Saturday night we held the elevator door for Arash, our neighbor. As we were going down, we asked if they'd seen the action on Thursday night. He and Yasmin totally slept through it, but he had noticed the damage to the door. In fact, he'd intended to knock and point it out to them so they could have it fixed. He was very relieved that he'd been spared that incredibly awkward exchange...but then noted that perhaps we should have a hall monitor. Visitors or residents get loud in the hall at night, the appointed monitor comes out with a bat and grunts like Billy Bob Thorton in Sling Blade, "Go inside and hush up! Uuhhhh-yuuhhhhh."
Sunday morning, a chat with Yasmin on the deck began, "Good Morning. Did you happen to lose a pink feather boa?" "Why yes, yes we did." She was most relieved it was mine. Evidently, at some point on Saturday, someone reached into their bedroom (deck door was open to ventilate after the exterminator came) and stole all of her bras from a clear plastic chest of drawers next to the door. At the same time she realized they were gone, she found the boa outside on the deck. As it is, having one's underwear stolen is creepy enough; to have a boa exchanged for one's bras would be cause for moving.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
Domestic Disputes
This morning, 100 o'clock-ish, Greg and I wake up to hear a slow steady REALLY LOUD thump against a door. Not ours, mind you, but a door down the hall. What the hell? If you're in the entryway, you can hear what's happening in the hall, but if you're in the bedroom, generally NOT. Then we hear a calmly angry voice, "Let me in!" "I am NEVER going to forgive you for this!" The entire time the thump continues. Shortly after the "Never going to forgive you..." our door buzzer rang for a split second and then stopped, then he stopped shouting.
I'm pretty sure Cada's (the dog) parents aren't going to be together any more--at least based upon the fact that the bottom corner of the door was kicked in about 3 inches when I left for work this morning. Strong door though, the rest of it held, no cracks or anything, but I digress...
I'm thinking that he came home late, she locked him out and wouldn't let him back in. In the end, the door buzz was probably the police who'd been called by the neighbors. For some reason, perhaps because we were so deeply asleep when it happened, or subconsciouly recognized the voice or perhaps because there was no frenzy in it, neither of us felt compelled to actually get out of bed--and really, Greg jumps out of bed immediately if the roof alarm goes off and that's often the wind.
I guess I'm not more concerned about it because they have something of a twisted relationship. Greg actually did go to their door once because he heard her screaming bloody murder, but while standing there, he realized she wasn't being hurt, she was in a screaming rage. The conversation heard through the door: The GUY was saying, "Go ahead, call the police, YOU'RE the one hitting ME..." followed by a pause and HIM saying "Yes, I'd like to report a case of domestic violence..." They've had some hellacious fights, generally with her (she's a nice neighbor, but quite the Princess) as the antagonist.
So unless they're the best actors in the world and he's a completely twisted psycho in the Hannibal Lechter sense, I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to end with anyone being hurt--of course the more I think on that this morning, the more concerned I become.
Crap.
I'm pretty sure Cada's (the dog) parents aren't going to be together any more--at least based upon the fact that the bottom corner of the door was kicked in about 3 inches when I left for work this morning. Strong door though, the rest of it held, no cracks or anything, but I digress...
I'm thinking that he came home late, she locked him out and wouldn't let him back in. In the end, the door buzz was probably the police who'd been called by the neighbors. For some reason, perhaps because we were so deeply asleep when it happened, or subconsciouly recognized the voice or perhaps because there was no frenzy in it, neither of us felt compelled to actually get out of bed--and really, Greg jumps out of bed immediately if the roof alarm goes off and that's often the wind.
I guess I'm not more concerned about it because they have something of a twisted relationship. Greg actually did go to their door once because he heard her screaming bloody murder, but while standing there, he realized she wasn't being hurt, she was in a screaming rage. The conversation heard through the door: The GUY was saying, "Go ahead, call the police, YOU'RE the one hitting ME..." followed by a pause and HIM saying "Yes, I'd like to report a case of domestic violence..." They've had some hellacious fights, generally with her (she's a nice neighbor, but quite the Princess) as the antagonist.
