Weekend At Bernie's, times 78,000 or so...

I know you're not supposed to feel good when harm befalls someone, but in the case of Bernie Madoff, I don't consider it harm. Sounds a whole lot more like justice to me, when Judge Denny Chin sentenced Madoff to 150 years around noon today. That's just 78,000 weekends from when he enters his new home-away-from-home, but rumor has it with good behavior he could get off by his 200th birthday. Then again, the words Bernie Madoff and good behavior probably shouldn't be used in the same sentence. This guy is the poster child for 80's and 90's greed, and by ruining peoples' lives the way he did, as well as their extended families, I find myself with zero sympathy for him. None. Congratulations Judge Chin, for having the fortitude to maximize the sentence. With what America has just been through, some might call Madoff a "scapegoat", but that's not a fair representation. The truth is this man allowed people who you could characterize as his close friends, associates and acquaintances to permanently twist in the wind, just so he could have another shiny car, fancy home, or have another $100 bill to light his cigar with. He's not a scapegoat in any sense. What ye sow, so shall ye reap (give or take a ye or a shall in there). He received deplorable results from is own deplorable actions. Eye for an eye. Karma. Call it what you will, but even though it won't help his victims get through their financial hardship, they all have to have a bit of a wicked smile today. They know this lying demon is behind bars until he meets his new landlord-of-the-future, Lucifer himself. Bernie should sign up to work in the prison garden, just so he can have a few years of getting used to what a pitchfork feels like. Handle end, or business end. He's got all eternity to see and feel both.

USAToday had an interesting story about airports, and particularly the baggage carousels. Somebody had a light-bulb-moment, realizing that all that empty space luggage sits on shouldn't be blank. It should have advertisements plastered across it. We're not bombarded enough on TV, the airport walls, in-flight magazines and taxi or bus placards. The concept does make sense, I guess. Every person is standing in the baggage claim area, staring at....eh....oh yeah. The luggage carousel. Doesn't even matter if there are bags on it or not, we're staring. In fact, we're a crazy breed, us humans. Here's something you've done and probably never admitted to a soul:

You find yourself at the airport, and your flight just landed. You were one of the first off the plane, and saw the workers on the tarmac s-l-o-w-l-y taking bags off the plane, one by one. Still, you get on over to the baggage claim area in about 2 minutes, and look at the little monitor that tell you your flight's carousel is going to be # 8. Given your history of flying, and the time it's going to take to unload the suitcases for 150 people and bring them over, you know it'll be about 15 minutes if you're lucky. Probably 20. But you park yourself near the entrance to carousel # 8, so that as soon as your stuff comes off the line, you'll be out the door well ahead of the other 149 clowns on the plane who didn't plan as efficiently as you. So there you are. After about 5 minutes, you're second-guessing yourself, not sure any of the 20 people milling around carousel # 8 look like anyone you recognized from being on your flight. You check the little monitor again, and breathe a sigh of relief when you realize you're right where you need to be. Another couple of minutes goes by, and something catches your eye, which in turn catches your brain. Down the concourse about 40 yards, there's a carousel that continues to turn, and it has one lone bag on it. You saw that bag a couple of minutes ago, but now it has your attention again. It's black, with a pull-handle, and the shape and size look AWFULLY familiar. "Dear Brain: It's me. Yeah. Is there a chance in God's Universe that could possibly be my bag, that someone speed-rushed over here and put on carousel # 5 by mistake, even though the monitor says to wait patiently at carousel # 8? You think? Am I going to look like an idiot, if I sort of slide on over there to check? You think?" And so you do. A moment later you're laughing at yourself, when you realize it's some putz from Cleveland who forgot to pick it up or something, but suddenly to your horror you see there are bags coming off carousel # 8, and people grabbing things and how-could-I-be-so-stupid and suddenly your aviation and life experiences all pass before your eyes, and you realize how worthless they were.

Did I mention we're a crazy breed, us humans?

Another question for you - did you ever play-fight with a sibling or friend growing up? Have yourself a big-'ol fight, where you knew neither one of you was going to get hurt? Welcome to Shelbyville, Tennessee where a couple was arrested last weekend on domestic assault charges. Police say things started out as a disagreement, then became more heated as voices were raised, then the "assault" happened when both parties starting flinging objects at each other. You might think it was teenagers with a bit too much Bud Light in their systems, but no - this was a 40-yr. old man and 44-yr. old woman engaged in the altercation. Luckily, neither of them was injured during the assault, as their "weapon of choice" to throw at each other was Cheetos. Yes, the fluorescent-orange snacks, crunchilly-crusted with cheesy goodness, were hurled across the room during this War Of The Roses, like little twisted-finger-shaped hand grenades. Both parties posted a $2,500 bond until a court date could be set, according to the Shelbyville Times-Gazette. Now I don't know about you, but if anyone ever started throwing Cheetos across the room at me, there's only one response I could have, over and over again.

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you...