Taking It to the Streets

Has anyone ever been attacked by a gaggle of geese? How about deer? When they are frolicking around and dodging cars, do they ever morph into “Deer Gone Wild?” These are just a few of the questions I ponder as I pound the pavement in and around Hillsborough, NJ, in my new attempt to get healthy and fit. I am Adele, always “Chasing Pavements,” and happy our respective bodies no longer resemble each other.

I’ll admit that my relationship with my new best friend, DVD Walking Queen Leslie Sansone (available through Amazon or wherever exercise DVDs are sold), was short-lived. Though I appreciated her ability to lead me through indoor walking and marching in inclement weather, I found her relentless cheeriness annoying, especially in contrast with the calming introspection I find while taking daily walks.

Mind you, I have lived in my house on Joshua Drive for five years now, and in all that time, I rarely had ventured off my horseshoe-shaped street by foot. Once in the fall my sister got me to walk around the block, but one lap (less than a mile) was about all I could manage.

At one time I was a regular walker, but then my knees began to ache and plantar fasciitis began to plague my feet. I started gaining weight, which only made it more difficult to walk. In 2010, my Achilles was so sore that I ended up in a cast – twice – and occasionally I was forced to rely on a cane. I lost hope of ever being able to approach any degree of fitness.

Now, however, thanks to the combination of aqua aerobics and the fact that I have 75 pounds less to schlep all over town (courtesy of Weight Watchers), my knees feel better, my Achilles doesn’t feel like it is about to snap, and I’m taking it to the streets once more. A while back it dawned on me that my weight loss would not continue merely by cutting back on my food intake and counting my Weight Watchers points, so I had to ramp up the exercise. Aqua aerobics wasn’t enough to cut it, so to speak.

So now I walk. Not with the same fervor as my sister – who I am convinced is going to leave her house one morning at 6 AM and keep walking, until she ends up in Iowa – but I am trying to do it every day. In the sweltering heat, I am out the door by 7 AM. I figure since I can’t sleep anyway, I might as well beat the heat. If I have enough energy and the weather cooperates, I often take a walk in the evening, too.

I have turned into one of the people I used to envy as I drove past them on my way to work. How nice, I thought, to have nothing better to do than take a walk in the morning. When I retire, I’ll do that, I told myself. It only took me 5 years! Now I understand that these people are walking with a purpose, working hard at getting or staying healthy and fit. It is great to get out in the morning, knowing that I’m not late for something or that I have to get work done. Stress eating, anyone? After all, desserts backwards spells stressed.

My ever-encouraging sister has come to walk with me, and I have gone to walk around her neighborhood with her. She was even good enough to drive around my area while I took notes on what roads went where and the mileage from place to place so I wouldn’t either get lost or overextend myself. She has explained to me her theory of “petiquette,” which she has decided is imperative to maintain safe streets (please keep your dogs out of her way and always scoop that poop!).

I am up to 3 miles at a time now, so during the course of a day, I can easily reach 6 miles. Armed with my trusty, official, Weight Watchers pedometer, I try to top 10,000 steps a day. All this from someone who used to drive out of the ShopRite parking lot if I couldn’t find a “good” parking space. Now I don’t care how far away from the store I park. It just adds to my daily step total.

When I am not walking, I spend my time studying Google Maps and Google Earth to plot new routes and discover new paths that don’t appear on the maps. When I drive these same routes, I am astounded that I can walk that far. Me, whose idea of exercise was getting out of the recliner and walking into the kitchen for a snack! Now I am plotting out 4-mile routes and wondering if I am strong enough to go even further.

I relish the peace and quiet of these walking sessions. There’s very little traffic, apart from the main road, so it is calming and safe to walk. I listen to the 5000+ songs on my iPod, really hearing the words for once. Who knew the lyrics to the Crystals’ “He’s a Rebel” were “he’s NOT a rebel,” and not “he’s MY rebel,” which I have been singing for years? I tend to listen to music from the last century – Broadway soundtracks, Kenny Loggins, the Eagles, anything Motown, Billy Joel and Simon & Garfunkel. The other day I heard the Turtles Greatest Hits, and another day it was Blood, Sweat and Tears. I listen to Wilson Pickett sing “Funky Broadway” and it makes me smile. When James Brown proclaims, “I feel good,” I want to dance down the street in agreement.

In the morning, it is me, the squirrels, rabbits and deer on the streets, along with the occasional runner. I marvel at the runners, their smooth, taut bodies gliding along, their feet lightly grazing the sidewalk or road, while I plod along. I notice their defined calf muscles and I am reminded of Leonardo DiVinci’s explanation of his sculptures, which he said he pictured within the blocks of granite with which he worked. I wonder, is there a tight, taut body hidden under my years of accumulated girth? Will I, too, someday be able to run? Is there a sports bra strong and bold enough to take up the challenge?

On the weekends, it is me and the lawn mowers. Now that I am exploring my neighborhood, I check out the neat and tidy lawns and notice which houses have additions and pools. I know which side of the street has the most shade at any given time of day, and I know where I have to avoid the sidewalk and the tree branches that hang too low even for me. I know where the sleeping dogs lie and I am ever so grateful for invisible fences that keep them away from me as I pass. I know to walk west in the morning and east in the evening to avoid the sun in my eyes. If I walk after 7:00 in the evening, I wear sunglasses and take my regular glasses so I can see as it gets darker. If there is even a threat of rain, I carry a small umbrella. I always wear a hat.

I have even ventured to local parks and pathways for a change of scenery and to keep the exercise fresh and interesting. Thanks to a friend from aqua aerobics, I discovered a pond hidden behind the housing development just across the main road. You can’t see it from the street, but you can follow a number of paths that lead to it and walk all the way around it. I can’t wait until fall, when the trees around it turn color and the sunrise/sunset will illuminate their leaves. I’ll be walking with a camera then. Meanwhile, I know to keep my head down and avoid the prodigious amount of poop deposited on the path by the flocks of geese that call the pond home.

