Focused on the future

I just haven’t felt like blogging lately.

Although the summer has been slow, I have done things. I just haven’t felt like writing about any of it. You can watch the Olympics on your own and get news digests from other bloggers, so there’s no real point in me giving you any of that. I admit I’ve become addicted to Facebook, but that’s not an excuse. I just don’t have much to say.

Maybe my feelings will change next week.

I was called to jury duty this week, at the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York. More than one hundred of us got summonses to report to the federal courthouse at 500 Pearl Street in Lower Manhattan bright and early at 8:30 this past Monday morning.

The Daniel Patrick Moynihan United States Courthouse is a fairly modern multi-story structure tucked behind some of the more stately old court buildings we’re used to seeing. Just off Centre Street in Foley Square, the neighborhood is a maze of city, state and federal buildings on streets now blocked off by security gates with armed officers in little booths. I know security was always tight, but I have to figure it has been heightened in this post-9/11, war on terrorism era.

Entering the building, we were obliged to go through a screening checkpoint reminiscent of the airport, but far less onerous. The federal security officers could teach the TSA a thing or two about courtesy. Cell phones, Blackberries and digital cameras are not allowed in the building, so we had to check those. Then we checked ourselves into a large, attractively appointed jury waiting room, with plush leather seating, named in honor of Justice Constance Baker Motley where after dispensing with some paperwork and watching a short film on jury service, we waited…and waited…and waited until one of the courtrooms upstairs called down in need of jurors.

That first day, the call came around 10 or so. Names were announced and a pool of jurors was taken upstairs. A short while later a second group was also called. The rest of us were left to read, sleep or go to the bathroom, but never wander too far from the waiting area. Now in a typical day, I read a lot of news sources, but mostly online. For the first time in ages I got to read the entire New York Times in print form. I can’t say I’m better for it. Doing nothing for an entire day is just plain tedious.

Shortly after four, and after some of the earlier called jurors had returned to the room, apparently unpicked for trial, they dismissed us all with instructions to call a telephone number the next day to find out when or if we’d be needed again. All of us had been told we were subject to service anytime over the next two weeks.

Now I’m all for doing my civic duty and have certainly criticized juries that have come back with questionable verdicts in high profile cases. But I hate being at the mercy of someone else’s schedule, and frankly the prospect of having to decide someone else’s fate is quite intimidating. I’d rather have been at the office. The upside to all of this however, is that once we’re done, we are exempt from jury duty in federal or state court for four years.

Wednesday we had to return, but only half of us were there. Those who had been called Monday were done with their service. After a short wait, they took all of us upstairs to a courtroom where jury selection was to begin for a criminal drug-related case. A Spanish-speaking male defendant was accused of distribution. There were 58 of us, of whom 34 were seated in the jury box for preliminary screening. The rest would be slotted in as others got screened out. Yours truly was lucky number 30.

This is the part where it got amusing. It seems jury duty is one of those things nobody really wants to do although we all recognize the value of it. The judge reviewed a lengthy questionnaire relevant to the case and asked us to state if there were any aspects of it that might make it difficult for us to be objective. Some of the creative ways in which people tried to disqualify themselves bordered on laugh-out-loud funny. Anybody who lived within ten miles of the crime scene tried to claim they were familiar with that area, but upon further questioning from the judge, had to admit they just knew the name of the street but had no real awareness of anything that happened there.

I had my own ace in the hole. Because of where I work I figured there was no way the prosecution would want me. In a sidebar conversation in judge’s chambers I tried to milk that even further, talking about some of our dealings with the Justice Department and my feelings that they sometimes follow an agenda that has nothing to do with the pursuit of the truth. Again, I was pressed as to my ability to be objective and had to fess up that I probably could put all that aside. It’s amazing how a face-to-face with a judge, with opposing counsel, the defendant, his interpreter, a court reporter and clerks around makes you tell the truth.

