"Bad things happen to good people."

It's true that "bad things happen to good people." But a local criminal defense firm that advertises on the radio has stretched the intended meaning of this statement to absurd lengths.

This firm -- I can't remember the name -- kicks off its radio spots with one of its attorneys making this rather obvious statement. From there, he talks about how the firm "aggressively" represents its clients in criminal matters like drunk driving, drug offenses, and other felony and misdemeanor matters.

I'm all for aggressive, effective criminal defense. Everyone is entitled to competent representation and, if it gets to that point, a fair trial. But please spare me the nauseating talk that someone who finds himself in criminal trouble has had something bad happen to him.

If you have had six cocktails and driven home from the bar, that did not happen to you. You made a choice to drink and drive. If you broke into someone's home, you didn't just find yourself there, with their TV in your arms. You made a choice to violate someone else's rights.

I would be less bothered by this if the ad said, "Sometimes good people make awful decisions. If that is you, we're here to help..."

Perhaps I'm sensitive about this today because there was recently a "home invasion" in our neighborhood. I'm sure our neighbors feel angry and violated. I know I would. Hopefully the police will catch the kid that did it and he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Luckily, there is a general description of the burglar.

If they catch the twerp, I know what will happen. Sadly, he'll be remorseful after he has been charged, tell the court what a great kid he's been all his life and say how sorry he is to the family. I believe in second chances, but I won't believe this kid if it plays out that way. You know better not to go into someone's home to steal things. If you don't, there is no amount of "sorry" that will change you.

He might hire the law firm on the radio and be told how him invading our neighbor's home was a "bad thing that happened to him." Pitiful.

If Batman and The Joker had a kid

This guy


plus this guy


=

this guy


I'm just sayin'...

Holy hype, Batman!

The summer of 1989 was great. I had just graduated from high school and was headed off to college. I had my first real girlfriend. That didn’t work out so well, but I learned quite a few lessons about “love.” I had a good job, earned a (small) college scholarship, spent my last summer at home with friends and saw The Who in concert at the Pontiac Silverdome. It was something of a coming-of-age time for me. My mind, this week, has raced back to that summer because of all the Batman hype. That summer saw the release of Tim Burton’s Batman starring Michael Keaton, Jack Nicholson and Kim Basinger, the original movie version about the “Dark Knight.”

Batman was everywhere that year. T-shirts, action figures, soundtracks (two of them, one by Prince, the other by Danny Elfman), posters, “happy meals” and other Batman stuff filled stores and fast food joints. One of my classmates – I won’t mention his name since I don’t know the statute of limitations on vandalism – painted the bat logo on yellow traffic signs all over town. Batmania hit us full force.

The movie was great. We hoped it would be better (read: darker, more serious) than the campy 60's TV show starring Adam West, and our wish was granted. That Batman film, I remember, was supposedly modeled after the “Dark Knight” storyline that had just been put out by DC Comics a few years earlier. While it was flawed in certain ways, the 1989 re-telling of the story had an edge that we had never seen with comic books-turned-tv-shows-or-movies. It only took two movies for Joel Schumacher to wash away the grittiness that Burton had given to Batman.

Enter Chris Nolan. With Batman Begins, the “Dark Knight” version of Batman was resurrected. The Dark Knight, its sequel, released last Friday, has shattered opening weekend box office records. The death of Heath Ledger, who played the Joker, might have something to do with that. But, make no mistake, this movie got hype like no movie has since Batman in 1989 because it is a great film. There has, perhaps, never been a more mesmerizing on-screen villain than Ledger’s Joker. The story, the acting, the cinematography – everything about the film is really top-notch. Don’t take my word for it; see it for yourself.

This isn’t a movie review, though. This is about the hype and the excitement the movie has generated. Batman is everywhere! The old Batman videos are flying off video store shelves (pun intended.) Movie critics and fans alike are talking about the film, even suggesting it might (or should) win an Oscar. Can you imagine a movie based on a comic book getting serious recognition from the bores that vote on the Oscars? Well, it seems like, in the least, the Academy (don’t you love how the members refer to it as “the Academy” [said with nasally, snobby voice]?) is going to have to seriously consider awarding Heath Ledger an Oscar in one of the actor categories.

Internet message boards are flooded with discussions about the comic book and almost
universally positive movie reviews. Kids are begging their parents to take them to see the movie. Parents are getting babysitters so they can catch it a second time within the first week. Batmania has grabbed hold of the country. Everyone seems to have been bitten.

