps it up for this installment of Double Standards and Impaired Memories. In the meantime be wary of space debris and the concept that a two-party political system can do anything more than cast aspersions and doubts about people on the “other side.”


.

Just a leaky toilet? Yeah, right....

In mid November, I arrived home from a business trip and heard my 13-year-old son, Tim exclaim: "The toilet is leaking, and it's coming right into the basement!"

No problem, I thought. It was probably just a gasket ring that needed to be replaced. No need to panic, I told Laura. "This will be an easy, inexpensive fix."

Famous last words....

Day 1.... Saturday afternoon (First trip to Home Depot) So far, so good...Pick up a new wax ring replacement kit ($9.95) drive home and remove old toilet. Uh, oh.... the sub-floor is rotted. The laminate tile all needs to be pulled up. Can we find a contractor who can get in here fast (five days before Thanksgiving)?

Day 4: subcontactor arrives, replaces portion of floor ($200) so far, so good..

Day 6 (Thanksgiving Day)
See the photo to the right? Yup, we decided to go all out and pull out the ugly sink, too...

Day 7: (Day after Thanksgiving) we remove all tiles from wall and begin scraping wallpaper...Dust is everywhere, cats are coughing....Randy is feeling major stress. Debris accumulates in backyard. We're exhausted, especially since we did our annual "Black Friday" shopping at 4 a.m., but hey, we found a really good deal on a new sink, vanity and faucet at Lowe's. We also picked up a new medicine cabinet and new, state of the art toliet with all the fixings. We also purchase tile, grout, mortar, floor padding and assorted plumbing pieces...today's expenses? $765

Day 8 (Saturday) Randy gets up bright and early to meet neighbor with a pick-up truck. They take old tiles, sink, toilet and loads of other crap to town dump. Matt finishes scraping wall while Laura relaxes with a hot cup of coffee..

Our house is a disaster zone....the dust is everywhere! The shop vac is in the kitchen. The tub is a repository of tools and bottles of caulk. Laura gets herself prettied up and unloads the tile cutter. The noise is shrill, like a Vietnamese women screaming at her dog on a humid summer night. Randy opens a bottle of Chivas....Tim is nowhere to be found. The wallpaper is almost all off, but we decide to get the flooring in first. The old light fixture (isn't is pretty?) will remain for now so that we can continue working at night and drinking heavily during the day...

Laura says her back is killing her. Matt says he is hungry. Tim is pulled over by the police (more about that later) and Randy is in the backyard with some kerosene and matches.

There is the distinctive smell of desperation in the air and the looming questions remains: Will our Christmas guests be able to crap in our new house without soling the carpet?

Laura becomes the true champion of this project. Working against the clock and with an aging tile cutter blade and the body of a 49-year-old, (oops, sorry, honey; but that's less than 10 years away now) she makes incredible progress. The new floor is shaping up. Everything else, including our bank accounts and relationships, are falling apart.

Day 9: (Sunday) Trips No. 4, No. 5 and No. 6 to Home Depot. We pickup new laminate sheets for bottom walls and (who knew moulding is so friggin' expensive?) and new moulding, plus a basin wrench (a tool that Randy says you "absolutely must have" in order to put in a new sink) We never quite figured out how to use the basin wrench, but there's no way we can get to the sink today, anyway...it is now time for the toilet!! (Total costs today: $379.87)

To our blathering delight, at approximately 4:58 p.m., some nine days after the story began our new toilet is working!!! This means that our bedroom will once again be our sanctuary where we can lock the door without forcing the kids to go outside in the middle of the night for a pee. Remind me sometime to tell you what Tim likes to do with Poland Spring bottles.........

To all you do-it-your-selfers out there, one sage piece of advice: never underestimate the beauty of buying at least two (2) new wax ring replacement kits just in case something should happen to go wrong after Home Depot closes.

In PART TWO of this series we will discuss in detail the strains that installing a new bathroom light can have on even the best of marriages. We will alo examine crooked medicine cabinets, the beauty of drywall screws and how letting your wife flirt with a contractor will save you lots of moulding installation headaches.