One of my friends recently proposed that we walk all the trails listed on the County Park Commission website, and I jumped at the chance to start in the fall, when we can do one lap for exercise and another for me to take pictures. I’ve gone to the Grounds for Sculpture, Duke Farms, the Natirar estate, the tow path along the canal and Colonial Park in Somerset, all great places to take a walk.

I walk slowly, yet I cover nearly three miles in an hour, so I know I am getting faster. I remind myself to walk in my best homo sapien erectus manner and to avoid my usual slouching. I must fill out my full 5’ 1” frame before it gets even shorter.

For a break in the routine, one night I hauled out my bike, which I have used once since I bought it years ago. You know that expression, “It’s like riding a bike?” Well, that didn’t exactly work for me. Going straight was fine, but starting, stopping and steering were more challenging than I remembered, and I never had to tackle any uphill climbs. At least when I fell it was on grass and no one saw me, because I hurt more than my pride. But I was proud of myself for getting up, riding home, and immediately going out for a walk. I think I’ll tackle the exercise bike at the gym. I can’t fall off that – right?

My feet sometimes get blisters and my ankles and Achilles sometimes hurt, but I keep walking. I worry that I have been up and down a few streets so often that the residents must think I am casing the joint. I am sure that by fall I will be ready to take on a 5K walk for some good cause. I know it will be good for me, too. Meanwhile, I’ll just keep walking.

Tina's July Movies

Here are the movies I managed to squeeze in despite being glued to the TV to see the Olympics in July. Numbering picks up from the rest of the year. Movies marked with an * are ones I had not seen previously. All films rated on a scale of 1 (not so good) to 5 (really great) tuna cans.

