I got a call recently from a company doing a survey, and the woman launched immediately into a question about the number of people in my household. I countered with a question of my own: "What is this survey about?" She said she couldn't tell me the sponsor, but I told her I wasn't interested in the sponsor, just in the nature of the questions so I would know whether answering them was worth my time. She said it was a matter of national interest. Politics? Religion? Environmental affairs? She said she didn't know the answer to my question. So, someone is calling to ask me questions in a survey and she doesn't know the nature of the questions? I'll pass, I told her.
Speaking of unwanted phone calls, is anything more annoying than the robocalls that tell you there is nothing wrong with your credit card but that they want to talk to you about getting a lower rate? Once I actually pressed the key to speak with a rep to tell him that it is illegal to call someone on the Do Not Call list and I wasn't interested in the services of his company. He wouldn't give me the name of the company or let me speak to a manager. Instead, he launched into a string of profanity the likes of which was rather startling. Rather than hang up, I proceeded to goad him by complimenting him on his colorful vocabulary, asking him if he had to undergo special training to master this impressive skill and telling him that his parents must be so proud of the career he was pursuing. All the while he kept insisting I should perform physically impossible activities. I think if I were him, I'd rather take tolls at the Lincoln Tunnel. I don't think there's much of a future in his line of work.
Before I went on Weight Watchers, I used to crave chocolate. Now I crave fruit. And chocolate. But not together, please.
“The Hunger Games” has a whole different meaning in this house, though it is all about survival in our respective worlds. Eat less, move more.
One of the advantages to losing weight - and there are too many to list - is that I can now throw my clothes in the dryer and not worry that they will shrink. In fact, I actually have to throw some things in and hope they WILL shrink, or they will be too big for me after one wearing. I know now that when I buy new things to keep the tags on so I can always take them back if they are too big by the time I am ready to wear them. Kohl’s is especially good about returns.
How did my iron ever fit in the original box? I store it in there now and despite working every angle, it is impossible to get it back neatly into the box. How did it come that way?
Why is the hair on my legs so much more noticeable when I have no access to a razor? I can sit by the pool and count all the strays I missed when I shaved them the last time. Not that I can remember when that was.
Do you ever get a song running through your head that drives you crazy? They call them "earworms," I'm told. Today I had two: "Ring My Bell" (probably because it is played while I do aqua aerobics) and Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative" (probably because while exercising to "Ring My Bell" we discussed perogies. Get it?).
There is so little food in my house sometimes that when I open the refrigerator, it looks as if I either am moving that day or just moved in.
I don't watch golf on TV, but I caught the end of a tournament recently. I don't understand how the golfers can tell where the ball lands when they are so far away from it. Is it the roar of the crowd? The crowd would roar for a good shot, but how can you tell if the shot is merely good or if it goes into the hole? Especially if it curves 40 feet and lands completely outside your line of sight.
Are you still using the knives, kitchen gadgets and towels you got as shower gifts or when you first moved out on your own? If so, isn't it time to replace them? You don't need a bridal shower to venture into the housewares section on your own and step up your game. BTW, the things I most often use in my kitchen are a pair of tongs and a spatula when I am cooking, cutting boards (individually designated for fruit, vegetables or chicken), and a spreader, which tells me I eat too many carbs if I am always spreading something on them.
I am busy walking outside these days, but even there, I have my rules. I don't like to backtrack. I have to find routes that let me keep walking but without turning around and passing the same way going home. Don't think this is easy. I do the same thing in the supermarket. No backtracking allowed.
When I was young, all kids wanted to be firemen or teachers or baseball players. I wonder if today's kids aspire to work for a paper shredding company or a storage facility.
What happens to all those houses with solar panels when there is no sun? No heat? No electricity? How about the street lights? Is that why Hillsborough seems so dark at night?
Speaking of night, here's some advice: Don't get locked out of your house at night. The locksmith who comes to help you has you over a barrel. It's not like I wanted to spend the night on my front porch, and it's not like I went out for a walk without my key. The front doorknob lock just froze, stranding me with - thankfully - a cell phone. $400 later, I was in, the lock was replaced and rekeyed to work with the existing deadbolt and key and all is well. But the next time I get locked out, I'll try to do it during the daytime.