So unless they're the best actors in the world and he's a completely twisted psycho in the Hannibal Lechter sense, I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to end with anyone being hurt--of course the more I think on that this morning, the more concerned I become.
Crap.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Fruit Compote update
I tried making the fruit compote from the cooking class and made a couple of discoveries:
1) They gave us a dry white wine in the class by mistake--Sancerre instead of Sauternes--that's why it took so long to get the correct flavor. (No, I'm not the one who opened the bottle, I would have noticed.)
2) Making it with a dessert wine does only take 20 minutes, but the flavor isn't nearly as good.
3) In class we used mission figs--calmyras don't work nearly as well.
1) They gave us a dry white wine in the class by mistake--Sancerre instead of Sauternes--that's why it took so long to get the correct flavor. (No, I'm not the one who opened the bottle, I would have noticed.)
2) Making it with a dessert wine does only take 20 minutes, but the flavor isn't nearly as good.
3) In class we used mission figs--calmyras don't work nearly as well.
Hi-Ho Haru!
My mom stopped by my aunt's house this morning to drop off some pictures. She noticed a large number of suitcases sitting out and asked about them.
Haru is leaving this morning for two months in Japan and didn't mention it to anyone. Well, I'm guessing that my cousin knew, but I'm not really sure about that.
The woman didn't go home for a single visit in 30 years and is now starting to split her time.
Haru is leaving this morning for two months in Japan and didn't mention it to anyone. Well, I'm guessing that my cousin knew, but I'm not really sure about that.
The woman didn't go home for a single visit in 30 years and is now starting to split her time.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Ferocious Felines!
I forgot to mention the close calls of our Seaside Safari!
Susy was attacked this weekend not once, but TWICE by roving felines! Once on the way to dinner and again on the way back. Okay, so "attacked" may be a little strong...more like "startled". Especially the first time when a gray tiger appeared out of nowhere and ran across her feet. The second time around it was an act of retribution: An orange tiger was trying to get us to pet her/let her into the B&B and when it became obvious we would do neither, she too turned across Susy's feet, hissed and ran off into the night.
Perhaps the cat-hunting lobby in the homeland has the right idea...
Susy was attacked this weekend not once, but TWICE by roving felines! Once on the way to dinner and again on the way back. Okay, so "attacked" may be a little strong...more like "startled". Especially the first time when a gray tiger appeared out of nowhere and ran across her feet. The second time around it was an act of retribution: An orange tiger was trying to get us to pet her/let her into the B&B and when it became obvious we would do neither, she too turned across Susy's feet, hissed and ran off into the night.
Perhaps the cat-hunting lobby in the homeland has the right idea...
Monday, April 11, 2005
LI Wine and Cheese
Just had a lovely weekend on Long Island with the Boy, and young Gillespie and her husband, a.k.a. Scott.
Rented a car Friday night (40 minutes to find a parking space at rush hour) and left early Saturday morning to pick them up at the airport in Ronkonoma at 10. Did a leisurely and sometimes hilarious drive out to Greenport on the North Fork, stopping at several vineyards for tastings and driving out to Orient Point to look at the ocean.
Stayed at a Stirling House, a lovely B&B that I'd highly recommend (most are too fussy and this one, although it has a high Victorian parlour, wasn't overwhelming) and had a really good dinner in a rather upscale restaurant called the Frisky Oyster in a very quaint tourist/fishing town.
Sunday we wandered Greenport stopping to ride the 1920's Carousel in a Missile Silo (a.k.a. The Futurodome) and assorted shops. Then we took off for the airport, stopping at another couple of vineyards for tastings.
We tried 5 of the 34 vineyards on the North Fork: Paumanok and Lieb Family Cellars were our favorites by far. Jamesport is probably really good, but you really have to think about the wine, something I'm not willing to do. Pellegrini has a gorgeous tasting space and was the most pleasant tasting experience if only 'cause you take a silver tray with your flight(s) and sit at a table, so you don't need to think up something intellectual to say/hide the fact that it disgusts you about each wine to the person pouring it. It also had a couple of nice wines, including the Scott described "church wine". It doesn't taste like communion wine, it smells like an old Catholic Church--sweet wax and incense. The best thing we could say about our final stop at Martha Clara's winery is that it had a nice gift shop, oh, and the tastings are free.
