not i, the jury

Yesterday, i reported for my first jury summons.
Contrary to the prevailing "howyagonnagetoutofit" attitude, i did so gladly. Eagerly would be overstating the case, as i can't say i relished the thought of a weeks-long commitment...so much writing time sacrificed, to say nothing of the ninety minutes it would take to get downtown by bike.
Yet it would be hard to overstate how moved i've always been by the movie TWELVE ANGRY MEN. In theory, there is nobility in our jury system. Of course the reality is far more corrupt, but...
Anyway, gladly i went.
The day started out in a gathering room where i and hundreds of others waited. Most trials are avoided at the eleventh hour, so there was a fair likelihood that few of us would be needed. The shepherd for our begrudging flock was a case lesson in how there are stand-up comedians who don't need a concert hall or cable special to shine. Quips flowed off him like water off a duck's back. All's the more credit, that he could be so enthusiastic and fresh with something he's done hundreds, if not thousands of times.
I sat and read my book for an hour.
Then another.
A group of thirty or so was taken from us.
I read on.
Another group was taken.
I read on.
During the third hour, another group was called...including number 350. Moi.
A bailiff shepherded us through a spinal tapian traverse of corridors and elevators.
Then another waiting area, outside a courtroom. Before long, we were ushered in.
One judge. Two bailiffs. A court reporter. An intern. Three lawyers across from one lawyer. Over the next five hours (including lunch break), forty-five jurists would be whittled down to seven. The only instant antipathy i felt was for the group of three - something a bit hard about them. The only person i felt instant sympathy for was the lone lawyer, who rather fit the cliche of public counsel to a T. A woman of color, underfunded and alone against the world's fat cats. The fact that the other lawyers were white men, only reinforced the image. Did the fact that i found her sexually desirable contribute to my feeling of sympathy? Of course.
The judge displayed a relaxed, almost playful demeanor that did our day's original comedian proud. He was always ready with inspirational quotes, when time needed to be filled. He didn't seem the least bit jaded or cynical.
Or perhaps he was on his best behavior once the room discovered we had a celebrity amongst us, a local TV news anchor doing his civic duty. Is that a cynical thought that is (for once) unjustified? The judge's demeanor seemed entirely unforced throughout. My only fleeting critique of him was that his sunny attitude felt almost inappropriate to the seriousness of  the occasion. A man's freedom was at stake. But i veto that critique - the regulars in that room have to deal with stressful, horrible realities day in and day out. Humor is probably the healthiest reaction possible.
And indeed a man's freedom was at stake. I was a little surprised when i learned that the group of three was actually two lawyers and one defendant. I had imagined that we wouldn't know any of the case's specifics until the trial formally began, but here we were being told that this man before us was accused of petty larceny and aggravated assault. A robbery gone bad, resulting in a knifing.
I pondered our current jury selection process. There is something more than a little unsettling about counsel being able to hand-pick a jury. If we go further down that road, we'd allow lawyers to dismiss a judge they don't like. Isn't the truly impartial system one where judge and jury are selected entirely at random? I understand the opposing argument, and agree it has merit...i just don't think we should lose sight of the fact that our current process is like affirmative action - a horrible solution only marginally better than the problem it's trying to fix.
From trial to trial, jury selection occurs with varying degrees of transparency. On this day it would all be out in the open, except for sidebars wherein jurists could share anonymously something they felt was too personal. They would meet with the lawyers at the bench, while a white noise machine went on. This happened at least ten times. We were all given a sheet with a battery of general questions, and stood up, one by one, to give our answers. Name, occupation, residence and duration thereof, family life, relation to any officers, and past involvement with crime (either as victim, perpetrator, or relative of same). The judge made a sympathetic reference to the average person's fear of public speaking, and i got to see that reality play out more directly than i ever had before. There was one potential jurist who responded to a question with a semi-coherent ramble that went on for minutes, completely straying from the original point. When it came my turn to stand and talk (i was first up after lunch break, as it happened), would i be exempt from such stage fright? I had spent much of my life on actual stages, with hardly a quiver. But surprise - the fright got me! I completely forgot to answer the final question - i was going to say that i had one cousin doing time for grand larceny.
Why did i lose my composure, even a little? Was it simply because the context was so very different from theater, or indeed any other public speaking situation i'd experienced? Perhaps. Was it something to do with the one or two almost-brushes i'd had with the legal system, combined with my belief that our system of crime and punishment is hopelessly barbaric (and irredeemably corrupted by money as well)? Perhaps.