Whatever happened to mail boxes? I walk all over my side of town, up and down numerous residential streets, and I have yet to find one. Meanwhile, the local post office here in Hillsborough isn't open for business until 10 AM. Really? Yes, you can throw a letter into the mailbox in the parking lot, but don't try to go inside to mail a package on your way to work. I know the USPS is in financial straits, but if the post office isn't open convenient hours, people will find another way to mail their packages. And that won't put $ in the coffers of the USPS. I just said that so I could use the word "coffers."
Is your brother-in-law's brother also your brother-in-law - but once removed - or do you simply refer to him as my brother-in-law's brother?
I can't believe I have been out of college for 40 years. How is that possible when I am so young?
What's with all these stink bugs? They are the slowest bugs I have ever seen. I'll find them hanging on the edge of a lamp or crawling slowly across the floor, making it easy to scoop them up and give them a ride to the toilet. If you crush them, they live up to their names and STINK. I pay the exterminator over $300 to spray the house to keep them out. I don't know where they came from, but I wish they'd go back.
Everybody cleans the house the day before the cleaning lady comes, right?
I've lived in this house for 5 years now and still am not used to all the noises. The humming refrigerator, the busy ice maker, the wine fridge, the attic fan, the furnace/air conditioner - and that's not counting the washer, the dryer, and the birds and the crickets. It's no wonder I have trouble sleeping.
My sister and I had a recent conversation about pillow tickings. Do people even know what they are (they are pillow covers that zip over your pillow to protect it. From what, I’m not sure.) We use them, wash them and swear by them to protect our pillows, but I wonder, do young people know what they are? Do people still have them/buy them/wash them/use them? Wow, I do have too much time on my hands.
Have you seen the gigantic eyeglasses athletes and stars are wearing these days? I have a few old pairs that are the size of a windshield but not nearly the contemporary style, so I can't wear them. Why do I still have them? I have no idea.
To me, wearing a hat is a commitment. Once I put one on – which I do every time I go out for a walk – I know my hair will be affected in some way, and probably not in a flattering way at that. So once I wear a hat, I have to wear it the rest of the day. It’s a commitment.
If the 80s ever come back, I am ready. I have lots of double-breasted suits with pleated pants and huge (football player huge) shoulders. If they ever remake the TV show “Dynasty,” they can put me in charge of wardrobe.
I use I Can't Believe It's Not Butter (Light), but, unfortunately, I can.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Tina's August Movies
Between the Olympics and social obligations, I only had a chance to see 7 movies in August, including two on Lifetime TV, thereby breaking my rule against watching movies with commercial interruptions. Next month I will try to do a better job. Numbering picks up from the previous month, and movies marked with a * are ones I haven't seen previously.
89. In & Out (1997) – Kevin Kline stars in this funny farce about a high school teacher/drama coach who is “outed” at the Oscars by a former student who wins the award for best actor (and the scenes of his movie are hilariously bad). About to marry a fellow teacher (Joan Cusak, who almost steals the show), Kline vehemently denies the charge that he is gay, though he is forced to examine his love for all things Streisand and whether he can forego dancing to “I Will Survive.” Tom Selleck, a TV reporter assigned to the story in rural Greenleaf, Indiana, reveals that he, too, is gay. Debbie Reynolds and Wilfred Brimley play Kline’s parents and Matt Dillon is the Oscar-winning actor in a story that poses the question, “Is everybody gay?” All I know is that everyone is laughing, because this is a funny and charming movie. 4 cans.
90. Hope Springs* (2012) – Whenever there is a Meryl Streep movie out, you go to see it full of hope that it will be memorable, outstanding and entertaining. “Hope Springs” qualifies on the lowest rung of that scale. Meryl and Tommy Lee Jones are an old married couple in this “romantic” comedy, going through the motions of a dull and drab life together in their empty nest. He comes down for the same breakfast every day and silently reads the headlines while she serves him. In the evenings, he falls asleep in the recliner watching the Golf Channel before retreating to his bed in the guest room, while she pines for intimacy, romance and any conversation that doesn’t involve someone’s tax returns. Realizing they need help, she signs them up for a $4000 week of couples therapy in Maine, which he insists is not only completely unnecessary – isn’t the fact that they have been married 31 years enough to show they have a successful marriage, he ponders – but way too expensive. She decides to go anyway, and he reluctantly joins her. Steve Carrell is completely wasted in the role of the sincere and helpful therapist who gets the recalcitrant couple to do things they haven’t done in years – and possibly ever (and I was more that a little uncomfortable watching Meryl stoop to some of the assignments). I wish there had been more comedy here – can you imagine Bob Newhart as the therapist? – but any movie with Meryl starts with at least one can. Jones is a good match for her, as grumpy as she is sincere, but overall, despite a few humorous moments, there is a lot of pain to witness here. OK, but not great. Sorry, Meryl. 3½ cans.
