Just Call Me Juror # 9

I'm going to say two words but I want you to remain calm.  Do not immediately run, screaming, into your closet and hide until the end of days.  Okay?  Here they come...

Jury Duty

Still there?  Hello?  Way to hang in there.

Recently I served on a jury for a 3-day criminal trial in the great city of Phoenix, county of Maricopa.  It was an experience that can be fairly summarized as such:

Jury duty gets a bad rap.  So bad it makes Vanilla Ice look like Jay Z.

Most people get that notice in the mail and their minds immediately start trying to think of ways they can get out of it.  I thought of my typical day - pink cubicles and white noise,  florescent lights and reports, pre-meetings and meetings and post-meetings.  Hmm.

One of my favorite parts of the whole experience was the initial thinning of the herd, or voir dire.  This is done by asking questions, the first being the simple, why do you feel you wouldn't be able to serve on this jury?

Some people owned their own business, some were employed by companies that didn't pay for time served (shame on them), and some lived on tips.  For them avoidance was understandable.

For the majority that wasn't the case, and that's when I got to see what my fellow citizens were made of - a snapshot of our society, and it wasn't pretty.  Some of my favorite excuses:

• The drive here was very taxing. Actually my husband drove - but it was still very taxing.
• I'm a teacher and 3 days away from my students would severely harm their learning.
• I had a bicycle stolen when I was in college (the 80's) so I couldn't possibly be impartial.
• I hate cops.
• No hablo Englais (from a woman I'm pretty sure I heard in the hallway hablo Englais just fine.)
• I have to care for my critically ill mother. (When the judge asked her who was doing that at the time, the woman froze.  Didn't really think that one through I guess.)
• My neighbor's dog ate my other neighbor's chicken.

Those that didn't try to wiggle their way out looked downright miserable.  Those left behind after each round of dismissals acted as if they were being sent to the gallows.  I'd compare the energy in the room to that of a funeral.

Part of me envied the others.  If this was so bad then their typical days must be infinitely more exciting than mine.

By the end of the day we narrowed 56 down to 14 and had our jury set - yours truly as Juror #9.

Jurors don't work long hours.  On day 2 of the trial we reported to the courthouse at 10:30.  The trial started at 11.  We broke for lunch at 11:30.  Back at 1.  Trial started at 2.  Dismissed at 2:30.

Pretty close to what our jury looked like, actually.

The case wasn't terribly juicy - essentially an open-and-shut case.  It actually took longer to appoint a foreman than to render the verdict, which I found a little disturbing considering we held a person's future in our hands.  My concern was not shared by the group.

The reading of the verdict was the most uncomfortable part.  Yes, the defendant had put himself in that situation, made his own bed, etc. but it's still not a pleasant feeling to look someone in the eye and tell them their life is going to change drastically, and not for the better.

You tell someone you've been called to serve and they look at you like you've just told them you have incurable, oozing testicular cancer.  Search Twitter and you're likely to find more positive comments under #Hitler than #juryduty.  Just say the words to anyone and watch the reaction.

It's a belief so firmly embedded in our culture that it has little chance of change.  Which, really, is fine.  The fewer willing to serve, the greater the chance I'll get to do so again.  Of course, I'd have to once again deviate from my routine.  But democracy isn't supposed to be easy.  We all have to make sacrifices in a free society, right?

I'm a Little Bit Country, I'm a Little Bit LEAVE ME ALONE!

2012 hasn't been the best year I can recall, however it hasn't been without some highlights.  I've seen some great live music, for instance, and even checked a couple shows off the old concert bucket list.  Two of these - Fiona Apple and Brad Paisley.

My musical tastes are a tad diverse.

In the end I can't help but compare the two, not from a musical standpoint but how they treat their fans.  And brother, it's not even close.

First, let me say I love me some Fiona.  She had me with her debut album, Tidal.  It's quite simply, amazing.  The fact that it was her first effort, and that she was only 19 at the time...holy frigging shit.  I've waited semi-patiently for each album after that, and considering she takes about 7 years between each, it would be understandable to lose interest.  But I haven't.  I pre-ordered her latest and, even though each one gets a little more erratic and it takes me more times through to really get into it, I'll pre-order the next one, if I'm still alive.

I wasn't sure what to expect at her show.  You don't have to search long to find stories of her storming off stage, freaking out, etc.  The term 'hot mess' has been used.  Often.  Upon entering the venue we were told any recording of the performance was strictly prohibited.  Numerous times through the show we watched staff reprimand those that tried anyway.

She took the stage and dived right into the first song.  Then the second.  Then the third.  She went through the full set - an hour or so - with absolutely no contact with the audience.  I'm not sure she ever really looked at any of us.  At the end she came out for the encore, trudged up to the mic and launched into a strange, rambling diatribe about how unfair the industry is when one of your songs appears on a movie soundtrack.  Then she played another song and was gone - like smoke from a hash pipe in the brisk Texas wind.