Hawaii 5-0

Dah-dah-dah-da-duh-da . . .da-da-da-da-duh . . .
Come on, you know the song . . .it's the theme music from Hawaii 5-0... Okay, so now you remember the song, check out this video compilation of our vacation... (double click on the play button to start the video)



Now try humming the Hawaii 5-0 theme while stuck in a 747 for more than 10 hours straight... That was me, just a few weeks ago, on our way to the island of dreams, Oahu, the poster-child for land-use planning and zoning.

Check out this link, it makes Waikkiki look good.....but trust me, there's a good reason that camera doesn't roll 360 degrees....because what's behind it, is your avaerge city, think Cleveland, Boston or Detroit being uploaded and smcked down in the middle of the Pacific... so, welcome to Honolulu

http://www.co.honolulu.hi.us/multimed/waikiki.asp

Wild, wild life

Here are the other photos.... scroll down for more

of Mr. Moose!

Burgers, anyone?

This is just one of several shots Laura took during our annual summer vacation at Rangeley Lake. This moose was very friendly as you will see below, along with some other wildlife photos Laura took...

MERC: Your input wanted

As you may already know, I was appointed by the Biddeford City Council last week to serve as one of two public representatives on the Maine Energy Recovery Company Citizens Advisory Committee.

For the better part of the last decade, I have followed the Maine Energy issue very closely. Because of my former occupation as a Biddeford-based journalist, I have a keen appreciation of how important this issue is to the citizens of Biddeford.

I was honored to be asked to serve on this committee, but it is paramount that I represent all citizens and all perspectives during my service on the committee. Thus, I am inviting anyone with concerns, suggestions or ideas to contact me directly so I may bring those concerns to the table as one of your representatives.

Please feel free to contact me at 571-4376, my home telephone number; or via e-mail at randyseaver@hotmail.com. I look forward to discussing these issues with concerned citizens, and appreciate the faith and trust bestowed upon me by Mayor Nutting and the Biddeford City Council.
Thank you,

That damn novel

So, the whole reason I started a blog was to share my writing. Where's my writing?? How about a piece of the novel I started writing nearly 15 years ago? We'll start this evening with the prologue.

****************

It was the sum realization of a lifetime, and David Haskell couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Staring at the computer monitor, he wondered if he was making the right decision. There was only one thought prevailing among the thousands of others in his crowded mind: After all this time— could he possibly know what the right decision was anymore?

The house was dark, save for the bluish haze of the computer screen. David had been drinking. It was the only way he could find the courage necessary to execute the chain of events that he had been contemplating for the last three months.

He took another swig from the bottle beside him. The bourbon couldn't stop the shaking. David knew that the drinking wouldn't help— but he no longer cared.

The memo was only four paragraphs in length; some 400 words to describe the hell that he had helped to create.

Would sending this message be worth the consequences? He forced a laugh, reaching for a nearly-empty pack of cigarettes. “Screw 'em,” he whispered, hitting the return key. Within seconds, David's confession was coded and sent deep into cyberspace, making its way toward an unwitting recipient.

What's done was done.

He took a long drag on his Camel, feeling some small measure of satisfaction. Too many people had died. Too many lies. It was time for some truth. With his eyes still closed, David reached down and opened the desk drawer. Reaching inside, he felt the cold, yet welcome, steel of the Lorcin semi-automatic.

He kept his eyes closed, crushing the remains of his cigarette on the desk and lodged the muzzle of the gun beneath his chin, slowly wrapping his index finger around the trigger.
“Forgive me, Beth,” he sobbed before squeezing the trigger.

With that, the deputy national security advisor was no longer a threat to those who were worried about his loyalties.

Yard work

As many of you know, my yard is my obsession. Here are a few photos to show how out of control I have been during the past few weeks. Given the new family member (see next post) this will most likely be the last time the back yard looks like this. My friend Parke says the reason I spend so much time working on the yard is because I have all but given up on the inside of the house. Parke knows me too well.

