Monday, reported for jury duty. Criminal court. NOT a lot of fun. Called to the box twice to be questioned by the judge and attorneys.
First case: felony murder, not a capital trial. Double homicide for pay with a physically unharmed 3-year-old witness. Based upon a question that was asked before we'd heard the full circumstances of the case, I said that I felt that being the lookout (the defendant) and being the trigger man were two different things. I was so out of there at that point, the defense didn't bother questioning me.
Yesterday's case: 3rd degree possession and sale of cocaine. Really thought I was gonna be on that one, until some guy in the jury pool said that he'd spoken to the defendant in the case in the men's room during the break. Not sure if it was that, or the general dislike in the pool of the Rockefeller drug laws that got us all sent home.
Interesting psychological and sociological event. Monday, I was actually rather proud of the system--the group I was with seemed to comprehend the import of having someone's life in your hands and people were taking the questions really seriously, with the exception of the titular public official who threw a fit (slamming his papers, etc.) after being told that he couldn't be excused from a 3-week trial because of his job. Tuesday, I was sickened: both by people who suddenly didn't speak English any longer (after having overheard complex conversations in the jury room) and the guy who sought out the defendant in order to be excused, but more so by the people who thought they were "fantastic" for having come up with the excuses. The system is messed up enough as it is...you don't need to make it worse.
Came back to work to smell a dead mouse somewhere under my desk. It may have been removed, but I've got the sneaking suspicion it's still behind the file cabinets or something.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Education I wish I'd had...
We watched a documentary last night about Albert Cullum, a man in Rye, New York who was a totally innovative elementary school teacher. In the 60's, he taught through games, acting and most of all, through the three "Ss": Sophocles, Shakespeare and Shaw.
He had 3rd graders performing Julius Caesar and 4th graders performing Romeo and Juliette. Evidently "age 10 is the best time for a girl to play St. Joan" because "she can still hear Sts Mary and Margaret talking to her". They had footage of a lot of the performances and they were astounding. What was really amazing is it was obvious they understood what they were saying. He'd start by telling them the basic story and then would have them learn the vocabulary by using the words in place of more common ones (e.g., instead of saying something "stinks" it "reeks to heaven") and they'd get it.
His theory was that they hadn't been taught to be afraid of it yet, so they completely embraced the melodrama of the stories and that once they'd played these heroic characters, it couldn't help but make them feel heroic themselves.
And yes, he was a failed actor.
He had 3rd graders performing Julius Caesar and 4th graders performing Romeo and Juliette. Evidently "age 10 is the best time for a girl to play St. Joan" because "she can still hear Sts Mary and Margaret talking to her". They had footage of a lot of the performances and they were astounding. What was really amazing is it was obvious they understood what they were saying. He'd start by telling them the basic story and then would have them learn the vocabulary by using the words in place of more common ones (e.g., instead of saying something "stinks" it "reeks to heaven") and they'd get it.
His theory was that they hadn't been taught to be afraid of it yet, so they completely embraced the melodrama of the stories and that once they'd played these heroic characters, it couldn't help but make them feel heroic themselves.
And yes, he was a failed actor.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Weirdslo (part 2)
Sunday I returned. This time with Greg.
I had told him about the experience, but not where it occurred. We'd been through 7 floors by the time we got there, so he'd forgotten about it and I honestly didn't remember exactly which room it was. He went into 1119 ahead of me. I followed and experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach (really quite mild by Friday's standards). I was barely through the door though when he spun around and said, "Maybe it's the light, but I DON'T like this room. Let's go." He grabbed my arm and walked me out.
He later likened the experience to being outside the door of the hospital room of someone about to die. (He worked in a couple in college, so he's very familiar with the premonition/event.) I can't tell you how vindicated I feel. The other woman on Friday could have been crying about something entirely different, so it could have been just me. We discussed at length and agreed paranormal or physiological, (some type of mold?) but whatever it was, it was definitely very real.
Now it's time for fun research on the event! I have high hopes for the suicide of a "woman editor" in 1957.