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I jumped on the Brad Paisley bandwagon late.  I'd heard of him but wasn't familiar with his work.  My guitar instructor turned me on to him, saying he was one of the best guitarists out there, regardless of genre.  Turns out my instructor was right.  The dude can flat-out jam.  I quickly grew my collection of Paisley music and waited for him to come to Phoenix.

The concert was outdoors, a packed house, and was one of the last on the tour.  After the second or third song it was apparent that Brad's approach to the crowd was a little different, when he pulled out a Sharpie, signed his guitar and handed it to a wide-eyed kid, maybe 10, in the first 2-3 rows.

A little later he asked a girl in the crowd if he could borrow the smart phone she'd been using to record him.  Of course, she gave it to him and watched as he made her her a video she'll probably keep until she's old and gray - he recorded her, the crowd, then turned it on himself and sang a few verses just for her.

The stage was set up so he could get as close to the crowd as possible and he used every inch of it.  About an hour (roughly half way) into the show security created barriers down an aisle allowing him to run out to the lawn area of the pavilion where they had set up a smaller, second stage.  He then told us that when he was a kid and would go to a show he never got any closer than that and always felt it was kind of unfair.

He chatted with the audience often, and towards the end the Sharpie came out again.  This time he signed his hat and handed it to another young fan.  During the final encore he pulled both of his opening acts on stage with him.  During the final song he pulled 20-30 people from the audience and had them help with the chorus.

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When I was living back in DC I saw Chris Isaak play and was blown away when he told the audience he was going out to the lobby after the show and would be happy to sign autographs, chat, etc.  I watched for an hour as he did just that, obviously willing to stay right there as long as needed.  He seemed to be as grateful to his fans as they were of him, if not more.

I also attended a small event on Capitol Hill where they were honoring Billy Joel and found myself sitting at the table next to him.  When 3 or 4 of us tried to say hello his security guard jumped up, cut us off and bluntly informed us that Mr. Joel wouldn't be signing anything that evening, or talking with anyone...who was there to honor him.

All phenomenally-talented artists - just different approaches when it comes to their fan base.  It'd be interesting to see them all in the same room.  For some reason I suspect Brad Paisley would probably get along best with Chris Isaak.

  

2011 Best Picture Nominee Rankings

Time once again for the the highly-anticipated, world-famous BPNR list - where I take all of the films nominated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences for the Best Picture of the Year and rank them.

Truth be told this was actually easier before they expanded the field - 9 this year.  It was also easier to do this in a somewhat timely fashion before certain films (not to point fingers but it rhymes with Flea Dartist) held the DVD release for way too long.

Nothing really blew me away with this year's selections.  To be honest, the top 4 were all very close.  But I digress.  Without further ado...

1. Moneyball - nominated for 6 Oscars, and for good reason.  Brad Pitt solidifies his place among the industry’s most-underrated actors, Jonah Hill continues his transition from the chubby, comedic sidekick and Philip Seymour Hoffman continues to knock out whatever roll that’s tossed his way.  But it’s the writing that really puts it over the top for me.  Aaron Sorkin injects his trademark crisp dialogue and the cast drives it home.  I’ve heard people say it’s a baseball movie that even non-baseball fans can enjoy.  Not sure about that, but this baseball fan enjoyed the hell out of it.

2. The Artist - first, let me say I understand all of the negative feedback the Academy received for giving this so many accolades (Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Director, etc.)  There are people who, understandably, don’t want to be forced to read at the movies.  Movie-going is, after all, supposed to be a break - a brief escape in which the viewer can relax and be transported to another world.  I get it.

As some would consider an entire movie (almost) without any audible communication as a negative, it should be looked at more as the incredible feat that it is.  To keep someone engaged for 90+ minutes with just music and the written word?  Hell, a ton of ‘regular’ movies can’t do that. (Looking at you, Tree of Life.)

Like every other film on this list The Artist didn’t really blow me away, but it was unique and enjoyable - a well-executed homage to a much simpler era.  Solid acting, great imagery (watch for the symbolic use of stairways) and, as someone who tries like hell to write scripts, I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been to pen this.  Bravo.

Oh, and it has a cute little doggie.  Bonus.

3. The Descendants - won't lie - I've always been a big fan of George Clooney.  He and his supporting cast shine in this self-realization tale of a dysfunctional family living the beautiful state of Hawaii.  Sometimes funny, sometimes sad, often both - this multi-layered gem has a lot going for it and is worthy of all of the praise it’s received.

4. Midnight in Paris - the naturally-neurotic Owen Wilson was the perfect choice for one of Woody Allen’s naturally-neurotic characters.  The selection pays off in this clever, mystic story which brings the past and present together using Allen’s signature dialogue.

5. Hugo - shocked this didn’t generate a little more buzz actually.  This tale of an orphan (Asa Butterfield, impressive for his age) living in hidden tunnels of a Paris train station is enjoyable from start to finish, and it shows Sasha Baron Cohen is a very good ‘normal’ actor too.  Visually stunning at times.  And the countdown to Chloe Grace Moretz’s first Oscar continues.