Hey, Jack Kerouac

Here is Kerouac, the newest member of the Seaver clan

Long time, no update

I know...I know....I've heard from many faithful readers that there is a serious lack of updates on this blog. I mean to correct this problem immediately. As for home improvements, I will be posting several before and after photos.

Also, within a few hours, I will upload photos of PHASE THREE of the Seaver outdoor holiday decoration project.

To get you started, here are a few shots of the living room project. This first picture shows how the room looked when we first toured the property with our real estate agent a little more than two years ago.

This next photo shows the same room, from the same angle how it looks today.

Lower Your Cable Bill! We should have choices!

I don't know about you, but I'm sick and tired of having no choice about what company provides my cable tv service. Well, there's some good news on the horizon! Congress is now considering the Barton-Rush bill, a bi-partisan, consumer-oriented bill that would open up markets for competition in the cable industry.

Many companies, both large and small, are poised to enter the arena and that would drive down costs and expand consumer options because of increased competition. Unfortunately, the piecemeal and parochial method now used to negotiate franchise agreements, effectively blocks out the potential for other providers.

I have no problem with Time-Warner offering phone service, I just think that the phone companies and ISPs should be able to offer video services. The Barton-Rush Bill (HR5252) meets that need and would provide individual communities with increased leverage during franchise negotiations.

In a rural state like Maine, we have a real opportunity to expand the digital highway by fostering an environment of fairness and competition. Doesn't that sound better than paying more taxes so that people up north can also be limited to just one choice?

For more information, please visit: www.wewantchoice.com

Please join me in contacting our Congressional delegation about this issue. Tell them Maine consumers should have choices. Tell Congress to support the Barton-Rush Bill. The contact information for our delegation is listed below:

Rep. Tom Allen: 1-888-862-6500 (toll free)
rep.tomallen@mail.house.gov

Rep. Mike Michaud: (202) 225-6306
rep.mikemichaud@mail.house.gov

Sen. Olympia Snowe: 800-432-1599

So long and thanks for all the fish!

From the December 15, 2005 Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier

Talk about pressure and expectations . . .

Sure, I had a lot of ideas about what I could write in this space, but since most of us are smack dab in the middle of celebrating Christmas, Chanukah, Ramadan, Kwanza or the winter solstice — none of my ideas seemed appropriate.

For my last column, I wanted something clever and pithy; something that would make readers say, “boy, we’re sure going to miss that Seaver guy.”

But given the talent that is set to follow me in this space, it’s far more likely that most people will be very glad once my rambling has finally ceased. So this is it. This is where it ends. Kaput.

Jack Anderson, one of the best political columnists to ever bang on a typewriter, died on Saturday. His column ended roughly two years before his death, but his legacy inspired a generation of journalists. I was one of them.

No, I’m not comparing myself to the king of political muckrakers, it’s just that I’ve always hated bullies, and that resentment became the fuel for this column.

Maybe it’s because I was routinely bullied when I was a kid. Although I lived in fear of guys like Gray Phillips, I suffered at the hands of much less noble kids whom shall remain anonymous in the spirit of the approaching holiday.

I got to see Gray a few weeks ago, when I wrote an ad for his Saco-based real estate agency. When we were all kids at Young School in Saco, Gray Phillips was ranked as the second “toughest” kid in the school, but the funny thing is — I don’t recall ever seeing him in a fight.

When I reminded him of his ranking, Gray had only one question: “who was No. 1?” Not surprisingly, the toughest of the tough landed in prison, and his flawed reputation doesn’t need an additional public potshot from Randy Seaver just a few days before Christmas.

Gray, unlike the bullies, never flaunted his power. He was as confident and gracious then as he is now. He was (and is) a big, tough guy with a soft spot for the little guys. Many other kids were not as compassionate or decent.

Those little cretins know who they are, and they better hope their paths don’t cross mine anytime in the near future because I’m a lot bigger now than I was in the sixth grade.

