Thursday, December 29, 2011

Christmas 2011

This holiday season has been wonderful. Part of me wants to share tons of stories and pictures, dating all the way back to the end of November, when our Christmas season got officially underway. Melanie in particular has done a lot of special and fun things this year—Rudolph pancakes, snowmen pizzas, cute art projects aplenty. I know if I tried to tackle it all, I’d never get it all written and I’d end up not discussing any of it. So, I’m going to limit myself to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in this post, letting pictures do a lot of the talking.

I was more excited about Christmas than I’ve been in years. Part of it, I think, is the fact that Eddie and Peter are both getting older and get more excited about things themselves. But I also felt more into the whole gift-purchasing process. I think I was slightly more involved than I sometimes am, but I was also more excited by the things we were doing. These feelings extend to my gift-purchasing for Melanie, too. It was a lot of fun.

Eddie and Peter exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve. They had both chosen (independently, though not without some suggestion) a Power Ranger action figure. Eddie got his favorite color—red—while Peter got his favorite color—green.

Also on Christmas Eve, Melanie had us make snowmen out of white chocolate covered Oreos and various candies. Here are some pictures of that:



This is Eddie’s snowman.

My snowman.

Creegan preferred to eat rather than build the snowmen.

Melanie also continued our tradition of having homemade soup served in non-homemade bread bowls for Christmas Eve dinner. This year’s soup was a creamy corn chowder with red potato, bacon, and rosemary. Check it out:



Another Christmas Eve tradition is having the kids open up a selected gift from Mom and Dad. Last year, Eddie and Peter received Christmas blankets in which they wrapped themselves for our traditional Christmas Eve drive to look at lights. This year, Eddie and Peter got new pajamas and Creegan received a blanket. Even I got some pajama bottoms, which was unexpected. Fun stuff!





My pajama bottoms are what you might call “relaxed fit.”

That brings us to Christmas day…

The presents before any kids got to them. Believe it or not, we had to wake Eddie and Peter up. Creegan, of course, was the first one up.

The scooters that Santa left Eddie and Peter, in their favorite colors.

The boys’ stockings prior to discovery.

Melanie’s stocking.

My stocking. One of the most fun items it contained was a tree ornament of “the old man” from A Christmas Story and his beloved leg lamp.

The table full of candy that Santa left.

The collection of DVDs and Blu-rays that Santa left.

The boys arrive on the scene.

Peter immediately nabs the bubble gum machine, which ended up being one of the most popular gifts of the day (much to Melanie’s and my surprise).











Peter and Eddie inside the colorable cardboard rocket ship that Santa brought.

Creegan inside the rocket.

Melanie showing off some gifts from her wonderful husband. In Melanie’s left hand is an incredibly sharp bread knife with which her wonderful husband sliced off a very small portion of pinky when he made egg nog French toast later that morning.









MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Edison Update

Being our firstborn, Edison provides us with many parental firsts. That means that a lot of the awe of being an adult parent can be attributed to what Eddie does. It seems that every few months, he seems a year or two older. There have been a lot of fun developments and stories revolving around him lately. I’m going to share some now.

In the fall, Edison took gymnastics lessons. Melanie and I got him into gymnastics because it was something he was genuinely interested in. He loved it, and would often count how many days (or, in his terms, how many sleeps) remained until he would return to gymnastics. Gymnastics has now come to an end for the season, although he’ll be starting again in January. In the meantime, soccer has started. (Yes, outdoor soccer can start in December when you live in Florida.) It’s only been a few weeks, and he’s had some mixed feelings about it. (Soccer isn’t something he was especially interested in, but he wanted to try it.) Overall, I think he likes it. He’s been especially excited since Melanie and I got him some shin guards and a soccer ball with which to practice at home, and his team (the Rapids) gave him a jersey. He now wants to practice soccer every day. If I do say so myself, he’s got a rather powerful kick. I’m hoping this will be a very rewarding experience for him.

Eddie is also a great source of entertainment. He’s still not quite getting knock-knock jokes, but he loves them anyway. I recently told him the old “orange you glad I didn’t say banana” one. He now repeats it back to me in varied forms, usually something along the lines of this:

Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Edison: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Edison: Orange.
Me: Orange who?
Edison: Banana, banana, banana, orange, orange, orange!