6. The Help - well-written, well-performed and well-made, though just a tad self-righteous.  Another designed to tug on the heartstrings, Help successfully mixes drama, comedy and history to put forth the message (again) that slavery was very, very bad.  Or that it’s what’s on the inside that counts.  Or that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover.  Or...

Saw a mock movie poster for this with the title changed to, “White People Solving Black People’s Problems.”  You can judge how accurate that is for yourself.

7. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close - credit this film for not only crossing into territory (9/11) few others have but for making it a central part of the story which, as far as story goes, is interesting and fresh.  There are no ‘wow’ scenes per se, some parts of the story seem unfinished, and no actors really blow you away (though Max von Sydow comes close.)  

While stars like Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock and Viola Davis are technically in it, this is Thomas Horn’s movie, and for someone all of 14 he does a respectable job.  Better than I expected - though I didn’t expect much. 

8. War Horse - Like a middle child, this must-have-cost-a-fortune epic just tries too hard.  Spielberg pulls out every heartstring-tugging trick he’s learned in his illustrious career to make you feel emotion throughout.  At times visually stunning, at more times predictable, and at even more times cheesier than a Wisconsin dairy farm.  Towards the end I could tell what was going to happen next by asking, "What would really make this movie even more emotional and heart-wrenching?"

9. Tree of Life - if you can't say something positive don't say anything at all.  So...this film is as fine a screensaver disguised as a major motion picture you’ll ever see.  Sean Penn had so little screen time that he was probably envious of Jack Nicholson’s part in A Few Good Men.  I understand director Terrance Malick’s is known for his different style; what I don’t understand is why the Academy felt it deserving of a Best Picture nod.

It sure was pretty though.

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Here's to a fresh crop of films in 2012 which entertain, inspire and move people, as movies should. 

Thank you, Maynard

Yesterday we said goodbye to a good friend.  The little guy was suffering from chronic kidney failure, in pain and without hope of getting any better.  I'm confident it was the right thing to do but, as anyone who's had to put a pet down will tell you, that doesn't really make it any easier.

I'm guessing Maynard lived somewhere around 15 years.  He wasn't a kitten when we met.  I'd see him around our apartment complex and, because he was thin and had no collar, I thought he was a stray.  One night I gave him some tuna.  Apparently nothing tells a cat, "hey, you should hang out with this person more" like albacore packed in water.

Our relationship progressed until he was spending most of the time at my place.  Then one day we were sitting outside and a woman walked up and asked, sincerely, if her cat was bothering me.

"Your cat?"

Given this new information, perhaps I should have kicked him out.  I did not.  One day, while Maynard was asleep on my couch, I noticed the woman had moved.  I was officially a cat owner.  (Or, if you're into technicalities, a cat thief.)

It should be noted that for the first 3-4 years Maynard went by another name - Mai (short for maintenance, as in high.)  Our first trip to the vet, and the following conversation, changed that:

Vet:  Mr. Palmer, I have some good news - your cat is going to be fine.
Me:  She is?
Vet:  He is.
Me:  Come again?
Vet:  Your cat is a male.
Me:  Izzawhazza?
Vet:  Are you sure this is your cat?

In my defense I didn't really go poking around down there.  I gave a quick glance, saw nothing dangling and made a logical conclusion.  Looking back I can't even imagine how confused and/or irritated that must have made him.  "WTF man, stop calling me pretty girl!"

Despite that our friendship continued to grow into a true symbiotic relationship.  When he realized that my 2nd floor balcony was merely a 6-foot leap from a tree branch and tried, unsuccessfully, to land on my 2-inch railing, I built a crude landing pad for him.  I think he was appreciative.

And when I needed someone to do pest control he was...not really what you'd call gung-ho.  At first I thought he just didn't see them or maybe he was just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.  Then one night I noticed a cricket crawling along the floor - on a collision course with the snoozing Maynard.

"Aha," I thought, "now we'll see some of that famous feline killer instinct."  The cricket got closer and closer and then literally bumped into Maynard's paw.  Maynard half-opened his eyes, lifted his arm, let the bug pass then fell back asleep.

Creatures outside received no such quarter.  Maynard has delivered all sorts of birds, lizards and bugs.  People say this is a cat's way of giving you a gift.  I think, for Maynard at least, it was more a way for him to get me back for calling him a girl all that time.

Maynard loved being touched/brushed.  He loved sitting in the sun.  He loved treats, catnip and drinking out of the bathtub.  He loved to talk and he howled when I'd play the harmonica.  I'm not sure if that's because he liked it or hated it.  Probably the latter - I don't play well.

Thank you, Maynard.  For putting up with my initial cluelessness, for tolerating the long list of nicknames I gave you, for a decade of companionship, unquestioning love and fuzz therapy.  For sticking around.  You are already missed.