It's A Tough Job, But Best Man Gets To Do It

I see we have a Friday the 13th this week. Tradition says this day carries a bad omen, the fear of evil and the worry of the release of another stupid slasher film starring a masked maniac named Jason.

Scary.

For my friend Amy, all of these paranoias will be by the wayside. The is happy. She is beyond worry of black cats, broken mirrors and all that other schlock which permeates our nightmares.

Friday the 13th is the Aimless One's 27th birthday. She gets to join a not-so-elite group who are at this milestone already. This list includes myself and her boyfriend - one of my best friends - Randy.

Except I can no longer use the phrase "boyfriend" when talking about the two of them. The news came to me via my telephone recording machine last week that Randy and Amy are advancing their relationship beyond being merely "boyfriend" and "girlfriend."

They are getting married.

Next November.

And they asked me to be the best man.

Scary.

I am an untested rookie. New to the game. Prone to rookie mistakes, I am sure.

But already I'm excited. Cautious, but excited. I k now what the worst man is supposed to do - show up drunk, wearing one of those tacky tuxedo T-shirts, carrying plastic flowers. He objects to the wedding, shouting from the rafters like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate.

Being best man won't be as easy.

I've been told to write HELP ME! in huge black letters on the bottom of the groom's shoes, or tape a sign with the same plea on the back of his jacket. But that really doesn't seem like something the best man should do. Maybe a dunk in a tuxedo T-shirt, not the best man.

I have, however, been at wedding ceremonies where the best man goaded the rest of the bridal party to hood up cardboard "Rate the Kiss" cards. Another best man, when reciting "The Lord's Prayer," bobbed his head to the tune of Prince's "Controversy," where His Royal Badness puts the prayer to a funky beat.

I probably won't be doing any of this. I'll be too busy with two items: (1) the bachelor party, and (2) my toast at the reception.

Randy would probably feel at home playing drums for the Canadian rock band Rush during his bachelor party. Or during any other party. Unfortunately, I doubt I can get the group to "drop by" for a couple of hours, so that's probably out of the question.

(Of course, if they actually show up, we've gotten ourselves a pretty decent band for the reception. But that's another story altogether.)

So we probably have to do something different. Something in good taste. Maybe a Red Wings game.

This is important. It merges me into the funniest reception toast I've ever heard in my life.

According to the best man, the groom in question was at a Wings game with some friends, depressed about his social life. Or maybe about the way the Wings were playing. Whatever.

The best man "just happened" to have a copy of 101 Pick-Up Lines That Work with him, and loaned it to the groom ... who turned around, tried one out, and now was getting married.

So while 13 might be an unlucky number for many people, the 13th is looking like a wonderful day for Amy. It's also a good way to prepare for the wedding, which is slated for Saturday, November 14, 1992.

The day after another Friday the 13th. Scary.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Trademarks-As-Jargon Not Proper English Use

Words.

"I'm sending you an Xerox copy of that story you wanted to see," Chuck said to me.

"Whoa," I responded. "You can't send me a Xerox copy!"

"Why not?"

"Well," I explained, "Xerox is a brand name. It's not the correct phrase. If you had that in print, Xerox might sue you for using its name without permission. What you really want to do is send me a photographic reproduction of the story, perhaps using a Xerox machine."

We both laughed over that little exchange, which took place a few weeks ago. Chuck thought I was being a little technical. "It's the same thing," he said.

I disagree, and I told him as much. Maybe it was technical. Maybe it comes down to context. But making a photostatic copy and making a Xerox copy are not the same thing. You can't use the trademark in this way.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that making Xerox copies might not even be the most misused trademark or brand name.

Nor is Kleenex.

Or Q-Tip.

No, as far as this writer is concerned, that honor goes to the trademark name Styrofoam, which is a brand of plastic foam. Rarely do you hear someone at the supermarket ask, "Where are the plastic foam cups?"

But that's OK. The market stockers are far too busy stocking the aisles with Jell-O, Kool-Aid, Band-Aids, Vaseline, Magic Markers and Coke (which can be drunk from those plastic foam cups).

Words.

The use and misuse of trade and brand names goes deep. Suppose you need a new window for your house, but don't want to put in glass. If you decide to replace the pane with plexiglass, you're doing fine. But if you choose Plexiglas, you're messing with a trademark.

And that new movie you wanted to see? You know, Teenage Ninja Rambos Have a Total Recall and Die Harder With a Lethal Weapon XVI? I understand it was filmed in Technicolor, which is also a trademark.