By the end of Wednesday, and through two cuts, I was still in the field of 34. As we sullenly departed together at the end of the day, someone remarked, “This is one unhappy elevator.”

Thursday morning, we were all back in the courtroom trying to whittle the cast down to 12 jurors and 2 alternates. Right off the top, some people were excused for cause based on the previous days interviews. The court clerk filled in those slots with members of the original field of 58, then the one person who remained was dismissed. Now the judge interviewed us one-by-one, to find out who we were, where we were from, the kinds of things we read or tv shows we watched, hobbies and interests. It was a strange touchy-feely moment that allowed the lawyers to gain better insight into who they wanted to keep before using their peremptory challenges. It was also some jurors last opportunity to provide disqualifying information.

One Black woman made sure to mention her interest in African American History and openly displayed her copy of The Autobiography of Malcolm X from her front row seat opposite the prosecution’s table. Several White jurors mentioned friends in law enforcement. Everybody it seemed was a fan of Law & Order.

After a short break, the moment of truth arrived. The judge, counsel from both sides, the court reporter and court clerk all huddled on the side and pored over the big board where our names were posted corresponding to our seats in the jurors box. They would pull out a name and both sides would look at it, giving a silent yea or nay we couldn’t hear from our side of the room. We speculated as to whether they were separating out the ones they wanted to keep or the people who would be dismissed. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

Then with an understated professionalism befitting a person who probably does this a hundred times a year, the court clerk read off the names of the jurors who were dismissed. It was quiet enough to hear a butt clinch. You’d have thought she was pulling lottery numbers.

As each of us heard our name read, we tried not to seem too happy, but failed in our mission. I don’t personally remember hearing anyone else’s name after she read mine. A child-like end-of-the-school-year giddiness came over all of us. The judge thanked us for our time and we were free to leave. The herd of us galloped to the elevators, leaving behind our somewhat stunned friends we had made over the past three days who now made up the jury. One man who sat next to me and had retired from his profession earlier this month, had a dazed look on his face as he muttered, “I can’t believe they picked me.”

In one of those New York moments, where strangers bond in an instant then go their separate ways never to see each other again, several of us passed each other on the sidewalk as we made our way to subways. The only other Black man on the jury pointed out that fact to me and that we’d both been dismissed, as were several other Black and Latin women. As I contemplated my own freedom from this civic responsibility, I was now forced to ponder the kind of trial that would ultimately take place.

In a strictly tongue-in-cheek jab at their sister publication at Conde Nast, the editors of Vanity Fair have satirized the controversial New Yorker magazine cover depicting Barack and Michelle Obama. It will only appear on their website, but you have to admit it’s funny.

The Vanity Fair cover similarly reflects stories that have swirled around McCain and his wife Cindy, seen here cradling vials of pills while the Senator leans on a walker. The American flag isn’t burning in the fireplace; instead it’s the U.S. Constitution. In place of a portrait of Osama bin Laden, a likeness of President Bush hangs on the wall.

There is a reason people on the east and west coasts call the middle of the country, “the fly-over states.” Yeah, it smacks of elitism (Is that a bad thing?), but the truth of the matter is, it’s hard to get to cities in the Midwest, and unfortunately not a whole helluva lot there once you do.

I travel a lot for my job, to parts of the country I might otherwise never visit. This past weekend I had to go to Des Moines, Iowa to conduct a training with our affiliate there. Needless to say, there aren’t a lot of flights between New York City and Des Moines, but there are connecting flights that go through the air transportation equivalent of a black hole, otherwise known as Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.

I left my apartment at 1:15 PM ET on Saturday to head for LaGuardia, where my flight was to leave at 2:59. The first in a long line of unnecessary delays occurred when I approached the dreaded security area. A much-younger-than-me TSA nazi checked my boarding pass before entering the maze, then pulled me aside and told me I had to check the width of my carry-on against the metal frame they use as a guide. I “politely” protested, knowing that my bag has made many trips and fit many an airplane overhead. But this post-adolescent insisted despite my pleas. Frustrated as I was, I complied and although my bag didn’t fit the frame (it did fit the overhead compartment on the plane), I convinced him to let me through.

