Advice For The Lovers: Hire A DJ, Not A Band

Last Friday, December 7, marked a famous day in our country's history.

Pearl Harbor Day? Yeah, I suppose that's a significant date. But that wasn't what I was thinking about.

It was payday, but that truly significant event happens every two weeks.

The parade through downtown? Of course ... not. The West Branch Christmas Parade was nice, but there is one event which encompasses all of the glory of a parade, payday and other noteworthy experiences.

December 7 was the day my managing editor, one Jeffrey A. Savitskie, and one Amy Ruediger, took the inevitable plunge into that much-cherished entity known as wedlock.

Having never been married, I am fully unqualified and inexperienced in giving advice on nuptial bliss.

But that never stopped me before.

This information is geared to anyone who is even remotely close to getting hitched, bonded, tethered, joined, tied, handcuffed, better halved, sharing tax returns, united, or, for lack of a better word, married.

Or even engaged.

Mind you, it's too late for these lovebirds. But I can still give some advice to you, the prospective "made in heaven" team.

Now, I'm not going to give a lot of advice on the actual ceremony. I'll leave the service up to the reverend or rabbi in charge.

My advice is geared toward your having the best reception possible.

I used to play disc jockey at weddings and have entertained enough people at receptions to fill the Pontiac Silverdome.

I have seen just about anything and everything that can happen at a reception, from fights to "kiss the bride/groom" ratings (almost always a perfect 10) to Groucho Marx fake glasses.

Now, none of this will pertain to the newlyweds mentioned in this column. Jeffrey and Amy had a small, private ceremony. But if they had gone all-out, they might have used some of these basic pointers:

A) Hire a disc jockey, not a band.

This is a personal bias, as I was never talented enough to play in a band. But let it affect your decision, especially if you end up hiring me.

Disc jockeys always have the most up-to-date music. Let's face it - if you ask a band to play Warrant's "Cherry Pie," odds are that, unless it's a garage band, they won't know it (not that I would blame them).

B) Know what songs will be played and let the disc jockey (or, i guess, band) know what songs you do and don't want played.

This sounds a little technical, but let me explain:

There are about 10 songs which are "musts" at wedding receptions. Most of them you've probably heard at every wedding - "Celebration," "Old Time Rock and Roll," "Footloose," "The Hokey Pokey," "New York, New York," "Johnny B. Goode" and "Twist and Shout" are included in this list.

But let the DJ (or band) know what you do or don't want played.

If you insist on hearing "American Pie," let the person in charge know. If "Disco Duck" is "your song," tell them.

If you cannot stand Elvis Presley, tell the M.C. (or lead singer) not to play anything by him. Even if everyone else in the place wants to hear "Jailhouse Rock."

Hey, you're paying the bill.

C) Pick a sappy, meaningful love song for the bridal dance.

One time, I was asked to play "Aqualung" by Jethro Tull for the bridal dance.

(If you've never heard of Jethro Tull, let's just say that, while I like its music, one does not normally hear any of it at weddings. It's hardly the type which will cause insulin shock by listening to.)

I stared at the couple for a moment, trying to understand what they said. Then, when I realized they were serious, I explained to them that my pet goldfish had chewed up my Jethro Tull's Greatest Hits album the week before. So they picked "Always" by Atlantic Starr, a more fitting tune.

And one the fish had not eaten.

D) Consider the "worst man" choice carefully before asking.

Everyone knows who the "best man" is - the guy who does all the dirty laundry work before the wedding so that he can give a meaningful toast at the beginning of dinner.

But the "worst man" is entirely different. He's the man who comes in late, objects to the wedding (it doesn't matter why), dresses funny and gets stone-face drunk midway through the evening's festivities.

With these pointers, I hope your wedding goes off without a hitch.

And to Jeffrey and Amy: I hope you enjoyed the most important night of your lives - even if you didn't have a disc jockey (or band) to make your reception complete.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

If You Join the Army, Don't Cry C.O. To Me

By now, you're probably aware that several armed forces personnel would much rather stay home than go to the Persian Gulf because of the risk of war. In particular, they are claiming to be conscientious objectors.

One of the objectors is a northern Michigan man, 25-year-old Sgt. Michael Morse of Grayling. Morse is currently facing court-martial charges because of his stance, which is that war and killing are immoral.

Well, not that I personally disagree with the stance, but his claim has me scratching my head. Buddy, if you think war is so wrong, why the hell did you join the Army, anyway?

Oh, that's right. The cash. The job training. The perks.

Morse, it seems, joined the Army out of high school because he wasn't sure about college and had no immediate plans to hit Wall Street, I guess.

So, like thousands of other recent high school graduates who watch television and believe that wearing battle fatigues can make you the best you can be, he enlisted.

When he got out, he found that no jobs beckoned his talents. So he re-enlisted.