I have always preferred Spider-man to Batman, although Batman was a close second. Spiderman 3, though, certainly didn’t live up to the hype it generated. Part of me is bummed that my childhood hero let a guy in a black cape dethrone him. But, hey, if the best comic book movie ever made happens to be about “the bat,” so be it.

I want to be here

Last summer, during our stay with my uncle in Traverse City, we took an afternoon trip out to one of my favorite places on the planet, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. As always, it was lovely.

The boiling-hot sand made my daughter and I want to take a dip in nice, cool, refreshing water, so we drove north when we left the park. More or less by accident, we found ourselves in Glen Haven, Michigan, a tiny town right on Lake Michigan, just south of the Manitou Islands.

I had heard of Glen Haven but had never been there. It's west of Glen Arbor, which is well-known vacation destination right down the road. Glen Haven is a town with a stop light, a boat museum, a restaurant and a few other small businesses. The beach is long, stretching out for miles in both directions. The water is crystal clear, the bottom lined with stones that glisten in the summer sunlight. It was like heaven to bathe in the water that hot day.

I'm not one for taking too many vacations. Glen Haven is at least five hours drive from my house; thus, gas prices and time are deterrents to visiting. Still, I'm tempted to wake everyone up Saturday morning, put them in the van and start driving. I want to be there before summer ends.

I didn't take this photo. But that's what it looks like. What a gorgeous place. We Michiganders take our Great Lakes for granted.

The Air Hockey Stanley Cup (and lessons in patience and kindness)

I just happened to stop at a Salvation Army Thrift Store on the way home from a surprise trip to court -- which is a story in and of itself -- and had to pass a large, old air hockey table to get into the store. $19.99 is what the "Must Sell!" tag said was the price. The table, similar to the picture but larger and on legs, was in pretty darn good shape.

Normally I don't buy big items like that at Salvation Army (or anywhere for that matter.) But one payment of $19.99 and that game could be mine? Sold! Well, sort of.

I did some browsing but on my way out, I walked right over to the air hockey table just as a lady in her 60's was approaching it from the parking lot. We both arrived at the table at the same time. A sign taped to it says "It works!" but she wanted proof. Knowing she was thinking of buying my table, I was ready to pull the ca$h out and load it in the van. The lady was really sweet, asking me questions about where to get a puck -- someone had stolen original pucks -- and would it be easy to find one. I was tempted to tell her, "Yeah, they're almost impossible to find. You'll probably have to get lucky and find a used pick on e-bay or craigslist." I knew that would poison the purchase for her. But the "better angels of my nature" convinced me I should be truthful and just pray she didn't want to bother with such a burdensome purchase. "I think you can get pucks for these at Target or sporting goods stores," I replied.

We both went to the counter, her wanting to have someone test the table, me hoping she would get distracted by some nice jewelry or a blouse. A kind volunteer gladly plugged in the table and I went out to take a closer look, thinking the lady would be right behind me. While I was feeling the air pulse through the holes and running my hand over the table top, she was in the store trying to purchase my air hockey table. I was bummed out but not angry.

I could have said, "Hey, lady, I was here first!" but that confrontation isn't in my nature. When I told the volunteers I was satisfied and ready to buy the table at that moment, they asked her what she was doing. "I just put that on my charge card. But, tell you what, since it's you (meaning me) that wants it, you can have it." She seemed genuinely happy to do that for me and I was genuinely happy to accept. It was my air hockey table after all. I thanked her several times and she went on her way in the store.

The cynic in me figured that she just didn't want to be bothered with finding parts and getting this thing home. It is a huge table and needs two men to carry or even lift it. I found that out the hard way. Some assembly and dis-assembly was necessary, plus I had to go to a few stores before I found a puck. This was a several hour project today for me, so I feel good having spared her the trouble. Joking aside, I am thankful for her kind gesture.

It's in the garage now. I put Pledge on the playing surface and felt on the bottom of the paddles. Game on! The kiddo and I played for nearly an hour tonight. She's new(er) to the game but eventually she'll be able to destroy me. A playoff for some kind of trophy, a mini Stanley Cup perhaps, would be perfectly fitting. Since Red Wing Chris Osgood lives about a mile away and we have four paddles, I'll see if "Ozzie" wants to be on my team and the kiddo can have one of her neighborhood friends on hers. I think that's fair.