75. Risky Business (1983) – I ended last month with Tom Cruise in “Rock of Ages” and began this month with Tom Cruise having the time of his life as Joel Goodson in the role that made him a star. Who can ever hear Bob Seeger’s “Old Time Rock & Roll” without thinking of Cruise sliding across that wooden floor in his pink shirt, socks and underwear? Teenaged Joel is a good son, doing his yard work while his parents are away, until, thanks to his friends, he ends up with call girl Lana (Rebecca De Mornay), with his mother’s prized glass egg missing and his father’s Porsche submerged like a U-Boat. Joel ends up establishing a “home-based business” with Lana and her friends to undo the damage. I had a great time watching this movie again and enjoyed all my old favorite lines, like, “I have a trigonometry midterm tomorrow and I’m being chased by Guido the Killer Pimp.” Joe Pantoliano, who plays the wise killer pimp, gives Joel some sage advice: “In times of a sluggish economy, never f*** with another man’s livelihood.” But you know, every now and then you just have to go for it, put on the Ray Bans and say, “What the f***.” 4½ cans.
76. Jones Beach Boys* (2007) – This documentary is a salute to the boys of summer – the lifeguard corps who patrol Jones Beach, New York. Ron Colby, the producer/director/writer of the movie and himself a former Jones Beach lifeguard, returns to the beach to visit his old lifeguard buddies, many of whom have been on the job for 30+ years. Some are teachers or coaches, while others are dentists, doctors, firemen and police officers. All are drawn to the beach and to the camaraderie of people who take pride in their jobs and are thrilled to save lives. When New York State decided in 1971 to terminate any lifeguard over the age of 35, the corps went on strike. When the scabs hired to replace them performed so badly that people drowned, they were rehired. Each year they are required to pass a rigorous test to pass muster. Some of the lifeguards are second generation, and some now are women. The film focuses on the stories of some of the “old” guards in their 50s to 80s and their devotion to their jobs – which, by the way, are much tougher than you might think. I’ve never been to Jones Beach, but it is comforting to know this coterie of lifeguards is dedicated to making sure everyone who does go has a great time and stays safe. 3½ cans.
77. Crazy, Stupid, Love. (2011) – It was crazy and stupid and I loved it, even though I saw it last year and knew the plot twists. An appealing cast, led by a schlubby Steve Carell (who plays schlubby with the best of them), a near-perfect Ryan Gosling, Emma Stone and Julianne Moore, who can cry with the best of them. Throw in Marisa Tomei, Kevin Bacon and the kid who plays Carell’s son, add the babysitter and you have the right people in the right parts for a funny and bittersweet story. Gotta love Crazy, Stupid, Love. If you haven’t seen it yet, slap yourself and get on with it. 4½ cans.
78. Joyful Noise* (2012) – Despite my sister’s assurances that “you can’t go wrong with Queen Latifah,” I have to say the queen does not come through royally here. She is promoted to choirmaster of the church when the previous choirmaster (Kris Kristofferson, who was probably grateful for the brevity of his part) dies, over the disappointment of his widow, a nipped and tucked Dolly Parton. The choir is rehearsing to compete in the nationals – shades of “Glee” here, folks – and Latifah’s character and Parton’s character clash over the music and the growing relationship between the former’s daughter (Keke Palmer) and the latter’s bad-boy grandson (Jeremy Jordan). They exchange pithy barbs and Southern platitudes as Latifah, a nurse supporting her two kids, exerts her creative control over the choir and Parton fights back with threats to withdraw her financial support. The little town in Georgia loves the choir, which is good, since it is about the only thing the economically depressed area has going for it. The music is good – everyone gets a solo – and the last performance is enough to make you want to stand up and dance, or cheer – or even sing. I wanted to like this movie so much more (sorry, Nan), but the clichés weighed it down. I will say that Queen Latifah makes a great mother, and there is a scene/stand-off with her daughter that all mothers should take lessons from. But overall, this was more noise than joy. 2½ cans.
79. To Rome With Love* (2012) – This series of stories is Woody Allen-lite, bereft of the sardonic and sharp wit of the Allen of old and rife with an eagerness to entertain that seemed forced. I won’t even try to summarize the plots, but I will admit the performances by stars Alec Baldwin, Judy Davis, Jesse Eisenberg, Ellen Page and especially Robert Begnini were excellent. While I found the movie modestly entertaining, it seemed more like Woody just continuing on his escape from New York to see other cities and make movies while traveling, this time to Rome. I didn’t think much of “Midnight in Paris,” but that seems much better in retrospect compared to this effort. Woody himself plays a role here, and his neuroses have not aged well. 3 cans.
80. Wages of Spin: Payola* (2008) – You might have to be of a certain age to be familiar with Bandstand – not American Bandstand, but its first iteration, Bandstand – the Philadelphia-based music show which started in 1952 on the radio and eventually landed on ABC-TV. By the time Dick Clark took over the show in 1956, it was well-established and popular, and the boyish Clark only enhanced its popularity. However, Clark, an astute businessman, added to his haul as host money by venturing into music publishing, artist management and even manufacturing records. This nostalgic look at the thriving Philadelphia independent-record scene indicts Clark for making backroom deals – some of which were not illegal at the time – and for profiting by playing and promoting records that he either owned publishing rights to or by artists he worked with. Ultimately, Clark testified before Congress on the payola scandal and denied any wrong-doing. This documentary leads the viewer to conclude otherwise. It is hardly an objective look at the industry, and, while Clark certainly seems complicit, you have to admire his business acumen. He was never indicted or convicted of anything, and let’s give him credit (although the movie does not) for introducing America to many Black artists who had no forum for their talents. I give it a 75 – the beat was very repetitive. 3 cans.
81. Standing in the Shadows of Motown (2002) – If you were a teenager in the 60s, chances are that Motown was the soundtrack of your youth. And while you were well acquainted with Smokey and Stevie and Martha and the Vandellas, you probably didn’t know much about the Funk Brothers, the studio musicians who laid down the grooves that made Motown Hitsville USA. An eclectic collection of mostly jazz musicians, the Funk Brothers played keyboard, drums, bass, guitar, tambourine – you name it – as studio musicians and made up the bands that toured with Marvin Gaye, the Supremes and countless other acts. They brought their special creativity and are as responsible for the Motown sound as Berry Gordy, Smokey Robinson and the songwriters. This documentary pays tribute to the largely unknown Funk Brothers, a tight band of brothers whose soul music defined a generation. The documentary also features Chaka Kahn, Joan Osborne, Gerald Levert and Ben Harper recreating the Motown classics, accompanied by the remaining Funk Brothers. How sweet it is. 3½ cans.
82. For Your Consideration* (2006) – This Christopher Guest-Eugene Levy satire skewers Hollywood and the gossip surrounding the making of a small (and incredibly bad) movie called “Home for Purim.” The usual Guest-Levy troop shows up to play the leads in the movie, has-been actors, gossip columnists, TV “reporters,” PR people, etc., and includes the reliable Catherine O’Hara, Harry Shearer, Michael McKean, Fred Willard – along with Guest and Levy. I liked this picture better than “Best in Show” and “A Mighty Wind.” The scenes from the movie, focusing on a Southern Jewish family celebrating Purim, were priceless, as the “actors” pronounced “mitzvah” and “oy vey” with Southern drawls, all while succumbing to rumors about possible Oscar nominations for the cast. Clever, witty and fun. 3 cans.
83. Dirty Dancing (1987) – Has it really been 25 years since the late Patrick Swayze dirty danced his way into our hearts? Here he is Johnny Castle, a dance instructor at Kellerman’s Catskills Resort, when he meets Baby Houseman (Jennifer Grey), the do-good daughter of a doctor (Jerry Orbach) who is vacationing with her family. When she fills in for his dance partner (Cynthia Rhodes), she learns more than the mambo from Johnny, who, despite his bad-boy swagger, is really a good guy at heart. And oh, how he could dance. I had the time of my life watching this movie again, and I even viewed the last dance scene twice. 4 cans.
84. Blazing Saddles (1974) – This Mel Brooks classic is on the top of my favorite movie comedies of all-time, right up there with “Animal House.” When I think of Mel Brooks, all I can say is “inspired lunacy.” Stars include Cleavon Little, Gene Wilder, Harvey (“that’s Hedly, Hedly Lamar”) Korman, and the wonderful Madeline Kahn as a Marlena Dietrich-like character. Whenever I am tired, I always break out into her song: “I’m tired, tired of being admired…Let’s face it, I’m pooped”). I laugh so much watching this movie that it is hard to hear every line, but by now I know them all and I watch anyway. 5 cans of beans and a campfire.
84. Animal House (1978) – Faber College, 1962. The delightfully devilish deeds of the deeply demented Deltas are on full display in this collegial comedy brought to you by the lunatics from the Lampoon. If you went to college or even lived near one in the 1960s and 1970s, you probably went to some fraternity parties like the ones depicted here. John Belushi, in his first and best movie role, shines as perennial student Bluto (“seven years of college down the drain”), given to starting food fights and peering into rooms at the sorority house. Tim Matheson (“Eric Stratton, rush chairman, damn glad to meet you”) never looked better. Throw in Kevin Bacon as a pledge for the clean-cut rival Omega fraternity, Peter Reigert (Boone), Karen Allen (Katie), Bruce McGill (D-Day), and pledges Pinto (Tom Hulce) and legacy Flounder (Kent Dorfman, played by Stephen Furst) and you have a bunch of actors who looked like they were enjoying every mapcap moment. I know every line in this movie, which, along with the aforementioned “Blazing Saddles,” shares top billing on my list of all-time favorite comedies. Knowledge is good. Comedy is fun. 5 cans.
85. Edison the Man* (1940) – Spencer Tracy lights up this portrait of eccentric inventor Thomas Edison, whose desire to invent the incandescent bulb burns brightly throughout the movie (Spoiler alert: He succeeds). Truth be told, I have had a “thing” for Edison since my 5th grade class took a trip to his lab in West Orange. I have always admired his ingenuity and am a big fan – like most of us – of his inventions. After all, if it weren’t for his inventing motion pictures, how could I see so many movies or write this blog? I remember seeing the sequel or prequel to this movie, the “Young Tom Edison” film starring young Mickey Rooney, but this one was new to me. As a film I’ll give it just 2 ½ cans, but as an inventor, Mr. Edison rates 5.
86. Terms of Endearment (1983) – James L. Brooks’ first big film explores the relationship between an overbearing, difficult mother Aurora Greenaway (Shirley MacLaine) and her underachieving and disappointing daughter Emma (Debra Winger) with humor and pathos. Clearly, they love each other, but they find it difficult just to get along. This movies is about love in its many forms – between parents and their children, married couples, unmarried couples, friends, would-be suitors – as depicted by Jack Nicholson and his killer smile as the astronaut next door who has a brief relationship with Aurora, Jeff Daniels as Emma’s husband, Flap, and Lisa Hart Carroll as Winger’s best friend. This funny and moving movie is in my top 5 of all time, and it was one of the movies my mother loved as well (we saw it together). MacLaine is outstanding and Winger completely believable in their love-tolerate relationship. As always, I found it endearing and heart-wrenching. 5 cans, and 5 tissues, too.
87. Marty (1955) – The recently deceased Ernest Borgnine won the Oscar for his portrayal of lonely butcher Marty in this poignant movie. Everybody’s got a beef with Marty – his customers and his mother tell him he should ashamed that at 34 he isn’t married yet, while all his kid brothers and sisters are married. His best friend just wants to find something to do, and no one thinks the nice girl he meets at a dance is good-looking enough. But Marty likes her, and they talk long into the evening on the night they meet. Marty is a good guy, living with his mother, listening to his buddies and hard-pressed to imagine himself actually happy. Borgnine brings pathos to his role and is matched by Betsy Blair as Clara, the nice girl he meets. This movie is considered a classic – it won the Oscar for Best Picture, Best Screenplay and Best Director – and if you haven’t seen it, you should. Marty may seem like a loser, but the movie is a winner. 4 cans.
88. About Face: Supermodels Then and Now* (2012) – This HBO documentary is a series of interviews with well-known supermodels, most of whom are still working in fashion. Ranging in age from their 40s to one in her 80s, these still stunning women talk about the trials and tribulations of making a living off your looks. They include Beverly Johnson, Carol Alt, Paulina Porizkova, Christy Brinkley, Jerry Hall, Christy Turlington, Cheryl Tiegs and Marisa Berenson. The stories they share shed new light on the life of a supermodel, rife with eating issues, dips in self-confidence and self-esteem and legitimate concerns about longevity and cosmetic surgery. The oddest part is Isabella Rossellini, who appears dressed in a man’s suit and tie and looks strangely like Peter Campbell on “Mad Men.” 3 cans.

