Posted on February 10, 2003 at 9:59 am | No Comments
For some reason, a couple years ago I promised Amie that somehow, someway, somewhen, she and I would attend yoga classes together. Y’see, she does the yoga thang occasionally, and I most decidedly never have. My agreement to this request was somewhat of a gift.
Yesterday, in a moment of weakness (or perhaps strength), I finally fulfilled that promise. A free “beginners” class at the Back Bay Yoga Studio on Boylston, where they teach something called “Ashtanga” Yoga. Translation: “Death By” Yoga.
Two instructors: One obviously experienced guy, and one girl who was an apparant apprentice. I put the word ‘beginners’ in quotes above because their definition is somewhat flawed. This was hardcore, aerobic, power yoga action. No stops, no breaks, constant downward-dog, diving, bending, crouching, hopping, sweating, dying, breathing, stretching, reaching, dying, gasping, must-drink-water, please-jeebus-let-this-end yoga. Amie tells me that you can go at your own pace, take breaks when you need to, drink water when you feel like it. Wish I’d known that ahead of time. I tried so hard to keep up, so hard to bend and balance my body along with the other eight or so students… but there were moments when I just had to bail and look on in sweaty awe. The guy was rattling off positions and changes faster than I could follow, and all the while I’m trying to stick to the proper breathing technique (called “Ujjayi” breathing), looking like a doofus in the room-length mirror to my left. At least I think it was my left. I swear, half the time I couldn’t even tell left from right (and apparantly neither could the female instructor… so confusing!).
Amie promises that this was far and away more difficult than your standard beginners class, and that had better damn well be the case, or the next time I set foot on a yoga mat will be my last. I’m in so much pain right now… good thing my job requires nothing more than sitting on my butt all day. Actually, even that hurts. Ouch.
Posted on February 7, 2003 at 1:00 pm | No Comments
A Tour of Duty…
Yesterday, after almost 5 years of Massachusetts residency, I was summoned for Jury Duty for the first time….
Thursday, February 6th, 10:34 AM: Two hours into my first day of Jury Duty, and all I can think is “I’m gonna need a bigger book”. I brought two short ones, and I’m already halfway through the first. Fortunately, I’ve got a notepad and a pen for some old-school blogging action.
So here I sit in the Roxbury Courthouse, wondering if I can still write in cursive, killing time with as part of this small slice of summoned society… about 30 of us in all. We checked in at 8:30, and were each assigned to a jury “panel” (I’m in Panel 3, Juror #1… wonder if I’d be the foreman if selected?). Shortly after arrival we were paid a visit by today’s presiding judge, a distinguised older gentleman (hell, he could play one on TV) who introduced a video on “how to be a juror”. It was hosted by Chief Justice Margaret Marshall, the first woman to serve as Massachusett’s Chief Justice. Although her intro must have been filmed since her appointment in 1999, the rest of the video was clearly a 1980’s production, judging by the feathered hair and unfortunate fashion choices of all involved.
Our court officer disappeared during the 15 minute video (locking the door to our small, stuffy room behind him), so it was back to reading for most of us. For those without a book, the exciting choices involved dozing off, staring out the windows at the winter-blue sky, or staring at a television blue screen. Gotta think ahead, folks… you can only read through the Metro so many times. Ten minutes go by, and then… startling, deafening white noise. The long-finished videotape had run out, and the TV volume was up to 11. We’re talking Poltergeist-style end-of-our-broadcast day fuzz here. And no one moved. At all.
So I got up, walked to the front of the room, and turned the volume off. There were no applause. Ingrates. Y’know on Survivor, when one person unwittingly makes themselves the center of attention instead of flying under the radar… and soon enough gets the boot? Well, I might just get voted out of the courthouse. The return to silence was worth it, though.
11:03 AM: There are way too many people coughing in here.
11:16 AM: At some point, the judge is supposed to come back in here and tell us if there are actually going to be any jury trials today. Basically, he goes through the schedule, talks to all involved, and if a case cannot be settled, the jury gets selected immediately. Well, whatever ‘immediately’ means in this place. Seems time flows differently here.