Speaking of bananas, Edison recently learned that his three-year-old friend refers to a certain part of the male anatomy as a “wee-wee.” Edison had never heard this before and was quite amused by it. He and Peter kept laughing at the idea of kicking a bad guy in his wee-wee. As we were driving home shortly after Edison learned this new terminology, he said to me, “Dad, are you thinking about wee-wees?” I said, “No, son, but I can tell you are. Just let me know if it becomes a problem and you start thinking about them a lot.” Several minutes later, after a few moments of silence, Edison suddenly chimed in and said quite seriously: “Dad, I think I’ve got a problem. I’m thinking about wee-wees.” Melanie and I nearly passed out from laughing so hard.

And finally, a couple of days ago, we returned to the Wild Adventures amusement park for which we bought season passes not that long ago. It was only our second time there, but Edison was much braver. He went with me on a ride called Aviator, which is basically like a giant swing that lifts you high above the ground and has you go around in circles at a rather brisk speed. He loved it and immediately wanted to go on the ride again with Melanie. He had refused to go on this ride on our previous visit. Even more surprisingly, after watching Melanie go on Swamp Thing, a relatively mild roller coaster where the track is above you and your feet dangle from your seat, Edison said he wanted to try it. I was amazed. I got in line to take him on it, and Melanie gave me a look of concern. She mouthed to me that it was more intense than she had expected, and she was worried Eddie might hate it. The ride was a bit jarring, mostly because it jostles your head around, but as soon as it ended, Eddie turned to me and said, “I love it! I want go on it with Mom now!” And so he did. And I took him on it again a short while later. And then he asked to go on it again, but we were already leaving the park. He has since decided that, on our next visit, he will ride Swamp Thing ten times with Melanie, ten times with me, and ten times by himself. He has also expressed interest in trying numerous other rides that he was previously opposed to trying. Wouldn’t it be funny if Edison ended up being a little thrill seeker? I wouldn’t mind it one bit.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Juror #8

Note: I wrote the majority of this over a week ago. Thus, the time references (e.g. “this most recent Wednesday”) are inaccurate. I’m not going to bother changing anything. So there.

I spent this most recent Wednesday and Thursday serving as juror #8 in a first degree murder case, my first ever foray into the world of jury duty. It was an interesting experience. Considering the nature of the case, it moved much more quickly than I would have expected. They had told us ahead of time that the trial (sans jury deliberation) would last about two full days, possibly going into a partial third day. That sounded short, but what I mean is that the actual court proceedings themselves did not feel dragged out whatsoever. I expected there to be a certain tedium to it all, but there really wasn’t. At times, I was quite surprised by the briskness of it all. Several witnesses were on the stand just long enough to answer three or four questions. They took almost as long to be sworn in as they did to answer the lawyers’ questions. I was also pleasantly surprised that the trial wasn’t more emotionally disturbing for me. I feared that the kind of evidence I’d be presented with would be quite bothersome, specifically when it came to photographs. To be sure, there were some ugly images; autopsies aren’t pretty. In order to show that a certain artery was severed, for example, they’d show you a picture of the victim with the skin of his neck completely peeled back and flopping over his almost normal-looking face. Yuck. But it’s probably much easier to handle these kinds of things having grown up in an era when you see images almost as explicit on prime time news magazines such as Dateline.

Here’s a rundown of my experience. On day one, I reported to the courthouse at 830am. The fourteen jurors (including the two undisclosed alternates) were escorted to a jury room, where we were informed of our assigned juror numbers and made to wait until called into the courtroom. We were allowed to bring water into the courtroom, but nothing else. A pen and a pad of paper were provided for us and were waiting for us in our courtroom seats. (We were not allowed to keep these items at the end of the trial, should anyone wonder.) Upon entering the courtroom, we were sworn in and given some instructions by the judge. When the judge gives the jury these instructions, he does not yet provide them with a definition of the laws that are relevant to the case. This comes at the end of the proceedings, when the jury prepares to deliberate. I found it interesting that the definitions would wait, and yet I suppose this helps prevent any jurors from forming a judgment too early into the trial. This is something about which we were specifically instructed; we were told to refrain from forming any opinion on the case whatsoever until all of the evidence had been presented—a human impossibility, some might say. Once our role as jurors had been explained to us, the state immediately gave its opening statements, followed by the defense, and then without any hesitation, witnesses were put on the stand. I was surprised to see a news camera in the courtroom. I don’t know why, exactly. You see trials like this on TV, but there’s something weird about being on the other end of it, to imagine the news reports saying something about “the jury” and having those comments be, in some literal sense, about me.

