Doing Time At Red Lobster, or, Bowling For Punishment?

Sometimes the world just seems to fall right in place. Minutes after posting my previous blog (see below) about my good friend Sal's loss of his Dudeness, I came upon this story about a judge in Florida who "sentenced" a domestic abuser to a night where he--the abuser--must buy his wife flowers, take her to Red Lobster, and then to a bowling alley. The second "date" in this sentence is a meeting with a marriage counselor. In theory a well-measured sentence, in my opinion, especially because it didn't involve a Dude-erectomy, but as usual for me, I've got some issues.

First, though, I congratulate Judge John Hurley for his creative use of the law (for you Cuyahoga County readers, imagine what the sentence for Jimmy Dimora might be if meted out as creatively; I kind of like the thought of Jimmy, with tool belt, knocking on every door in the county and offering his home repair skills gratis). Not to make light of domestic abuse, but as Hurley deemed the violence in the dispute "very, very minor," the punishment--in theory to rekindle love--seems honorable, a decent alternative to throwing yet another person in jail and into the thicket of the criminal justice system. Kudos, Your Honor.

But, the particulars. Let's take a look at the judge's actual words in court: "He's going to stop by somewhere and he's going to get some flowers," Hurley said at a hearing, according to Florida newspaper Sun Sentinel. "And then he's going to go home, pick up his wife, get dressed, take her to Red Lobster. And then after they have Red Lobster, they're going to go bowling." First of all, creative sentencing, Judge, shouldn't preclude the use of exact language we all come to expect from legal proceedings. Now I don't know the entire story concerning this couple--maybe she loves Red Lobster and is always begging him to go and he refuses--but to specify the place of the meal while being so flippantly vague about the flowers smacks of judicial carelessness. I mean, following the letter of the law, the guy could "stop by" the Dollar Tree and buy a couple of plastic daffodils, no? He could drive through a cemetery and just "get some flowers" off an untended bump in the ground, no? Sure, the incident was "very, very minor," but we are dealing with a criminal here, Your Honor. "Stop by somewhere and get some flowers" leaves a little too much to chance, in my book.

And I realize Judge Hurley probably has a ton on his docket and a "very, very minor" domestic abuse case may not call for taking all day, but a little better precision with his language might cut down on the mis-interpretation possibilities. Look closely at this sentence: "And then he's going to go home, pick up his wife, get dressed, take her to Red Lobster." What do I know, maybe the offender is a nudist, but I think--given the official nature of court and all--"get dressed" should read something like "change into his finest clothing, maybe that velour jacket I've read about in the affadavit." And, "pick up his wife"? Okay, I won't pretend I'm teaching children how to write here and go on and on about the practical difficulties of lifting a spouse off the floor and then getting dressed, but come on, Your Honor, this is supposed to be about re-igniting the romantic fires of a relationship so that no more "very, very minor" incidents occur. Have a heart and do something with that "pick up his wife" line. And then there's the "after they have Red Lobster" line. Again, nit-picky maybe, but how does one, or two, "have Red Lobster"? Dining and dashing, chewing and screwing, feasting and fleeing, maybe? "We had Red Lobster all right," she grinned, wiping lemon juice off her chin as he and she ran pell mell to their vehicle. "We, Red Lobster," screams an untipped waitress as she watches the unpaying customers burn rubber out of the lot, "We've been had." Okay, fine, one does "have" McDonalds, Long John Silver, etc., but Red Lobster's better than that, and if this is truly about romance, don't tell them to "have Red Lobster," Judge, tell them to enjoy a quiet, relaxed, amorous culinary experience at Red Lobster (did you read to the end of the story where a Google user rates the particular Red Lobster as "quite possibly the best" in South Florida?). Red Lobster, hunh? Like I said, maybe it's her favorite restaurant, which is fine. And nothing against Red Lobster--I've had some scrumptious meals there before, and I am not a seafood lover--but for the purposes of the court, why not choose a little more romantic boite that isn't part of a national chain? And no, I will not be so cynical today as to suggest this whole story is bunk, a PR ploy planted by the good folks at Red Lobster on the cusp of their big time of the year, Lent. I will not even think of saying something as obvious as this whole story smells fishy to me. Not going to do it. Again, and this is just my own admittedly skewed bias, Red Lobster just doesn't sing romance to me.

Now I'm sure you think I'm just warming up, getting a little revved up on some stupid precise language anality and ratcheting it up a notch with a few digs at Red Lobster, only to let it all out on the whole bowling thing. Nope. I am not an avid bowler, but in pondering all the nuances of this story, I did some looking back on my own life and realized that every time I have ever "gone bowling" I have had a delightful time. Bowling alleys are batting 1.000 with me, which is more than I can say for just about any other experience in life, aside from eating mom's homemade chili. Despite whatever cheap flowers, despite whatever attire, despite "having" Red Lobster--despite whatever disappointments any of that possibly could hold for this court-ordered-trying-to-make-it-better couple--a night of bowling will cure all that ails or fails. Well done, Your Honor, after all. Maybe a few gutter balls early on, but you rolled a turkey in the tenth frame. I doff my rented shoes to you. Live happily ever after, couple in Florida.