innocent until proven guilty

I had never served on a jury before until last week. I got lucky and got assigned to a decent courthouse, a short trial with no gruesome details to sort through, and a pleasant group of fellow jurors. The whole experience was great, and left me with a new respect for our judicial system, and more than willing to serve again the next time I'm called. Sure it's an inconvenience, but it's also a unique opportunity to meet and work with a random slice of your fellow citizens and observe some of the truly unique aspects of our legal system.

I mean, how amazing is it that we can gather a group of total strangers together, and they listen to other strangers' testimonies, attempt to consider all the evidence fairly and impartially, and then make a decision that may seriously impact people's lives, one way or another. I was very impressed that even though all of us jurors came from very different backgrounds, everyone seemed to fully understand the fact that the defendant was innocent until proven guilty, that even if some of us personally thought he probably was guilty, we had to feel that was proven beyond a reasonable doubt, and that everyone took this responsibility quite seriously. It was a DUI case from over 3 years ago, and it basically came down to the defendant's word against the word of 3 police officers of varying credibility. He may have been drinking, but could they prove he was DUI, especially as he'd refused to take the blood or breathalizer tests? No. We found him not guilty, unanimously. It made a huge difference for us that the defendant decided to take the stand and explain his side of the story. Whether you believed every detail or not, it certainly brought many of the other testimonies into doubt, and his humble/nervous demeanor only helped his credibility. He cried when the verdict was read, and then bowed to each of us in gratitude as we filed out of the courtroom. I should mention that he was also a very handsome, intelligent looking young man, and I know at least two of us had pleasant dreams about him during the course of the trial, but of course that had no bearing on our decision :-).

We all felt good about it, and I think the roads are probably safer as a result because not only did our defendant learn a lesson, but all of us jurors learned a lot more about the law and how easy it is to find yourself in serious trouble for something that may seem like a very minor judgment call at the time. I know I learned a lot personally, about the legal system, DUI's, and being a jury foreman, which was fun. I think I did a pretty good job moderating our discussion, letting everyone speak their piece, and guiding us toward a pretty quick decision. Plus, I got to drive by this big famous donut every day!

museum people

This year's AAM Conference (American Association of Museums) was held in Los Angeles in May. Being the nerd I am, I decided to volunteer for a series of different shifts because a) each shift you worked got you a free day's pass to the conference, and b) I'm a nerd. It was actually a really cool experience. The volunteer orientation alone was totally uplifting, with several hundred people from every museum in town all coming together because they love their museums and want to be part of something bigger than themselves.

My first shift involved stuffing all the blue conference bags with schedules, maps, juice boxes, and some tourist mumbo jumbo about Turkey. My next shift was helping coordinate bus loads of people attending evening receptions at MOCA, Hollyhock House, and other hip locations around town. My final shift was the longest and most grueling, and involved standing in the main entry hall answering millions of random questions. By the end of my shift, I was a total expert on the conference and the layout of the convention center, but alas, this information will probably never be useful to me again! Still, it was fun, we got cool t-shirts, and I was then able to attend any and all sessions at my leisure.

As always, some of the sessions are so deadly dull that it's all you can do to keep from slipping off your chair onto the floor in an apathetic stupor. But there were also some really excellent sessions, including one with Michael Brand and Claire Lyons on the complex relationships between museums and archaeologists; a fantastically entertaining and informative session on the renovation of the Ashmolean's galleries; and an inspiring talk by the infamous Peter Sellars about why museums matter, especially in this day and age when there are fewer and fewer opportunities for true reflection and connection with history and our own humanity (there was a little bird flitting about the room during his talk, which was very apt).

In theory, it's also a good place to network, but that's not really my thing, although I did have a little meeting with a freaky guy from the Field Museum who wanted to learn about our exhibition process, and I also had a chance to meet a few colleagues from the east coast who we'll be collaborating with in the future. All in all, a good experience. Would I do it again? No, but probably, yes.

wookie kisses

I couldn't care less about the Dodgers. I really couldn't. But when Mr. G told me he had tickets to a special Empire Strikes Back game, and that Chewie would be throwing out the first pitch, I couldn't resist! We arrived and got special posters, t-shirts, and VIP passes, and were then ushered into the "geek section" in the far upper edge of the stadium. I couldn't tell what the hell was going on way down there on the field, but then I heard a rumor that Darth Vader was posing for photos by the hot dog stand. I leaped to my feet and picked my way past my fellow fans -- I swear, why do they make stadium seating so steep? I'm always terrified I'll fall and just go tumbling down forever until I land in the outfield, a broken, bloody, tangled mess. Anyway, I went out and sure enough, there was Darth Vader with a crew of storm troopers -- awesome. And then my beloved Chewie appeared, towering over the crowd with beastly elegance. I think he looks so sweet in this photo, kind of shy, and I love how his arm on my back makes my hair look like it's super long. My hair is the same color as a wookie!

ren faire

We drove the little beater blueberry out to the Renaissance Faire in May. It had been at least 20 years since I'd been to the Faire, but I had many fond memories of garlands of dried flowers, unicorn masks, archery, puzzle rings, the Reduced Shakespeare Co., and the Queen passing through with her bright red hair and bejeweled gowns. Not to mention the strange Scotsman who told me I should smile more or the little people would steal my shoes.

