Hair Porn

The results of the colortastrophy poll are in. Red still won, but natural is getting closer.

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The before picture. Yes, I purposely did not brush my hair once it dried naturally. It makes for a better before photo.

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The after photo. I needed a little change, so Wilson added some highlights.

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Poll—Colortastrophy: where to go from here?

OKCupid self destruction

After getting too many messages from people who are age 20 or think that they should be having sex every single day, I’ve decided to limit the number of messages I see on OKCupid by updating my profile. I always tried to keep my profile short, sweet, positive and to the point. But I realize, people need to know exactly what they are getting themselves into. So this morning, I added a bit more about myself.

Read it and tell me, have I gone too far? Or is it better to know exactly where I stand?

[[Please read this entirely before contacting me. Thanks!]]

I asked friends for three words and the first response was, “alluring, amusing, and amazing.” A close second was, “sassy smart vixen.”

 

I’m not your typical [[geek]]. I prefer waking early in the mornings. I prefer real life, and I shower regularly unless I’m in a country without potable water. I believe that technology should be unobtrusive, but beautiful. I also believe technology should be left at home occasionally. And I have a healthy streak of sarcasm.

 

I love live [[bands]], a [[science]] museum, or reading a good book. I’ll try just about anything once except for jumping out of a perfectly good plane. And I’ll take a campfire, or a morning kayak any day of the week.

 

Over the years, I’ve formed some very strong opinions about touchy subjects. I don’t believe that politics, religion, and sex should be avoided on a first date, so I’ll mention them here and get them out in the open.

 

- If you are under 28, turn back now. I am not a cougar. I am not a notch in your bedpost, and no, you can not come over so you can do your laundry. If I wanted a child, I’d adopt.

 

- I am a strong-willed, confident, independent woman. I do not need nor want constant hand holding—literally or figuratively. I’m not a big fan of public displays of affection and I don’t need to be in constant contact with you physically or electronically. I’ll respect that you have a job and are busy and expect you will do the same for me.

 

- I’m not interested in organized religion. I consider myself a recovering Catholic. It’s like being a recovering alcoholic—I’m never not one, I just don’t practice. It is hard to get past the brainwashing. I broke up with the Catholic Church because I shouldn’t be treated differently because I’m a woman. Neither should gay people for that matter. And sex isn’t a sin.

 

- I don’t believe in God or Jesus any more than I believe in Zeus and Hercules. They are stories that ancient people told.

 

- I get my news from NPR, The NYTimes, The Atlantic, and other online sources. I don’t watch network news because of its sensationalism. I definitely never watch Fox News, if you can call it that.

 

- I am centrist, but am forced to vote on the left because I think the right has gone off the deep end. I’d like to see balanced budgets with cuts made all around—leaving the departments to decide how to implement them—and tax loopholes removed. I’d love it if the government were more efficient, but I think they would have to hire smarter people first.

 

- Science is something you understand, not something you believe in. I understand the effects humankind has had on global warming and am trying to do my part to stop it.

 

- I’m a vegetarian. I’m not against people eating meat, but you should understand where meat comes from, the effect it has on the environment and have made your peace with it. I will occasionally eat meat when it is something special.

 

- Ignorance is never an excuse. I actually don’t believe in excuses. I try to own up to things I get wrong. If I’m late, it’s because I didn’t plan enough time to get where I was going.

 

- I believe in becoming friends before lovers. In other words, I’m not interested in making out with you or going home with you on a first, second, or third date. I am a long-term, Wall Street investment, not a Vegas slot machine.

 

- I don’t believe in having sex as often as you brush your teeth. I enjoy sex and I don’t want to go weeks without it if I’m in a relationship, but if you are unable to go weeks without it, I’ll never trust you when we are apart.

 

- Speaking of brushing your teeth, I go to the dentist every six months and appreciate good teeth. It is hard to kiss someone with bad teeth.

 

- I never want to be in a situation where I question getting an abortion, but if I do, I want safe, legal choices.