91. Anywhere But Here* (1999) – Susan Sarandon and a very young Natalie Portman play mother and daughter Adele and Ann August. Flighty Adele moves her 14-year old from her familiar surroundings in Wisconsin to Beverly Hills, despite the fact that they can’t afford to live there. The eternal optimist – except when she takes to her bed in a fit of depression – Adele is determined to make their meager existence better, even if it means lying to do so. Who is the mature person in this relationship, you wonder. Sarandon and Portman give outstanding performances as the eccentric mother and the sometimes sullen teenager. Ann realizes she needs to break free of her mother, but Adele is not about to let go easily. I somehow had missed this movie that I always had wanted to see, and I am happy I finally caught up with it. 3½ cans.
92. J. Edgar* (2011) – Leonardo DiCaprio is J. Edgar Hoover in Clint Eastwood’s biopic about the man who led the FBI for nearly 50 years. Fiercely loyal to the agency and protective of the U.S., Hoover became more powerful than virtually anyone in the country. He pioneered the establishment of a federal registry for fingerprints and championed the federal legislation on kidnapping after conflicts with NJ law enforcement during the Lindbergh baby’s disappearance. A vengeful man, he didn’t hesitate to take credit for things he didn’t do or to establish an enemies list that even Richard Nixon could envy, tracking the private lives of anyone who disagreed with him or crossed him. Ironically, he had a long-term relationship with a man he hired at the FBI, Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer), all the while railing against homosexuals. This movie depicts a zealot who abused his power absolutely, answered to virtually no one yet remained devoted to his mother and his job. DiCaprio looks more like Philip Seymour Hoffman than Hoover, but he does a credible job, looking angry enough to burst at the seams throughout the movie. It was hard for me to separate my disdain for Hoover from the credibility of the movie, but Eastwood and DiCaprio do a good job of shedding light on a very dark man. 4 cans.
93. Air Force One (1997) – Harrison Ford plays the very brave and resourceful president of the U.S., who is forced to outwit, outplay and outlast the bad guys who take over his plane in this action-adventure. Indiana Jones as president, I guess. Glenn Close plays the VP, manning the Washington contingent and trying to deal with terrorist Gary Oldman as he systematically executes the passengers on the aircraft. Who knew Air Force One was so huge? There are sets of stairs, conference rooms, a huge office and lots of places to run and hide, which helps the president in his retaliation against the terrorists. I’m not a big action fan, but having the action in a confined space that no one else can enter makes this story an intellectual as well as physical fight. I hadn’t seen it since it appeared in the theater 15 years ago, and I’m probably good for another 15 before seeing it again, but as action movies go, this one really takes off. 3½ cans.
93. & 94. Fatal Honeymoon* (2012) and Natalie Holloway* (2009) – I don’t generally watch Lifetime TV’s heroine in distress movies, but I was familiar with both of the cases on which these dramas were based, so I watched them back-to-back one night when nothing else was on. Both are based on stories of attractive young women whose fate is sealed when they find themselves with sociopathic guys who will do them harm and refuse to tell the truth. “Fatal Honeymoon” is the story of Tina Watson, a Southern beauty who falls for Gabe, a manipulative creep whom her father (Harvey Keitel) immediately recognizes as the wrong guy for his precious daughter. Gabe marries her then hauls her off to Australia for their honeymoon so they can scuba dive around the Great Barrier Reef – despite her lack of experience as a diver and her expressed fears. She mysteriously drowns, and there is plenty of evidence that he either disconnected her air supply or, as a certified rescue diver, should have been able to save her. Her father pursues the case vigorously, eager to see his son-in-law of 11 days pay for what he is sure is his daughter’s murder (his motive? Collecting on the life insurance policy her urged her to take out but which she ultimately did not do.). In “Natalie Holloway,” Tracy Pollan delivers a gritty performance as Beth Twitty, the anguished mother of 18-year old Alabama high school graduate Natalie, who goes off with her friends and classmates on a celebratory trip to Aruba, meets Joran Van der Sloot and is never seen again. Desperate to find her, Twitty arrives in Aruba and takes on the lax investigation by garnering as much media attention as possible to force Joran to tell the truth. Neither of the parents in these movies can possibly be satisfied with the outcome of their cases, so there is a strong parallel here. And the lessons learned are that kids who drink can end up as tragedies, and parents who worry too much are probably right. 3 cans a piece.