Doing My Duty

And so it seems that the civic duty gods have caught up with me at last. I guess serving 3 weeks of petit jury in 1972 isn’t enough for one lifetime. I was called for Federal Grand Jury in Trenton while I was still employed by Johnson & Johnson a few years back, but, thankfully, I never had to report. This time, I was called for Grand Jury in Somerset County, a weekly gig that lasts 4 months. OK, so I’ll do my civic duty AND get a blog entry out of the deal, right?

Day 1 – Selection Day – February 23, 2012

I got up extra early, adhering to the notice that told me to arrive promptly at 9. I pulled into the Bernie Fields Parking Deck – which, by the way, is named for the person who manned the jurors’ parking lot for 45 years (nice touch, I thought) – with time to spare. I walked in with a woman who, like me, wasn’t sure where to go, and who soon told me she had children and was concerned about being on time to get her little one off the bus. I have no such “hardship.” No kids, no sick parents, not even a dog to be walked, so no hope of claiming hardship of any kind. It looked to me like I would be the perfect juror – available, interested and a big fan of “12 Angry Men.”

Apparently not everyone took the “arrive promptly at 9 AM” instructions to heart, as the potential jurors slipped into the historic and lovely old church that serves as the jurors assembly room until 10 minutes past the appointed hour. Finally, someone from the jury management office addressed us, informing us that we would be divided into two panels, one serving on Wednesdays and one on Thursdays (and no switching, either) – if selected. We would have to show up each week, but with 23 people on each panel, it would be acceptable to be absent for pre-scheduled vacations and business trips as long as documentation is provided. Even an occasional illness is permitted. Those with real hardships related to child care, employment and other issues could throw themselves on the mercy of the judge once we moved to the courtroom, where the selection process was set to begin.

The 150 of us assembled occupied every seat in the beautiful courtroom. As I gazed around the richly paneled and ornate room, I thought about sneaking in a camera to record it, but thought better of the notion.

While I agonized over what to wear that day (Would a suit be too formal? Would a blouse seem too casual?), most of the 150 people clearly did not have the same issue. Many wore jeans, though I didn’t notice anyone with skinny or ripped jeans. And the judge had the good sense to wear a robe, which hides a multitude of sins, including whether she ever wears the same outfit twice to court.

We were given instructions and thanked for our potential service and then the parade began. Names were called out one at a time, and people filed down to the front of the courtroom, where they sat in numerical order. An older gentleman – the bailiff – opened the gate as they, one by one, took a seat or went to the front of the room to tell the judge the sad story of why they couldn’t serve. Though a few people were immediately dismissed, I think it is safe to say that more than one who returned to his or her assigned seat gave it a good shot but couldn’t muster up enough of an excuse. In calling down replacements for those people who were excused, the judge asked them before they took their seats if they had hardships. One woman simply sighed, “No,” so plaintively that everyone laughed.

When they got to the last name for the last seat, I heard just what I expected to hear: “Tina Gordon,” and I assumed my position as the last member of panel 2, scheduled for Thursdays. Once the panels were completed, the judge dismissed the rest of the lucky folks who were not selected, and I waved goodbye to a high school classmate I spied across the courtroom. At least she will be free on every Thursday from now through June, while I sit and carry out my civic responsibility.