The most surprising thing, in my opinion, is that they let jurors ask questions of the witnesses. I had never heard of anything like that happening in a trial before. We were not allowed to speak directly to the witnesses, but after both the prosecution and the defense attorneys had finished their questioning of a given witness, the judge would ask the jury if they have any questions. If a juror does have a question, then that juror raises his/her hand, at which point the juror is allowed to write the question down on a piece of paper that the court bailiff will subsequently collect. The judge and all of the attorneys then hold a “sidebar” (i.e. they huddle in the corner, out of the jury’s earshot) and decide which, if any, of the questions should be allowed. After a few minutes in the sidebar, the judge returns to his seat and asks the witness whichever questions have been deemed acceptable. Although I never asked a question, a few jurors did. They were usually decent questions, from what I remember. In hindsight, I had a couple of questions that I wish I had asked. They probably wouldn’t have made a difference in the end, but I think they were worthwhile questions.

We were given breaks almost every hour, which was quite nice. I always peed during these breaks, just to make sure I wouldn’t get stuck needing to pee at some point when I wouldn’t be able to. During the breaks, the jury had to hang out in the jury room (which had an attached bathroom), but a second jury room right next door was not in use and so we were allowed to use its bathroom as well. That helped, as the bathroom was a popular place for jurors to go.

Lots of people ask me about the food situation. Did the court feed the jurors, everyone wants to know? Only during deliberation. On day one, we had a 70-minute lunch break during which we were left to fend for ourselves. Most of the jurors took to the courthouse cafeteria, including myself. We were allowed to eat together, so long as we did not discuss the details of the case. I sat with two other jurors and wondered if it would be appropriate to make a joke about forming an alliance. Rather than make the joke and risk causing a stir, I played it safe by expressing my uncertainty about whether or not I could make that specific joke.

We had been told on the day of jury selection that a typical day in court would last until about 5pm. I took this very much as a ballpark estimate, because we were also told that witnesses would not be cut off and so we might easily go past 5pm if it would help us to reach a better stopping point. Thus, I assumed 5pm would be the earliest I’d get out of there on day one. I was pleasantly surprised when court recessed at approximately 445pm. The state had already rested its case by this point, and the defense had presented its first witness—the defendant herself (which I was surprised to see take the stand). Before adjourning for the day, the judge told us that we were actually ahead of schedule. This made me optimistic that we could enter deliberation the very next day and not have to come back for a third day.

On day two, I once again reported to the courthouse at 830am. The ball got rolling even more quickly than on the previous day. The moment we were taken into the courtroom, a witness was called and led to the stand. There was no dilly-dallying whatsoever. (And why should there be? I don’t know, but I was surprised at how efficient they were. That hasn’t been my experience with government-related procedures in the past.) The defense moved through its witnesses very, very quickly. Because the defendant had admitted to killing the victim, the defense was merely hoping to establish that the killing had been justified—that it was done in self-defense. To support this, the defense tried to show that a history of spousal abuse had existed between the victim and the defendant. Consequently, a typical witness for the defense was asked little more by the defense team than, “Did you ever see injuries on the defendant?”, which usually garnered a response like, “Yeah, two black eyes,” and then the defense would say, “Nothing further.” The prosecution would then cross-examine by asking, “Did you see how the defendant got those black eyes?”, and the witness would say, “No,” and the prosecution would say, “Nothing further.” I promise you, I am leaving out almost nothing, especially when it comes to the cross-examination. After about 30 minutes, I think we went through almost as many witnesses on day two as we had done the entire previous day.

By 1150am, all of the witnesses had been presented. I guess it’s lame that I didn’t realize this, but aside from the opening and closing arguments, a trial truly is nothing more than the questioning of witnesses. I guess it just never occurred to me that all of the evidence in a case is presented within the context of questioning a witness. That makes perfect sense, of course, but I guess I assumed the questioning of witnesses was just one thing that happened during a trial. I guess I assumed there might be times when the lawyer is presenting evidence and talking about it him/herself, arguing something about it directly and not via the questioning of a witness. But that’s not true at all. The trial consists of talking to witnesses, and that’s it. Call me naïve, but that was news to me. Anyway, by 1150am, there were no more witnesses to be had. The judge then gave us a two-hour lunch break, telling us we would return to hear closing arguments. I ate by myself at a nearby Subway, where I did some reading in order to pass the time. I then returned to the courthouse, hopeful that this might all be over within two or three hours.