95. Zorro the Gay Blade* (1991) – Sometimes when someone recommends a movie highly I worry that it cannot possibly live up to the hype and that I will be disappointed. This was definitely not the case in this campy and outrageous version of Zorro, with George Hamilton playing the title role and also playing the hero’s twin brother, “Bunny.” Hamilton is all arched eyebrows and megawatt smiles as he attacks this role with more relish than you can find on all the hotdogs at Nathan’s on July 4th. Whether facing off against his arch enemy, the autocratic altalde (Ron Liebman, delightfully evil) or fending off advances from the altade’s wife (Brenda Vaccarro – remember her?), Hamilton is dashing and dazzling. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Mel Brooks directed this romp, and it is almost on a par with his brand of inspired lunacy. Lauren Hutton chips in to the hilarity as a woman out to do good who falls in love with Hamilton. There are duels galore, lavish sets and costumes and enough of a “pronounced accent” that I might just have to see it again to catch all of the good lines in missed. I urge any of you “pipples” who may have missed this gem to rent it or catch it on TV. 4 cans.
89. In & Out (1997) – Kevin Kline stars in this funny farce about a high school teacher/drama coach who is “outed” at the Oscars by a former student who wins the award for best actor (and the scenes of his movie are hilariously bad). About to marry a fellow teacher (Joan Cusak, who almost steals the show), Kline vehemently denies the charge that he is gay, though he is forced to examine his love for all things Streisand and whether he can forego dancing to “I Will Survive.” Tom Selleck, a TV reporter assigned to the story in rural Greenleaf, Indiana, reveals that he, too, is gay. Debbie Reynolds and Wilfred Brimley play Kline’s parents and Matt Dillon is the Oscar-winning actor in a story that poses the question, “Is everybody gay?” All I know is that everyone is laughing, because this is a funny and charming movie. 4 cans.
90. Hope Springs* (2012) – Whenever there is a Meryl Streep movie out, you go to see it full of hope that it will be memorable, outstanding and entertaining. “Hope Springs” qualifies on the lowest rung of that scale. Meryl and Tommy Lee Jones are an old married couple in this “romantic” comedy, going through the motions of a dull and drab life together in their empty nest. He comes down for the same breakfast every day and silently reads the headlines while she serves him. In the evenings, he falls asleep in the recliner watching the Golf Channel before retreating to his bed in the guest room, while she pines for intimacy, romance and any conversation that doesn’t involve someone’s tax returns. Realizing they need help, she signs them up for a $4000 week of couples therapy in Maine, which he insists is not only completely unnecessary – isn’t the fact that they have been married 31 years enough to show they have a successful marriage, he ponders – but way too expensive. She decides to go anyway, and he reluctantly joins her. Steve Carrell is completely wasted in the role of the sincere and helpful therapist who gets the recalcitrant couple to do things they haven’t done in years – and possibly ever (and I was more that a little uncomfortable watching Meryl stoop to some of the assignments). I wish there had been more comedy here – can you imagine Bob Newhart as the therapist? – but any movie with Meryl starts with at least one can. Jones is a good match for her, as grumpy as she is sincere, but overall, despite a few humorous moments, there is a lot of pain to witness here. OK, but not great. Sorry, Meryl. 3½ cans.
91. Anywhere But Here* (1999) – Susan Sarandon and a very young Natalie Portman play mother and daughter Adele and Ann August. Flighty Adele moves her 14-year old from her familiar surroundings in Wisconsin to Beverly Hills, despite the fact that they can’t afford to live there. The eternal optimist – except when she takes to her bed in a fit of depression – Adele is determined to make their meager existence better, even if it means lying to do so. Who is the mature person in this relationship, you wonder. Sarandon and Portman give outstanding performances as the eccentric mother and the sometimes sullen teenager. Ann realizes she needs to break free of her mother, but Adele is not about to let go easily. I somehow had missed this movie that I always had wanted to see, and I am happy I finally caught up with it. 3½ cans.