 

- I have shot guns before. I don’t own any and have no interest in being with someone who does. I’m a firm believer that the pen is mightier than the sword. And the people I know who own guns are usually the most mentally unstable people I know.

 

- I am a feminist, but I won’t balk at a little chivalry like holding the door open for me.

 

- I don’t like country or rap music. I will tolerate it in small doses, but don’t expect me to grow to like it.

 

- I have worked hard to get where I am and I expect you to have as well. Ambition is a turn on.

 

If you got this far and laughed because you feel the same way, then keep reading. ;-)

Hair Porn

I purposely did not brush or dry my hair after I washed it this morning, just to get it crazy. Makes for better before and after photos. ;-)

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Kind of pathetic, but now I’m going to take a nap. I drifted off a few times in the chair, but it wasn’t enough to make up for waking up at 5:45 am and running six miles.

All done up and nowhere to go.

Vermiculture Curious

I’ve been working hard on my garden this year. I have four kinds of tomatoes, two cucumbers, zucchini, squash, eggplant, basil and a blueberry bush.

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In my herb garden there is thyme, oregano, mint, lavender, sage, parsley which share space with three different types of peppers.

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Also, a rosemary bush and some lettuce

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It has been quite productive this year!

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I’ve used it all to make quite a few dishes, with simple things like salad

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And pizza with a homemade crust. I’m still trying to find the best crust recipe

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To fried, green, cherry tomatoes in an avocado dipping sauce when they fell off the vines accidentally during some “taming” exercises

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I’ve also made eggplant parmesan with whole tomatoes and a cherry tomato sauce

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With all of the veggie waste I’ve produced, I thought it would be good to look into composting. That way I can reinvigorate the soil I already have for next year’s crops. Circle of life and all.

So while Perl was off to the groomer’s

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I went to Sunnyvale’s Composting Workshop where I bought a bag of worms.

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The problem was that I didn’t have a home for them. That night, they crawled out of the bag and were scattered all over my back deck. I really am not a fan of worms. I tried my best to collect them all.

I decided my worms weren’t going to have any old lame plastic box with some holes cut in it. They deserve a nice wooden box that I don’t mind having on my deck. So I took a trip to Home Depot. Myrtle isn’t thrilled about being used as a truck. 

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My back deck furniture became my workshop. Measure twice, cut once. I’m definitely going back for a circular saw for my next project. I want straighter cuts.

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A selfie to prove I was there.

 

 

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In the end, I have a box made out of redwood fence board. It has handles, a lock, and even wheels!

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I lined the inside with wire to keep the worms from coming out the holes and keep the pests from going in. Although there is a big hole along the top.

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It is filled now with worm bedding, worms, and food. The worms have stayed inside now for two nights. We will see if that lasts. It is possible they might all be dead. If so, I’ll have a nice box for the tools I bought to make this.

 

Psycho Killer, Qu’est-ce que c’est

I went on a first date tonight. I was convinced he was a psycho killer. I went anyways.

I don’t waste a lot of time online. If I write to someone and they write back using proper grammar, spellcheck, and capitalization, then I suggest we meet for coffee or a drink. I don’t want to spend all my time writing back and forth just to realize that there is no chemistry when we meet.

At the bottom of his profile, in the “You should message me if” section, he’d added

Do not message me if:

You don’t believe we ever landed on the moon.
You don’t believe we are related to monkeys.
You vote Republican.
You watch Fox news.
You go to church more than twice a year.
You take yourself too seriously.

And as you all know, those are some of my exact same pet peeves. So I had to write him. I told him that my siblings could also recite all the lyrics to the score of Rent, so they would get along. I asked him where his favorite place to travel has been. I’d sent the email in November of 2010. He responded on Thursday. Then he closed that account and wrote again from a new account.

Today we decided to meet for wine this evening in downtown Palo Alto. He said he was having dinner with his parents there and we could meet after. I almost joked that I should meet them for dinner and get the awkward part over before we even began.

We arranged where and when to meet. And he asked me if I could meet him by his car and help him with his crutches. I said sure.

