A Day at the Movies: Lessons Learned

I woke up Sunday with a choice to make: Do I wisely and dutifully trudge into the office and write about why a judge’s rash decision was, well, not really that bad, or do I blindly hold onto the weekend, shutting out the real world, and head to the cinema to escape for a few more hours?

Or perhaps eight hours.

Yes, I spent an unprecedented (for me) eight hours at Celebration North today indulging in what I coined my Triple Play Day. Three movies; one day.

One absolutely wonderful, deep, entertaining day of learning at the movies.

HEREAFTER

First up: Hereafter directed by Clint Eastwood and starring, among others, Matt Damon. Damon plays George Lonegan, a psychic who has given up “readings” for hard labor in an attempt to live a normal life. Hereafter actually centers on three different characters – George, Marie LeLay, a French journalist who survives a tsunami in a breath-taking opening sequence, and Marcus, a London school boy who loses his twin – and how their lives ultimately meet and mingle all while examining our beliefs about the afterlife. What happens when we die? Your answer to that question may largely depend upon your cultural upbringing. Is it simply lights out? Is it the streets of gold and angels on wing? Or something in between?

I noticed that the vast majority of those around me were age 60 or older. I noted coughing – the deep, disturbing, not-just-a-cold type – and found myself wondering how many of those around me were in the midst of a real-time struggle with their own mortality. I hope they left the movie a tad more uplifted than they entered it. I know I did.

My answer? I believe that when we die, we will know, truly know so much more than we are currently capable of knowing but first and foremost, we will truly know that it will all be alright. Our loved ones, our past, the world … all of it. I believe that most religions are simply different avenues that people have taken in their life-long search for God. I believe that there can be truth in many different religions and that it is when we attempt to force God into a box, book, or temple that we lose sight of truth.

I believe that it will all be alright.

IT'S KIND OF A FUNNY STORY

Next up: It’s Kind of a Funny Story, starring Keir Gilchrist and funny man Zach Galifianakis demonstrating that he is not just the funny man. Gilchrist plays Craig, a sixteen year old stressed and depressed teen who checks himself into a psychiatric ward. Galifianakis is a resident of the ward who takes Craig under his albeit broken wing. This movie has laughs, it has romance, and it has a message of, “Yeah, so you’re a bit screwed up; who isn’t? What are you waiting for? Live!”

For me, a highlight of the movie was also an eye-blinking jolt of déjà vu. Craig is speaking with the ward doctor about how he realizes that he has positives in his life, that his family loves him, that he has so much more than many others, but that life seems just one big ball of struggle and worry. Worry about what? Worry about how one decision or missed opportunity would somehow color the rest of his life and keep him from success, happiness, sex …

The jolt? This was something very similar to what I tried to explain myself recently – that I believe that life is meant to be lived but that sometimes it becomes one big mucky ball of struggle so that “living” begins to equate to “struggling” with too few moments of joy to counteract the crap.

It’s Kind of a Funny Story left me with a renewed energy to fight the muck and “live.” Now, how many movies can say that? You know, other than Predator.

SECRETARIAT

Finally: Secretariat brought up the rear then leaped to the front much like the horse of the same name. Secretariat was the discount movie this week at Celebration Cinema. If you haven’t learned of the discount movies yet, really, where have you been? First-run movies for $3.00 every Sunday makes this one of the best movie values out there. But I digress.

Secretariat tells the true story of housewife Penny Chenery Tweedy, played by Diane Lane, who took over the management of her father’s stables following her mother’s death and father’s decline. Tweedy hired fashion-challenged trainer Lucien Laurin, played by John Malkovich (who also entertained me yesterday in Red); Laurin and Tweedy successfully raise Big Red aka Secretariat, who was the first horse in twenty-five years to win the Triple Crown. Secretariat is a story of fighting for your dreams even when the odds are against you. Perhaps the best praise I can give is that this movie had me biting my nails even knowing the outcome of each race. And it left the audience applauding at the credits … when was the last time you heard that?

Okay, The Goonies during Celebration’s recent Late Night Cult series but, hey, it’s The Goonies after all.

In the end, today included lessons of hope, life, and determination. All at the movies.

I could not have spent my time better.

Now for late night laundry and left-over pizza.

A Needed Visual Smack Upside The Head

Soooo much more depressing than my June birthday, this sight greeted me in my office this morning:

All my, "No, not THAT birthday!" woes are over, dated and literally deflated.  It's time to get back on the blogging horse and leave some road apples in my wake on the way to 2011.