The judge's humorous demeanor almost swayed me into injecting comedy into my own speech. I was going to say that i had "no children...as far as i know". When the moment came, i left out the punchline (truthful though it was).
Having plenty of time to think about how i would present myself, the only thing i waffled on was whether i should mention i'd had a police officer uncle killed in the line of duty. It happened when i was so young however, i barely remember him. When the moment came, i mentioned it.
After we'd all had our turn, and answered any questions prompted by our declarations, the defense and prosecution had a chance to pose general questions, asking whether we all understood or agreed with such and such, and inviting any to offer a personal response. I had warmed up to the defense team just a bit...but they never quite lost that mercenary whiff. The younger one could probably sell a lot of used cars if the law thing doesn't work out, and at one point during a sidebar, the older one casually rested his hand on the defendant's back. It somehow felt both sincere, yet entirely planned so as to be visible to all. As for the defendant himself, he didn't strike me one way other the other.
By this time, our group had already been whittled down to twenty or so, with jurists dismissed either for health or scheduling reasons (we'd been informed that the trial might last two or three days). On the lunch break, i was curious as to whether any fellow jurists might offer to dine with me, and if so, what demographic would i attract. I've still got plenty of youthful energy, but my days of being mistaken for a twenty-something are probably behind me. One tries to not think of such things, but in a society so horribly ageist as our own, true equanimity is ever the illusion. It was a couple of twenty-somethings who invited me to join them. A legal clerk who bore a libido-arousing resemblance to anna paquin, plus a male gay hairdresser (i only mention this because it was turning out to be quite the day for walking cliches). We had charming and even somewhat personal conversations as we ate, and made plans to dine together again the following day. As it happened however, none of us would be picked.
Did i even want to be picked? I was struggling with that. The relative brevity of the trial swayed me toward wanting to do it. But something about the nature of the responsibility gave me pause. I tried to put such thoughts out of my mind...
During the group question period, i spoke up in response to a question about how we might react to a case founded on witness testimony, as opposed to forensics or surveillance. I said that i'd be leery about rendering a guilty verdict in such a case, as i was fairly up-to-date on research into the science of memory, which has revealed that human recollection is almost infinitely more fallible than we'd ever thought. Indeed, one of the points i brought up is that some scientists have theorized that there may come a time when witness testimony will no longer even be admissible.
Looking back, those may have been the words that sealed my fate, as it was perhaps last thing the state's attorney wanted to hear. But i felt so strongly about it, that i barely held my tongue when another jurist was questioned on the point, and opined that she thought people might get details wrong, but not the big stuff. Would it have been petty of me to propose that my esteemed colleague was obviously not a devotee of the Discovery Channel?
As we waited in the lobby before final selection, i felt a wave of unease...very much wanting to do my duty, but overtaken by the awareness the i don't believe in our system of punishment. The very notion of imprisonment...putting someone we don't like into a locked cage, not for days, but years? That, dear friends, is the very definition of barbaric. There is no justification for it, other than vengeance and problem-avoidance. And beyond that, the more i come to understand just how horribly broken our society is, how irretrievably damaged we all are before we're old enough to even know what the word "damage" means, the less able i am to stand in judgment over anybody's life. Every sister or brother on this planet is just a fucked up version of my own fucked up self. There are tiny steps we can make toward healing...but cruel retribution has no place therein.
As i sat there, another jurist chatted me up. He was eager to talk about his life, and the trial, and the use of negative space in art...
We were called in.
I had no idea what would happen.
The judge humbly thanked us all again, and called out seven names.
Number 350 was done for the day, and indeed the year.
The judge then invited the dismissed jurors to stay, but no one took him up on it. As we filed out, i was the only one who turned to the final seven, already sworn in. I gave them a little salute, as if to say "Go, brothers and sisters...try to do some good." Wait, the news anchor got picked? Hmph. Obviously they're not choosing based on merit, but on celebrity suck-up. Angling for a flattering news story about the local justice system. Hmph.
As i left the building, i shook hands with my new friend on the courthouse steps. It felt very much like the farewell scene between henry fonda and joseph sweeney...

naked nurse 5

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
A friend and i are always arguing over who has the harder life. I'm married, and he's single. We need this issue resolved once and for all. Who has it worse???
-henpecked in hattiesburg
p.s. There's a $20 in it for you if you know which side your bread is buttered on.