Then I made whoopie pies. Today is the Whoopie Pie Festival in my hometown in Maine. In honor of it, I made some at home. While I was baking, I was watching Brokedown Palace and I got to thinking. What if I’m being manipulated like the Australian guy in the movie. Here is a guy who responded to me four years later. He’s forty-something and having dinner with his parents. And he wants me to meet him by his car to “help” him. What if he is lying about the spinal cord injury and is just trying to get me to his car before anyone sees us together so he can kidnap me? What if he deleted his old account because he’d killed the last girl and needed to cover his tracks?

I freaked. I’d stopped by The Bean Scene to get coffee earlier today and had been singing along to the Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” while sipping my latte and unable to move off the couch after a 17-mile bike ride this morning. We’d climbed the hill to IBM’s Almaden Research Center. I hadn’t been there since Houda had been an intern there. That was a lifetime ago.

I told him I wouldn’t be able to help and if he couldn’t make it we could reschedule for something that would be easier for him. He said he could be “beaten to a pulp by an 80-year-old with one leg.” What if he is just trying to guilt me into a trap! What if I was the nameless girl in the beginning of the horror flick. You know it is a horror flick as you are watching, so when you see all the signs, you yell at her and tell her how stupid she is for not seeing them herself. Then she dies.

Then he says, “Don’t stand me up please…we’ll have fun”.  Is that “we” will have fun or “he” will have fun dismembering me? O. M. G. He has a medical degree according to his profile—that I am now taking not just with a grain of salt but with a whole shaker. I can probably avoid going to his car, but what if he drugs me? Then he’ll claim he is a doctor and that I have some crazy medical condition and he’ll take me from the restaurant when he can’t get me to come directly to his car.

I am reminded that I have a very active imagination.

I get to the restaurant and am freaked out. But I’ve convinced myself that there are two outcomes. Either he really is who his profile says he is and this will all be a romantic comedy, or he is a serial killer and I’ll avoid being alone with him or taking my eyes off my wine. Then I can write a book about him after he is caught and talk about how charismatic and charming he was as we sipped wine and I narrowly avoided being one of his victims.

I walked inside. There was a guy sitting at the bar. I didn’t see any crutches, but maybe they were on the other side. I asked if he was who I was looking for. He said, “No, but you are welcome to join me.”

“Thanks, but I need to keep looking.” What if he is the guy? Now he knows I am here and what I look like. He can follow me home and kill me there. And no one will ever connect us.

I walked through to the back where the live music was playing. A waitress asked if she could help me. I told her I was looking for a guy that I was supposed to be meeting. She said she didn’t think there was anyone there, but we could walk through and look.

They were all couples. No single people. She asked what he looked like. I said it was a blind date, so I didn’t know. She just kept apologizing. I told her it wasn’t her fault. I could have cut the pity with a knife. A butter knife. I don’t need to provide any weapons here.

I walked back out to the front and sat outside on the porch of the little restaurant house. I sent him a message that I didn’t see him and he must have decided to stand me up instead.

Then he called. I tried to answer, but I heard nothing. Not even breathing on the other end of the line. I’d regretted giving him my phone number. What if he started sending harassing phone calls?

I tried hanging up the phone, but my phone was hung. I had to reboot. Comedy of errors is all this is, right? Romantic comedy, not horror.

When the phone finally rebooted, there was a text message saying he was in the white SUV across the street and that he was just grabbing his crutches. Another trick to lure me away and throw me in a creepy white van to take me away and tie me up and steal my kidneys!

But the text message showed me an email address. So I googled the name. And sure enough, there was a picture of him on a page for the website for his employer. And it looked like the photos that were on OKCupid. It was looking promising.

He waved to me. I tentatively walked across the street to the parking lot. It was still daylight out, but that might not be enough to stop him. I walked in a wide circle around his Mercedes SUV. Not a creepy white van. His face matched the photos I’d seen. And he really did have crutches and was having difficulty using them.

Romantic comedy. Not horror.