Our big wine lesson of the trip: Merlot on Long Island tastes/looks/smells absolutely NOTHING like a Merlot from California.
We had such a good time, we intend to do it again in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley this fall.
Rented a car Friday night (40 minutes to find a parking space at rush hour) and left early Saturday morning to pick them up at the airport in Ronkonoma at 10. Did a leisurely and sometimes hilarious drive out to Greenport on the North Fork, stopping at several vineyards for tastings and driving out to Orient Point to look at the ocean.
Stayed at a Stirling House, a lovely B&B that I'd highly recommend (most are too fussy and this one, although it has a high Victorian parlour, wasn't overwhelming) and had a really good dinner in a rather upscale restaurant called the Frisky Oyster in a very quaint tourist/fishing town.
Sunday we wandered Greenport stopping to ride the 1920's Carousel in a Missile Silo (a.k.a. The Futurodome) and assorted shops. Then we took off for the airport, stopping at another couple of vineyards for tastings.
We tried 5 of the 34 vineyards on the North Fork: Paumanok and Lieb Family Cellars were our favorites by far. Jamesport is probably really good, but you really have to think about the wine, something I'm not willing to do. Pellegrini has a gorgeous tasting space and was the most pleasant tasting experience if only 'cause you take a silver tray with your flight(s) and sit at a table, so you don't need to think up something intellectual to say/hide the fact that it disgusts you about each wine to the person pouring it. It also had a couple of nice wines, including the Scott described "church wine". It doesn't taste like communion wine, it smells like an old Catholic Church--sweet wax and incense. The best thing we could say about our final stop at Martha Clara's winery is that it had a nice gift shop, oh, and the tastings are free.
Our big wine lesson of the trip: Merlot on Long Island tastes/looks/smells absolutely NOTHING like a Merlot from California.
We had such a good time, we intend to do it again in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley this fall.
Monday, April 04, 2005
FINALLY: La Cuisine Provencale...
Dateline Friday: I had been waitlisted for a spot in another session of the cooking class Greg got me for Christmas.
10 AM: I called in to see if there was any chance of getting in. I made sure to mention that I worked only blocks from the school, so a last minute call would be fine.
2:30 PM: The office phone rang. Two people had canceled. I was IN!
6 PM: Arrived at class, 45 minute orientation/lecture (with snacks) began.
6:45 PM: Broken up into groups of 4. 12 people, skill levels all over the map with the low end being a guy who's never tried to cook and a woman who so has never WANTED to cook in her life--we're talking thick makeup and 2 inch nails--both there with significant cooking others to the high end: general foodie types to an elderly Cubano who's the personal chef for a modern artist who lives on the upper west side (he takes classes to expand his cooking horizons).
I learned a few things technique wise (I can now properly dice an onion with minimal effort, peel 30+ cloves of garlic in 1 minute and know how to french lamb chops (not that I ever will)), as well as culinary historywise.
The complete menu for the night:
1&2) French olive tapenade and Dried cod/potato spread (no, really, it was really good) both served with homemade garlic toasts.
3) garlicky bean and pasta soup with basil pistou
4) daube de boeuf (essentially LARGE hunks of beef, stewed with vegetables and then the veggies are removed)
5) roasted rack of lamb with herbes provencale
6) braised fennel
7) tian of roasted eggplant, zucchini and tomato with homemade croutons
8) fruit compote for dessert
Some of the recipes were to DIE for...but generally only after the chef who was subbing for the class made some adjustments:
The rack of lamb with herbes provencal. He added a honey dijon base that made it one of the best things I've ever tasted. Other than the flavor, I'm fond of the lamb 'cause it made me the class hero: it was the last thing into the oven so it wouldn't be overdone, so we'd started to eat the other 6 non-dessert dishes and drink LOTS of wine before it came out. We were chatting up a storm with the chef (people were describing their favorite restaurants in Chianti) when it suddenly struck me, "Excuse me, but isn't the lamb supposed to come out?" I got halfway through the word "lamb" and it turned into a total cartoon moment: the chef jumped up, chair literally flying and crashing to the floor, RAN across the room to the oven, ripped it open and pulled out the baking sheet with 4 racks of lamb, apologizing profusely for having forgotten it and that it was probably ruined. Luckily, it was fine, still very pink and absolutely incredible. The class toasted me and the old Cubano rapped me on the shoulder and rasped out "good!" (Something told me this was a massive complement from this guy.)