When I think of all the milk money they stole from me (and the interest owed when compounded over a 30-year term) it’s like thinking of winning the lottery.

So, yes . . . I don’t like bullies, especially those who have been entrusted with power by voters and then develop egos that couldn’t fit into the new Biddeford Middle School gymnasium.

This is the 323rd installment of All Along the Watchtower, and it is the last one that will be published on these pages. I look back on those columns with a combination of loathing and fondness. As with all things, some of those columns were better than others.

I never played favorites. I went after liberals and conservatives; Democrats and Republicans; men and women, without discrimination.

But I wasn’t always as gracious as people like Gray Philips who know better than to abuse their power. The only thing I can say about my mistakes — when I crossed the line of public advocacy — is that I tried to learn from those follies without losing my zeal for exposing the bullies and their agendas.

Political bullies are very much like their school-yard counterparts. They’re just not as clever, and they often cloak themselves in robes of self-described nobility and purpose.

Jack Anderson went after the heavy-hitters like Richard Nixon and Sen. Chris Dodd. I had to settle for people like Richard Rhames and Jim Grattelo.

I have fond memories of this gig. I remember driving my old, beat-up Subaru around the Thacher Brook subdivision in Biddeford with Kyle Noble hiding on the floorboards of my passenger seat while we attempted to unearth a secret meeting of the City Council that was reportedly happening at Marc Lessard’s home.

Lessard spotted us as we circled the cul-de-sac for the fifth time and invited us inside his home for a drink with him and Grattelo. There was no secret meeting. So there you go, I’m no Jack Anderson.

I remember when Biddeford City Councilor Christina Manikas pounded the council dais with a stick that some public works employee errantly left on the front lawn of a Lamothe Avenue home, doing her best impression of Nikita “we will bury you” Khrushchev to the delight of public access television viewers throughout Biddeford.

And I remember when Saco City Councilor Leslie Smith fell asleep during a public meeting, just moments after he said, “I could give a zippity-doo-dah about being the deputy mayor.”

There are a lot more memories, probably enough to fill another 323 columns. But it’s time for me to move on and to say good-bye.

If you haven’t had enough, and if you’d like to read Laura’s thoughts about my pending departure from this gig, you can visit the All Along the Watchtower blog on the Internet.

There, you can read more of my (unedited) insipid ramblings about local politics while also viewing photos of my family and my beloved lawn. You can also post your own comments and help keep this column alive, if only in cyberspace.

The address is http://randyseaver.blogspot.com/ Or you can drop me a line at randyseaver@hotmail.com

So long, and thanks for all the fish. And yes, have yourself a very merry Christmas!

Charge It:

From the August 4, 2005 Courier

Bill Clinton’s new book: $29.95

An autographed copy of John Kerry’s campaign sign: $350.

The look on Karl Rove’s face when he is fired? Priceless.

There are some things that money can’t buy.

For everything else, there’s MasterCard.

No, that’s not a real commercial, but it could be, especially when you consider that Maine Democrats are now seeking to raise money by promoting a new, low-interest rate MasterCard.

Although it seems more bizarre the longer you think about it, Democratic activists throughout Maine don’t seem to flinch when asked how they could get behind a program that urges increasing personal debt in order to fund the campaigns of those who claim to be the champions of the impoverished.

Republicans, by the way, don’t need a credit-card program. The GOP, in fact, would tell you to save your money for a rainy day and advise you not to use your credit cards.

And members of the Green Party don’t need credit cards. There’s plenty of seaweed on the beach that would make for a tasty stew if you want to go out for dinner with that special someone.

Okay, so it’s pretty easy to poke fun at this program, but it is a disturbing concept. As Americans’ personal debt numbers continue to skyrocket, the party of the working class says you can help yourself by applying for yet another handy hunk of plastic with a magnetic strip.

The GOP, according to July reports from the Federal Elections Commission, has roughly $36 million on hand. The Democrats have raised less than a quarter of that during the same time period.