When the media referred to President Ronald Reagan's inability to grasp reality, they termed him the Teflon Man. Whoops, there's another trademark. Better, he should broadcast an All-Star Game played on AstroTurf (yep, there's another one).

All of these names come to mind because of a political rip session being waged on the television airwaves recently.

The hate campaign which brought the use of language to mind is being waged in Illinois. The issue, of course, is taxes. And one word, in one ad, could cause an uproar.

I noticed on WGN-TV last week that a political advertisement from the campaign of Jim Edgar, a Republican candidate for governor of Illinois, lashes back at his Democratic mud-slinging mate, Neil Hartigan, on the tax issue.

In an ad several weeks ago, Hartigan ripped Edgar for supporting higher taxes. In Edgar's reply, he points out that Hartigan and his "cronies" in the Illinois legislature supported th ehighest tax increase in state history.

My eyebrows raised at the word "cronies," which - to me - has that subtle implication of seediness, rather than friendship. In fact, in college I learned that "cronyism" was one of those so-called "red-flag" words which could lead to, among other things, a slander or libel suit.

Of course, how one perceives the word will decide whether "cronyism" is an attack on character or just making light of connections. As a reporter from The Chicago Tribune told me, the word crony "is a common term in Illinois politics."

Is Hartigan surrounded by corruptness, or just by a bunch of good ol' boys who back him up time and time again in the Illinois legislature?

Words.

If there were a slander suit, it would not involve WGN, or any other television or radio station. Broadcast outfits are covered by Section 315 of the Communications Act of 1934, which says stations may not alter the script in political advertisements. This was for two reasons: (a) to prevent station owners and executives from changing the words of candidates they might not find attractive, and (b) to prevent the stations from being sued if the possibility of slander existed.

Words. At least Edgar didn't try to Xerox anything.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Serious Changes Needed In Downtown, Hill Area

The voice came from the heavens, sounding like a divine mixture of Jack Nicholson and Darth Vader. Scratchy, yet powerful.

"If you write it, they will understand."

I looked up, trying to comprehend the words. And a vision appeared before my eyes. Well, not really a vision. An angel.

"Hi there," the hovering angel said. "I'm Bruce. Bruce the Angel."

I stared at this image, this mirage dressed in pseudo-Victorian clothes. Then I rubbed my eyes. Man, this is one bad dream. Maybe it's Heritage Days II. Maybe I was being zoned into by Sam as part of a Quantum Leap episode.

No such luck.

What do you want? Is my time up? Am I going ... well, wherever I'm supposed to go in the afterworld?

"No, no." Bruce smiled. "Nothing like that. I'm not that kind of angel."

Something about his smile made me trust him.

So tell me, Bruce. What's up?

"I'm here to advise you. To give you a message for West Branch merchants."

Come on, Bruce. I don't own a store. What makes you think business owners in West Branch will listen to me?

"I'm willing to give it a shot. Do you think they'll listen to me? Get real."

Great. A psycho angel.

"I'm not psycho ... can I have a seat? My wings are getting pretty tired up here."

Sure.

"How about a smoke?"

I stared at him. Sorry, no smoking allowed. Now tell me. What are you talking about?

"It's the strip, Paul. Businesses. Downtown. Victorian theme. The works. And the traffic problem, too. West Branch is at a turning point, and it's up to you to help them out."

Right. What do I look like, the messiah?

"I'm serious, you geek. Hear me out. You've go this new mall, the Tanger Center. Right? And now this amphitheater, this Palace of Auburn Hills ..."

Garden of Ogemaw Hills.

"Whatever. This summer concert thing, it's a go. The city is growing. The area is expanding. And now, West Branch is stuck in the middle. Caught in a vortex of changes and transformation."

Will you stop babbling! What do you mean? And can you take your feet off the coffee table?

"Oh. Sorry. What do I mean? West Branch wants to keep this small-town, Victorian-era theme. But it also wants to be one of the 'big boys.' Well, it can't work both ways. Not without some changes."

He leaned back. "First thing businesses here gotta learn is, get some reasonable hours."

I know what you mean, Bruce. I'm working when all the downtown stores are open. By the time I get off work, they're closed. And I can't go shopping.

"And you're not alone, Paul. If stores were open till, say, 9 p.m., you'd have the chance to do some shopping. If the stores would stay open later, they'd make a killing!"

OK. What else?