We sat in the backyard of the restaurant house in the glow of miniature lights, warmed by a fire pit, listening to live music, sipping wine (once the waitress realized we were there), and laughed about the ridiculous story I had invented in my head. We talked about traveling and languages and freak accidents. The evening ended with the sounds of fireworks in the distance. I walked him back to his car and helped put his crutches away.

Not a serial killer. At least not yet.

Jury Duty

In the twenty-two years that I’ve been eligible for jury duty, I’ve been called twice. The first time, I bought a new book, showed up to the court house expecting to have some time to read it. Half an hour later, our case was settled without our help and we were sent home. I had to find some other time to read the book.

This weekend, I called in and found out that I didn’t have to report Monday morning, but I’d have to check back mid morning. I checked the website just after 11 am. It said I was to report to jury duty at 2:30 pm in Palo Alto. I ate lunch, went to a meeting, and then cancelled the rest of my day.

Day 1: Jury Selection

I checked into the Jury Room on the fourth floor of the government-gray building. It is bland and aging, not like the majestic stone buildings you see in the movies. The jury room was filled with chairs that are probably the same age as the building itself. There were a couple of newer stuffed, leather chairs with desks. I snagged one and started working.

We were called down to the courtroom and asked to sit in the gallery. I can only imagine that this is how lemmings feel, following the lemming in front of us, not really sure who is leading and if they know what they are doing or not, but trying not to fall behind on the march to our impending fate.

We were told to stand as The Judge entered the courtroom. The Bailiff—a petite woman with jet black hair pulled back so tight into a bun that she must have a constant headache from the strain on her follicles, or done as a way to stay awake during the proceedings—told us to be seated and we were given some instructions. I decided that The Bailiff was probably a fun person to hang out with in another life. Then the Clerk started reading names—juror number, then last name, then first name. We all looked at our summons to try to figure out where she was getting the juror number from. The Clerk was a grandmotherly woman with shocking white hair. She spoke in a manner that was both awkward and endearing, her body jerking forward slightly as she accentuated syllables in her breathy voice.

The first name was read and the gentleman was asked to sit in the back of the juror box at the front of the room. He was now Juror #1. The second name was read and I recognized it immediately as it was mine. I became Juror #2. The juror box of twelve, plus six chairs in front of the juror box was filled from the gallery. Then the questioning began.

The Judge would have been perfect in any episode of Law & Order. An older gentleman, jovial in both manner and physique, he made an occasional joke to lighten the serious mood. The Judge asked a number of questions. For example, he read off the names of the people that were involved in the trial and asked if anyone recognized any of the names. One of the jurors said that he recognized the judge from another trial he had been called for because of The Judge’s sense of humor. The Judge responded in a way that made us all literally laugh out loud. Yes, I’m using literally in the literal sense of the word, just in case there was any doubt.

The questioning was fascinating. It was meant to figure out who to disqualify. Occasionally, The Judge would deem someone unfit for the trial and send them home. You could tell that some people were trying their best to wiggle their way out of the jury. One woman told us how she has really bad allergies to strong perfumes and might have to be excused mid-trial to use her nebulizer if she has an attack. The Judge asked if she was having a problem now with the people around her. She was not, so he suggested that if the situation arose, they’d deal with it then. He then occasionally brought it back up for a laugh during the rest of the questioning.

A man was excused because he is a surgeon and would have to reschedule surgeries. A woman was excused for religious reasons and felt she couldn’t judge someone. Some people were excused because they said they felt the Defendant was guilty just because he would not be testifying. A couple of others were excused because they had pre-paid vacations planned; although I did question the truthfulness of those answers. One self-important, pompous sales executive tried to claim that him being there would be a hardship on his clients and said there was no one else that could perform his job for him. The Judge admonished him publicly for acting like his hardship was somehow more important than everyone else in the courtroom, but The Judge eventually excused him. Sadly, the sales exec probably doesn’t care that I and much of the courtroom think he is an asshole.