Flying, Fabulous, Fear-Free ..... and Other "F" Words

Earlier this year, in a fit of "O" birthday fear, I decided it was time to cross an item off my bucket list.  My life has taken many twists, turns, and unexpected detours (this last one is horribly long with mislabeled signs and long unmoving lines of irritable travelers), and so I found myself facing f....for ... forward looking at yet another birthday despite the fact that I am no where near the destination I'd envisioned for myself at this age. 

What do you do when life isn't quite how you expected, when you're staring down stress, responsibilities, debt, and dipshits on a daily basis?  I decided to chuck it all to the wind and literally leap into my next decade ... out of a perfectly functioning albeit tiny airplane.

My decision to skydive made, I then had the tedious task of choosing a reputable skydiving company.  Enter Google.  Other than a gut feeling, I immediately cut any company that did not post their prices online.  Really? Come on, guys, post the prices.  What are you hiding?  That rule cut out quite a few places. 

After that, I went with the gut feeling I got from a company's FAQ page.  For example, in response to a question about whether landings are hard, one company promised that you would land "like a fairies fluff."  Hmm ... beyond the grammatical problem with that statement and confusion over what the hell a fairy's "fluff" actually is, I just don't believe it. 

Enter Premier Skydiving. 

Prices? Check. 

FAQ page? In response to the question about whether skydiving is dangerous, Premier answered,

Of course it's dangerous. You get out of a plane two miles above the earth. And gravity does work. In fact, it rules supreme. The only thing between a skydiver and "deceleration trauma" is a chunk of nylon about the size of your living room. Which part of not being dangerous was unclear?

Ahh ... my people!   After explaining about whether skydiving is safe (the better question), and what would happen if the parachute doesn't open or if the jumper wigs out completely and doesn't pull the rip cord, Premier apparently was asked what would happened if both the main and reserve parachute fail at the same time, and wisely answered, "You're about to have a really bad day."

Thank you!  Don't tell me that I'm going to float down on a cloud of fairy dust lightly skipping as I land.  That just makes me distrust you (more so than my general ever-present distrust).  Give me the real answer in a smartass way and *BAM* I'm signing waivers (guys, guys, waivers don't hold up anymore, do they), handing you a card, and telling my family and friends my jump date. 

It was June 26, 2010.

My day began surrounded by computer, TV, and smart phone, all tuned to weather information as I tensely waited to see if the storm would come as predicted (it didn't) or if the clouds would be too low or dense (they weren't).  When I finally headed up to Fremont, Michigan, home of Premier Skydiving, I had family members already in Grand Rapids and others on the way.  Having my family drive 2, 3, and nearly 7 hours (Linda) to see me fling myself from a plane meant more to me than they probably realize.  My sisters (including an in-law sis), parents (original and step), niece and nephew were all present.  Precious time was spent teaching my soon-to-be 3 year old niece to say, "Don't jump, Kimmie!!" 

I arrived, signed my multi-paged waiver promising that my family would smile and thank Premier if something went wrong, then settled in for training.  Our instructor showed us the tandem rigs, explained the main canopy, reserve (rarely used but stringently maintained), and AAD (automatic activation device), what to expect, how to stand, and the most important thing to remember about our first jump ... ARCH!!

I wisely purchased the video package and digital stills (beautiful).  As I uploaded this - my very first video to my blog - I realized that it is in several parts so I apologize for the breaks but it also allows me to comment between the fun. 

In this first segment, we meet Scott (my instructor) and Deryl (the videographer for the jump) as Scott is securing me in my jumpsuit and gear.  We also see my insanely large head, freakishly Gollum-like eyes, and the reason I'm attempting to now break any habits of pursing my lips together or making any of the other faces that occur.  Wow.  Enjoy.

ARCH!! 

Next notice the tiny step outside of the tiny plane.  That's where I'll be stepping on the way out.  Only four of us and the pilot fit inside.  For some reason, I had envisioned some large plane in which all 7 jumpers and their respective instructors would be comfortably strapped into seats awaiting a leap out of a big open door (I've probably seen this on TV or in a movie).  No matter.  We head up into the air and the higher we get, the younger I get.  No, really.  You'll see me devolve into my 5-year-old inner child, squealing and clapping in delight.

Ooooh .... here we go!!!!  The door is open, we scoot back and over to it, left foot, right foot, cross your arms and ARCH!!!  I keep getting questions about the falling feeling.  I don't remember any kind of stomach drop, I believe because of the wind.  The wind is loud.  I knew I could breath but somehow wanted to hold my breath.  The view, the feeling, the wind, the earth rushing up ... no wonder my instructor told us not to worry if we didn't pull the rip cord when he instructed us to do so ... it's the brain lock of doing something you'd only dreamed of doing.  I remember his pointing to the rip cord and I remember looking down in a stupor of .... 'oh yeah, I'm supposed to ...'  before *BAM* he opened it for me.