I had told him about the experience, but not where it occurred. We'd been through 7 floors by the time we got there, so he'd forgotten about it and I honestly didn't remember exactly which room it was. He went into 1119 ahead of me. I followed and experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach (really quite mild by Friday's standards). I was barely through the door though when he spun around and said, "Maybe it's the light, but I DON'T like this room. Let's go." He grabbed my arm and walked me out.
He later likened the experience to being outside the door of the hospital room of someone about to die. (He worked in a couple in college, so he's very familiar with the premonition/event.) I can't tell you how vindicated I feel. The other woman on Friday could have been crying about something entirely different, so it could have been just me. We discussed at length and agreed paranormal or physiological, (some type of mold?) but whatever it was, it was definitely very real.
Now it's time for fun research on the event! I have high hopes for the suicide of a "woman editor" in 1957.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Weirdslo
Walking past the Gramercy Park Hotel this morning, I saw signs all over the place for a public liquidation sale in their annex. Evidently the hotel, a City Landmark, is being gut-renovated, so they're selling all of their furniture, fixtures, everything. I went in.
In 10 floors of shabby, slightly dilapidated rooms, most of it was pretty crappy stuff--60's to 80's cheap hotel furniture--but here and there, there were just beautiful deco fixtures and occasionally, nice period furniture. You could see how great the hotel must have been in its day and it made you sad to see the condition it is in now. So despite the sense of camaraderie amongst the intrepid folks going through the rooms on each floor and three really cool pieces of cobalt glass I left with, the overall experience was slightly depressing.
But on the 11th Floor, it got weird. Came out of the stairwell, went through a couple of rooms--same as all the others--then I got to one at the end of the hall. I went in and after looking around for a minute, suddenly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss. You know the crushing feeling in your chest that you get when someone you really love dies? That was how it felt--it hurt to breathe. I left the room, and while the general melancholy remained, I was totally fine. I continued through other rooms on the floor without incident. However, on my way back to the staircase, I passed a woman (I'd her seen several times over the course of the walk-through and even chatted with her in passing) coming out of the sad room. She was crying. Hard. I didn't say anything to her, but saw her a couple more times on other floors and she seemed okay. So, my question is:
What the hell happened in that room, that it had such an emotional effect?
Would it be too bizarre to stop by the hotel's concierge desk on the way home and ask about the room? Or, perhaps, if Greg is feeling well enough tomorrow, we'll go through it together and we'll see if it happens again with him there--I just have to remember not to tell him about it in order to not influence the outcome.
Regardless of what happens, I'm still going to the main hotel liquidation February 3rd.
In 10 floors of shabby, slightly dilapidated rooms, most of it was pretty crappy stuff--60's to 80's cheap hotel furniture--but here and there, there were just beautiful deco fixtures and occasionally, nice period furniture. You could see how great the hotel must have been in its day and it made you sad to see the condition it is in now. So despite the sense of camaraderie amongst the intrepid folks going through the rooms on each floor and three really cool pieces of cobalt glass I left with, the overall experience was slightly depressing.
But on the 11th Floor, it got weird. Came out of the stairwell, went through a couple of rooms--same as all the others--then I got to one at the end of the hall. I went in and after looking around for a minute, suddenly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss. You know the crushing feeling in your chest that you get when someone you really love dies? That was how it felt--it hurt to breathe. I left the room, and while the general melancholy remained, I was totally fine. I continued through other rooms on the floor without incident. However, on my way back to the staircase, I passed a woman (I'd her seen several times over the course of the walk-through and even chatted with her in passing) coming out of the sad room. She was crying. Hard. I didn't say anything to her, but saw her a couple more times on other floors and she seemed okay. So, my question is:
What the hell happened in that room, that it had such an emotional effect?
Would it be too bizarre to stop by the hotel's concierge desk on the way home and ask about the room? Or, perhaps, if Greg is feeling well enough tomorrow, we'll go through it together and we'll see if it happens again with him there--I just have to remember not to tell him about it in order to not influence the outcome.
Regardless of what happens, I'm still going to the main hotel liquidation February 3rd.
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