Fun fact #1: Only 1 in 10 cases actually goes to trial. I knew it was low, but not that low. So… His Honor is finishing up another in-progress jury trial (one witness left, he said), working his way through the list, and either cutting us loose or starting the selection process. I’m fascinated with this whole experience, so I’m hoping for a trial, believe it or not. Hell, I’m here… might as well get the full ride. In Massachusetts, they work under the “1 day or 1 trial” rule of summoning. Most trials, when they happen, are a day or less. Some can go as long as 3 days, and rarely longer. Once your trial is done, you’re in the clear for 3 more years, then you’re up for grabs again. Even trial judges get summoned, believe it or not, as our judge recently did himself. He tried to make us feel better by saying it annoyed the hell out of him, too. Is it unusual for me to actually be into this whole thing? Hmmm…
11:33 AM: I had gadgety plans for making the day go by… mp3 player, my work iPaq handheld, maybe even the digital camera to document my experience. Then everyone’s half-joking Roxbury remarks (“You’re going to Roxbury? Nice knowin’ ya…”, etc.) changed my mind. You see, I’d never been to Roxbury, but I’m not one of those guys who likes to listen to generalizations until I’ve experience a place firsthand…. I wanted to give the Rox the benefit of the doubt. I think of all the regular folks who live here, work here, grew up here… and how they must feel about their neigborhoods, knowing how the rest of Boston perceives them from the outside. I was determined not to walk in scared, paranoid, judgemental.
So I get on the Orange Line at the Back Bay T-station, headed outbound. As we pull into the first stop, Mass. Ave., I grab my copy of the Metro and catch the front-page headline: “Pregnant Woman Shot On Orange Line”. She’s my age, in critical condition, and now baby-less. 9 months pregnant, just 12 hours earlier… pulling into this very station… maybe right near where I was sitting. A bit much to process. So much for not walking in scared.
11:47 AM: The squad of motorcycle cops who gathered out front of Madison Park High School this morning didn’t help my impressions of the Rox either. Or the waiting ambulance, or the open paddy wagon. The yellow crime-scene tape across the street sealed the deal. Maybe walking the mile from the T-stop, down Malcolm X Blvd., to the courthouse wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Leaving my comic patch-covered bag and all my tech-geek stuff at home was a smart move, though.
Actually, it was too damn cold to be that paranoid, and there was hardly anyone on the sidewalk. Except for the police, of course. Wasn’t going to get jumped here. Y’know, I’m a big fan of well-timed irony, but even I couldn’t get a laugh from someone getting mugged on the way to jury duty. Especially if that someone was me.
12:45 AM: Are we going to get some kind of lunch break or what? It’s an hour later, and a large, bearded black man in a hawaiian shirt and a full-lenth black fur coat is singing what sounds like a hebrew prayer…. but what do I know? Judging from the body language, I think some of the other potentials are annoyed, but I’m loving it. His voice is a deep baritone, and the repetitive tones are almost hypnotic. I’m getting a head buzz just listening to him drone on and on. If this was a movie, we’d all be joining in.
1:09 AM: Fun Fact #2: As everyone knows, the verdict in a criminal trial must be unanimous. I knew that wasn’t the case in a civil trial, but I never knew the specifics. Well, it has to be 10 out or 12, and in Massachusetts, it can be 5 out of 6. Yup, some trials only get six jurors, although I don’t know in which cases. Fact check that, willya Matt?
1:27 PM: The novelty of fulfilling my civic duty is starting to wear off.
1:43 PM: Well, that’s a wrap. The judge just came in and told us we’re free to go, your services will no longer be required, thank you very much for coming in, see you in three years, etc., etc. He even gave us this little summary of his day: Seven cases, five of which had the defendant pleading guilty, one was rescheduled due to a sick lawyer, and the last had the victim changing her mind and not cooperating with the prosecution, so the case was dismissed. No jury trials, no selection process, no fun. Just five hours of sitting on my arse and writing this stuff. Well, at least I finished two books.
I want to say the whole experience was interesting, but it sort of amounted to a big pile of jury doodie.
Sorry about that last bit. Couldn’t resist.