The other thing was the dried fruit compote: sauternes, thyme, lavender honey with dried: cherries, golden raisins, figs, dates, prunes, and apricots. The recipe said to simmer for 20 minutes. Well, after 20 minutes the Turkish woman and I who were making it, tasted it: cough syrup. Called the chef over and in whispers "This is absolutely terrible, what can we do?" He tastes it, cocks his head and says: "It needs to cook for at least another hour so the sugar can seep out of the fruit." Well, it simmered for another 2 hours and ended up tasting like fruit stewed in huge amounts of brown sugar, and spooned warm over vanilla ice cream may well be one of the best desserts I've ever had.
10:30 PM: Out, stuffed and very pleasantly drunk. Greg finished work at the same time, we met on the street and he carried the leftovers home, upon which he promptly dined. He too ended up being very glad he gave me the class for Christmas.
Overall awesome experience. I'd highly recommend it, so the next time anyone's coming to visit and wants to do a little cookin', let me know!
10 AM: I called in to see if there was any chance of getting in. I made sure to mention that I worked only blocks from the school, so a last minute call would be fine.
2:30 PM: The office phone rang. Two people had canceled. I was IN!
6 PM: Arrived at class, 45 minute orientation/lecture (with snacks) began.
6:45 PM: Broken up into groups of 4. 12 people, skill levels all over the map with the low end being a guy who's never tried to cook and a woman who so has never WANTED to cook in her life--we're talking thick makeup and 2 inch nails--both there with significant cooking others to the high end: general foodie types to an elderly Cubano who's the personal chef for a modern artist who lives on the upper west side (he takes classes to expand his cooking horizons).
I learned a few things technique wise (I can now properly dice an onion with minimal effort, peel 30+ cloves of garlic in 1 minute and know how to french lamb chops (not that I ever will)), as well as culinary historywise.
The complete menu for the night:
1&2) French olive tapenade and Dried cod/potato spread (no, really, it was really good) both served with homemade garlic toasts.
3) garlicky bean and pasta soup with basil pistou
4) daube de boeuf (essentially LARGE hunks of beef, stewed with vegetables and then the veggies are removed)
5) roasted rack of lamb with herbes provencale
6) braised fennel
7) tian of roasted eggplant, zucchini and tomato with homemade croutons
8) fruit compote for dessert
Some of the recipes were to DIE for...but generally only after the chef who was subbing for the class made some adjustments:
The rack of lamb with herbes provencal. He added a honey dijon base that made it one of the best things I've ever tasted. Other than the flavor, I'm fond of the lamb 'cause it made me the class hero: it was the last thing into the oven so it wouldn't be overdone, so we'd started to eat the other 6 non-dessert dishes and drink LOTS of wine before it came out. We were chatting up a storm with the chef (people were describing their favorite restaurants in Chianti) when it suddenly struck me, "Excuse me, but isn't the lamb supposed to come out?" I got halfway through the word "lamb" and it turned into a total cartoon moment: the chef jumped up, chair literally flying and crashing to the floor, RAN across the room to the oven, ripped it open and pulled out the baking sheet with 4 racks of lamb, apologizing profusely for having forgotten it and that it was probably ruined. Luckily, it was fine, still very pink and absolutely incredible. The class toasted me and the old Cubano rapped me on the shoulder and rasped out "good!" (Something told me this was a massive complement from this guy.)
