Eating Maine – In Quest of Lobster

 While on vacation on the beautiful, southern coast of Maine, my wife and I embarked on our annual pilgrimage to find the most inexpensive lobster in the area; a ritual that involves the expenditure of twenty dollars worth of gas in the expectation of saving fifty cents per pound on the purchase of a few pounds of lobster.

 The uneducated bargain shopper may think that this is a bit silly; perhaps even counterproductive. Nonsense! The quest is the thing. The quest circumvents all reason. Ah, to feel the undaunted satisfaction of beating those lobster purveyors! Let them sell those over-priced lobsters to the tourists.

We drove around for the better part of a day, in and out of every viable inlet and tributary that held even the slightest possibility of harboring our spiny friends.  We made several stops, gathering and cataloging the intricate pricing details of the succulent little crustaceans when, at the end of a long, arduous day of meticulous reconnaissance, we arrived at a small, unpretentious lobster shack perched high atop the banks of yet another of the numerous rivers in the area.

We entered the small, clapboard shanty and I immediately spotted the price list; a large piece of gray slate that dangled haughtily above the dank, large tanks – tanks teeming with luscious lobster of varying sizes and hues. I scrutinized each word – every dollar sign – the placement of each decimal point, written in smeared, dusty white chalk.

I summoned a young woman, obscured by a tall stack of lobster traps positioned carefully aside the counter. No doubt, she had hoped to escape my gaze. She had undoubtedly recognized that I was no ordinary patron. I was confident. I was prepared. I would not abide defeat. As the noticeably anxious young lady approached the counter, I looked squarely into her apprehensive eyes and addressed her in a direct, cogent tone.

“Good afternoon,” I began, “I have a couple of questions about your lobster pricing.”

 The tension was palpable.

“I noticed that your price for a one pound to pound and a quarter lobster is $3.49 per pound”, I stated decisively.

“Yes, that’s correct”, she responded.

I glanced purposefully in the direction of the deceitful, slate price list.

“….and your pound and a quarter to half pounders are $3.99 per pound, yes?” I skillfully queried.

“Yes”, that’s right”, the clerk replied.

I took another calculated peek at the price list, squinted, as if to appear confused, and commenced my final assault.

“I’m sorry”, I continued, “Maybe it’s me, but I don’t understand. So how much is a pound and a quarter lobster?”

The clerk appeared befuddled, and annoyed, as she snuck a quick peek up at the price list.

“Uh, $3.49?” she answered, ostensibly uncertain of her response.

The trap was set. I had her now. I had prepared for this moment. I was born for this moment.  

“How can that be?” I questioned smugly. “Your sign says that a one pound to a pound and a quarter lobster will cost me $3.49 a pound, does it not?” I continued.

“Yes,” She retorted snootily. “I believe that’s what I said, isn’t it?”

She had lost her cool. I had her right where I wanted her. “So if that’s true”, I asked shrewdly, “and if it’s also true that a one and a quarter pound to one and a half pound lobster is $3.99 per pound, then, according to your pricing, a one and a quarter pounder is both $3.49 and $3.99 a pound. How can that be?”

The look on her face was incalculable. “Umm”, she muttered, staring up at the price list. “Let me get the manager.”

Yes! I had crushed her like a bug – this infidel – this eighteen year old pretender to the vocation of retail. 

The smell of victory permeated the cool, salty air. My testosterone raged.

The beleaguered clerk retreated to the back room and, within a few tension-filled moments, a doughty, middle-aged woman of substantial stature approached the counter.

“May I be of assistance?” she asked.

“Your price list is a little confusing, don’t you think?” I chided.

I again posed my questions regarding the lobster pricing, emphasizing my confusion, while stating emphatically that if a perceptive, well-seasoned lobster buyer like me had been confused by this flagrant pricing debacle, the average buyer would be at a decided disadvantage in their pursuit of an equitable purchase price.

The manager and I argued heatedly, at times boisterously, for several minutes; neither of us giving any ground, before she turned abruptly and retreated, in a bit of a huff, to the confines of the back room, leaving me standing there, sans lobster.

As I cunningly contemplated my next move in this strategic jousting match, my wife grabbed me by the arm.

“Enough,” she demanded. “Enough!”

“That’ll teach them to mess with me”, I asserted triumphantly.

I walked out the door and across the parking lot to our SUV, my wife trailing behind, shaking her head and mumbling something inaudible to me.

She was undoubtedly expressing her admiration of my undaunted fortitude in pursuit of my quest.

Now if only I had some lobster.

Book Review: A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Own Life, By Donald Miller (2009), Thomas Nelson

by Bob Havey

Donald Miller’s best selling book, Blue Like Jazz (2003) Thomas Nelson, was a delight to read. It was compelling. It was poignant. His latest offering, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, scheduled for a Fall, 2009 release, was akin to mining gold. The fabrication of an 18 Karat gold ring weighing less than one ounce generates approximately 20 tons of mine waste. Reading this book was like working that mine and discovering those ever-elusive tiny nuggets, one gram at a time, while trudging through all that waste – grueling, often-times painful work.

 It took me nearly three weeks of intermittent reading to get through this book, which is precisely what I was trying to do – get through it. The incongruous narrative wove a ragged tapestry of rambling, disjointed, sketchy meanderings, seemingly detached from the story line.

 Don is forced to ‘edit his life’ for Blue Like Jazz, the movie, by two screen writers who curiously vanish from the story somewhere near the middle of the book. They tell Don that his life is too boring and it will never translate to the big screen. Thus, Don’s journey into crafting a better story begins.

It has been said that a man who represents himself in court has a fool for a lawyer. Don confirms the fact that the same is true of a writer who represents himself as an editor.

The premise of the book is that God, whom Don refers to as ‘the voice – the writer that was not me’, is writing our story and we should endeavor to live the story He has written for us. However, Don explains, most of us are not doing that. We should endeavor to ‘live a better story’, and we can accomplish that, we can re-write our story, starting today.

 A great premise – nearly lost in the rubble.

 The message of this book is, in essence, very powerful and could be life-changing for some, assuming that the reader is able to glean the many nuggets concealed helter-skelter amongst the waste. Similar to Blue Like Jazz, it provoked me to action – to examine my ‘story’. This offering is by no means amongst Don’s best but, as my former pastor once told me, “Even a dumb cow is smart enough to chew the grass and spit out the sticks.”

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A Place to Empty the Things that are Rattling Around in my Head

Writing is a tremendous outlet. I’ve been writing since I was old enough to hold a pencil, or perhaps a crayon. I published a neighborhood newspaper at the age of twelve, and have spent most of my adult life in the communications industry, beginning my career in 1969 at The Los Angeles Herald Examiner, in Los Angeles, CA.

Since then, I’ve worked at several newspapers throught the country and even published my own tabloid in new England for several years.

I’ve worked at most every job in the newspaper industry with the exception of pressman. I’ve been a journalist, a columnist, a publisher, an advertising account executive, and even worked in the circulation department.

It’s sad to see the turmoil that the newspaper industry, specifically, and print journalsim in general, has been experiencing over the last several years. The emergence of new media outlets is a good thing, but many times progress and change can be painful, even destructive, to those who have been left behind.

I’ve been delving into areas that are not necessarily comfort zones for me, but I refuse to be left behind. The internet and all that it encompasses is the new frontier – so here I am.

I’m a little confused with some of the intricacies of Blogs, Twitter and the like, but I’m jumping in regardless. I’ll learn in time.

This is my Blog, for what it’s worth, and it may be worth very little, but I’m going to give it my best shot.

I have a lot of things rattling around in my head, and now I have a place to dump them.

Let the games begin!