The judge gave us instructions and told us our service would be interesting and that we would probably be out of the courtroom in a half day, which doesn’t sound so bad. We can’t talk about any of the cases – except when deliberating – so that means I can’t blog about them, either. I’ll have to satisfy myself with comments about the process, like remarking on the guy next to me who reeked of garlic. A foreman (woman) and deputy were selected for each panel by the judge, seemingly at random, and the judge left us in the care of a staff member, who passed out “welcome packets” and instructions for when we actually begin hearing cases, which starts in two weeks. Between now and then, I’ll be in Providence for a Rutgers basketball game and then on to Hartford for the Big East Championship.

And then let me sit in judgment. Should be interesting. I hope.

March 15, 2012
The Ides of March brought my first actual day of jury service since I was sick with the flu last week on what was the opening day for my panel. I came in with a doctor’s note – not signed by Epstein’s mother, but by an actual MD – and the remains of a hacking cough in case there was doubt about my excuse. I was a little concerned, figuring that everyone else who was there last week would know what to do except me. Turns out there isn’t all that much you need to know. The wheels of justice turn slowly in Somerset County, as evidenced by the clock on the wall that had not yet been adjusted to reflect daylight savings time. Thank God someone in charge took care of that, because it would have distracted me all day – which, thankfully, turned out to be over before 11 AM. Who knew? There is a parade of assistant prosecutors who come in one at a time to present individual cases. We only hear the prosecution side, since this is not a trial. There is no defendant in the room and no representation by an attorney. We don’t decide guilt or innocence. At this stage of the judicial process it is our job to listen to the facts of the case and decide whether there is enough evidence to indict the accused so he or she can stand trial. You hear the name of the accused and of the police officer who is brought to court as the witness to deliver sworn testimony about the case. Jurors can ask questions of fact to the witness. Questions about the charges or any legal issue are handled by the assistant prosecutors. You can tell who they are by their legal-sized folders and the reference books they carry, from which they read to the panel the relevant law. There is no judge, and we do not sit in a courtroom – just a meeting room. The prosecutor reads the charge and asks if anyone knows either the accused, the victim, if the name is revealed, or the police officer (witness). If you do, you recuse yourself and escape to the adjacent coffee room. If there is a question about your eligibility to serve for a particular case, the proceedings stop and the matter goes to an assignment judge to determine whether the juror can participate. If everything is a go, the prosecutor tells you the case and the charge and then has the officer answer questions about the case before he or she steps out of the room so the panel can deliberate. A small sign in front of the room is lit that reads, “Deliberating.” It seemed to me that there should be music, like they have on “Jeopardy,” during that time. The foreman, who has a busy role (he also has to swear in the officers), then calls for a motion for a “true bill.” Once the motion is made and seconded, jurors vote by show of hand. Every case we were presented went through. There were more than a few guilty parties in that room today – at least on the fashion front. I doubt anyone spent more time that I did deciding what to wear. I ended up in black slacks, black and charcoal gray striped blouse and black cardigan (I didn’t know what the temperature in the room would be). The majority of people were wearing jeans, the men sporting sneakers, and only one elderly woman and a man wearing a suit looked like they had even considered business casual attire. Except me, of course. I’m hoping to be voted best dressed grand juror by show of hands. Mr. Foreman, are you ready to handle that part of your job?

March 22
It is my second week (the panel’s third) and I am starting to get the hang of the process. Though I live close to Somerville, I have to allot a full 40 minutes to get to the courthouse, between traffic, parking in the deck 2 blocks from the courthouse and walking a circuitous route to arrive. We start early, just before 9, as the first prosecutor walks in and begins to present the facts of the first case. None of this is evidence, we are told, because evidence can only be presented by the sworn witnesses, who, in the cases I heard, are either police or members of the prosecutor’s office. So far we have seen an equal number of male and female prosecutors, but the police officers are almost exclusively men – and most have shaved heads. Some come in regular uniforms, complete with guns. I am catching on to the language. The people who are accused of the crimes are referred to as “actors” – as if they are in a really bad production of some off-Broadway show. At the conclusion of the presentation by the prosecutor, the foreman reads the citation, which is a combination of letters and numbers which only spell trouble for the actors. Then someone has to “move” that there be a “true bill,” which means the case goes forward, or a “no bill,” which means the actor is off the hook. So far, we have passed every case forward, much to the appreciation of the busy prosecutors. And so far, my overwhelming impression – without getting into any of the details of the cases we have heard – is that criminals are not the brightest bunch. But at least we got out early again – before 11 AM – leaving me plenty of time to shop, run errands and get my nails done. I just can’t plan on doing any of those things on a Thursday between now and July.

March 29
Things are becoming routine now, with jurors assembling weekly, assuming the same chairs as the previous week and sitting quietly until the day’s activities get underway. People are beginning to ask more questions of the prosecutors now, feeling emboldened perhaps by their growing familiarity with the process to request further information or interpretation of the law. The cases are relatively routine, too. We’ve heard a bunch of shoplifting cases, receiving stolen goods, burglary and my favorite, eluding. One prosecutor warned us that if we see the police car’s lights flashing behind us and hear the sirens we should pull over. It is better to have a traffic violation than face a charge of eluding police, he explained. The prosecutors seem well-prepared and earnest in their presentations. Again, we are dismissed by 11 AM after going through nearly a dozen cases. I’d prefer these sessions last longer but that there would be fewer of them. Two months of this would be plenty. Four months of tying up my time seems excessive. And that $5 a day isn’t going to buy much of anything.

April
We set a new record today, handling five or six cases and getting out before 10 AM. While most of the people on my panel seem delighted with the early departure and vow not to go directly back to work, I am troubled by the inefficiency of the system. Is it really necessary for a grand jury to determine whether there is enough evidence to try someone caught shoplifting or in possession of a controlled dangerous substance who admits their guilt to the police? It seems to me that since we have not as yet turned down a single case presented to us by the prosecutors, this whole term of service is perfunctory, and it wastes a lot of time. I noticed a sizable drop-off in attendance this week and noted that several of the jurors arrived after we had started, which means they sit outside the jury room until the next case is called. There must be a better way to handle our justice system.

