Television News Redux

I'm still rather amazed by the number of people that actually read the previous blog entry regarding Mary Beth McDade. In all fairness, many of you pointed out a few of my copy editing errors, which have been corrected. (I do, seriously, need a copy editor. I strive for clean copy, but, frankly, it's never been my strongest suit. Ask any of my editors.) 

I suspect Ms. McDade is less than pleased by the attention. This, of course, assumes she has heard about it. Based on the attention and hits this has received (notes in LA Observed and the Daily News blog), it seems fairly likely. Journalism is a small world, no doubt. 

Do I feel bad about this? A bit. Blogging about life in Burbank does not ethically require me to announce my intentions. A writer for a newspaper (or television station) must tell his or her source that he or she is speaking to a reporter. That is, they must be given notice they may be quoted. 

Mary Beth got no such warning from me. Mind  you, it probably wouldn't have mattered. I wasn't trying to interview her, nor get in the way of her reportage (as the blog in the Daily News has suggested). I simply noted her reactions, got suitably annoyed, and published my thoughts through the magic of Al Gore's internet and the good people at Blogger. 

I suspect, though, that as blogging becomes increasingly trusted as a source of news, the rules of old-school journalism will come into play. Snarky, gotcha journalism will certainly have a place, but it's probably not fair to call it news.  

Adventures in Television News

Donna wants cookies.

This is an unusual desire for my bride, as she is more of the low-carb, high-protein, "ewwww, look at the fat content on the Pirate Booty!" type of girl.

However, following a strenuous workout at her gym, a tasty dinner of sole and crab (prepared by yers truly), Donna wanted dessert. We, due to the above-mentioned dietary decisions, often have little in the way of tasty treats.

The most obvious decision, then, is the corner liquor store for some partially hydrogenated sweet. The problem: it is 9:45 p.m. and the store closes rather promptly at 10 p.m.

So hoof it down Reese we go, grumbling all the while about the closing time, wondering if our semi-beloved corner liquor was the only one in the county with a curfew. And then we see it: two news trucks.

Donna gets excited.

"I wonder if someone just won the lottery," she says. "You know, bought the winning ticket."

"Yeah," I respond. "Either that, or..."

And, alas, the grim "or" of that grim equation turned out to be the truth. Earlier that day, the store had been robbed by, according to the clerk, three men. One, he said, beat him up when he tried to, ahem, delay the redistribution of beer scheme.

Joined with Donna and I at the counter was a blond television reporter. (Later research would reveal it to be KCAL9 personality Mary Beth McDade.) The clerk told McDade that he put one of the perps in a headlock, and that he got punched for his trouble.

"But I've seen worse," he said. "I'm from Cambodia. I escaped from far worse people."

Whoa.

"You mean Pol Pot?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Who?" asked the reporter.

"The dictator," I said. "The Khmer Rouge. You know?"

"No," said the reporter.

"Yeah," said the clerk, lifting up his shirt to show a constellation of long-ago scarred burn marks. "They did this. Those kids, they nothing."

"Uh-huh," said the reporter. "Now, where were you standing when they came in again?"

Now, just so you know, I have little love for local television news. The coverage is mostly an appendage, a talkie version of the LA Times and Daily News. It is at best silly, and at worst venal.

My interaction with Ms. McDade failed to make me feel much better. Good God. I might understand if a civilian had never heard of Pol Pot or the millions murdered and raped at his direction. Might. But this sincere, and seemingly willful, ignorance, made me nauseated.

We left empty handed. Viewers of the piece were, I'm sure, left empty as well.

The Jury, Day 6

So, I understand that I can't really write about my impressions about the happenings during the day, but I am going out on a limb and assuming that a discussion regarding the peripherals...

Anyhow, we spent more than half our day waiting. Waiting for Terry the Clerk to wave us in (I assume he's a clerk, as he grimmaced when one of the attorneys called him "Terry the Bailiff"), waiting for other jurors to show up, waiting for... well, I have no idea. It's happening behind closed doors. From my previous trial experience, I imagine they're quarreling over some procedurial matter.

I've been wearing sandels for the last few days, since opening statements last Thursday. I thought that the judge might be annoyed by this (or Donna, at least, thought he might), but he has made no mention.

I realize this is a small post, but I have too much damn stuff to do. One word of advice: the cafe at the top of the civil courthouse (Top O' The Court) is freakin' AWFUL. Don't eat there. It's terrible.

Juror #1

So, friends, it happened: I have been chosen for the jury. Now, on one level, it seems pretty neat. I've spent many years covering trials and never (until today) had the chance to actually sit in the jury box. On another level, the majority of my waking hours until mid October will be spent in the confines of Dept. 68. The case, as I've mentioned, does not exactly inflame the passions, and will likely be rather boring.