Morse was due to be discharged this month, but instead was told he was heading to the sandy side of the world.

And now he cries C.O.

The Army must be having a field day with this one. Morse has the nerve to cry, "I won't go" during his second stint with the Mean Green Machine. They're probably asking the same question I posed seven paragraphs back - "If you believe war is wrong, why are you here?"

Before I continue, let me say this: I am a conscientious objector. I've attended lectures and forums, collected a stack of information from anti-war groups about two feet high, and have albums by Bob Dylan and Pete Seeger, to name a few, in my record collection.

So, much like Morse, I am anti-war and I think the Middle East situation is a terrible waste of time, money, energy ... and lives.

The difference is, I didn't enlist.

Now, I could sympathize with Morse and his family ... if he had been drafted. That would make this case a whole new ballgame.

But he wasn't drafted. No one put a gun to his head and said, "We want YOU!" Rather, he went on his own. Signed the contract. Took the money. The job training. The whole package.

Morse wants to change the rules in the middle of the game. He's trying to back out of a contract he knowingly put his John Hancock on.

Morse claims one of the reasons he enlisted was that war didn't appear on the horizon at the time. If he had known, he would not have re-joined. He doesn't believe in killing.

Well, phooey on you, Sarge. Anyone with a brain could tell you that war is not usually an event planned in advance for years to come. The Persian Gulf situation, as volatile as it is, surprised most of the world - even with the region being in constant turmoil.

The threat of was is a minute-by-minute thing in the Middle East. And we, being the world's overbearing watchdog, will be dragged in at some point.

As for the claim about killing? Well, there aren't many people who thrive on the matter. Not many kids grow up saying, "I want to be a killer." I get weak thinking about injuring a squirrel with my truck, not to mention the thought of killing another human being.

But death is a part of war, as is the Army. Young men go to war. Some come home. Some come back injured. And some never make it back.

This isn't high school.

Morse is setting a bad precedent for us true C.O.'s. And he isn't exactly doing the Army a favor, either.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

One Glitch (Keating) Leads To S&L Trouble

I am not the smartest man in the world.

I don't know the meaning of life. I don't decipher intense medical terminology. I don't read The Wall Street Journal, The New Republic or any literature which requires a Ph.D to comprehend.

But I am smart enough to get by. To know when I've made a mistake. To learn from that mistake.

I've made many mistakes over the years, as have most people I know. Most are the kind that have little, if any, impact on the world outside of my own.

Some are things I knew I should not do at the time, but for whatever reason - stupidity, naivete, being "macho," whatever - I went through with them anyway.

Some are learning mistakes, often from trying too hard to impress someone in an area where you know less than the person you are trying to impress.

And some come simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time and trying to adapt as quickly as possible to the situation.

Then there are MISTAKES. Bloopers. Blunders. Follies.

Like the Charles Keating situation.

Here's a guy who reeks of mistake, who has the label "error" embedded on his soul. A man who's financial dealings have put him in the "Who's Who of Major Faux Pas." A man who appears to have robbed people blind, silly and however else you can rob someone through a cliche.

Keating - who looks a lot like George Bush, for comparison's sake - is charged with defrauding an estimates 22,000(!) investors, mostly elderly, out of $250 million on now-worthless junk bonds.

Both sides made mistakes. The investors, who fell for his down-home swagger and promise of BIG MONEY; and Keating, who is nothing more than the lowest form of scum on the earth.

It's easy to feel sorry for the investors. People are victims all the time, whether through pyramid letter schemes, too-good-to-be-true telephone sweepstakes or through savings-and-loan bailouts (yes, the American taxpayer will be dishing out something like $2 billion to bail out Lincoln Savings and Loan - the operation Keating screwed up).

But it's hard to be as charitable with out hearts for a man like Keating, who used and abused innocent people's money to build himself a fortune, while at the same time doctored up his books to make it look like he was being fiscally responsible.

Keating has obviously made some mistakes. One doesn't land in jail for the things he's accused of just y chance.

"Chance" happenings don't even offer that chance.

His bail is at $5 million - an astounding figure, even among mega-numbers like $250 million lost and 22,000 defrauded.

And I thought paying college loans was depressing.

Still, there is no satisfaction with his arrest in Los Angeles on September 18.

He is claiming bankruptcy. The Lincoln S&L is bankrupt. The money is gone. Investors have nothing to show for their trust in Keating's (lack of) judgment.

And I - we - are footing the bill, courtesy of the U.S. government's bail-out plan and the allowance of financial negligence by the so-called "Keating Five," which includes Michigan Sen. Donald Riegel.

I'm not the smartest man in the world. But it could be a hell of a lot worse.

I could have been one of Keating's victims.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Tuned In To Warball

If wars were broadcast the way baseball games are, you might one day turn on your car radio and hear ...