The eighteen chairs ebbed and flowed with participants. As seats opened up, new names would be called to fill the seats. Many of the questions from The Judge had to do with any negative experiences we may have had when interacting with the law system, whether police officers or the court system. We were asked if we had ever been pulled over while driving. Only one woman had never been pulled over, but her brother-in-law had recently been arrested for DUI. Since this was a driving under the influence case, we were asked if we ourselves or any family members had ever been arrested for DUI. A surprising number answered yes to this question. This was the first time I spoke up. I wasn’t sure exactly how honest we had to be about things, so I mentioned that some of my family members may have been arrested for DUI but that I did not have any first-hand knowledge of such an incidence. In my head I was thinking that probably someone in the Irish Catholic/French Canadian side of my family or even the Swedish/English side might have had some run-ins to which I was not privy. The gallery laughed at my non-confession.

Eventually we were dismissed for the night.

Day 2: Jury Selection Continued

 We had to read through a list of question and answer aloud. I said my name, my occupation, stated I was single and childless, listed what city I live in and how long I lived in the county. I had to answer whether I have any family members who work in any field related to the law. I mentioned that I have a relative who was once a private investigator. I was asked what kind. Workman’s comp insurance investigation was not enough to get me off the jury, not that I was trying.

I had to answer if I or any family members had ever had any run-ins with the law from any side; witness, victim, perp. I mentioned that an uncle had been arrested a few months ago for a crime. Surprisingly, The Judge didn’t ask me to clarify like he did the others. These questions knocked out a few more people. I listened for single men. There weren’t any that I was interested in pursuing outside of the jury box. I was kind of hoping that I’d have more success in this arena. Not that it was a good idea, but I like to keep my options open. Besides, meeting on a jury would be a great story to tell at our anniversary.

Once The Judge was done with his questioning, we moved on to questioning by Counsel. First it was The Defense Attorney’s turn. Tall, dressed smartly, she had really great hair. But she has this downward smile that made her look more angry than I thought she was. She was extremely pleasant when talking to the jury. I liked her style and her questioning.

She did not ask me any questions, however her questions did prompt The Judge to eliminate a few more people. There were a couple people who had friends or family with impending DUI trials or who had been killed or injured by a DUI driver.

Next, it was The Prosecutor’s turn. I do have a thing for guys in suits. Short cropped hair and a round mouth. Cute, but married. Too bad. I wasn’t allowed to talk to him in private anyways. He began his questioning with a hypothetical story about how we, The Jury, were a store owner and an employee and friend of ten years had been caught on video taking money out of the cash register and pocketing it. When confronted, the employee/friend said that he was behind on rent and would pay back the money when he could. We were then asked whether we would fire the employee/friend. I raised my hand without hesitation. But not high enough.

The Prosecutor asked Juror #1 why he wouldn’t fire the employee/friend. Juror #1, like a few of the other jurors, were emotional about it and talked about how they would talk to the employee and find out the situation, especially since they were friends. To me, the employee was just that, an employee. As soon as he started stealing from me, I realized he was not a friend. Simple as that. Friends don’t steal from friends.

The Prosecutor turned to me and said, “You’ve managed to avoid most questions so far. So why didn’t you raise your hand?” I smiled and said I had. The crowd giggled. He was flustered. I explained, “He stole from me. I’d definitely fire him. If he were really a friend, he could have asked me for a loan.” This began my campaign to confuse the lawyers subtly without doing anything to jeopardize the trial. I was poker-faced from there on out.

I also became a target. After he had finished with asking everyone how they would answer that question, he started targeting people that he was thinking of dismissing. He turned back to me and asked, “Since The Judge didn’t ask, can you tell me how your uncle felt about being arrested?”

“It seems he quite enjoyed himself,” I replied.

The room filled with laugher. The Prosecutor turned his head in confusion and tried to collect himself. He couldn’t decide if he should keep digging this hole or let it go. He kept digging. “Could you please explain what he was arrested for?”

“Prostitution.” I tried to say it with a straight face, but my face was burning bright red. There was giggling in the courtroom. The Prosecutor decided it was best to move on to a new target. I’d won this round. 

The Judge eliminated another person or two based on their answers.