"Well, they're putting in a turn lane by the Tanger Center, but I doubt it will be enough. Even if they put in one traffic light, it wouldn't really help out the stores up there. Or the traffic problems. The only thing it would do is keep most cars from darting onto the business loop.

"But cars, trucks and the like will be backed up beyond I-75, maybe even worse than right now, because Cook Road traffic will have to stop for a while."

So, what's the answer?

"I think a service drive would solve all the problems. Set up two traffic lights - in front of Tanger's and out by Arby's - and have that one drive go behind all the businesses on the north side. Connect all the parking lots to that loop, and close the current drives onto the business loop. Voila! You've got less congestion and a safer situation."

I still can't believe no one saw all this coming down when Tanger was proposed in the first place, Bruce. It would have made life on the Hill a lot easier for everyone. There must have been someone at Tanger who knew there would be this huge traffic influx. After all, West Branch isn't the first complex they've built.

"True."

You'd think someone in charge - whether in the county's zoning department, or the Tanger architects, or MDOT or whomever - would have said, when this project was first conceived, "Hey - why don't we make a service drive part of the deal?"

"You'd think so."

Why don't you send a zoning angel down to talk to the county boys about planning? Maybe when Tanger expands, the officials will require them to handle the traffic problems before issuing a building permit.

"Sorry, Paul, the zoning angels are all busy with that Tiger Stadium project in Detroit."

So what you're saying is we're stuck with this traffic problem which is causing thousands of drivers havoc on the road.

"Now you're getting it ... it is your job to show business owners the light. Let them know how important it is to have a service drive down there."

We've been through this already, Bruce ... these business people ain't gonna listen to me - not when it means spending money.

"If you write it, they will understand. They are not going to let the bottom line be that they're willing to live with dangerous situations along Hamburger Hill."

You know, Bruce, you could be right. I'll write it ... they will understand. Thanks.

"Hey, no problem." He glanced at his watch. "I'm running late. Sorry, Paul. That's all I got time for now. Good luck with it."

Thanks, Bruce. Fly safely out there.

"No problem."

And he left, ascending into the heavens, that stupid smile still on his face.

I wonder if anyone will take his words seriously.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Drivers Dodge Death On Hamburger Hill

Ah, the joy of a Sunday afternoon drive. How can one ignore the delicious smell of fresh burgers saturating the air? Or the chance to go shopping at a local store for some clothes?

How? Take one trip through "Hamburger Hill" on any given Sunday, and you'll quickly see how much nicer it is to spend the afternoon at home, watching baseball on TV and popping three-day-old Doritos in your mouth.

Well, maybe not "nicer." But certainly safer.

Sunday is Church Day and many church-goers believe in miracles. But the only miracle I've seen as of late is that no one has been killed or seriously injured in the traffic congestion near the Tanger Factory Outlet Center Drivers Training Course.

Yet.

If you do not use Exit 212 on a regular basis, you might not be aware of what I'm talking about. You're also a lot smarter than most of us drivers, who have to battle with one of the most wicked stretches of road I've ever had the misfortune to travel.

Every weekend, I pass through this area. Or, at least, i used to. Now, if I want to hit I-75, I often go through downtown West Branch and catch Exit 215. For three extra miles, of highway, it's worth the trip.

Why? Simple. Exit 212 is a death trap waiting to happen. It is unorganized. It is crowded. It is dangerous. Combining these factors with some of the most insanely stupid driving possible is nothing less than moronic.

You have a mall and a handful of businesses with parking lot that basically empty out into one spot in the road. Nearby are I-75's exit and entrance ramps.

Add thousands of cars - many pulling boats and trailers - and you get the picture of what it is like to travel this stretch.

With all of this traffic - especially on weekends - you would think maybe, just maybe, someone would have figured a traffic light or two might have been a good idea.

Well, that idea is in the works. Finally, We have Cook Road being repaved and repainted, giving area drivers three lanes along the Hill - one each westbound and eastbound, and a center lane for left-handed turns into any of the stores or restaurants in the area.

Now, this doesn't mean we have more roadway to work with. It just means that (a) we don't have to wait 15 minutes while the most defensive drivers wait for an opening larger than an 18-wheeler to appear, and (b) there will hopefully be fewer maniac drivers sliding into the shoulder to pass said defensive drivers.

But what about a traffic light? Well, the Michigan Department of Transportation recently conducted an intensive survey, which could result in a traffic light.

By next July. Maybe.

The survey took place during mid-week traffic, which is like estimating the Detroit Lions' Super Bowl potential after watching them gang up on the pathetic new England Patriots during one drive of a pre-season game. It's lousy, backward timing.

