I haven't posted here in a while, which is a shame, because I really truly meant to keep up with it. On Saturday I went to visit my brother up in Farmington - it was his 27th birthday on Thursday. I went with grandma and mom and drove 70 miles each way. All four of us visited the Hill-Stead Museum, though it was the second time for me on account of my initial visit in December 2003, when I was given a private tour of the circa-1901 Colonial Revival mansion. Theodate Pope Riddle, the architect, had decreed that the house be left in its original condition after her death, meaning nothing was to be touched by visitors. This led my brother to be quite astonished at grandma's behavior, when, tired from the tour, she occasionally sat down on chairs or windowsills in the house. There was also an Indian wedding there on that day, and as we left the house by the back entrance to go to the Sunken Garden, we noticed the bride hiding there. Then we drove to a restaurant by the Farmington River, where a man from New Britain recently drowned, and then drove aimlessly around Farmington and its western section, Unionville, where we turned onto Lovely Street instead of Route 4. Later in the afternoon I drove my brother's bike down the sidewalks of Meadow and Red Oak Hill roads, which go between a farm and the community garden plots. Everything seemed so right, so perfect. It was a pretty good day, though on the way back I startled grandma by accidentally driving into the shoulder on I-84 and running the tires over the treads in the shoulder.

Today I had jury duty. I arrived bright and early, at around 8:25, and waiting with the other early birds, I heard a woman say, "First to come, first to leave." That's how it turned out for me, probably because my brother is a lawyer. It was like a day at the airport, waiting for a delayed flight. First they made me take off my belt before going through the metal detector. They told me when I was entering I should go to the third floor. I then went to the elevator bank (they have around four elevators there), and the old guy who stands there (the guy who calls the elevator for you) told me I needed to go to third floor. He pressed the "up" button, the elevator door opened, and I stepped in. Then he told me, "push 3." Now, this was really unnecessary. Did I really need to be told how to use a bloody elevator? The courthouse is located in Stamford's ugly high-rise condo tower district, so the views from the third floor were pretty unimpressive. I was led to an auditorium-style room where they had FOX 5 News playing on the TV, and I heard a fellow potential juror say this was how they were trying to "indoctrinate" us. The court people showed a couple of videos that had something to do with what "beyond a reasonable doubt" means, which is a pretty confusing principle that is hard to grasp. A mathematical explanation is probably easier for most people here, as I remember a class I took at NU called Law in the Political Arena where the professor explained "beyond a reasonable doubt" means there's a 90% chance the guy is guilty. After the videos, more waiting. Then the two lawyers come in, and I think the name of the case was Hunt v. Coppola. About 20 people were chosen for the case, but I wasn't one of them. The lawyers are apparently required by law to tell potential jurors who the other guys in their firm are to make sure there is no conflict of interest, and one of the lawyers is in the same firm as Mickey Sherman. Sherman, if you don't remember, defended Kennedy cousin Michael Skakel in his trial for the murder of Martha Moxley. After Skakel killed Moxley he masturbated in a tree and so many people might have a prejudicial opinion of Sherman because he was the guy's lawyer. That seems to have helped out at least some people, as I saw some of the HvC potential jurors leaving the jury interrogation room with smiles on their faces. Meanwhile I was busy reading "Call it Sleep" by Henry Roth and preparing questions for interviews I'm doing for a story on the restoration of the Prince George Hotel ballroom in Manhattan's Flatiron District. At 12 the jury-duty bosswoman said I could go. I headed down to the train station and got on the 12:30 local to Grand Central, arrived in NYC at 1:36, ate at Mickey D's on 6th avenue and was at work by 2:20. They were somewhat surprised to see me there since I told them I'd likely not be there at all today. I contributed to an important meeting that took place at 3:45 and fielded an important phone call from Skidmore Owings & Merrill, among other things. All in all I felt it was a productive day, even though the entire morning was wasted on jury duty. Well, at least I don't have to do that again for another three years.