If Plato hated lawyers’ stinking guts, then so do I! Part 1

In between my summer session class and this Fall quarter I was summoned for jury duty.  As hundreds of citizens were sent to their trial areas I was sent across the street to the county courthouse.  I was one of few of 70 who affirmed that I actually wanted to be there when the court clerk asked my prospective pool.  I was eager to serve.  He made lightweight banter as he came and checked on us occasionally.  We into the afternoon we were finally seated.  The actors on this stage were all set: lawyers, judge, jury, defendant.  And then the gravity of the duty was thrust upon us all: kidnap, torture, and murder.  This was going to be a horrible trial, both legally and emotionally.

Through the process of voir dire I was able to make it down to the prospective juror pool of 21.  I was actually seated in the very middle of the front row of the jury box!  If it were a Laker game, I would be Jack Nicholson.

In the process the defense and prosecution alternate, with the judge’s governance, asking questions to the prospective jurors.  The defense’s aim is to root out any any candidate whose prejudices might unfavorably predispose them to convict the defendant, or in the case of the prosecution, to reject someone whose bias might favor exoneration.

Rejections abounded:  an artist was too skittish to see photos of the murder, a man was previously arrested for drug offenses with the last 15 years, a woman was too senile for deft manipulation by the lawyers.  As you can imagine, when a juror is excused no explicit reason is actually given for, rather it is up to a clever observer, like me, to infer the reason for dismissal based on their answers.  Actually, for mostly everyone I listened to, their line of answering the question was sufficient to uncover a blatant area of disqualification- their disqualification was not hard to see.  I believe a few of them had some poorly disguised excuses which were intended to provoke dismissal, “I am a single woman who lives alone and I can’t handle the details of the trial” “I am an artist, I can’t see graphic photos of the scene.”  Whether contrived or not, such blatant confessions did indeed get them dismissed from the jury pool.

One woman was temporarily exuberant when told she was being dismissed.  She let out most of a “yes” before subduing herself.  It was as if she thought she were going to be fined for wanted to be dismissed.

Here are some of the questions the lawyers asked, along with my psychological response at the moment:

1st question, from the defense:  do you believe that the phrase, “where there is smoke, there is fire” has any truth to it?

I know he wants everybody to say “no” and we oblige, everyone in unison saying “no” or shaking their heads.  But in normal circumstances I am sure everyone would say yes, and most everyone has probably used the phrase at least once in their lives.

The defense lawyer was, I thought, purposely trying to endear himself as human to us jurors.  Before he said a word, he grabbed the cliched water jug that we all know sits on the counsel’s table, filled a cup and took one quick sip.  Now we understand that the man is fully human, he drinks water like us!

He proceeded to probe the jury with more questions.

Part 2 by Friday.

Textbook Underworld and the stalking girl

I saved some 30 dollars by buying my Chem book from a girl who was standing in the bookstore for 40 minutes attempting to sell her book to bystanders.  For some reason she decided not to bring the book with her, but left it in her car in the parking lot.  As we walked to go look at the book she must have said, “It is just a little further this way” with a motion of her hand at least 4 times.  I felt like I was going to look at contraband weapons or a bearded woman, but then decided she was nervous for her blatant entrepreneurialism.

So we get there I look at the book and deem it is sufficient.  We are standing in a dimly lit parking structure’s basement.  Also I refuse to take off my sunglasses. I count out the twenties to reach 100, then reach for my pocket for two loose 5’s, then grab another 20.  ”There’s 130.”  Her eyes had followed the waves of the bills the entire time, like two beetles crawling side by side on a single path.  ”130″ she says.

Business is done, I feel clever and she feels like she had a poker windfall.

Haiku:

Textbook Underworld,
Shrewd girl, highlighting too much,
You wrote in the book!

University faculty moving towards the middle, away from radical 60’s

In a survey of academics across the nation, a majority of university professors are now over 50 years old.  With looming retirement, many of these professors, who started in academia as children of the 1960’s, are consistently seeing new hires 20-30 years younger than them.  The new professors are self professedly more moderate.

Among professors:

“Self-described liberals are most common within the ranks of those professors aged 50-64, who were teenagers or young adults in the 1960s,” ….. making up just under 50 percent. At the same time, the youngest group, ages 26 to 35, contains the highest percentage of moderates, some 60 percent, and the lowest percentage of liberals, just under a third.

story

Discovered: The most practical job for a philosophy major

While reading Truehoop, a blog on ESPN.com about the NBA, I came across a post getting a professional gambler’s take on the NBA referee scandal.  In case you don’t follow sports, an NBA referee was indicted last summer in connection with betting on games, some of which he presided over.  Anyway, Mr. Haralabos Voulgaris (ironically appropriate last name) makes a living exclusively from betting on NBA games.  According to the interview he watches thousands of hours of tape, analyzing matchups for his statistical models.  Whence did he get these analytical skills which he has turned into crass and lucrative wagering?  He was a philosophy major.

I was in the process of getting a degree in Philosophy at the University of Manitoba and I began to wonder what I was going to do with myself, the prospect of continuing my education and going on to grad school wasn’t too exciting.

So he did the next logical thing- he bet on professional athletes who jump around and throw a piece of inflated animal hide into a metal loop suspended ten feet above the ground.  

I think the NBA has gone through a successful slogan transitionary period.  Once it was, “The NBA…….its faaaaaantastic.”  Now its, “Where amazing happens.”  But I think we have uncovered the next wave, “The NBA……more exciting than a philosophy degree.”

 

full interview

Like an arising monster

…with teeth made of candy corn, plunging your metabolism into energetic spasms

…with baggy eyes of deep blue, like scantron ink

…with the roar of an incessant alarm clock ring

Finals are here again, and I finish on Friday with Latin. Let me insert here how much I hate golf- not only is the U.S. Open taking place nearby UCSD, but the golf-letes are congesting traffic and stealing our native parking spaces. And wasting gas using golf carts, when they need the exercise. And wasting water on the plush greens, while SoCal is undergoing a water drought.