I guess it’s a no-brainer for someone like Pat Colwell, chair of the Maine Democratic Party, to label GOP donors as “corporate fat cats, but Pat ought to look a little deeper when pondering how his party can get back on track.

And here’s a secret for all you Democrats out there: credit card companies, whether “progressive” or not, all function to make money . . . lots of money.

But the news just gets more bizarre. Take, for example, this week’s revelation from the Associated Press that Jimi Hendrix claimed he was gay in order to avoid combat duty in Vietnam.

The information was apparently contained in Jimi’s military medical records and was revealed for the first time in Charles R. Cross' new biography “Room Full of Mirrors.”

Since he “faked” being gay — long before Mr. Clinton’s infamous “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy was put into place — Hendrix was discharged from the 101st Airborne in 1962.

From there, Hendrix became a musical legend. Even now, years after his untimely death, Hendrix is often mistakenly credited with penning the song that inspired this column’s name, All Along the Watchtower.

As a reminder, the song was written by John Wesley Hardin and later released nationally by Bob Dylan long before Jimi got his hands on it.

Although the song was later covered by many other musicians — from Michelle Shocked to U2 — Jimi’s version is still the one that gets us white, middle-aged guys all worked up as we crank the stereos in our SUVs whenever it’s played on “classic rock” radio stations.

Hendrix, even for those of us too young to remember his heyday, was certainly the least gay person to ever crawl the planet. But I doubt it would have mattered to his fans. The only people who would have cared would be guys like Karl Rove, Michael Heath and George, Jr.

There’s no reason to get excited, fellas. Jimi’s no longer a threat and he’s no longer wielding a guitar or a MasterCard. Excuse me, while I kiss this guy . . .

And then, there is the sad news.

If Darth Vader were a real person, I suspect he would have said there was “a disturbance in the force” last week.

After more than a decade of service, veteran Biddeford City Councilor Raymond Cote told the Courier last week he would not be seeking another term on the city council.

Speaking just for me, Mr. Cote will be a sorely missed presence on the ever-entertaining city council. For the record, Mr. Cote (the prefix serves as a symbol of my undying respect for this man) never found himself on the biting end of my pen.

The reasoning behind that is not complicated.

Mr. Cote, as one of Clint Eastwood’s characters once said, was the “one constant in an ever-changing universe.”

Whenever his name appeared on the ballot, Mr. Cote would lead the pack with number of votes received. Although I was not around when “Babe” Dutremble was the mayor, it is abundantly clear to me why Mr. Cote was consistently so popular with the city’s voters.

He remains today, a straight-shooting, no-nonsense guy. His wiry frame and genuine smile belie a life lived on simple terms during extraordinary circumstances. A member of this country’s so-called greatest generation, Cote, 79, lied about his age so he could enlist in the Navy and serve his country during WWII.

The love of his life, his wife, Rena, passed away in May 2003. “I kept going after that,” he told me. “It gave me something to do at night. But now, I want to have a little time to myself. I just think it’s time to move on.”

In the days following the Sept. 2001 terrorist attacks on America, Ray and Rena Cote quickly organized the Biddeford-Saco Patriots’ Parade. He seemed never to tire, and was always willing to give more to his hometown.

If I can ever be half the man Raymond Cote is today, I will be more successful than my wildest expectations. His deft sense of humor, his unassuming wisdom and that famous smile served the city well for many years. I wish him the best of luck during his well-deserved retirement from public life.

Family begins with "F"

It may be hard to believe, but yes — I do own a dictionary.

In fact, the dictionary I use at home weighs more than my wife. It’s the Encarta World English Dictionary and it’s proven over and over again to be a valuable resource.

And such was the case on Saturday morning, when I was drafting the routine I would use later that evening in my debut performance as a comedian at the second annual Maine Family Fun Festival in Biddeford.

Many of those who organized and operate the Maine Family Fun Festival are former volunteers for Biddeford’s more well-known La Kermesse Festival.

The newer festival got its name because organizers wanted their three-day event to be more focused upon family activities than any particular cultural heritage.