Dear henpecked,
Fortunately, vegans are immune to butter. But there's a $20 in it for you, if you know on which side your modifier is dangled.
Sorry for being acerbic...but you've committed a classic bifurcation. One of you must be right? Piffle! Let's look at this objectively. Being single is a condition marked by loneliness and long stretches of sexlessness. The institution of marriage is fraught with frayed nerves, ever-diminishing testosterone, passion turned to apathy (or far worse)...and long stretches of sexlessness.
Which is worse, you ask? Really?
From what we know of your friend, he's not in that tiny minority of singles who have found some small measure of sanity (i.e. well-supported emotionally, with as much intimacy and sex as needed). And you're clearly not in the microscopic minority of married folk who are the better for it (i.e. haven't overdosed on each other, while maintaining a union that's jealousy-free).
Some people can dismiss the fact that over half of all marriages fail...as though all the remaining, "successful" marriages are some kind of romp in the daisies! But if half are outright failing, what percentage of the rest are barely making it?
Most intentionally single folk however, are only replacing marriage with serial monogamy (or "marriage-lite") - with the same pitfalls of possessiveness, and having one's life precariously defined by a single relationship.
Marriage only ever "worked" when it was based on double standards that favored the male, and socio-economic pressures that made it nigh-impossible for a woman to leave. Yet even then, it's a love-sucking house of lies and denial for the male too.
Until marriage fundamentally changes, it's a sucker's game.
Being single? A sucker's game too!
Whee.
As things stand, is one reality even a little better than the other? Yes. But it's such a pathetic difference that it's not worth mentioning.
And i don't say that just because i don't want you to take your poor friend's money.
selfless snuggles,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

lesbians looking for daddy

WWW4M
No, not euphemistically (no unresolved parental issues here...well, pretty much). We mean literally! Three lesbians looking for a man to add to our family...hopefully followed by a few more add-ons of the fetal variety. Don't be concerned that we only want you for your Y chromosome - we're all bisexual (but "bis looking for daddy" was just confusing). We are one asian, one black, and one latina who have hewn a harmonious, oft-hilarious home. For genetic diversity, we'd prefer you be white. We'd like you to be wildly intelligent, progressive (obviously), and in touch with your feminine side (extra-obviously). Opinionated but not overbearing. Passionate but peaceful. No bible boys. Love giving backrubs. Love music! Love other animals (but not with tobasco sauce). Be an adult who's never struck another in anger. We all have our escape mechanisms, and that's fine (as long as chemical dependence or gambling aren't in your repertoire). Sexual addiction is fine (no, really). Don't worry about money, we have plenty. With four parents, the child-rearing won't be overwhelming. Be comfy in your skin. Be a dreamer.

"Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked"

(Sex, Morality, and the Evolution of a Fairy Tale)
-by catherine orenstein
2002
A brilliant, wonderfully-written gem. Catherine studies the history of fairy tales in general (offering tidbits like how the moralizing brothers grimm lied about their work's authenticity), then focuses on red and granny and the wolf (and sometimes the huntsman). She deconstructs the moral underpinnings of the tale: its early sexual tones meant for an older audience, its transformation into a children's tale teaching girls the dangers of disobedience (and boys the allure of dominance), then finally multiple modern incarnations which have reclaimed the story's sexual roots in order to explore female empowerment, gender roles, and transvestism. Each chapter is led in by a different adaptation (anne sexton, tex avery, james thurber, angela carter...). The radical feminist backlash against all fairy tales is diffused (or de-fused), as catherine convincingly demonstrates that those protestations are only part of the picture, in that fairy tales are a fluid construct, ever-changing to reflect and anticipate changes in society. Peppered with delightful quotes, references, and photos, this book is an invigorating breath of literary air.