Someone should have known traffic would be this bad. Why do a survey, when it was obvious from Day One that a traffic light would be needed?

Actions speak louder than surveys. I realize there are guidelines and requirements and all that other stuff. Numbers are needed. But at the same time, we're left with a time bomb ticking away in West Branch Township.

It's enough to ruin a Sunday afternoon drive.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.

Julia, Kiefer Keeping Tabloids Hard At Work

Unless you've been hiding underneath a rock or are oblivious to today's major national news stories, you are probably keeping an eye on the biggest, most important and extremely controversial headline-making story of the decade: Julia Roberts leaving Kiefer Sutherland high and dry at the altar.

Yes, this emotionally depressing saga of a Hollywood lust story gone awry has kept tabloid journalists - both print and broadcast - quite busy.

In fact, if Julia hadn't told Kiefer to blow their relationship out his ear, we'd be more concerned with real news stories, like Detroit Piston Dennis Rodman being sued for jumping on top of a fan during a basketball game while chasing a loose ball, or Cher not having sex for 10 months.

But Julia had to dump Kiefer on the eve of their wedding, and because of that, tabloid newspapers and programs are going ga-ga, spreading five-inch-tall headlines and 15-minute blurbs about this couple.

Not to mention the cast of rogues who have made life miserable for the duo: A sexy Canadian disc jockey who used to be close pals (in the truest sense of the word) with Kiefer; Kiefer's best friend, who supposedly took off with the elusive Miss J; a stripper named Raven; and a reporter at a weekly newspaper in West Branch.

Yes, the somber details are beginning to leak, but the whole story has not been told. Left alone, almost obscured from the national limelight, is how this reporter is really the cause of the Julia-Kiefer breakup.

The National Enquirer has not yet picked up this bit of information, which surprises me, being that they are a tabloid of such high standards and morals. Nor have The Sun, Star, People Magazine or even Soap Opera Digest. This is depressing.

It's not fun to be ignored when such a newsworthy story involves you, but no one seems to notice.

So I am coming out with my side of the story. It is time to set the record straight, before the jumbo headlines scream words such as, "JOURNALIST WINS JULIA'S ETERNAL LOVE; HEARTBROKEN KIEFER THREATENS TO EITHER COMMIT SUICIDE OR PLAY BINGO," or "GABA: 'JULIA'S MINE, AND THAT GEEK KIEFER CAN GO CRY IN HIS ROOT BEER.'"

Let me begin by telling you that I have never actually met any of the parties involved. At least, not knowingly. Although I did spend a week in New York City a few years back, and may have seen Julia walking down the street, humming a Roy Orbison song. At least, it looked like her.

It was about that same time that the movie The Lost Boys came out, starring (among a cast of 10s) Kiefer, as a sort of modern-day Batman (the bloodsucker, not the Caped Crusader).

I thought nothing of it until about a year ago, after catching Julia in her triple-platinum selling movie, Pretty Woman, the epic about a girl who walks down the street (literally), the type of girl you like to meet (hardly). It starred Julia, her hair, Richard Gere and that same Orbison song. The irony was uncanny.

Anyway, I didn't especially like the film. Too predictable. I wanted a more believable ending to the movie, like Gere leaving for France with some swanky bimboesque Canadian disc jockey who stripped on the air while Julia sniveled in despair. You know, reality.

So i wrote her, telling her that, while I thought she did a marvelous job, and that her hair looked great, and that she was probably the best-looking and sexiest silver-screen hooker since Rebecca deMornay in Risky Business, the ending was a bit tepid. (For that matter, the entire plot was rather lame, but that's another story.)

She didn't write back, but her most recent film, Dying Young, is a little more believable. (She loses the guy to leukemia, rather than to a stripper. I think.) Even if the class difference is still as proclaimed as in Pretty Woman (ultra-rich dude, struggling, poor dudette). At least it's not like Beaches, with Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey's ultra-huge fake wax lips.

However, I think she really took the "realism" suggestion to heart when dealing with Kiefer. This was, for him, probably the lousiest movie ending he's ever had thrown in front of him. Talk about ad-libbing lines, these guys aren't even reading scripts. The best writers in hollywood can't come up with story plots this deep, this realistic.

So my involvement with this whole affair has been kept in the dark. Which is good, because I don't need the hassle of nosy tabloid reporters phoning me in the middle of the night, asking if it was true that I fathered Julia's two-headed love child.

Now THAT would be a major story.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.