But when I found out that Tim Sevigny, a Biddeford firefighter who is one of the MFFF’s key organizers, doesn’t have children, I immediately understood why he would think it makes sense to combine the words “family” and “fun.”

I don’t know, maybe the MFFF organizers are into alliteration. If so, I think there are a lot of other “F” words that come to mind when talking about our families.

Now get your mind out of the gutter because this is where my dictionary comes into the picture. This is a “family” newspaper, after all.

When I think of “family,” I think of fighting, feuds, fanatics, felons and freeloaders.

I also think about flatulence because of the trauma that is rekindled whenever my mother tells me to pull her finger.

Although our society is encouraged to think of families as breeding fond familiarity, when you peek just beneath the façade of that fable, it’s easy to see the propaganda as not much more of a fantasy, a fallacy or more accurately — a falsehood that relies favorably upon fiction.

My dictionary describes the word “family” primarily as a noun, meaning “people living together with several things in common; a group of people living together and ‘functioning’ as a single household, usually consisting of children and their parents.”

In my dictionary, the word “family” follows variations of the word “familiar,” a derivative of the Latin “familia,” which when properly translated means “something that defies logic and conventional wisdom.”

So, if family is about familiarity and co-existence, then isn’t it appropriate to describe our greater community as not much more than one big, extended family? Work with me here.

We all live in the same community, and we all share common challenges and goals. And as much as you disagree with some members of your own family, the same could be said of your larger family.

Under this hypothesis, we could all begin addressing Biddeford Mayor Wallace Nutting as “Dad” (Or maybe as Sir Dad, sir). And Saco Mayor Mark Johnston, already known for his ability to feed many people with short notice, could be “Mom.”

Old Orchard Beach Town Manager Jim Thomas is more like Uncle Lou, the guy who always passes out after Thanksgiving dinner and likes to tell you stories about how he used to fight off grizzly bears with nothing more than his Thermos.

In a few weeks, Biddeford will again host the annual La Kermesse Festival. Some might think that La Kermesse suffered a schism of sorts when Sevigny and other volunteers decided last year to do something different by organizing the Maine Family Fun Festival.

But I think both festivals can coexist, so long as we can remember that we are all part of the same family, regardless of our zip codes.

Festivals are, in many ways, a community’s version of a family reunion. Once a year, you get to eat, laugh and play with relatives you have not seen in a long while.

So, can our larger family handle two annual reunions? It remains to be seen, especially if the first one always happens during weather that’s more suited to Seattle than Biddeford.

But we can all be proud that our extended family is willing to make such an effort, especially when you think about how much work and sacrifice the festivals/reunions require.

Let’s face it, family life is seldom fun. More often than not, we are confronted with daily challenges when it comes to finding a peaceful way to “live” with people who really don’t have as much in common as my dictionary would suggest.

Your family, however — whether it’s the people you share a home with, or the neighbors down the street — will still take you in when the rest of the world is ready to throw in the towel on your failures. And what’s wrong with celebrating that?

Family is the foundation that shapes our future. It’s just one of the many things we all have in common, and that’s worth remembering, especially when many of us are so quick to point out our differences.

Families may not always be fun, but they can be funny — as long as I’m not the one fretting his own three minutes on the stage. Based upon my performance as an amateur comedian, I think I’ll stick with writing and my big dictionary. Besides, I’m running out of “F” words.

In the meantime, whatever you do — don’t pull Mark Johnston’s finger.

Me & Larry

Me and Larry — we have a problem.

You already know me, but you may not know Larry.

“Larry” is a 65-pound, four-foot squirrel with razor-sharp teeth — and he is wreaking havoc with the oasis of tranquility that I am trying to create in my back yard.

Okay, maybe I am exaggerating just a bit. While we already covered my penchant for stretching the truth in last week’s column, there is no denying that Larry is a “big” squirrel; and he does represent a clear and present danger to the lingering strands of my sanity.

