Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Vidz.
We created a site for work, to be used in biz-pitches and such. Part of the site was to create a profile, part of the profile was to film a video about yourself that would be edited.
I had an idea.
And embarked on some shoddy editing, first attempt, yo.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Civic Duty, 3.
Across the Washington border, 30+ minutes outside of Seattle and freshly awake from nap that was much longer than I had anticipated.
The morning started in my favor, as I found out I had an additional 15 minutes to spending not wanting to give up the warm, Ramada-nest I had made for myself in the night.
One: breakfast (that I don’t think was complimentary but I was ninja-enough to consume without trouble) and a trip through 405N traffic with a pleasant but (super) chatty (and Hawaiian clad) investigator, I was at the courthouse. On time.
Over the phone I’d been told by the D.A. that the trial was to begin @ 9:00am and that I would be one of the first witnesses to climb the stand… Upon my arrival, this was adjusted (SURPRISE!) to 10:30. D’oh.
I introduced myself to the D.A. (who had expressed personal interest in meeting me, “the nicest, most accommodating witness” as she had ingratiated the week before… after the 4th rescheduling of my trip down) and quickly became aware of some familiar faces. Little did I know this was just the opening of quirky encounters & experiences held within the next few hours.
Quirky Item # 1 – The Date:
I knew that it had been awhile since I’d been at the courthouse. Turns out, it had been a lick over a year. Some 367 days since my last appearance.
Quirky Item #2 – The Characters Present:
The cop who had responded (who was the older brother of my mugging-mate’s friend), the investigating officers, a woman who I learned was the girlfriend of the defendant and the goofball dog-walking-witness (a man, who without … every victim, of the case, would have never received (potential) justice, and would have only led to a growing population of Muggsville).
In a way, with these people present, the familiarity of the courthouse (god, the heat), the foul lukewarm water fountain… In a way, it’s like I had never left. Like I’d spent the entire last year there, living and sleeping. And waiting.
Quirky Item #3 – The fix-it ticket / fine line.
It yielded the comical observation of a madder-than-hell-and-not-gonna-take-it-anymore-yet-in-tears-and-very-emotionally upset-and-louder-than-shit woman in sweats and a tank top.
Through sobs, “I’m not going to be disrespected by someone who works at the country. IN fact, I am educated (her anger stems from a courthouse employee more or less insulting her intelligence). I’m a teacher, I’m probably 100% more educated than her (not possible. Not at all.).
Reiterating the same point, now donning shades to hide her puffed, red sockets “It’s fucking outrageous & unfair.”
At this point, well into mine & a few others’ snicker-fest, her actions had attracted the attention of one of the uniforms. His effort to calm / quiet her down was received, just not entirely.
“Do you work with the Sheriff’s department (as if his badge, gun and green LA County Sheriff’s department jacket did not provide enough evidence)? Because if you do, maybe you should help me fix this terrible, unfair system.”
“Ma’am I’m saying to tone it down or have your conversation elsewhere.”
“Well someone should fix it.”
“That’s not my problem.”
The fine-line also allowed a random encounter with a friend who had not been able to attend dinner the night before.
Quirky Item #4 – The Case & Those Impacted:
I’m not going to discuss case details but rather just the dynamics of the situation at hand, the further discovery of facts & impact (you know, what I was touching upon last night.)
I was inconvenienced with: the testimonies / court appearances, having to replace the contents of my wallet, being punched in the face. I also was given the opportunity to experience a story yielding adventure.
Another man was beaten (punched, kicked) and robbed.
A woman who thought she was helping someone by bringing them into her life, can no longer trust anyone or herself to be intimately involved with people.
A father loses his son.
2 young children lose their father.
A man that couldn’t learn his lesson, loses his last chance.
Lives intersected, ripples rippled (and continue to ripple) and after my testimony was given I wrapped it all up with lunch at one of my favorite spots.
The morning started in my favor, as I found out I had an additional 15 minutes to spending not wanting to give up the warm, Ramada-nest I had made for myself in the night.
One: breakfast (that I don’t think was complimentary but I was ninja-enough to consume without trouble) and a trip through 405N traffic with a pleasant but (super) chatty (and Hawaiian clad) investigator, I was at the courthouse. On time.
Over the phone I’d been told by the D.A. that the trial was to begin @ 9:00am and that I would be one of the first witnesses to climb the stand… Upon my arrival, this was adjusted (SURPRISE!) to 10:30. D’oh.
I introduced myself to the D.A. (who had expressed personal interest in meeting me, “the nicest, most accommodating witness” as she had ingratiated the week before… after the 4th rescheduling of my trip down) and quickly became aware of some familiar faces. Little did I know this was just the opening of quirky encounters & experiences held within the next few hours.
Quirky Item # 1 – The Date:
I knew that it had been awhile since I’d been at the courthouse. Turns out, it had been a lick over a year. Some 367 days since my last appearance.
Quirky Item #2 – The Characters Present:
The cop who had responded (who was the older brother of my mugging-mate’s friend), the investigating officers, a woman who I learned was the girlfriend of the defendant and the goofball dog-walking-witness (a man, who without … every victim, of the case, would have never received (potential) justice, and would have only led to a growing population of Muggsville).
In a way, with these people present, the familiarity of the courthouse (god, the heat), the foul lukewarm water fountain… In a way, it’s like I had never left. Like I’d spent the entire last year there, living and sleeping. And waiting.
Quirky Item #3 – The fix-it ticket / fine line.