The other thing was the dried fruit compote: sauternes, thyme, lavender honey with dried: cherries, golden raisins, figs, dates, prunes, and apricots. The recipe said to simmer for 20 minutes. Well, after 20 minutes the Turkish woman and I who were making it, tasted it: cough syrup. Called the chef over and in whispers "This is absolutely terrible, what can we do?" He tastes it, cocks his head and says: "It needs to cook for at least another hour so the sugar can seep out of the fruit." Well, it simmered for another 2 hours and ended up tasting like fruit stewed in huge amounts of brown sugar, and spooned warm over vanilla ice cream may well be one of the best desserts I've ever had.
10:30 PM: Out, stuffed and very pleasantly drunk. Greg finished work at the same time, we met on the street and he carried the leftovers home, upon which he promptly dined. He too ended up being very glad he gave me the class for Christmas.
Overall awesome experience. I'd highly recommend it, so the next time anyone's coming to visit and wants to do a little cookin', let me know!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
You know you're tired when...
I saw a bouquet on the front desk this morning. It had a "Happy Birthday" balloon tied to it. I wondered if it were for me. Yeah. A little more coffee's gonna be required.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
You Can Go Home again...
This morning I had to do a site visit in Sunset Park, my old neighborhood in Brooklyn. (By the way, harborfront industrial property is not necessarily where you want to be when it's 20 degrees and the wind is gusting to 50 mph.) However, after we finished walking the area we went up to 39[th Street] Donuts--coffee shop of fame which I believe several of you may have visited when visiting me, if only because Jen and I ate there 4 times a week. I was a little afraid it would be different and in a couple of ways it was: there are new menus and new waitresses, but the chopped steak sandwich tasted just as delicious as always, Mike the fry cook was still there AND he RECOGNIZED ME after 5 years. There were kisses, a chopped steak to take back for Greg and free donuts for my colleague and me. I'm still tickled to no end that he remembered me!
Anyway, I'm off to the homeland tomorrow...I have a flight booked for 7:30 pm (no, I have no idea what I was thinking) so I'll be attempting to fly standby on an 11:15 flight. Cross your fingers for me, folks.
Anyway, I'm off to the homeland tomorrow...I have a flight booked for 7:30 pm (no, I have no idea what I was thinking) so I'll be attempting to fly standby on an 11:15 flight. Cross your fingers for me, folks.
Monday, March 07, 2005
"Historical Context," ever heard of it?
So, this guy from Entertainment Weekly, Chris Nashawaty, reviewed the new release of "Bambi" for NY1, the local news station. He goes off on how it's a wonder that we all weren't scarred for life given the darkness of the movie even before Bambi's mother is shot offscreen (wolves attack, bucks fight, there's a forest fire) and he can't imagine what the Disney people were thinking when they decided to show this much bad stuff to little kids.
Bambi was made in 1942. Ummm, it's pretty likely that the kids in the theaters already knew that the world was a pretty freakin' dark place. After all, a good number of them were living with the definite possiblity that they would have a parent killed, by a gun, offscreen. The point of Bambi is that even when terrible things happen, you can survive and be okay.
Bambi was made in 1942. Ummm, it's pretty likely that the kids in the theaters already knew that the world was a pretty freakin' dark place. After all, a good number of them were living with the definite possiblity that they would have a parent killed, by a gun, offscreen. The point of Bambi is that even when terrible things happen, you can survive and be okay.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Flummoxed once again...
I went to book group last night (I don't know why they changed it to Thursday either.) and the book discussion was fine, but then we got into the "New Super Strain of HIV" discussion--HIV is often a topic when you have an AIDS researcher in the group. Anyone has a question or Rowena does a new conference and we're off and running.
We're all fairly well-educated individuals so imagine the reaction when the one guy in the group asked how women got it if they didn't shoot up since it can only be transmitted through blood. Ummmm...and semen. "It's not in semen!" he exclaimed with belligerent certainty.
I thought the researcher was going to cry simply because this 39-year-old attorney didn't understand what "sexually transmitted disease" meant. Oh, and then, because women are more likely get it than men from heterosexual sex he compounded his stupidity and asked if that's because we have an "open wound".
Suffice it to say, I now know an incredible lot about virus tissue preferences, cell layers in delicate areas, micro-frissions caused by intercourse and the virus killing action of saliva.
Mockery from everyone but the researcher aside, and there was quite a lot of it, it was not one of the more uplifting endings to a book group.