It didn’t turn out quite that simply. At about 2pm, we were escorted back into the courtroom. Before hearing the closing arguments, we were instructed further on what was specifically at issue regarding the case. At this point, I learned that we as a jury would have to decide not merely whether or not the defendant was guilty, but to what extent she was guilty if we found her so to be. Because the crime of first degree murder includes the lesser crimes of second degree murder and manslaughter, we could technically convict her of any of those things. I worried this would make it much harder to come to a consensus, since we might all agree that the defendant is guilty and yet disagree as to what exactly she is guilty of. In hindsight, I’m quite glad we were given multiple options, because I believed she was guilty of murder but I did not think it was clearly first degree murder. Anyway, after being given further instruction, the prosecution and the defense gave their closing arguments. We were then given even further instruction and led to the jury room to begin deliberation. At this point, we were forced to hand over all our cellular phones and other electronic devices and forbidden from leaving the jury room for any reason without permission. It was about 4pm.

Going into deliberation, I didn’t expect anyone to believe the defendant was “not guilty.” How naïve of me! I was genuinely surprised when at least three jurors said they were leaning toward just such a verdict. I knew then that deliberation would not be as simple a process as I had hoped. Still, it took some time before the dread settled in and I was entirely convinced that the deliberation would end in a hung jury. And what led me to feel so hopeless? Well, a substantial amount of the time spent in deliberation was not what I would deem “productive.” After a while, it seemed that the only conversations taking place in the jury room were those between people who already agreed with each other and were merely speculating as to how the crime might have unfolded. Often, several of these conversations were taking place at once, such that some jurors were left to do nothing but cast awkward glances at one another, their mutual exclusion from myriad tête-à-têtes acknowledged by way of feigned and wary smiles. Those most frequently left out of discussion were the two or three jurors who leaned toward “not guilty,” making the pockets of conversation taking place throughout the jury room wholly ineffective in terms of reaching a verdict. I’m proud to say that I did chime in a few times and request the undivided attention of my fellow jurors, at which point I gave what I felt were reasonably articulate arguments for my view. From my perspective, much of the discussion taking place—even when it managed to be directed at the jury as a whole—was overcomplicating matters. Many of the details of the case that some jurors felt compelled continually to revisit, I felt were irrelevant. A few people agreed with me and even complimented me in my logic, but as I was already in the majority of jurors who felt the defendant was guilty, this didn’t avail much. At least not at first. Still, I was trying to dissuade needless discussion as much as I was trying to speak to those who didn’t agree with me. So I trusted that my little tangents were worthwhile.

As time went on, there were two jurors in particular who were strongly holding to “not guilty.” One of these jurors got rather defensive after a while, when most other jurors continually challenged her about her position. (The other “holdout” was less targeted, probably because she was slightly less vocal to begin with.) Once or twice, I myself directly confronted her, and yet I sincerely hope she felt like I treated her with respect. After all, there were times when I spoke in her defense—a fact I took pride in because I felt it proved that I was not being stubborn or unfair. And I really wouldn’t have wanted anyone to vote for something they didn’t feel good about. I’m not sure everyone else in that jury room felt that way. Anyway, people argued this and argued that, and several hours passed. Around 730pm, the bailiff poked his head in the room and told us he would be ordering us some Papa John’s. It arrived around 8pm, and we took a much needed break from discussing the case while we refreshed ourselves with pizza and soda.