It yielded the comical observation of a madder-than-hell-and-not-gonna-take-it-anymore-yet-in-tears-and-very-emotionally upset-and-louder-than-shit woman in sweats and a tank top.
Through sobs, “I’m not going to be disrespected by someone who works at the country. IN fact, I am educated (her anger stems from a courthouse employee more or less insulting her intelligence). I’m a teacher, I’m probably 100% more educated than her (not possible. Not at all.).
Reiterating the same point, now donning shades to hide her puffed, red sockets “It’s fucking outrageous & unfair.”
At this point, well into mine & a few others’ snicker-fest, her actions had attracted the attention of one of the uniforms. His effort to calm / quiet her down was received, just not entirely.
“Do you work with the Sheriff’s department (as if his badge, gun and green LA County Sheriff’s department jacket did not provide enough evidence)? Because if you do, maybe you should help me fix this terrible, unfair system.”
“Ma’am I’m saying to tone it down or have your conversation elsewhere.”
“Well someone should fix it.”
“That’s not my problem.”
The fine-line also allowed a random encounter with a friend who had not been able to attend dinner the night before.
Quirky Item #4 – The Case & Those Impacted:
I’m not going to discuss case details but rather just the dynamics of the situation at hand, the further discovery of facts & impact (you know, what I was touching upon last night.)
I was inconvenienced with: the testimonies / court appearances, having to replace the contents of my wallet, being punched in the face. I also was given the opportunity to experience a story yielding adventure.
Another man was beaten (punched, kicked) and robbed.
A woman who thought she was helping someone by bringing them into her life, can no longer trust anyone or herself to be intimately involved with people.
A father loses his son.
2 young children lose their father.
A man that couldn’t learn his lesson, loses his last chance.
Lives intersected, ripples rippled (and continue to ripple) and after my testimony was given I wrapped it all up with lunch at one of my favorite spots.
Civic Duty, 2.
Sitting on the bed, at the Ramada, that I thought was going to be too hard and a bit uncomfortable but ended up being quite nice for sleeping.
Belly full of delectable meats.
Within 45 minutes of landing I was standing on the beach, dripping ocean. 72-75 degrees of pure LA beauty; it was good to be back.
Fast forward to a wonderful meat carnival with a table full of thoroughly enjoyed friends that I see far too little; a nice Sunday.
Now I’m in my D.A. office arranged room @ the Ramada (LA County tax dollars at their finest, y’all) … and I’m feeling a little (check that, a good deal) nervous to sit on the stand and testify against a man who is going away for the rest of his days.
Part of me wants to dive into the analysis of the potential impact (of a guilty verdict) and how many lives will be affected when someone goes to prison forever. But … that’s neither here nor there. It just so happened that some of me, some of my particles intersected him, him and his particles.
These things happen and you deal. What else is there to do?
Honestly.
Belly full of delectable meats.
Within 45 minutes of landing I was standing on the beach, dripping ocean. 72-75 degrees of pure LA beauty; it was good to be back.
Fast forward to a wonderful meat carnival with a table full of thoroughly enjoyed friends that I see far too little; a nice Sunday.
Now I’m in my D.A. office arranged room @ the Ramada (LA County tax dollars at their finest, y’all) … and I’m feeling a little (check that, a good deal) nervous to sit on the stand and testify against a man who is going away for the rest of his days.
Part of me wants to dive into the analysis of the potential impact (of a guilty verdict) and how many lives will be affected when someone goes to prison forever. But … that’s neither here nor there. It just so happened that some of me, some of my particles intersected him, him and his particles.
These things happen and you deal. What else is there to do?
Honestly.
Civic Duty, 1.
Seat 25A, back of the plane, after spying from my window the crown jewels of the Cascade range.
Consecutive Sundays have been spent on an Alaska Airlines flight between Seattle and Los Angeles. Whereas I was returning to Seattle from what I like to call an “LA Weekend,” last week … this week, I’m flying to LA for a (very) brief trip. A trip with a purpose.
Tomorrow, after I will have spent some time @ the beach and have dined on some of my favorite cuisine with good friends the night before (this night, the one directly ahead of me)… I will be testifying in court, in trial (none of that pre-trial child’s play), the big leagues. Before a jury, as a victim.
The Beverly Hills D.A. is flying me out, not because of my sterling personality but rather to bolster their case to convict a man on this third strike. Life, folks. We’re talking life for the man who mugged me (and some others) some 18 months ago.
Do I want to do this? Be there, all sworn in and shit and testify, moving toward an end result of placing someone in jail for the rest of their waking life? No. No, I do not.
But I am. Civic duty, it’s a bitch.
Consecutive Sundays have been spent on an Alaska Airlines flight between Seattle and Los Angeles. Whereas I was returning to Seattle from what I like to call an “LA Weekend,” last week … this week, I’m flying to LA for a (very) brief trip. A trip with a purpose.
Tomorrow, after I will have spent some time @ the beach and have dined on some of my favorite cuisine with good friends the night before (this night, the one directly ahead of me)… I will be testifying in court, in trial (none of that pre-trial child’s play), the big leagues. Before a jury, as a victim.
The Beverly Hills D.A. is flying me out, not because of my sterling personality but rather to bolster their case to convict a man on this third strike. Life, folks. We’re talking life for the man who mugged me (and some others) some 18 months ago.
Do I want to do this? Be there, all sworn in and shit and testify, moving toward an end result of placing someone in jail for the rest of their waking life? No. No, I do not.
But I am. Civic duty, it’s a bitch.
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