PAUL: Hello, and welcome to the Persian Gulf, where Iraq and the Rest of the World will duke it out in Round 2 of the World Domination Championship Series. I'm Paul Gaba.

LEE: And I'm Lee Thompson. It's a beautiful day for a war, Paul. Not a cloud in the sky, and the wind is blowing hard out to Saudi Arabia.

PAUL: It sure is, Lee. And that wind could turn out to be a big factor as the contest progresses.

LEE: As you know, this is the big one. The U.S. is coming off that tremendous win over Grenada in 1983, while the rest of the Rest of the World have drawn "byes" for a while now. But the Rest of the World does appear strong heading into this one.

PAUL: So you're saying a consolidated team effort from this All-Star collection could easily win today?

LEE: Oh, definitely. When you add the power, speed and defense, the Rest of the World looks tough to beat.

PAUL: Of course, the Iraqis have the home-sand advantage in this one ... and they are coming off that easy win over Kuwait.

LEE: Pitching for Iraq is Saddam "Wild Thing" Hussein - part of that great pitching rotation, commonly called the "Nasty Boys," It wasn't so long ago that he was the set-up man for the closer, Mommar "Crazy Boy" Quadaffi.

PAUL: Both are excellent pitchers, but have a strong tendency to be wild most of the time. Hussein's finished with his warm-up pitches, and here comes the first hitter for the Rest of the World, the U.S.'s George Bush.

LEE: Looking at the World lineup, they could get to Iraq early. Bush is leading off, followed by Egypt's Hosni Mubarak. Saudi Arabia's King Fahd is third. In the cleanup spot is the Soviet Union, followed by Great Britain, France, Canada, Spain and the Germanys.

PAUL: And, of course, the bench is led by Israel, which could make its way into the contest later. And wouldn't that make this show interesting?

LEE: It sure would. Bush steps up to the plate. It's obvious the World wants to get its best hitter on early, and Bush has a lot of experience at the leadoff spot, having spent eight years as understudy to Ronald Reagan.

BUSH: This is a violation of international law!

PAUL: Strike, right through the heart of the plate. Looks like standard political rhetoric just won't work against the Iraqi leader today.

HUSSEIN: Death to imperialists!

PAUL: Oh, there's a base hit to Qatar. That one looks like it will be for extra bases. Bush rounds Mina al Bakr, and now he's heading for the pipeline! There's the throw ... he ... is ... safe! A triple for Bush!

LEE: That one was definitely helped by the wind.

PAUL: Well, here's the next batter, Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak, who comes into the game batting a solid .274.

LEE: Hos has been on a tear lately, and he knows how to bring home a runner like Bush.

PAUL: Here's the pitch.

MUBARAK: Saddam, you are not the leader of the Arab nations! We will not follow you!

PAUL: Oh, a squeeze play at the plate! Bush slides ... he is ... safe! And the World takes a 1-0 lead on Mubarak's surprise bunt.

LEE: Hos laid that one down the third-base line perfectly, and the Iraqis had no play on him. Their defense looked pretty lame there, to be perfectly honest.

PAUL: Well, Iraq isn't known for its defense. I remember that great pinch-hit grand slam the Israelis got against this same Iraq team a couple of years ago. Knocked out an entire nuclear reactor.

LEE: And that still ranks as one of the greatest clutch hitting performances in World Domination play. Uh-oh, I see some clouds in the distance.

PAUL: Hey, those look like mushroom clouds! Hussein is storming mad! He's arguing with the umpire! The umpire is arguing back! And he's just thrown Hussein out of the game! The game is over! Iraq loses! Iraq loses!

LEE: Of course, the World didn't exactly win, now, did it Paul?

PAUL: I don't think so, lee. Well, that's it from the Persian Gulf, the World taking a moral - if not complete - victory from the Iraqis. For Lee Thompson, this is Paul Gaba. Have a nice day.

This article originally appeared in The Ogemaw County Herald.

Rose Earns Place In The Baseball Hall Of Shame

Hey, Mr. Rose: how much for those pin - I mean, prison - stripes?

Gonna hawk them on late-night cable? Maybe trade a few baseball bats to Jim Bakker for the inside scoop on Jessica Hahn?

Or what about a card show? I know you'll have a captive audience.

Here's the sales pitch, Petey: How about this autographed rookie baseball card? Only $150.

And yes, I'll declare the taxes.

The backlash has already begun against Peter Edward Rose, aka/Charlie Hustle, who may have more in common with his moniker's last name than he ever imagined.

His recent guilty plea has made Rose the first person in major league history to boost George Steinbrenner's image.

Not an easy task

But if you think Rose is the founder of the BBLA (Baseball Lawbreaker Association), think again.