Progress was made when we finally cracked down and spent some good time nitpicking almost every detail of every definition given to us concerning justified killing and the various degrees of non-justified killing that were at issue. Eventually, all but one juror—the same one as mentioned before—agreed that the killing was at least manslaughter. It was the question of self-defense that was the hang-up. The defense team had tried to convince us that the killing was in self-defense. Did they have to convince us, or did the prosecution have to convince us that it was not self-defense? The official rule is that the defense team doesn’t have to prove anything, and yet there was concern about the burden of proof. We actually had the bailiff send a note to the judge asking for clarification on the matter at one point. It was clarified that the prosecution must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it was not self-defense. Had they done that? Or was there room to believe—reasonably believe, mind you—that the killing had been justified? We returned to the definition of justified killing given to us by the court. It said something about the appearance of danger being so real—not the actual danger, mind you—that a reasonable and prudent person in the same situation would have viewed the actions taken by the defendant as the only means of avoiding the danger. “But I don’t necessarily think the defendant was in a reasonable state of mind at the time,” a juror might say. “But the definition is about what a reasonable person would do, so it doesn’t exactly matter what the defendant’s state of mind was at the time,” someone else would respond. And so the haggling went, back and forth, definitions hashed and rehashed. Eventually, even the most resilient juror conceded to manslaughter. I immediately felt giddy, thinking an end was in sight. For some time, I had become convinced that the deliberation would end in a “hung jury.” I didn’t know if we as a jury could declare ourselves hung, or if the judge had to decide at some point that we were hung, but I thought that was our fate. In fact, just before all of the jurors miraculously agreed that the killing was at least manslaughter, I was about to encourage us to declare ourselves hung and be done with it. Going into deliberation, I would have wanted to resist becoming a hung jury, believing it would make our time in court ultimately worthless. But after nearly seven hours in deliberation, feeling a hung jury is inevitable, I just wanted to get out of there. Sadly, my optimism at the agreement to manslaughter was dashed when a few jurors immediately piped up and said that there was no way they would settle for anything less than second-degree murder. We had come so far, and yet I couldn’t imagine that the jurors who had resisted manslaughter would ever agree to a more serious charge. Being a hung jury again struck me as a potential tragedy, since we all agreed that she was guilty of something. Wouldn’t it be better to agree to the minimum charge upon which we can all agree?

It was shortly before 11pm when all of the jurors agreed to manslaughter. Around that same time, the bailiff stopped by and told us that the judge would be coming to see us soon. Crap. Was he going to declare us a hung jury? I doubted he would do that already, and yet I hated the alternative—that he was going to send us home for the night and make us return in the morning to continue deliberating. What happened at this point is rather interesting, from an anecdotal perspective. With the judge presumably on his way, one of the jurors asked if anyone would object to the jury joining in prayer and asking for divine guidance. Immediately, the foreperson said, “I would.” The juror who suggested praying asked if anyone would object to having a moment of silence during which people could offer silent prayers, if they wished. Nobody objected to having a moment of silence, and so we did. From what I could tell, most jurors offered a silent prayer at this point. When the moment of silence had passed, it was suggested that we take one final vote. We started by voting on second-degree murder, since that was the next level at which there had previously been a divide. Astonishingly, everyone agreed to second-degree murder. Nobody bothered asking about first-degree murder at that point—it had been clear that most jurors weren’t convinced of that, even though a handful of them suspected that the murder had indeed been premeditated. We quickly agreed that second-degree murder would be our final verdict. We alerted the bailiff, who caught the judge before he ever made it to our room. The defendant, the lawyers, and everyone else relevant to the court proceedings were reassembled in the court room. At approximately 11pm, it was announced that the defendant had been found guilty of second-degree murder.

And that was that. I was exhausted. It felt like the middle of the night. I was relieved to be able to contact Melanie and tell her I was on my way home. A fellow juror—the foreperson—had agreed to give me a ride home. Neither Melanie nor I expected day two to run so long. We were both quite pleased that, after such a long day, I would not be returning to court the following day.

One thing that I didn’t mention above is that when a jury deliberates, they provide you with all of the evidence presented in court. This allows the jury to review the evidence, which makes perfect sense. However, some of the items you are provided with are amusingly pointless. Blood-stained pillows and comforters are wrapped and sealed in opaque brown paper. You cannot see the items inside. Neither can you open these items, which you wouldn’t want to do anyway for biohazard reasons (if not to prevent retching). The point is, these pieces of evidence do you no good whatsoever. Perhaps the only purpose of having them is to discourage skepticism. Perhaps they don’t want a juror asking, “So, where is that blanket if it was smothered in the victim’s blood? Why wouldn’t that be here?” and concluding from its absence that something must be afoul in the prosecution’s case. Then again, there were certain things that were not presented that several of us wondered about—the 911 call, for instance—and so I’m not sure my theory holds.

Another fact, more amusing than any of the others: I recently received in the mail a certificate from the courthouse along with a letter from the judge thanking me for my service. The letter isn’t silly, I guess, but a certificate of participation? Really? I’ll have to put that on my CV and see where it gets me.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Muppets, Murder, and Other Mayhem

So much I want to write about, so little time. I’ve spent the last 10 days hoping I’d get a chance to blog, and I just haven’t. I even started to write a movie review at one point, but barely got a few sentences in before I reluctantly abandoned it. There are just too many demands. It’s sad that something inevitably has to give, even when that thing is very important to you. I do think blogging is worthwhile, at least for my own sake. It’s pretty much the only kind of journal-keeping I do nowadays, and I think journal-keeping is very important. So, I’m always a bit sad that it doesn’t happen more often.