Anyway, the Faire was exactly as I remembered it, and I hope to go every year from this point forward. I got myself a new garland and a lovely feathered fan, drank a small cup of honey mead, tested my archery skills, watched a jousting match, and posed for photos with the Green Man, several knights, a rowdy group of semi-noblemen, and the Spanish Armada. Everyone was just there to relax, indulge and let their freak flags fly. It was awesome. I'm totally going to dress up next year.

coroner collision

I may have mentioned this before, but I had a collision with the county coroner back in March. It seems so long ago now. I was driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 101, headed home after the final day of zoo class, distracted by a myriad of thoughts bouncing around inside my head, and frantically searching for an altoid, when all of a sudden, whammo, I'd rear-ended a van. The county coroner's van, no less. So we pulled over, and luckily there was zero damage to his formidable bumper, although he was now going to be late to go pick up "somebody" (or is it just "something" at that point?). My hood and fender got a little crunched, and most humiliating of all, the VW symbol fell off. We exchanged info, and then went on our merry ways; he even put on his lights and sirens to help us both get back into the flow of traffic.

I thought (or hoped) that the damage to my car was purely cosmetic. I felt trashy driving around in a beat up car, but I tried to just ignore it. A few weeks later, my engine was apparently over-heating, and when I went to open the hood, I found that it was jammed shut. Not even the professionals could get it open. So I relented and took it in to get fixed. Long gone are the days of simply replacing a rubber bumper. No, no, they had to replace the entire hood, front grill, headlights, and front wheel wells because they're all integrated. Thank god for car insurance, but my poor car was in the shop for a good two weeks, and I was reduced to driving around in a ca. 1982 blue Honda. It was a peppy little thing, and actually kind of charming at first. But it had a stiff clutch, no power steering, no A/C, and only an AM radio to keep me company. I enjoyed it in the mornings, but hated it in the evenings.

When I finally got my own car back, it was like driving on a little cloud. So quiet, so smooth, such effortless movements to turn a corner or parallel park. What a dream! I've been accused of being a tail-gater by several people. Hopefully I've learned my lesson, $1,000 later ($500 deductible, plus a new radiator that wasn't covered, plus 2 weeks rental car). Yet I still find myself frequently slamming on the breaks in daily traffic. Maybe this is just part of life in L.A., especially now that I have an actual commute across town and can't just roll down the hill to work. Maybe I'm more legit now. In the past year I've had my first speeding ticket, and my first real car accident. This is L.A., baby, and I'm living it.

to all the things i've loved before . . .

. . . who traveled in and out my door . . .

Farewell dear bookcases. You served me well through many years and many different apartments. You were my first bookcases as a single girl back in Seattle, almost eight years ago. I filled you with my beloved book collection in Winslow Place, Madison Avenue, Piso Negro, and then down to the Pacific Palisades, over to Darlington, and finally to Cloverdale, where I've now kicked you to the curb for pick-up by the city of Los Angeles. It's time to upgrade to some beautiful, dark-wood, unscratched, and sag-free shelving.

Farewell young fridge, only three years old, but hauled off by a friendly Getty Marine. Semper fi! Farewell old microwave who only sends toxic radiation waves through otherwise edible food anyway. Farewell funky little formica sewing table with the rusty legs. Farewell sweet patio furniture, donated to me by my dear friends Ralph & Tom when they moved back to Chicago. You served me well, and the green chair and little bronze monkeys still remain as a testament to our everlasting friendship.

Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you. It's a new beginning.

animal cruelty

Transition can be hard. Xander, Zoe and I have lived in our new home for almost three weeks, and we're just now getting comfortable. This has been our life as of late: lying on a blanket on the floor by the heater. The weather has been wacky, and the furniture is minimal. What kind of life is this? Happily, I've finally made a decision about my new sofa, and I plan to purchase it this weekend. Of course it's a custom order, so it won't arrive for about 12 weeks (!). And it would be nice to have a big new rug, but money is limited, so that will simply have to wait.

In the meantime, I did purchase two new cat beds for $8 each. I had thrown out the old ratty ones when we moved, and figured the cats would just make do with chairs and piles of blankets for a while. They seemed happy enough, but as soon as I brought home these new beds, there was a little gato curled up in each one. I felt so bad! Had I been denying them this basic, familiar, comfort for the past three weeks? I am cruel.









But then there's this lovely item, which cost slightly more than $8, and which remains virtually untouched. Why, kittens, why?