confluincidence

Would you believe that before today, i'd never been inside a V.A. hospital?
You would? Fair enough - i'm not surprised myself, considering that i'm not a veteran and haven't been hospitalized since i was a child.
But today...
Are you one of those people who believe that things happen for a reason, and that coincidences are just the universe talking to us?
You aren't? Good, me neither.
But today...
I'm pretty sure that never in my life have i been at the center of so many simultaneous coincidences, all aligning to create one singular effect. Were you inclined to NOT believe in coincidence, you'd have had a field day!
Why was i, a healthy non-vet, in a V.A. hospital? When i dressed and left the house today, i had no idea that's where i was heading. I have a client named woody, for whom i'd been doing handy work. When he called this morning asking me to work, he said he could pick me up, and wondered whether i'd mind making an extra stop, so he could keep a rehab appointment. I told him that was fine, and tossed a book in my pack. When we got there, i quickly realized it was a veteran's hospital. Approaching the entrance, i suddenly became self-conscious of my appearance. I wore heavy boots. Military issue shorts. An army green T-shirt, with military-style lettering. And just two weeks before, i'd buzzed all my hair off.
In other words, had you asked me ten years ago to "look like a soldier" when i left my house on this particular date, i could hardly have fulfilled that request any more toe-to-toply than what i happened to look like today.
Nor was the timing of my shearing the only coincidence. Given my pacifist leanings, on my own i'd never have been wearing camo shorts. But the leader of the NYC moving company i'd worked for had a military fetish. He instilled that into our company's language and appearance. I'm not one to throw away good clothing just because the reason i got it no longer pertains, so...
Before washing, i often get two wearings out of a work shirt. I had originally put on a grey automobile shirt this morning, but then i looked at my little pile of work shirts, and realized that it made more sense to wear a green one, as i have two of them, and if i didn't wear one today, i chanced later on looking like i'd been wearing the same shirt four days in a row.
And yet another shirt coincidence. When i was dressing, i completely forgot about the work shirt i'd already worn once, hanging on a hook - a white john lennon shirt.
So there i was, in army green.
But this shirt had lettering, remember? My self-consciousness suddenly jumped to another level of discomfort, as i remembered what my shirt said - "GO ROGUE: TRY PEACE".
My first wave of self-consciousness was over the fact that people were about to assume i'd been a soldier, and treat me accordingly. If addressed, i wasn't one to lie about such things, so i realized i might soon be facing the suspicious looks of people who wondered why i would impersonate a vet. My second wave of self-consciousness was over the message on my shirt. It was no longer a question of just being a dishonest weirdo - my hippiesque shirt might be insulting to some who had suffered in the service of this country.
Might this even get ugly?
It didn't occur to me to turn my shirt inside out. In a world where integrity gets kicked in the ass every day of our lives, i try to live by the words "be who you are". I try. So here are my chips, i thought. Let 'em fall. I didn't intend this, but won't run from it.
Would i feel comfortable, alone among military faces? Had my life's politics imbued in me an inescapably adversarial attitude toward anything military? I hoped not. Just don't ask me whether i "support the troops". I'm sure there was a good intent coming from whomever first coined that phrase, but like so many things, it quickly devolved into some bullshit litmus magnet for small minds, which carefully avoids the deeper issues. Do i love every sister, brother, grandparent, and child on this planet, regardless of where they've been and what they've done? Yes. Please don't ask whether i support the troops.
As my friend disappeared into the offices, i took a seat in the enormous lobby. I got my book out, but over the next forty minutes kept looking up into passing people's eyes. I was so curious, i almost put the book away entirely.
At first, i saw a lot of what i'd expected - harsh, severe faces reminiscent of my father's, a veteran with whom i'd had a contentious relationship since infancy. As i relaxed into the situation though, i found a few eyes less cold. Was it because my appearance marked me as one of them? How many had eyesight sharp enough to process the message on my shirt at a glance, given that some were ten feet away?
One of my conceits is that i fancy i could walk into any group of humans, and be completely at ease. It's easy to not draw attention to yourself, once you know the secret of looking like you're exactly where you're supposed to be (or even just actually feeling that). There's a big whiff of bullshit in that conceit, though. If i walked into a radical feminist office, a mosque, or an all-black bar, my centeredness might crumble nine times out of ten.
And then i finally got a look that i knew would stay with me, long after all others had been forgotten. A large, lean man walked past, looking like a bad-ass cliche. Big boots, military pants, a marine cap covering short hair...but this was no martinet or automaton. His bushy mustache made him look like he lived on a chopper. He'd probably had a distinguished service career, but if he'd been offered promotion to officer, he'd turned it down.
He and i would have gotten along great for a time, until my pacifist babble or his treatment of women (or whatever) drove us apart.
All of that may be utter crapola, of course. This person may have been none of those things. But whoever he was, he looked me in the eyes with a disarming directness not one stranger in a hundred can muster.
He nodded, and looked at me like he knew me.
Later, talking with my friend, i learned that my anti-war shirt might actually have endeared me to many of the vets. That was something i'd probably been aware of in the abstract...but when thrown into a situation like that, particularly when you're representing yourself in a way you didn't intend, your mind becomes a mix of assumptions you're trying to get rid of, and ones you know you can't.
If my friend had told me where we were going...
If i hadn't worked for that moving company...
If i hadn't had my once-a-year haircut...
If i hadn't replaced the first shirt i put on...
If i hadn't missed that once-worn shirt...
I'm not saying you should be impressed by these coincidences. I'm certainly not.
So was the friendliness of that unforgettable stranger a factor of seeing my shirt's message...or of not seeing it? Or neither?
I don't know.
Wouldn't it be nice if all writers ended their work with those three words?