In case I never get a chance to write more about them, I had hoped to critique both The Greatest Movie Ever Sold and The Muppets. The former was good, about three out of four stars. The latter I took Peter and Eddie to on opening day, just the three of us. The kids weren’t as captivated by it as I’d hoped. I think it might appeal a lot more to adults who remember with some degree of detail the original Muppet movies and The Muppet Show from television (not to be confused with Muppet Babies).

I wanted to write about Thanksgiving, but the further away from it we get, the less relevant it seems to do so. Melanie covered it well with photographs. There are thoughts and stories I wanted to share of my own, but those will have to wait. Indefinitely.

On Friday, we went to Wild Adventures. It’s an amusement park located almost 2 hours from Tallahassee. A friend of Melanie’s assured us you could get there in roughly 45 minutes, but there’s no way that’s true. Melanie and I bought our family an annual pass to Wild Adventures, even though we had never been there. It actually was quite cheap, and we liked the idea of having an amusement park that is relatively close to us. In short, it’s a much cheaper, much less crowded, and much easier to get to version of Disney World. Except it’s nowhere near as splendid and magical as Disney World. No surprise, of course. Even so, it’s something we can afford to do, and I feel a lot safer driving our questionably reliable van only 2 hours rather than 4 or 5. I’m pleased to say that, despite some mixed feelings during the first couple of hours of our visit to Wild Adventures, we’re all looking very much forward to going back.

And that brings us to this week. Yesterday, I had to go in for jury selection. It was the first time in my life that I’ve ever received a jury summons. I’d heard people say that, as a philosopher, I was unlikely to be chosen to serve on a jury. But guess what? I have been chosen. Or, at least not eliminated, which by default means that I am on the official jury. I do feel like serving on a jury is an honorable thing to do, but I have felt a bit depressed about being selected. First of all, it causes some (although minimal) interruption to my schooling. As an instructor, I’ll have to cancel one of the last few class meetings of the semester, and that screws things up a bit. I’m also a bit apprehensive about the fact that I’ll be serving as a juror on a murder trial. A first degree (i.e. premeditated) murder case. Heavy stuff. I am fearful that it will be quite emotionally disturbing. I don’t look forward to reviewing evidence, etc. Based on what little I know at this point, it could be a much more disturbing case than I expect it to be. No children involved, for example. But a murder case just seems like a very big deal. Shouldn’t you have to serve on a jury for a burglary trial or something before you’re allowed to serve on a jury for a murder trial? Sheesh.

So that’s my life at the moment.

Friday, November 18, 2011

The New Pornographers

As previously written, last month Melanie and I went to our first rock concert in years. One of my very favorite bands of the new century, The New Pornographers, came to Tallahassee and performed at a bar called The Moon. I’ll be honest, the concert could have been better. For starters, attendance was low, which probably lessened the energy. Second, the sound mix wasn’t phenomenal. I think the vocals could have come through a lot more nicely than they did. Third, two of the band’s foremost members, Neko Case and Dan Bejar, both of whom offer lead vocals on many New Pornographers’ songs, were absent. And finally, the band just isn’t that charismatic on stage. They didn’t engage much with the audience. (Then again, I’m accustomed to the massively entertaining concerts put on by another Canadian pop-rock band with a sexually-charged name—Barenaked Ladies.) Thankfully, I can honestly say that of the 16 songs they played live, only one isn’t a song I would claim to absolutely love … and even that one song is pretty good.

I know many people aren’t familiar with The New Pornographers. I think they’re fantastic. Their music is quirky, sometimes ornate, and yet they always retain an approachable, radio-friendly quality to their sound. My first exposure to The New Pornographers was their sophomore album, Electric Version, which upon a single listening struck me as a pop-rock masterpiece. Their fourth and fifth albums, Challengers and Together, are also near perfect in my eyes … er, ears.

In order to share my experience, and my love for The New Pornographers, with you, I’ve tracked down YouTube videos of every song that the band played at the concert I attended. I’ll share them in the same order that they played the songs at the show. Now, I fully understand that a good many of you are NOT going to listen to all of these songs. That’s absolutely fine. I would hope, however, that you’d listen to at least a few of them. (To help you choose which ones, I’ll make notes by the ones I’m especially fond of, as difficult as that will be for me to pin down.) It would be a thrill to me if some of you would comment on the songs and what you thought of them, being as specific as possible. That would show me that you really do love me. Don’t worry about watching the videos – I haven’t even watched all of these. Posting videos was simply my way of getting the songs to you. Truthfully, I’d urge you not to get distracted by the videos. Just hit ‘play’ and look away from the screen, for all I care. Some of the videos aren’t really videos, and some aren’t official videos. Have I made it clear that the videos don’t really matter here?