92. J. Edgar* (2011) – Leonardo DiCaprio is J. Edgar Hoover in Clint Eastwood’s biopic about the man who led the FBI for nearly 50 years. Fiercely loyal to the agency and protective of the U.S., Hoover became more powerful than virtually anyone in the country. He pioneered the establishment of a federal registry for fingerprints and championed the federal legislation on kidnapping after conflicts with NJ law enforcement during the Lindbergh baby’s disappearance. A vengeful man, he didn’t hesitate to take credit for things he didn’t do or to establish an enemies list that even Richard Nixon could envy, tracking the private lives of anyone who disagreed with him or crossed him. Ironically, he had a long-term relationship with a man he hired at the FBI, Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer), all the while railing against homosexuals. This movie depicts a zealot who abused his power absolutely, answered to virtually no one yet remained devoted to his mother and his job. DiCaprio looks more like Philip Seymour Hoffman than Hoover, but he does a credible job, looking angry enough to burst at the seams throughout the movie. It was hard for me to separate my disdain for Hoover from the credibility of the movie, but Eastwood and DiCaprio do a good job of shedding light on a very dark man. 4 cans.
93. Air Force One (1997) – Harrison Ford plays the very brave and resourceful president of the U.S., who is forced to outwit, outplay and outlast the bad guys who take over his plane in this action-adventure. Indiana Jones as president, I guess. Glenn Close plays the VP, manning the Washington contingent and trying to deal with terrorist Gary Oldman as he systematically executes the passengers on the aircraft. Who knew Air Force One was so huge? There are sets of stairs, conference rooms, a huge office and lots of places to run and hide, which helps the president in his retaliation against the terrorists. I’m not a big action fan, but having the action in a confined space that no one else can enter makes this story an intellectual as well as physical fight. I hadn’t seen it since it appeared in the theater 15 years ago, and I’m probably good for another 15 before seeing it again, but as action movies go, this one really takes off. 3½ cans.
93. & 94. Fatal Honeymoon* (2012) and Natalie Holloway* (2009) – I don’t generally watch Lifetime TV’s heroine in distress movies, but I was familiar with both of the cases on which these dramas were based, so I watched them back-to-back one night when nothing else was on. Both are based on stories of attractive young women whose fate is sealed when they find themselves with sociopathic guys who will do them harm and refuse to tell the truth. “Fatal Honeymoon” is the story of Tina Watson, a Southern beauty who falls for Gabe, a manipulative creep whom her father (Harvey Keitel) immediately recognizes as the wrong guy for his precious daughter. Gabe marries her then hauls her off to Australia for their honeymoon so they can scuba dive around the Great Barrier Reef – despite her lack of experience as a diver and her expressed fears. She mysteriously drowns, and there is plenty of evidence that he either disconnected her air supply or, as a certified rescue diver, should have been able to save her. Her father pursues the case vigorously, eager to see his son-in-law of 11 days pay for what he is sure is his daughter’s murder (his motive? Collecting on the life insurance policy her urged her to take out but which she ultimately did not do.). In “Natalie Holloway,” Tracy Pollan delivers a gritty performance as Beth Twitty, the anguished mother of 18-year old Alabama high school graduate Natalie, who goes off with her friends and classmates on a celebratory trip to Aruba, meets Joran Van der Sloot and is never seen again. Desperate to find her, Twitty arrives in Aruba and takes on the lax investigation by garnering as much media attention as possible to force Joran to tell the truth. Neither of the parents in these movies can possibly be satisfied with the outcome of their cases, so there is a strong parallel here. And the lessons learned are that kids who drink can end up as tragedies, and parents who worry too much are probably right. 3 cans a piece.
95. Zorro the Gay Blade* (1991) – Sometimes when someone recommends a movie highly I worry that it cannot possibly live up to the hype and that I will be disappointed. This was definitely not the case in this campy and outrageous version of Zorro, with George Hamilton playing the title role and also playing the hero’s twin brother, “Bunny.” Hamilton is all arched eyebrows and megawatt smiles as he attacks this role with more relish than you can find on all the hotdogs at Nathan’s on July 4th. Whether facing off against his arch enemy, the autocratic altalde (Ron Liebman, delightfully evil) or fending off advances from the altade’s wife (Brenda Vaccarro – remember her?), Hamilton is dashing and dazzling. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Mel Brooks directed this romp, and it is almost on a par with his brand of inspired lunacy. Lauren Hutton chips in to the hilarity as a woman out to do good who falls in love with Hamilton. There are duels galore, lavish sets and costumes and enough of a “pronounced accent” that I might just have to see it again to catch all of the good lines in missed. I urge any of you “pipples” who may have missed this gem to rent it or catch it on TV. 4 cans.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
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.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
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.
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.
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