We're all fairly well-educated individuals so imagine the reaction when the one guy in the group asked how women got it if they didn't shoot up since it can only be transmitted through blood. Ummmm...and semen. "It's not in semen!" he exclaimed with belligerent certainty.
I thought the researcher was going to cry simply because this 39-year-old attorney didn't understand what "sexually transmitted disease" meant. Oh, and then, because women are more likely get it than men from heterosexual sex he compounded his stupidity and asked if that's because we have an "open wound".
Suffice it to say, I now know an incredible lot about virus tissue preferences, cell layers in delicate areas, micro-frissions caused by intercourse and the virus killing action of saliva.
Mockery from everyone but the researcher aside, and there was quite a lot of it, it was not one of the more uplifting endings to a book group.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Friday, February 25, 2005
The Balance Struck...
Rehearsal in the apartment last night. Thank God for earplugs...I was totally able to read my book club book (I'm struggling with it) without being distracted. I could only hear them when the pitch became very high or something sounded wrong, which in the end, was a good thing. My "notes" were based solely on things that broke the sound flow--it was a kind of interesting experiment.
I must admit, I like the current situation: Greg's gotten over his possessiveness of the show, and I've proven in the past that my criticisms are sound, so now they both ask for my opinion of how things are working or not. Whereas for the first show, Greg didn't want to hear anything I had to say about it. At one point, they went to a professional whose critique ended up being almost identical (with a few additions) to my own. Greg told me how great the pros comments were and I laughed and laughed. He was confused, I explained. It eventually sunk in, hmmm, despite not being an "actor" Tina has tons of experience with stage shows--oh, and she's free. So now I comment when asked or something sounds very wrong, they listen and use or discard as they will.
I must admit, I like the current situation: Greg's gotten over his possessiveness of the show, and I've proven in the past that my criticisms are sound, so now they both ask for my opinion of how things are working or not. Whereas for the first show, Greg didn't want to hear anything I had to say about it. At one point, they went to a professional whose critique ended up being almost identical (with a few additions) to my own. Greg told me how great the pros comments were and I laughed and laughed. He was confused, I explained. It eventually sunk in, hmmm, despite not being an "actor" Tina has tons of experience with stage shows--oh, and she's free. So now I comment when asked or something sounds very wrong, they listen and use or discard as they will.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Hmmm...
This morning on my way to work, I saw a woman come out of the "Teddy Roosevelt Birthplace". She was wearing leggings and a shiny metallic green puffy coat, was overly made up, and the true oddity, she was carrying both a camera and small sledge hammer.
I'm still trying to figure out the circumstances under which that would be appropriate attire.
I'm still trying to figure out the circumstances under which that would be appropriate attire.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Today in NYC History
I was reminded this morning that on this date in 1997, the early afternoon sun was suddenly covered by very heavy clouds (at least given the tiny view from our 75th St. window) thus causing Ms. Weber and I to cancel our plans to go to the Empire State Building observation deck.
The shooting started a mere 2 hours later.
The shooting started a mere 2 hours later.
Friday, February 04, 2005
A request from my mom...
Medicare no longer covers mammograms or checkups. It also does not cover hearing aids or glasses. Budget cuts you know.
Know what it does cover? Viagra.
Evidently the health/safety aren't as important as getting laid.
Her request: "Will you get up on your high horse and send some emails for me?"
Know what it does cover? Viagra.
Evidently the health/safety aren't as important as getting laid.
Her request: "Will you get up on your high horse and send some emails for me?"
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
What are the odds?
My brother was called in for jury duty Monday. Exactly one week after I was. Guess what trial he was interviewed for?
The Hirte murder trial.
He was found unsuitable and excused.
Both of us, 1000 miles apart, called for jury duty within one week, interviewed for a murder trial and excused.
The Lund kids are doggin' legal bullets right and left.
The Hirte murder trial.
He was found unsuitable and excused.
Both of us, 1000 miles apart, called for jury duty within one week, interviewed for a murder trial and excused.
The Lund kids are doggin' legal bullets right and left.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Mark Green's a Prick
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.
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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)