(NOTE: I apologize if some of the videos below force you to watch an advertisement before the song plays. Very annoying, I know. Hopefully that won’t discourage you too much.)

Moves
(from the album Together)
Note: Less straightforward rock than some of their songs, “Moves” gives you a good idea of The New Pornographers’ more complex and idiosyncratic side, what with the cello, tinkering piano, syncopated vocals, etc.


The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism
(from the album Mass Romantic)


Sing Me Spanish Techno
(from the album Twin Cinema)


Sweet Talk, Sweet Talk
(from the album Together)


Use It
(from the album Twin Cinema)


The Laws Have Changed
(from the album Electric Version)
Note: I’m tempted to recommend this one, because it was among the first New Pornographers songs I ever heard. It gives you a good feel for their more straightforward rock-pop.


Up in the Dark
(from the album Together)


Adventures in Solitude
(from the album Challengers)
Note: a beautiful song that builds and builds


Crash Years
(from the album Together)
Note: this is a very, very good one


All the Old Showstoppers
(from the album Challengers)
Note: I can only find live versions of this on YouTube, and I’m not sure any of them are worth posting. It’s a shame, because this is a really good one.

Testament to Youth in Verse
(from the album Electric Version)
Note: this will give you a good feel for Dan Bejar’s vocal stylings, though Dan wasn’t at the concert I attended.


Challengers
(from the album Challengers)
Note: this is another very good one


Your Hands (Together)
(from the album Together)


Mass Romantic
(from the album Mass Romantic)
Note: probably my least favorite song that they performed at the concert, although I like it quite well


The Bleeding Heart Show
(from the album Twin Cinema)


Letter from an Occupant
(from the album Mass Romantic)


I hope you’ve found something to enjoy. As I look back over the list, I’m not at all confident that I’ve recommended the right ones. They’re all really, really good. Comment please!

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Book Review: Bumped

Melody and Harmony are identical twins. Separated at birth, Harmony has only recently learned that she has a sister, a sister to whom she now hopes to play spiritual savior. Leaving her hyper-religious community of Goodside, Harmony travels to the Sodom and Gomorrah of Otherside, intent (it seems) on delivering Melody from the moral abomination that is commercial “pregging.” With all human beings going sterile around the time they reach legal adulthood, teen pregnancy is no longer considered a worrisome epidemic. On the contrary, it’s a highly lucrative business, where professional teen surrogates not only rake in the big bucks for offering up their procreative services, but are revered as quasi-celebrities for doing so. At 16, most girls have given birth to (and sold) at least two or three babies, but Melody is still waiting for the couple that signed her to one of the most enviable contracts in history to select her first-ever “bumping” companion. As time passes, Melody is becoming increasingly disillusioned with the bumping business, and increasingly baffled as to her sister’s true intentions for coming to Otherside.

Bumped is the first entry in Megan McCafferty’s teen book series set in the not-too-distant future. The novel reads like a cross between A Clockwork Orange and the script from Juno, although such a description is probably misleadingly flattering. Surely enough, McCafferty bombards readers with enough futuristic borderline-valley girl jargon to isolate a majority of those who fall outside of the book’s target demographic. But the real problem is the variation in voice. It’s not that the book bounces (bumps?) back and forth between Melody and Harmony on a chapter-by-chapter basis. It’s that the main characters seem to elude McCafferty herself, who is perhaps more worried about bringing her invented slang to life than she is the characters who speak it. This is especially true of Harmony, who reads very inconsistently and whose development throughout the story lacks authenticity. Melody fares much better, jelling into a solid character by the book’s genuinely interesting final third. In fact, given that the cliffhanger ending is less than tantalizing, the promise of enriched characters is the primary reason I remain open to reading the yet-to-be published sequel.


Wednesday, November 09, 2011

North Florida Fair 2011

On Monday night, the family and I went to the North Florida Fair. We didn’t make it last year, but despite the fact that Eddie was only three years old the last time we were there, he remembered much of what the fair offered and he knew what he wanted to do even before we got there. Peter was rather excited, too, but I’m kind of heartbroken about his experience. Early into our visit, he tried a couple of rides that ended up terrifying him. After that, he had next to no interest in trying anything whatsoever.