Then it was Counsel elimination time. The Prosecutor and The Defense Attorney took turns eliminating people. People close to people with DUI’s or having been affected by one. An FBI agent who the judge thanked for gracing the county system with her presence. A guy who didn’t think he could be fair. I was not dismissed. I became Juror #2 out of the twelve jurors and two alternates.

We had opening arguments. Counsel both tried to lay out what they wanted us to decide through a narrative while trying to make themselves likable. They tried to make us smile at them. They tried to make personal connections using what they knew of us that consisted entirely of what they had written on yellow sticky notes in the order in which we sit in the jury box. I wondered what mine said.

The Court Reporter was a slender woman who sat, legs spread, with a device between her knees on which she typed. It has large blank keys. Her fingers moved continuously as people spoke. She stared into space, concentrating solely on what she heard. When there was silence, she’d rotate her wrists and sip her caffeinated, Starbucks beverage. Hot in the morning, cold in the afternoon. She drinks a lot of caffeine. I’m about to understand why.

The first witness was called. She was a woman in her 50’s with grey hair dressed in flowing floral who lives in Los Altos. She looked like a native Californian. She had been a passenger in her mother’s vehicle during The Incident. She described how they had been driving in the slow lane when, in her periphery, she saw a black BMW come up the bike lane.

Yup, the bike lane. She testified that her mother was driving 30-35 mph and the BMW was speeding by. In the bike lane.

The BMW swerved in front of them and cut them off. And sped up even more. Just as two lanes were merging down to one.

She didn’t see the accident per se, but she described the scene after. A minivan on the sidewalk, the BMW on the other side of the road with a Honda SUV. They stopped to make sure people were okay. She asked The Defendant if he knew how fast he was going. The Defendant was an early 20-something guy with thick black hair that was cropped short on the sides. Bushy black eyebrows and eyes that looked like he was always looking up at something but made me feel like he was really looking down on us. Dressed in a crisp button-up shirt for his courtroom appearance. I tried not to make any judgements about him or the lawyers based on looks alone. You can’t tell a book by its cover.

Every time we left the room, we were reminded by The Judge not to make judgement on the evidence we heard until we’d heard the whole story from both sides. It was difficult, but I did the best I could. We also were instructed not to do any research on the case or talk about it. That was a lot easier than being left with my own thoughts while I played golf. I hit a 47 for 9 holes. Not so bad for me.

Day 3: Witnesses & The Police

This was a full day of witnesses and police officers. After a while it all started to run together. The first witness of the day was the woman driving the minivan. She’d been grocery shopping without her kids. She was driving home and had just merged into the one lane when she was hit from behind. She tried to control her minivan, but it spun out of control and landed entirely on the sidewalk. It was totaled. The first witness had come to console her as she was quite shaken up.

Then the driver of the second vehicle took the stand. He was really nervous. In his early 40’s, his right hand shook so much when he took the oath that I wondered if he had some sort of degenerative motor-skill disease. I wondered if The Defense Attorney was going to bring this up and that this was what would make the case fall apart. But she didn’t. I wondered for a long time what her strategy was. There were quite a few witnesses that she did not rebut. 

The driver of the Honda SUV talked about how he’d seen the driver of the BMW drive into his lane at high speed, then hit the minivan, then come back into his lane. He tried to swerve out of the way, but couldn’t move in time. The BMW careened into his driver’s side front panel and door. We eventually saw pictures of all of this. Miraculously, the woman in the minivan, the driver of the Honda SUV, his wife and daughter, and the driver of the BMW were unharmed.

The next witness was the officer who’d arrived at the scene. A man too young to be as round as he was, he’d been spending more time sitting than walking the beat. He had a likable demeanor and was thorough in his description of the procedures he’d followed. We learned a lot about Field Sobriety Exams. The Defendant had not exactly passed with flying colors, although he hadn’t done a YouTube worthy dance either. He was somewhere in the middle. He’d missed his nose a few times. He only stepped 7 times heel to toe instead of 9 times and put a foot out of line. He did stand on one foot but swayed a little. And he stood with his head up, eyes closed for what he thought was 30 seconds, but it was really 10. Some of this could have been explained by having been in a major accident.