May
It has been a few weeks since I recorded any of my experiences on jury duty, but there hasn’t been too much breakthrough news to report. We did have one really long case that involved a large number of individuals and included the assistant prosecutor reading transcripts of wiretapped conversations (all within the boundaries of the law). The transcripts were rather amusing, as they showed how much effort was put into planning the illegal activities by the “actors” and how little their planning mattered in the end. After all, they were arrested, weren’t they?

I rode up in the elevator with the deputy foreperson and asked her if she has to stay later than the rest of us when she’s in charge. She does, in fact, often up to two additional hours, handling paperwork on cases and signing indictments. And for this she gets the same generous $5 a day that the rest of us receive for jury service. Meanwhile, even the prosecutors know us by now. They no longer read us the definition of “knowingly and willingly,” explaining that they can read it if we need it but that we probably don’t (correct). They show plenty of patience with us. They are knowledgeable and very friendly. I can only imagine how they must completely change their demeanor once they get into the courtroom to actually try the case. I bet they attack the defendants with everything they have. So it is getting very friendly and familiar for all of us as we slog through our 4 months. It is not without irony that I realize that our “sentence” of jury service is probably longer than the sentences that will be served by some of the accused whose cases we have sent to trial and who will be found guilty. Yeah, but we get the $5 a day.

June
We finally had our first attempted murder case. While I can’t reveal the details, I can say that this was a juicy one. And good luck to the defense attorney who has to take this case to court. All I can say is hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

After all of this time, I have learned more than I ever needed to know about drug use in Somerset County. In court, these cases are called CDS (controlled dangerous substances), and, it turns out, I have been on one or two of them myself. Apparently, this is acceptable with a prescription from a real doctor in the practice of medicine. Not that I travel around carrying drugs, but they do go with me on vacation. From now on, they will travel in their little orange prescription bottles, so I don’t end up with a CDS charge on my record.

It seems that the people who use drugs illegally (not like me, that is) are often in their cars with broken tail lights or driving erratically (could that be from the drugs? Hmmm…) when they are stopped by police on routine patrol. Not only are people frequently pulled over for a traffic violation when the drugs are discovered, but they come up with every flimsy excuse in the book.

Often burglaries take place and the loot is fenced (note how I am up on all the criminal lingo) immediately. Newark seems to be the place to go to get drugs or to get rid of stolen goods. And you know all those “Cash for Gold” places that you thought were for people like us who want to sell the old jewelry we don’t wear? Turns out they are more like your run-of-the-mill pawn shops, only specializing in jewelry – stolen jewelry, in many cases. The irony is that most of them require the seller (thief – alleged) to provide a driver’s license, and, as if the picture on the license weren’t enough, they take the person’s picture. Many also take a picture of the loot – I mean jewelry – that is sold. So when the cops come in with a list of what Mrs. Jones is missing after a robbery, they find the name, address and list of items so they know who stole what and where to go get them. My question is this: If a Cash for Gold place has the same guy come in repeatedly with a bunch of wedding rings and other jewelry, isn’t it pretty obvious he didn’t get it by cleaning out his own drawers? Why would they take the stuff, knowing it is probably stolen goods, and why aren’t they prosecuted if they do? Even if they aren’t subject to the receiving stolen property charge, they are still going to lose out since they paid the criminal (alleged) and the jewelry – if recovered – will be returned to its rightful owner. I don’t get the reasoning here, but, then, I’m not a thief or a pawnbroker.

OK – back to court.

My term ended with a big case that people in the Somerset County will read about in the press for a long time, but, of course, what happens in the Grand Jury stays in the Grand Jury (except for this lengthy explanation). I am now free of any jury service for 3 years and people are welcome to break the law in Somerset County without worrying about my sitting in judgment – though I don’t encourage that behavior. I am certain after this experience – where we voted in favor of the prosecution on every single case before us – that there must be a better way to mete out justice. However, looking back on the four months, I can say I learned a few things, found much of it interesting, and I have a new respect for the people who work so hard to uphold our laws. The crooks, thieves, and, especially, sexual predators? There are too many of them and some of what we had to sit through was rather disturbing. But at least I know I did my duty as a citizen.

As for me, I finally get my Thursdays back! And I am pushing for an honorary law degree.

Tina's June 2012 Movies

Here are the movies I watched in June. Numbering picks up from the rest of the year. Movies marked with an * are ones I had not seen previously. All films rated on a scale of 1 (not so good) to 5 (really great) tuna cans.

65. The Desk Set (1957) – It took me 13 days to see my first movie this month and I picked this Spencer Tracy/Katherine Hepburn ditty about the dawn of the computer age. Hepburn’s Bunny heads the reference department at the Federal Broadcasting Company, where she and her “girls” pick up the phone and answer every kind of question imaginable, and they do it quickly and efficiently. Not efficiently enough for the boss, who brings in Tracy’s efficiency expert and his enormous computer to replace them. This device nearly takes up the whole room. The chemistry between Tracy and Hepburn is palpable, as usual, despite her long-term relationship with an indecisive Gig Young. You can’t imagine a more dated movie, but it is fun to see the office running at top speed– until the computer is installed. But the real reason I watched this movie is that my father, who would have turned 100 years old the day before I viewed it, was once in a community theater production of the play on which the movie is based, starring in the Tracy role. My sister learned every line in the play – for all of the characters – to rehearse with him, but she was so young that she thought he was running off with another woman for real at the end of the play. This was my father’s first and last foray into show business, so this story holds a special place in my heart. Happy 100^th, Dad. Dad gets 5 cans; the move gets 3.

66. You’ve Got Mail (1999) – This romantic comedy was about the last time we saw Meg Ryan looking like Meg Ryan. Here she and Tom Hanks couple up again – or try to – as she plays the owner of an independent bookstore and he is the owner of a megachain of bookstores which ultimately will drive her out of business. So on the business end, they are bitter rivals, but what they don’t know – at least immediately – is that they are exchanging on-line messages with each other and developing a rapport that might lead to a relationship. Much as in the other movie in which they paired, “Sleepless in Seattle,” you just wish they’d get together already. Both bring a modest charm to the leads that makes the movie warm and comfy to watch. 4 cans.