That was Deryl landing.  I'm still up in the air with Scott, listening to him tell me that one cell of the canopy won't open for some unknown reason.

"WHHHAAAA??" 

"Oh, we're fine.  There's no need for the reserve."

Now, if you know my name, you probably noticed an oopsie on Deryl's part.  I was clueless. 

High from the flight.  Just happy ... and ready to go again.

I jumped out of an airplane at 10,000 feet on Saturday.  And I did it with no fear.  Only excitement.  I can't think of a better way to begin a new decade in life.  Do it with no fear, only excitement.

Just let me know when you want to go with me.  We'll set a date.

Sometimes Walls Are Needed

I attended a conference last week.  A conference of appellate attorneys - some civil, some rude, I mean, criminal.  The topic of the conference was civility and congeniality amongst the bench and bar.  Some bits were enlightening, some boring (Eerie, really? REALLY?), and some entertaining, but it was the last morning's session that whacked me over the head.  Not the topic, oh no, but my reaction to a comment by one of the panelists.  It was a comment that was meant to be funny, and was, but it would not be funny - at all - to the millions of non-attorneys in the world. 

Non-attorneys would find it crass, inappropriate, and unfeeling.  I find it necessary.

As I chuckled, it hit me what someone outside of my profession would think to hear that chuckle.  I've considered this before while we swap stories in the office about one case or another - always amazed, yet not, at the depravity of other human beings who commit some of the crimes we prosecute.  Often amazed, yet not, at the stupidity of those committing these crimes.  Always disheartened. 

If you've ever been a victim, you know that an instance or an hour (or more) can stay with you ... forever.  You go on, because you must, and life really does always get better.  You live in a world very different from our own.  I don't mean to say 'better' - certainly not - I have little if any idea what you go through, have gone through.  I simply mean different. 

We deal, day in and day out, with the reality of the horrors our fellow man routinely inflicts upon others.  We see stories of assault, rape, murder, torture, repeated with a different set of individuals and modified set of facts.  Each day.  We see domestic violence victims repeatedly, frustratingly, lie to try to cover for the assholes - the cowards - who beat them.  [Again, I don't walk in those shoes and hope I never find myself near them.]  We hear the stories of children who have no real parents left because what parent they had has somehow decided that their next high or their next affair is more important than keeping their children safe.  We hear of the sick bastards out there figuring out the next way in which they can get a small child alone in order to molest them.  Each day. 

We build walls separating ourselves from these crimes.  It is easier for me, an appellate attorney, than for a trial attorney who fights in the trenches of a trial court, listening first hand to a victim's testimony, seeing a victim's family each day, as well as the defendant.  I am one step removed - usually - because I must focus on the record below and the law.  I read the stories rather than hear them; I write about the stories rather than argue them to a jury.  I generally look at my trial attorney coworkers as being made of tougher stock than me in some ways because of the thinner wall they have protecting them.  The walls we build - whatever you call them - are necessary for us to continue to face these issues every day.  If we did not develop them, if we developed emotional attachments to every case before us, we would crumble early and often.  If we did not release some of our stress through humor, some fairly crass and otherwise inappropriate, we would explode when you need us the most.  If you hear us sounding crass or laughing at something you don't think is funny, please remember that we're simply building the barriers we need to do the job you need us to do. 

Tomorrow, I'm meeting the family of a victim.  My wall is about to be battered. 

 

Drum Roll Please ....

I done did it!

Back in February, I announced my intention to crush this year (I'm so humble) and my intention to rid myself of the monstrosity that was overtaking my bedroom - the king-sized marriage bed.  I hemmed, hawed, stared, and cogitated my options to an early grave.  I might still be staring at it had my little brother not, upon hearing that I was (oh yes absolutely) getting rid of my old bed, asked me what I was doing with it (uh, hoping someone will haul it away), and whether he could have it for their new guestroom, (uh, for the price of hauling it away).  That is how I found myself, on Easter weekend, kingless and sleeping on this:

Yeeeah.  Hello, college days, I missed you - just not this part of you.

It is truly a testament to my power of procrastination that I slept on that for a month.  MONTH!!  [On a side note, who's proud of their 30-something back for withstanding the torment?]