rutles & fatso

Neil Innes & Fatso
FAREWELL POSTERITY TOUR
2013
The Rutles
LIVE & RAW
2014
A bi-bomb of barry wom! With songwriter and frontperson neil innes out front (as good frontpersons should be) the canon of the irredeemable Rutles gets a double dose of clap-worthy concert release.
Although strictly speaking, the 2-disc FAREWELL POSTERITY TOUR is not Rutles proper. No, that doesn't mean there's no o'hara or mcquickly (though there isn't)...it means that while the smorgasbord is well-seasoned with Rutle spice, the main course is the solo offerings of innes. Cheeky Bonzo-style fare, mostly. Not as resonant as the Rutle bits, but charming, plus some Python pieces ("Bold Sir Robin", "Philosophers Song") swirled into the mix. Plus some fats domino, and george harrison's "Beware of Darkness". Fatso are the "original" Rutles, from Rutland Television days, pre-dating eric idle, ricky fataar, andy brown, or ollie halsall. Neil, billy bremner, brian hodgson, roger rettig, and john (barry) halsey are a tight, relaxed unit, obviously having a dandy ol' time (i can say it like that, because they do a country song). The liner notes have commentary by neil for each song (yay!), but are quite vague on where/when the tour/concert actually took place (awww). The photos imply that they played at Liverpool's Cavern Club. Neil tips his hat to the infantile nature of the litigious troubles that have run rampant in Rutland, as he's legally prohibited from claiming writing credit for the songs. But never mind all that, the album is thoroughly charming, including two Rutle tunes not found on...
LIVE & RAW, a more streamlined, 1-disc rutlefest! This one's even more vague on where/when the whole affair took place. The thirteen tracks charmingly cover both studio albums. Any particular fan might be miffed by the absence of a personal favorite (no "Major Happy", no "Ouch?"...no "Rendezvous"??), but it's a nicely-representative meshing of eras, that you perhaps thought you'd never hear. Neil and john's backing lineup (mickey simmonds, mark griffiths, and ken thornton) are firecracker-sharp. While the arrangements lack any especial inventiveness, the patter is precious, and there are some delightful touches, such as a semi-obscure hat-tip to Spinal Tap. What makes this disc an absolute must-have is track 14 - "Imitation Song", an original studio offering. It's brilliant in a way that only one or two other Rutle songs have achieved ("Eine Kleine Middle Klasse Musik" comes to mind...which should be covered acoustically by marilyn manson). The lyrics are more socially-biting than Rutle music (or neil's solo work, for that matter) generally is - leavened with just enough comedy to make them non-preachy, they're indelible for anyone who cares about such things. "Imitation Song" should be covered too, and not ironically - by eddie vedder ("Poppy-cockeyed world" is one of the funniest, most unforgettable lyrics ever penned - i upchuckled for days).
All in all, you'll listen and listen again and again.

bush-whacked!

An hour a day
sitting at a mirror
Is that your definition of free?

You can't do squat
wearing high heels
Isn't babe short for baby?

Bald pits, bald cunt
To call a woman "girl"?
Sounds like pedophilia to me