The Driver had reported that he had been at Oktoberfest in Mountain View. He’d not had anything to eat for lunch and had had a few beers. He said he’d stopped drinking at 1:30 pm. The accident was just before 2:45 pm. He had been subjected to a blood draw for the blood-alcohol test around 4:33.

The Phlebotomist took the stand. He was a character. An introvert by nature, he had thick, dark hair and eyebrows. He looked much older than his hair. His full-time job is working the graveyard shift at a hospital taking blood. My imagination wondered if he is a vampire. Not the sexy kind depicted in recent movies. He spoke in a slow, deliberate way that set me slightly on edge. He “moonlights” in the afternoons taking blood for the police department. He’s done it for years. He kind of creeped me out and I could imagine The Prosecutor not really wanting to put him on the stand. But I also felt like The Phlebotomist is probably a really nice guy who is misunderstood by most. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He talked about the details of how he draws blood and the procedures taken. He seems like a guy that is good at sticking to the procedures.

We heard testimony from the cheery woman in her late 20’s who deals with evidence for the Mountain View Police Department. She had dealt with transporting the blood vials to San Jose. She smiled often and seemed happy to be asked to participate. We also heard from the sexy woman in her mid-30’s who accepted the evidence at the San Jose lab. She now works at Stanford. She would have been perfect in an episode of CSI.

At some point, the Criminologist explained that from the skid marks he determined that after the BMW hit the minivan and before it hit the Honda SUV, he was going 45 mph, which meant he was going faster than that when he drove into the bike lane, cut off the first car and hit the minivan. Remember, this was a 35 mph zone that was merging from two lanes into one lane into a 25 mph zone.

Lunch was somewhere between witnesses. It is amazing how easy it is to forget details even a day later. But my goal was to visit as many places on California Avenue as possible. For breakfast on Day 2, I’d gotten a decaf latte and croissant at Printer’s Cafe. For lunch I went to Pastis for their Croque something with fromage with a salad. I started Day 3 with a trip to Starbucks for a Greek yogurt with honey and granola, then the veggie enchilada with green sauce at Fiesta del Sol.

I’d taken the train to the courthouse and by the time I got out, the weather hadn’t cooled much from the 90’s it had hit earlier in the day. I walked home from the train station. I walked the dog. I walked to Quiz Night. I almost hit 9 miles. Not too shabby. After drinking two beers with dinner, I got a ride home with someone who had been drinking water.

Day 4: The Conclusion

Today I took the train to the courthouse again. The highs were in the 90’s again. A little rough since we went from just being in the 70’s to being in the 90’s. It was already warm in the morning. I didn’t bring a sweater because the courtroom had been warm yesterday. It had finally cooled off. I was a bit chilled.

I stopped at Izzy’s Brooklyn Bagels for a blueberry bagel with cream cheese. I ate it in the jury room while waiting for the trial to start for the day. I figured I deserved it after 9 miles yesterday. In reality, I didn’t really deserve it because I’d already spent those calories.

The morning was filled by The Toxicologist. Tall and lean, good looking suit, chic glasses, I sat up a little straighter and paid attention. But as soon as he started speaking, I silently shook my head and realized I was probably not his type. He spoke intelligently and easily put things into layman’s terms as he’d been an expert in many a trial. He’d also been a Toxicologist in upstate NY and did a cameo on a TV show when he worked in Las Vegas.

He was a scientist, so I finally felt like we were getting some substantial evidence. He explained gas spectrometers and how he goes about testing the blood for alcohol level. He explained absorption and elimination. He showed data and it said that at 4:33 pm The Defendant had a blood alcohol level of .077. Based on The Defendant’s report that he stopped drinking at 1:30 pm and the accident happening around 2:45 pm, The Toxicologist estimated that The Defendant’s blood-alcohol level at the time of the accident might have been .09. The Defense Attorney offered hypotheticals that this could have been a lower value based on other estimate.