Just this morning, I got up early to help the kids make a Mother’s Day breakfast in bed for Laura. If you know my wife, you also know that I didn’t need to get up early. I could have waited until noon, but I was concerned that the kids would start without me.

Standing at the kitchen sink, I looked out the window. And there was Larry, gleefully feasting on the premium bird seed that I bought just two weeks ago. I think he saw me in the window and sneered in my direction, using his little paws to make the shape of an “L” on his furry forehead: LOSER.

To make matters worse, he was hanging five feet off the ground, sitting atop my new cedar bird feeder. Somehow, Larry figured out the new pole I bought last week. He ignored the so-called “squirrel-baffle” I installed. Again, he anticipated my every move and outsmarted me, just like Liz Gold does on deadline day.

Ignoring the rain, I ran outside to take up arms against my oppressor, but I forgot that I was only wearing a tee-shirt and boxer shorts. So there I was, in all my half-naked glory, screaming like a lunatic in the rain and throwing rocks at an animal that is obviously smarter and faster than me.

The rocks missed Larry, but I did hit the new bird feeder, cracking the glass where the seed is stored. “You just wait,” I screamed, marching back into the house and searching for the BB gun. “Say hello to my little friend,” I said, still mostly naked but now armed with my Daisy Sharp-Shooter as I stomped back outside.

Larry finally scurried back to the hills of Lessard Avenue, but I’ve got a funny feeling that he’ll be back — just like John Martin, the man who dominated the Maine House of Representatives for nearly two decades.

John Martin and Larry have a lot in common. They both have beady eyes and razor sharp teeth. And they both like to feed on the fruits of southern Maine’s labor. Thus, our state’s term limits law has become a lot like those so-called “squirrel baffles” that you can buy at home and garden stores: inefficient and expensive.

Just like Larry, John Martin — the most famous Democrat north of Bangor — and his band of merry men have figured a way around the law. The champion of Eagle Lake is now back in the Legislature; this time in the senate.

Maine’s term limits law accomplishes little to nothing when it comes time providing a level playing field for others who would like to go to Augusta to raise taxes, create new laws and get a voice in the debate of whether Moxie should be the state beverage.

While term limits does wipe out the Legislature’s institutional memory base, it also makes our state lawmakers look like a collection of 186 pinheads, especially when compared to the more seasoned lobbyists and bureaucrats who have burrowed themselves into the corridors of power in Augusta.

Just as we got rid of Johhny Martin and his “ballotgate” antics, he found a loophole and went back to Augusta. Term limits did nothing but interrupt his feeding frenzy.

Now I don’t blame the people of Eagle Lake for voting repeatedly to send Johnny back to Augusta. He’s smart and effective. He knows how to bring home the bacon for a region that is known better for its moose-vehicle collisions than for its new technology firms.

Term limits, at least, provide an interruption of the political power grab. For those of us who live outside any particular legislative district — such as Eagle Lake or Biddeford’s District 135 — term limits allows us some relief from a smaller group of apathetic or over-zealous voters.

Besides, you can’t very well go into northern Maine to “hunt” John Martin dressed only in a tee-shirt and boxer shorts with a Daisy BB gun or any other kind of weapon, unless, of course, you’re wearing hunter orange. And then, you’ll blend in perfectly.

I’ll be returning my squirrel baffle, and Maine voters should follow my lead and dump our term limits law. Let’s face it. The squirrels will never change, and we all have more important things to do — so how ‘bout that Moxie?

Favorite Columns

By popular demand, I am providing a sampling of some of my favorite All Along The Watchtowe columns from my tenure as editor of the Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier (1998-2005)

To access these columns, simply search the scroll bar on the right, and click on "All Along The Watchtower"

Enjoy!

What's the deal?

I cannot gain editing access to my own blog. . . stay tuned for more info and updates

Forget Osama: Here's how to destroy America

Sorry it's been so long, but to make up for my laziness I opted to "cut and paste" something I came across on the "As Maine Goes" website www.asmainegoes.com

Diversity? We don't need no stinkin' diversity . . . the following is attributed to former Colorado Gov. Dick Lamm (a Democrat). Think before responding . . .