I’ll share some pictures now, although most of them aren’t that great. I don’t have the skill, nor perhaps the camera, necessary for taking excellent shots, especially when the skies are grey and the sun begins to set. Oh well. You get what you get.

Edison on the carousel. You can see him back there, right?

Melanie and Peter, prior to Peter’s spirits being crushed for the night. You can also just make out that Eddie is on the horse behind them.

Peter, still in his happy moments. I have to say, watching young children try to maneuver bumper cars is a bit like watching a bunch of strangers being forced to walk around inside a stopped elevator. Nobody stops moving, but nobody knows what they’re doing or even what to try to do, really. There’s something incredibly awkward about it all.

Eddie, looking somewhat engrossed in his driving. And there’s the poor ride operator whose job also involves going around trying to teach kids how to drive and helping them get unstuck time and time and time and time and time again.

Liftoff! Eddie was very determined to ride a white airplane, as he remembered riding a red airplane two years ago. Whenever he’d fly past us, he’d call out, “I’m flying to Utah!”


The wildest ride that Peter did not freak out on. It’s nothing more than a car that goes around a track, but it speeds up just a little bit as it comes around the last curve. Is Eddie pointing out the camels in the background? That’s my guess.

Zoom! You can see Peter’s slight apprehension.

Proof that Creegan was there.

Posting this picture is a bit cruel of me, but it serves to illustrate my point. That’s a look of pure terror on Peter’s face. Edison rode these fire trucks two years ago, and we don’t remember them going fast at all. Melanie assured Peter that it would be a slow ride, but boy oh boy, it wasn’t. It moved rather quickly. When the ride started up, Peter immediately started crying and begging us to stop the ride. Melanie tried to encourage him to loosen up and have fun, but it never happened. In this photo, Peter is actually heeding Melanie’s advice to “ring the bell,” his terror notwithstanding. It was pretty sad to hear him calling out “Ding, ding, ding!” with a voice wrought with fear. It’s kind of funny that he would even bother trying to play like that. Did he just feel he had to obey? Was he under too much mental turmoil to think for himself? Did he somehow think ringing the bell would make the truck stop? It’s sad. Psychologically intriguing, but sad.

Edison went down this huge, tall, twisty slide all by himself. If you zoom in, you can barely see him in the stairwell between the two highest flags.

Touch down.

Peter doesn’t look scarred for life, right?

Eddie, descending the final slide in “Mario Land.” He’s got a cute look on his face if you zoom in.

Edison, Peter, and in the background, Melanie and Creegan.

A quick pic from atop the Ferris wheel. Edison and I rode the Ferris wheel together. Eddie wasn’t the least bit nervous about being up high. If anything, I think he got a bit bored after a couple of rotations.

Edison joined a street gang while we were there.

This ended up being Edison’s favorite ride, I think. It’s a slightly (but only slightly) tamed down version of the “Musik Express.” Melanie went on it with him first. He was incredibly cute on it. At times, both he and Melanie had their arms raised in the air. Edison wanted to go on the ride again, so he took me. It was a lot of fun, but it felt like it lasted forever. My arms and back were getting quite tired by the end of it. And my left (re: reconstructed) ankle wasn’t very comfortable in that sled/car. My ankle felt really stiff and sore the next day, and I wonder if it wasn’t from what felt like a twenty-minute ride on this thing.

Just so you know, Peter did go on a few more things. He went in the “Monkey Maze” with Edison and me, but unfortunately, that concluded with a twisty slide that, despite its relative shortness, Peter did NOT want to go down. I had to force him down, which wasn’t pleasant for either of us. He also went down a big inflatable slide, though he dilly-dallied quite a bit before taking the plunge. And finally, the night concluded with Peter and me going on the carousel together. It was a nice, calm moment.

Other things to note about our trip to the fair include Melanie and Edison revisiting the kid roller coaster from two years ago; Edison and me taking a trip through a fun house, complete with a rotating tunnel at the end; a very uninspiring and at times almost awkwardly laughable magic show; Edison’s great enthusiasm for a huge but non-twisty slide, which Melanie and I both had numerous opportunities to go down with him; Creegan’s love for cotton candy; and the family enjoying a deep-fried Snickers bar (which wasn’t nearly as good as the deep-fried Twinkies of 2009).