By SHAWN P. O'LEARY
Forum Editor
 

Yes, the very license plates which spend half of their lives encased in a tomb of combination sand, mud and snow have managed to become one of Maine's hot-button issues.

Some may not remember the days prior to the now infamous lobster plate. This Maine plate consisted of plain black lettering simply stating the owner's registration number, and Maine's slogan: "Vacationland." Unfortunately, the lobster plate was not an advancement in the evolution of Maine license plates. Forget the fact that the lobster represents a small geographical area of the state, as well as an over-emphasized and touristy faction of our economy: the damn thing looks like a boiled crayfish.

Not only is the pea brained, umpteen-legged little vermin a totally disgusting way to portray the state, but it isn't even alive as it is portrayed.

The reasons for this may not be readily apparent, but my suspicions lead me to believe that it is due to the fact that most lobster fanatics don't realize that a live lobster is black (and sometimes navy blue). Hence, should a live lobster be placed on a Maine plate, most butter dunking, bibbed lobster connoisseurs wouldn't even recognize them.

A miniature lobster no more deserves to represent Maine then an Aroostook County potato or a clump of blueberries (both large cash crops, but not as readily enjoyed by touristing yuppies on a pier in July).

Finally, a plate came to the rescue ofall frustrated Mainers roaming about in their "crawdad caravans".

The magical loon plate, a shimmering plate graced by the haunting loon, was offered as an escape from the lobster. The loon is not only present on most every lake in Maine, but is considered one of the defining features of a wilderness excursion (for which Maine provides ample opportunity to partake of).

Moreover, the loon plate carries an additional charge of fifteen dollars per year which is used to fund conservation effortsand improvements of handicapped accessibility in all of Maine's state parks, historic sites, and Inland Fisheries and Wildlife buildings.

In fact, the loon plates have been so successful that surplus funds have been used to improve state housing for active employees (which in my case resulted in a screened deck and barbecue pit).

Earlier this year a collection of misguided junior high students attempted to replace the traditional lobster plate with an equally ridiculous image for the Maine license plate: a lighthouse.

I'm sorry, but in my twenty-one years of residency within Maine I have come close to only one lighthouse and have never ventured within one. Besides, its not as if a lighthouse serves any practical use in the interior portions of the state.

Thankfully the lighthouse plate was thwarted by the emergence of yet another avian plate. The chickadee plate, Maine's state bird (inhabits every corner of the state), was selected as the plate to succeed the lobster.

A wise choice, I contend, in that the chickadee spend its time foraging on berries, seeds and small insects. The lobster, in keeping with its passive and lethargic lifestyle, spends its time mulling about in the muck on the bottom of the ocean searching for whatever dead meat may lay strewn about by other predators which left the unsavory tidbits for such lesser creatures.

Now the battle for supremacy is left to the birds. Truthfully, while I am partial to the loon, I could care less as to which bird establishes itself, just so long as the coastal catastrophes are left to slowly fade from my faulty, albeit bitter, memory.