If you believe that America is too smug, too self-satisfied, too rich, then let's destroy America It is not that hard to do. No nation in history has survived the ravages of time. Arnold Toynbee observed that all great civilizations rise and fall and that "An autopsy of history would show that all great nations commit suicide." Here is how they do it: First, to destroy America, turn America into a bilingual or multi-lingual and bicultural country. History shows that no nation can survive the tension, conflict, and antagonism of two or more competing languages and cultures. It is a blessing for an individual to be bilingual; however, it is a curse for a society to be bilingual. The historical scholar, Seymour Lipset, put it this way: "The histories of bilingual and bi-cultural societies that do not assimilate are histories of turmoil, tension, and tragedy." Canada, Belgium, Malaysia, and Lebanon all face crises of national existence, in which minorities press for autonomy, if not independence. Pakistan and Cyprus have divided. Nigeria suppressed an ethnic rebellion. France faces difficulties with Basques, Bretons, and Corsicans. Second, to destroy America, "Invent 'multiculturalism' and encourage immigrants to maintain their culture." I would make it an article of belief that all cultures are equal. That there are no cultural differences. I would make it an article of faith that the Black and Hispanic dropout rates are due solely to prejudice and discrimination by the majority. Every other explanation is out of bounds. Third, we could make the United States an "Hispanic Quebec" without much effort. The key is to celebrate diversity rather than unity. As Benjamin Schwarz said in the Atlantic Monthly recently: "The apparent success of our own multiethnic and multicultural experiment might have been achieved not by tolerance but by hegemony. Without the dominance that once dictated ethnocentricity and what it meant to be an American, we are left with only tolerance and pluralism to hold us together." I would encourage all immigrants to keep their own language and culture. I would replace the melting pot metaphor with the salad bowl metaphor. It is important to ensure that we have various cultural subgroups living in America enforcing their differences rather than as Americans, emphasizing their similarities. Fourth, I would make our fastest growing demographic group the least educated. I would add a second underclass, unassimilated, undereducated, and antagonistic to our population. I would have this second underclass have a 50% dropout rate from high school. My fifth point for destroying America would be to get big foundations and business to give these efforts lots of money. I would invest in ethnic identity, and I would establish the cult of "Victimology." I would get all minorities to think that their lack of success was the fault of the majority! I would start a grievance industry blaming all minority failure on the majority population. My sixth plan for America's downfall would include dual citizenship, and promote divided loyalties. I would celebrate diversity over unity. I would stress differences rather than similarities. Diverse people worldwide are mostly engaged in hating each other - that is, when they are not killing each other. A diverse, peaceful, or stable society is against most historical precedent. People undervalue the unity it takes to keep a nation together. Look at the ancient Greeks. The Greeks believed that they belonged to the same race; they possessed a common language and literature; and they worshipped the same gods. All Greece took part the Olympic games. A common enemy, Persia, threatened their liberty. Yet all these bonds were not strong enough to overcome two factors: local patriotism and geographical conditions that nurtured political divisions. Greece fell. "E. Pluribus Unum" -- From many, one. In that historical reality, if we put the emphasis on the 'pluribus' instead of the 'Unum,' we will balkanize America as surely as Kosovo. Next to last, I would place all subjects off limits; make it taboo to talk about anything against the cult of "diversity." I would find a word similar to "heretic" in the 16th century - that stopped discussion and paralyzed thinking. Words like "racist" or "xenophobe" halt discussion and debate. Having made America a bilingual/bicultural country, having established multi-culturism, having the large foundations fund the doctrine of "Victimology," I would next make it impossible to enforce our immigration laws. I would develop a mantra: That because immigration has been good for America, it must always be good. I would make every individual immigrant symmetric and ignore the cumulative impact of millions of them. Lastly, I would censor Victor Hanson Davis's book "Mexifornia." His book is dangerous. It exposes the plan to destroy America. If you feel America deserves to be destroyed, don't read that book.