67. One Day* (2011) – Adorable Anne Hathaway and cute Jim Sturgiss meet, almost sleep together, and out of that encounter they become best pals. Though we know immediately that they are meant for each other, they grow ever closer without realizing the inevitability of their union. She is a little ditzy, he is a little annoying, but you know that they have to be together. It is just that their timing is off. And then some. I liked it and gasped audibly in the appropriate places. 3½ cans.

68. The Vow* (2012) – Try as I might, I really don’t like Channing Tatum. He is the same wooden, plain vanilla actor in every movie of his that I have seen, and I should VOW to skip the rest of the ones he makes. However, Rachel McAdams is his exact opposite, with warm and adorable qualities that make you love her and her character. Here she is married to Tatum when she has an accident and loses her memory. She eventually remembers her past (including the old boyfriend played by Scott Speedman that she almost married) but still cannot recall anything about her husband, so he sets out to make her fall in love with him again. I don’t think it would have worked on me the first time, no less on the second time around. 3 cans.

69. Burlesque* (2010) – Christina Aguilera doesn’t sing as much as belt her way through this role as Ali from Iowa, who wants to make it big in Hollywood as a singer when she sees the Burlesque review owned by Cher. She is totally entranced by the goings on on stage, so taken with the performances of the lip-synching, writhing dancers that she grabs a tray and starts waiting tables to earn her way into the chorus. Cher is at her deep-throated, wry best as the club owner in danger of losing the club to rich and handsome but evil Eric Dane, who wants to knock it down and build a high rise. Stanley Tucci, virtually reprising his role in “The Devil Wears Prada” as the gay BFF and man in charge, is Sean, who is constantly carrying costumes in need of a glue gun or sewing machine. Back to Aguilera: she is quite the tour de force as Ali, who gets a chance to show off those miraculous pipes when Nikki, the requisite star-with an-attitude-problem, kills the big number and Ali saves the day. Did I mention that she falls for the bartender who takes her in? Cher is given one solo that we are to take as her strong stand against her growing credit problems, but it is Aguilera’s movie all the way, and she does shine. Sure, lots of clichés, a few extra layers of cheese, but this big, bombastic movie is entertaining. Aguilera should see it and remember who she is before she signs on for another go-round as a judge on the TV show, “The Voice,” because she has the best one around. 3 cans.

70. Bye Bye Birdie (1963) – What better contrast to “Burlesque” than the heart-warming, all-American musical with Dick Van Dyke, Janet Leigh and a way-too-old-for-the-role Ann-Margaret. Van Dyke is a failed songwriter with mother (Maureen Stapleton) issues who would rather be a biochemist. Leigh, his secretary/girlfriend, gets him assigned to write a song that Elvis Presley-like Conrad Birdie will sing to a random teenager who idolizes him (Ann-Margaret) on The Ed Sullivan Show. I first saw the play when my high school put it on, and I can still sing the words to “Have you heard about Hugo and Kim?” It is full of energy and wholesomeness, though any suggestion that Ann-Margaret’s Kim McAfee would be in love with Bobby Rydell’s Hugo smacks of science fiction. If it is a choice between “Burlesque” and “Birdie,” I’d take the latter for Paul Lynde and his number “Kids” alone. 4 cans.

71. The Emperors Club* (2002) – This is Kevin Kline’s “Dead Poet’s Society” movie, where he portrays Mr. Hunderd, a dedicated classics teacher at a boys’ prep school. There, in 1976, he teaches Cicero and Caesar to a mostly willing bunch of eager students whose lives he molds and inspires. Until Sedgwick Belle (Emilie Hirsch) comes along, that is. Belle is a charismatic cut-up, defiant in a non-threatening way, but pre-occupied more with pranks than homework. The rigid Hunderd, also the assistant headmaster, is thwarted in his attempt to teach and motivate the teenager, so he prevails on the boy’s powerful father, whose sole phone call results in an only-in-the-movies renewed interest in learning. In fact, Belle improves so much that he qualifies as a finalist in the annual Mr. Julius Caesar competition. He soon reverts back to his egregious behavior, and 25 years later, his path once again crosses with Mr. Hunderd. Will he have learned his lessons? Kline – who does not make enough movies to suit me – carries off his role with considerable grace and presence, and Hirsch is a good bad boy. The settings are lovely and the music is soaring, but the movie didn’t have enough bite to appease my appetite, though I liked the ending. 3 cans.

72. Moonrise Kingdom* (2012) – I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Despite a promotional campaign touting Moonrise Kingdom as “best movie of the year,” two people I trust claimed to hate it. I didn’t hate it, but I’m not sure I can describe adequately the immense quirkiness of this odd little film. The story centers around two 12-year olds living on an island in New England. The roads aren’t paved, there is one police officer (Bruce Willis) and a very strange young girl living with her equally bizarre family (parents played by Bill Murray and Frances McDormand, who personifies quirkiness). The girl runs away with the boy, who escapes his Khaki Scout camp to meet her. They are in love, or at least desperate enough for the girl to leave her strange family. The boy, an orphan, is a misfit, sweet and artsy and destined for bullying by the other boys. Their adventure includes a whopper of a storm, an odd Scout leader (Edward Norton), a woman from Social Services who is only referred to as Social Services (Tilda Swinton), and the ongoing schlepping of a suitcase as they escape through the woods. Bizarre, strange, quirky, but visually arresting – sometimes you have to color outside the lines, I guess. 3 cans, and probably a slew of Oscar nominations.