My wish of a new bed aka mattress set was replaced during this time of upheaval with a wish of a new bedroom - a "grown-up" bedroom if you will - one without Target furniture and with an actual bed and not simply a wire frame.  [I know, who the HELL do I think I am??]  I boldly gave away my stuffed animals (uh, most of 'em) to my 2 year old niece and, finally, in mid-May, I was persuaded to part with some moolah and purchased this:

Eh? Eh? Look at that ACTUAL bed with matching night table! I also bought my first ever big ass dresser with a big ass mirror on top.  *nodding* That's right .... big ass furniture. 

It only took me, oh, about two more weeks to finally cave and purchase an actual mattress set ... and pad ... and comforter set ... pillows ... sheets.  And finally, I was left with *I'm so excited* TA DA:

I know. Damn, I'm good.

Best part? I have to climb UP into the bed.  I feel all princessy and shit.  Oh, and, of course, uber-mature. 

It only took me nearly *cough cough* years.

eHarmony, i.e., Complete Waste of Money

I just cancelled my eHarmony subscription.  Why?  Oh, let's see ...

1. eHarmony was twice as much money as Match.com. TWICE!
2. Many of the men on there are also on Match.com.
3. eHarmony doesn't allow you to see any pictures of your matches until you've subscribed.
4. I've not been matched with anyone I find remotely attractive.
5. eHarmony doesn't allow you to browse any other men; you are stuck with those with whom it "matches" you.
6. Half of my initial matches were out of state.
7. Having a button to click for more matches means diddly squat if the result after waiting a minute is a freakin' computer telling me no more matches exist
8. Did I mention .... TWICE AS MUCH AS MATCH.COM?!

In short, eHarmony can take its 29 Dimensions of Compatibility and SHOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE UP ITS A....

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Say Hello, Brillo!

Three years ago, I walked through the John Ball Zoo on a members’ night (on a date no less – I know, it actually happens from time to time) and ran into a fellow attorney standing in the Wallaby exhibit talking to guests and answering questions. It was readily apparent that she was not (simply) an eccentric zoo fan. I asked what she was doing and she explained that she volunteered at the zoo.

Huh. Volunteer at the zoo. Well that just sounds … cool!

I had been contemplating a way to volunteer in the community for a while but kept getting stuck on my firm belief that I should in no way be entrusted with a child’s self esteem given that a remodeling of my own continues (I’m working on the bedroom at the moment). I was hooked. I went through my initial training in the fall/2007 and spring/2008 and found myself smack among wallabies, sting rays, pygmy goats, and budgies during the summer of 2008. I added animal handling training in the fall of 2008.  I now handle snakes, bearded dragons, blue-tongued skinks, turtles, chinchillas, opossums, screech owls, etc. 

[I do refuse to handle the chickens/roosters, evil beings one and all.  Yes, evil.  Hey, you be constantly attacked by a rooster during your childhood and then come talk to me.]

Volunteering at the zoo now allows me to have a small impact on the kids who stare slack jawed at the ball python I’m holding or ooh and awwww over our baby pygmy goats all while satisfying (kinda) my desire for the pet who would not fit so well in a one bedroom apartment.

What does this have to do with Brillo?

Last week, I entered a new realm at the John Ball Zoo: the hospital. The zoo recently received a gift of a new hedgehog – Brillo – who, we hope, will be added to those animals taken on travel zoos and handled within the zoo itself. All new animals at the zoo must be quarantined for a certain period of time so Brillo is currently being housed in quarantine at the zoo’s hospital. In order to make sure Brillo becomes accustomed to human handlers, the zoo asked some volunteers to … come handle her.

Hedgehogs are small mammals, covered with 5,000-7,000 quills or spines that form their protection against predators. Two larges muscles on either side of a hedgehog's back allow it to raise and lower its quills and, of course, roll into a ball. A ball of sharp quills isn’t too enticing of a meal to predators – go figure.

Brillo is currently in the same part of the hospital housing the zoo’s baby pygmy goats, who are still being bottle fed each day, and five venomous rattlesnakes – including two diamondbacks. And you think your family is dysfunctional. Pfft.

The keeper handed me Brillo on a blue cloth. She was tightly in her “WHAT'S GOING ON!!” ball and quivering. Awwwwe.

With a little patience and low talking, she gradually began to unroll and check out this new human. Hedgehogs don’t have the best eyesight but her little nose was furiously sniffing.

Every now and again, a sharp noise (those rambunctious pygmies) would induce a hiss and roll but eventually she was relaxed enough to nap during our time together.

<cue sighs and awing>

When I finally left, carefully dipping my shoes in a disinfecting water mixture on my way out (quarantine, remember), Brillo was receiving a treat of crickets (hedgehogs love insects).  

Jealous yet? The zoo is always looking for more volunteers.

Meanwhile, if all goes well, look for Brillo later this summer.