$19.99 (plus tax, gas and the cost of a few pucks and some felt) was a pretty good price to pay to be reminded that there are selfless people out there like the lady at Salvo. Better yet, I get hours of enjoyment with my daughter, another activity during which we can talk, laugh, bond and make memories. I don't think I could have made a better use of that money than that.

"Fat Eyes" and Preparation H ®

Did you know that Preparation H®, "The Relief Expert," not only relieves the pain and inflammation associated with hemorrhoids, but you can also use it to reduce swelling on other tissue?

I recently learned that it is a great cure for puffiness under the eyes. I'm probably vainer than I should be for a guy, but, when I'm tired I get really heavy, dark bags under my eyes and they make me look old. Preparation H ®, can you help me?

A friend of ours pointed out that bags under the eyes is caused by fatty tissue, not water. When our group of friends (church home group) heard that, my new nickname became "Fat Eyes." Man, I love that new nickname! I think I'll have it put on a shirt.

We all agreed that I could try Preparation H ® for my "fat eyes," but maybe I should avoid double-dipping from the same tube purchased for standard Preparation H ® use.

Long walk down the hallway

It was in April when Grandma was told her cancer had returned, moved from her colon into the liver. She only had months to live. Mom and Gram came by my office to tell me on the way back from the hospital. I cried in the parking lot. That was the beginning a three month goodbye.

That Sunday in church, she stood up and told the entire congregation the diagnosis and said she was “ready to go home,” meaning Heaven. She wanted to see her mother, father, brothers, sisters – all those dear to her that had gone on before. Gram knew she would miss us or, more accurately, us miss her, and that made her want to hang on just a bit longer. My mother, who lost my Pop just the year before, was her best friend. Gram didn’t want Mom to suffer another loss so soon, but she was tired from years of horrible pain in her knees -- bone on bone -- and declining health.

I was at her house just about every night after work. Kindly, sweetly, lovingly, she left her home to me, the first grandchild, a fact which, nine years later makes me simultaneously immensely proud and tremendously guilty. What had I done to deserve that? She laid it out for me but, still, I know I hadn’t earned it. Those next few months I spent time with her and cleaning her home and yard. It would be dishonest to say that I wasn’t doing those things for myself. Everyone
knew I would be moving in after she was gone. But I did want her to see and enjoy a clean yard and spruced up home. Was that understood by her or others?

For the first month or so, the decline seemed gradual. Gram could eat and get around the house with help. It changed suddenly one night. That night, which I hadn’t thought of in nine years, came storming back to memory tonight while watching Grey’s Anatomy. I know that sounds ridiculous, but something in that show opened the floodgates. Regardless of what brought it to mind, I was transported back to that evening. Gram was tired and wanted to go to bed. Luckily my mom and I were both there to move her from the living room to her bed.

That night, Gram could not get up out of her chair. She was almost completely dead weight. Mom and I snapped at each other, gritted teeth, and accused each other of botching the mission. The frustration in the air could almost be tasted. It took us nearly an hour to get Gram from the chair in her living room to her bed. Mom and I were exhausted, physically and emotionally. I don’t think either of us expected to have to endure that when we went over that night. I knew nothing of physically caring for or helping someone. The frustration of our ineptitude and sadness
of the impending loss set us at each other’s throats. Gram wasn’t happy with any of this either. Three scared and angry people battled the limitations of a dying body to amble down a small hallway.

Hospice soon took over the care, with Mom, a nurse, helping as much as possible. At least for me, that made things much easier. Gram was in a hospital bed in her living room which provided the minor blessing of not having to move her throughout the house. She couldn’t eat much, but she was with us mentally until the last few days.

Months before she was diagnosed, I had planned a trip with friends. At that time, I had a small sail boat I had just bought and planned to sail that entire long weekend. Knowing she was near the end, I took the trip. I never really believed she would be gone before I returned. I guessed she had another week. She passed the day before I was supposed to return.

Gram died quietly, peacefully (I am told) on July 11, 1998. She missed our August wedding. She died on my cousin’s, her second grandchild’s, 19th birthday.

Regret really doesn’t do a whole lot of good. You cannot go back and change the past. But, if I could, there are a few things I would have done differently before and after Gram passed. So many things, in fact, could have and should have been done differently. I know I’m making more of my (perceived) failings than I should. But, I hope I honored her in the way I handled her death, moved into/took over her home and property, and cared for her in the time before she died. She had a generous, giving spirit. Did I honor that by being generous to others? No.

That hour long walk from the living room to the bedroom; I’ll never forget it...or her.