The former Cincinnati Red, Montreal Expo and Philadelphia Phillie joins an elite group of professional baseball players who have spent time both hitting fouls and playing foul. It's sort of a "Who's Who in Baseball's Hall of Shame."

Why, look who's pitching to Rose: Is that ex-Detroit Tiger Denny McLain? Sure is.

And what's he pitching? Fastballs? Curves? Sliders?

Nah. McLain's busy pitching odds. I bet it's 5:2 that Rose never does an Ohio Lotto ad.

On-deck is another former Tiger, Ron LeFlore, who stole more than bases during his lifetime.

Look, there's Luis Polonia. Say, Luis - Mr. Rose can sell you a bed in his cell real cheap. Just make sure that anyone who joins you there is of age, OK?

I told you, he wasn't alone.

But, hey. This is getting out of line. Cheap (or, of you're considering buying an officially-autographed Rose uniform on the Cable Value Network for $399.95, expensive) shots are easy, right? So let's give credit where credit is due.

He didn't do drugs.

That's the real message here. Rose screwed up a lot, but he screwed up in the wrong way.

The coolest statement you can make today is the in-fashion "I don't do drugs." It shows confidence, poise and an overall hipness to the world monitor.

But by saying the second-coolist statement, "I used to do drugs - but I kicked the habit," you admit to having had a serious problem, but faced up to it and defeated it. This makes you an ultra-cool dude. Or dudette.

Let's face it. If you're going to be a sports figure, get hooked on drugs. That way, when you admit you're hooked and go into rehab, you'll look good when you get out.

Don't believe me? Here's a short-but-sweet list of names who are being praised for defeating a drug or alcohol problem: Dwight Gooden. Bob Welch. Dave Parker. Dennis Eckersley.

These four men all had drug or alcohol addictions - and defeated them. And they are still seen as idols and role models.

And Pete Rose, accurately or not, falls into the same category as Shoeless Joe Jackson and is 1919 Chicago Black Sox.

So, Pete, I offer you these words of futile encouragement as you move on to further endeavors:
Steinbrenner isn't in your cell block.

Yet.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Still Batting .000 In Quest For Lotto Loot

It has been a ritual for so long now, I can hardly remember when it started.

Twice every seven days. One-hundred-four times a year, I go to the nearest dealership, pull out a greenback and name six numbers.

Lotto fever.

For years I have toiled in a never-ending challenge to match my ill-fated ticket with the numbers drawn on television.

And, without hesitation, I always know before the drawing that I am slated to be a Lotto bridesmaid for the rest of eternity.

Call me a pessimist. Warn Bob Uecker that he has competition. Call the Chicago Cubs publicity department:

The God of Losing Lotto Tickets has blessed me for life.

"My child," he chokes out, crying for his sanity, "you never were good with dollar figures."

"But I always played with baseball stats," I respond. "I dug through box scores, played with batting averages. heck, dad always thought I was going to be a bookie. Mom told friends her son was going to be an actuary."

"Yes," the God says. "I know. But that ain't money."

Every Wednesday and Saturday night turns into a celebration of empty wallets, a Mardi Gras of negative-balance checking accounts and overdue MasterCard receipts.

Mind you, this is not the biggest news story you'll ever grace your eyes upon. Heck, the concept of remaining a non-millionaire fails to shock me. George Steinbrenner fires managers at a similar ratio.

Yet, it's true. I'm still a regular guy. I still can't buy a Rembrandt. You won't find me spending the summer in The Bahamas. Donald Trump had to find someone else to bail him out of hot water.

If you're like me, you have failed to match those numbers correctly. For us, a great day is barely missing one number.

Also, if you're like me, you have wild, uncontrollable fantasies about what you'd do if you actually did win. (This is a sure sign of a Lotto non-winner.)

I already have the whole post-discovery scenario planned. There I'll be, in front of the television cameras, with Dan Rather hurling questions at me:

DAN: "So, Paul, what's it feel like to win $253 million?"

PAUL: "Well ... thank you."

DAN: "Did you ever dream you'd win so much money?"

PAUL: "You kidding? Never thought I'd be so lucky. Never."

SAM DONALDSON (he's always around to ask the really tough ones): "So, Paul, tell us - what do you plan to do now that you've got more money than Jose Canseco?"

PAUL (without missing a beat): "Well, I plan to pay off all my credit cards, my truck payment and my college loans. Then I'll probably use the remaining $15 and buy a pizza and some beer."

Now, then. Some people say winning the Lotto would be bad for me. "You're not used to having any money," they whine. "You'd blow it all on Rotisserie Baseball and Beatles CDs! You'd have women from high school and college - the ones who never gave you the time of day - begging you to notice them. It'll ruin your life!"

Gosh. I never thought of that. Winning the Lotto could destroy me.

What a way to go.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.