And, as I and my fellow jurors have been told many, many times, I am not supposed to come to any conclusion about the case until I've heard all the evidence. I would presume that writing down my thoughts in this blog, during the course of the trial anyhow, would be a large no-no. However, since we all do have free speech rights, this would only extend until the end of the trial... Seeing as I will have no ability to remember my thoughts at the end of this (estimated) three week trial, I willl be writing my thoughts down... I simply shall not publish my thoughts, waiting until the end of the trial to do that.

From the Be Careful What You Wish For Dept...

We left off our little tale of Dan's jury service at noon yesterday. Since then, I've waited and waited and waited... Nothing much, as yet, has happened.

We were shuffled into Dept. 68 at the Stanley Mosk Courthouse at 1:30 p.m., having enjoyed the court-standard 90 minute dining experience. Directly after being seated, the judge (whose last name is Mooney, though I can't remember for the life of me his first... maybe Michael?) informed us that this would be a long trial, between three and four weeks. Because of this (and, likely, because most employers pay for a max of 10 days of jury service), hizzoner asked if any of us poor souls needed to be excused for hardship reasons.

(Many of my fellow jurors thought this might be a long one, if only by the number of attorneys in the smallish courtroom. I counted 12: three for the plaintiffs, nine representing various companies presumably being sued by the plaintiffs.)

Interestingly, he heard the excuses, pleadings and reasonings in open court. As a former reporter, I kinda like that: if you are unable to fulfill your civic obligations, you have to tell the rest of us poor schmucks why. Due to the potential length of the trial, a little less than half of the assembled asked to be excused. This took quite a bit of time. Some people said they would fail to make their rent or loose their cars if forced to sit on a jury for a month. Others claimed poverty or unemployment, and, memorably, one large black man expressed a heart-felt fear of his diminutive landlady.

Though I wasn't keeping an exact count, it appeared Mooney excused all but one or two of the potential jurors (causing the guy next to me, who had not requested to be excused, to curse under his breath)... all but the attorney who claimed his firm would be damaged by the long trial. (My guess is that he will get knocked off for cause by one side or the other before this is through... or do something to cause himself to be kicked off.)

Anyhow, when this was completed, it was 3:30 p.m. Of course, this meant it was time to excuse the jury...with instructions to come back today at 11 a.m. This, apparently, is to go through the hardship/excuse process for a new group of suckers so we can start voir dire (finally) this morning or, more likely, this afternoon.

Should I get on this jury, I suppose the early days will make up for some of the dullness. And, should I get on this jury, I plan on blogging my thoughts about what's transpired during the day... Though I imagine I will be prohibited from publishing until after the trial is completed. That's fine.

Jury Duty!

Random thoughts as I sit here in the jury assembly room. It’s amazing to me how quickly my feelings dropped from excited to be part of the jury process to annoyed at the wait. I have no idea how long we’ll be here, and whether I, for the third time, will spend an entire day in this room, never being called to a court.

I have wanted to serve on a jury for years, if only to see what the whole process looks like from the inside. But each time I have been called, nothing happened. I believe the first time, I was a student at ucsc. Seeing as I was not a permanent resident of Santa Cruz, and seeing as I was called to serve on the grand jury, I fought for an excuse.

The second time was at the Alhambra Courthouse, where I spent an entire day waiting in a stuffy, boring courthouse. I was not called to serve, and I went home unfulfilled. The second time was in San Diego, where the exact same thing happened.

And now, today. It is about 10 a.m. and we have all been in this room since 7:30 a.m. In that time, we have heard two separate orientations (one welcome and one regarding the pieces of paper we were given), a welcome by a Judge Wiley, an call to drop off our jury paperwork, a break, then a call for the fools who failed to listen to ANY of the preceding instructions to fix their paperwork, and then…a video? I wouldn’t be surprised if we have to listen to the entire thing again, in Spanish. Oi.

Then again, maybe not, seeing as one of the questions on our form is whether you can understand English, so there is that.

It’s now 11:30 a.m. and the disembodied jury room voice ™ has now called two sets of jurors. I am not on either list. Honestly, I’m beginning to think this whole jury thing is a joke, a tremendous waste of time for everyone involved, notwithstanding the patriotic video shown.

Not only that, but you get such strange looks when you tell people that you really wanted to get on a jury, that you wanted to be involved in the judicial process. Everyone thinks you’re nuts, have a serious screw loose, or, perhaps, are just an incredibly boring person. But really, is there anything worse than spending the whole damn day in a room with a broken internet connection (no wireless, natch), old newspapers and mostly uncommunicative seat mates? It’s like being on an intercontinental flight: the food is bad, there’s nothing much to do, and it’s nearly impossible to sleep in the seats.

So, I have now been in the service of the county of Los Angeles for four hours, and I have done nothing. It’s pretty much like work, save for the fact that I don’t have the ability to check my email every few minutes. My cell phone gets no reception (T-Mobile users appear to be in the minority here, though… it seems pretty much everyone else can make calls at will).

11:53 a.m.
Whoo! I just got called to go to Dept. 68 on the sixth floor. I have, after two tries, finally made it to round two. Amazing. Now, let’s see how long it takes before I get kicked off. Whoo!