73. Moment by Moment (1978) – This misguided romance goes down in my annals of movies as one of the worst ever made – a feeling I had when I first saw it that holds true today. I wondered, would I still want to throw things at the screen and shout at the inane dialog? John Travolta is Strip, a drifter who latches on to Trish (Lily Tomlin), a lonely, rich Beverly Hills matron newly separated from her husband. Though she is considerably older, with their look-alike haircuts, they could be brother and sister, making their romance all the more unlikely. Strip, who is only too happy to doff his clothes and strut around in his “Saturday Night Fever” drawers, is a lost soul looking to make a connection. Trish, who is not looking for anything initially, finally succumbs to his rich mane of hair (unlike in “Saturday Night Fever,” you are allowed to touch his hair here) and having someone to love. Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney Fife had more heat between them than these two, and their romantic scenes are excruciating to watch. Those scenes are matched by the equally ridiculous dialog, and, since the main characters are on the screen almost exclusively for most of the movie, you are either hearing them talk or watching them in bed. There is one line that has stayed with me for all these years – and it isn’t when Tomlin’s character keeps calling, “Strip!” It is Strip’s message in a bottle: “What a world.” When it comes to movies, what a movie! I hope I spoiled it for you, because no one should ever be forced to see this train wreck. An underachieving 1 can, just for the pleasure of hating it so much.

74. Rock of Ages* (2012) – Big, bad hair and loud rock anthems set the tone for this musical pastiche of 80’s rock and roll. Like its more mature musical predecessor, “Mamma Mia,” “Rock of Ages” takes a collection of songs from the era and stitches them together with a story about a small town girl(Julianna Hough) living in a lonely world who arrives in Los Angeles to become a singer. On her first night, fresh off the bus, her suitcase is stolen but she meets a nice young guy (Diego Boneto) from the big rock mecca on the Sunset Strip. He is also determined to be a singer. And what better role model to emulate than the outrageous Stacie Jaxx (Tom Cruise, in a bravura performance), an aging rock star with a coterie of burly body guards and pretty girls and a monkey named “Hey Man” who can tend bar. What I liked about this movie is that it never takes itself too seriously. Cruise is absolutely over the top as rocker Jaxx, stuffed into his leather pants and wailing his many songs with gusto. Alec Baldwin and Russell Brand are hilarious as the guys who own and run the club, and Catherine Zeta-Jones virtually chews the scenery as the rightwing crusader determined to put a stop to the evils of rock & roll. Everybody gets a song, including Paul Giammati as Jaxx’s manager. Mary J. Blige, wearing costumes Cher once had in her closet and sporting Venus Williams' old beaded hair, comes to the rescue of Hough’s character – mainly so she can join the party and belt out a tune or two. There was more cheese in this movie than Kraft makes in a year, but it was a joke the cast was in on, so why not enjoy the ride? (Compare this movie to “Burlesque” above, which thought it was Oscar-worthy.) When it comes to rock and roll, my advice is: “Don’t Stop Believing.” 3½ cans.

Fifty Shades of Grey

How often do I really look in the mirror at my hair? Not that much. I rarely look at the back of my head at all, figuring that’s the view for other people.

So when I was recently assessing the state of my blonde highlights (I hate to disappoint you, but none of the blonde is natural), I realized for the first time how much grey there is throughout my hair: About 50 shades of grey, I figure. (Get your mind out of the gutter immediately. This is HAIR talk, not an essay on some smutty book.)

We’ve all thought about it. Some people get a little grey a little young and immediately start coloring their hair. Some people turn all grey and then white, which I think on many people is a great look. Take British actress Dame Judith Dench, for example. She has a closely cropped ‘do of all white that makes her look better than ever. Interestingly, when I recently saw her new movie, “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel,” at the old folks theater in Montgomery, there was a sea of similarly colored, if not coiffed, heads surrounding me – most of them on women. And most of them natural.

Remember the old ad campaign for Clairol: “Does she or doesn’t she?” That advertising centered more around the “Blondes have more fun” concept, encouraging women to change the color of their hair long before grey becomes an issue – just to spice up their social lives. I don’t know if blondes have more fun, but I don’t recall ever hearing a blonde say, “where can I get that mousy brown shade? I need to have less fun in my life.”

But when it is not a question of changing your hair color to improve your social life, but instead a way to ward off feeling old and grey? Sometime in the aging process we move from “Does she or doesn’t she?” to “Should I or shouldn’t I?” when it comes to hair color. I know some people who had very dark hair before they started getting grey. Now, coloring it that same dark shade, you see an identifiable path of creeping white along the part or up at the temples, like waves seeking shore. They spend inordinate amounts of time examining the encroaching color to determine when to go for the kill. This can involve a trip to the salon or the process of coloring it at home, using a kit. But good grief, have you seen the hair color aisle in the store? Talk about 50 shades of grey! There are hundreds of shades of every color. How does one decide between autumn blonde and sienna? And who comes up with these names (and the names for paint colors and lipsticks, for that matter)?

Some people’s choice of hair color just gets lighter and lighter as they get grey, though there is no actual grey discernible. I have seen some men, for example, seem to go from black to a look only Red Skelton would love. Natural? I think not. In women, the tendency is to favor blonde. So that raven-haired girl who sat next to you in high school chemistry has used enough chemicals on her head now to look like the blonde cheerleader who you envied. Only by now, she’s probably grey, too.

My grey is different, and, I’d like to think, partially disguised by the surrounding blonde highlights. I think of this mixture as the highlights I pay for and the highlights that come free with the territory.

I’d kind of like to see what happens with my hair instead of coloring it. I can continue with this combination of paid-for blonde and natural brown and encroaching grey to decide when the grey has so far outpaced the blonde that I need to reverse the trend. Or maybe I’ll emulate Jay Leno, who started with dark hair and a white streak and ended up with white hair and one streak of dark hair left over. These days I can’t tell if Helen Mirren is blonde or grey, but that’s a look I’d wear (only shorter).

While on Grand Jury duty recently, I observed the room from my perch in the last row. There are a few people who still have their original color hair, or so it seems, while others have the second original color of their hair, now turned white. It doesn’t look bad on that guy who sleeps through every session, but that’s another story.

I just know that whatever path I take on this “Should she or shouldn’t she decision?” one thing you won’t see are highlights of a completely different hue. No 50 shades of blue for me.