We broke for lunch. I went to Cafe Brioche. I indulged with a house salad, the spinach ravioli, the apple tart and a cappuccino. I needed caffeine. While I loved all the scientific information, it had taken a long time to get through. For all of the police department witnesses, there was a lot of background needed to show that the witness was competent at their job and a good witness. It was not exactly fascinating.

When we resumed, we listened to closing arguments. The Defense had called no witnesses. Both sides were quite predictable. The Prosecution restated all the facts of the case. The Defense Attorney tried to convince us that we could not say The Defendant was guilty of both driving under the influence and reckless driving since reckless driving requires wanton disregard. We were sent off to deliberate.

Knowing that no one would really want to be Foreman, I sat at the end of the table, asked if anyone was dying to do it and then said I would do it if no one else wanted it. I already had a plan in place. I wanted to make sure that we had a discussion before taking a vote, so I made everyone list the facts that we had learned in the case. For each fact listed, I asked if anyone disputed it or if we needed a discussion for it. We discussed a few of the points.

Then we went through the two charges individually. The first was driving under the influence. Pretty much ignoring the Field Sobriety Test, we determined that the fact that beer had been consumed, the blood alcohol content at the time of the blood draw, the lack of skid marks before the first accident, the disregard for safety by speeding, by driving in the bike lane and trying to drive into oncoming traffic were enough to convict for driving under the influence. We took a vote and everyone agreed on the first count.

The second count was a little bit more difficult. The Defense Attorney had made a good point about it being hard to convict for both driving under the influence and reckless driving since that had to do with wanton disregard. He had to have known what he was doing. But how could he if he were driving under the influence? We had a really good discussion about this. There were a few people who felt that maybe we couldn’t convict for both. It basically came down to this: If his BAC had been much higher, like falling over drunk, then we couldn’t have also convicted for reckless driving, but because his BAC was either below or just above the legal limit of .08 depending on whether he had actually finished drinking at 1:30 or not, we felt that it was enough to influence his driving, but not enough to have made him incapable or rational thought. He had been driving for six years. We are all trained to drive in the lanes. It would have been against muscle memory for him to choose to drive in the bike lane or into oncoming traffic. He would have had to make a conscious decision to do that. Most people, if they’ve had a few drinks, do their best not to do anything that would attract the attention of the police. This wasn’t even close.

I had to sign my name to the verdict. That was the hardest part. Being on record. Being accountable. But I think being accountable is important. I think people should own up to their actions. So that is what I did. 

Then I went for a drink. I went back to Pastis and sat at the bar. I stated that it was 5 o’clock somewhere when in fact it was 5 o’clock here. We’d been told we needed a verdict by 4:45 pm in order to not come back tomorrow. Without watching the clock, we last voted at 4:44. I signed the paper quickly and leaped for the door to hand the verdict to The Bailiff. I still wish I could have a drink with her. I bet she has stories.

So I had a glass of white wine. Then a rose. It was hot out and I had a lot to write just now. I had the baked brie with way too many mushrooms hanging around. I hate mushrooms. Mushrooms are not vegetables. I finished with port and the sponge cake with strawberries. There was also a surprise chocolate mousse that showed up by accident. I skipped the entree. Tonight was confirmation of my verdicts. I’m not sober enough to be driving, but I’m perfectly capable of editing this post and making mostly decent decisions. And I’m not driving home. I’m taking the train.

On the way to the train, I passed He-who-shall-never-again-be-named-in-my-blog in the crosswalk. I heard he hangs out at Cafe Brioche. I smiled.

 

N.B. The order of events here may not be entirely correct, but were unnecessary for the verdict. There was absolutely no dissension of the verdict, so even if I got some details wrong or out of order, I do not question our final result. For the important pieces, I took notes and I was not allowed to take those with me. Also, I’m not trying to publicly shame The Defendant. He will get his punishment from The Judge. The purpose of this post was to tell you what it was like to be on a jury in hopes that the next time you are called, you will be prepared to do your civic duty and not be the pompous asshole trying to get out of participating in Democracy.

 

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