Boarding went as scheduled, the plane filled and they closed the doors to leave. That’s when the captain informed us of the weather-related delays at O’Hare, that were keeping planes headed there from taking off all over the country. We weren’t going to leave for another two hours, he informed us. But we’d stay on the plane!

I swear it seemed like we were out for a leisurely drive around the airport. For two hours, the pilot took us somewhere, but nowhere near a runway. I had time to take a complete nap and wake up again. Eventually we did take off, whereupon the pilot and flight attendants apologized for the delay and thanked us profusely for our patience. Then the flight attendant announced they’d be coming down the aisle with snacks, all for a fee. Two hours of waiting and not even a free bag of nuts.

As could be expected, by the time we got to Chitown, my connecting flight to Des Moines had left. A good two dozen of us on the New York leg had missed connections and the airline had a representative at the gate with a list of replacement flights for all of us, the frequency of airline delays makes them old hat at this sort of thing. O’Hare is no small place so I had to hustle my ass to the new gate and get re-ticketed. It was scheduled to leave at 7:20 PM CT, maybe an hour later from then. I sat down and rested for about 20 minutes before they announced the flight would be leaving from a new gate. Up I ran for a short jog over there, where shortly after settling down, a sign change revealed the flight would now be leaving at 7:45.

It did finally leave, and I did finally arrive in Des Moines some time after 9:00 PM. I called the hotel for their shuttle van and went out to wait for it and just as I did, a torrential downpour arrived. You remember the storms and flooding that recently hit the Midwest? Think a slightly smaller version. An hour and a half of waiting for the shuttle that never came and I realized I’d better find a cab. I did and this big ole fearless Iowa farmboy of a driver plowed through flooding that would have been up to my calf had I been walking. We literally couldn’t see past the front hood, but he kept on driving until we got to the hotel. Yeah, he got a big tip.

I won’t bore you with how the hotel restaurant was closed by the time I checked in or how long I had to wait for essentially snack food at the bar (while old Lionel Ritchie and Bee Gees hits played in the background), but I didn’t get to bed until close to midnight local time. And that was just the trip out.

My training was actually a piece of cake by comparison. Good work with some challenging, but good people, who do reinforce the image of Midwestern kindness. I apologize for my Eastern snobbery. I was also delighted to see so many Obama lawn signs and bumper stickers in such a predominantly White community.

But delays were again the order of the day for the trip home Monday, again thanks to O’Hare. Another two hour delay departing Des Moines, another delay in Chicago, another late arrival back in New York. As several of us on these various flights remarked to one another, the sad part is we’ve all come to expect this. There was next to no grumbling or complaining, just the resignation that this is the sorry state of commercial air travel in America. And it’s probably never going to get any better.

New York City is always a cultural oasis and the summer time seems to be when arts and entertainment events, or the announcement of future happenings, are in abundance. With gas prices being what they are, and “staycations” the new, less expensive way to enjoy time off, venturing around town seems the best bet.

Here’s a peak at some upcoming entertainment options:

The Tony Award-winning choreographer Bill T. Jones will direct and choreograph a new musical about Fela Kuti, slated to open in September.

“Fela!” was written by Jim Lewis along with Jones, who won a Tony last year for his choreography of “Spring Awakening” and who is also artistic director of the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company. The play is based on the life of the legendary Human Rights activist and Nigerian Afrobeat musician, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, who died in 1997 of AIDS-related illness. Fela spent years as a political prisoner after founding the political party Movement of the People, and is known for bringing huge bands to the stage, including many singers, dancers, percussionists, brass musicians, and guitarists. His music, which blends jazz with African beats and lyrics that demanded change and equality in his country, will be performed in the show by the Brooklyn group Antibalas.

The show will run at the 37 Arts theater in Manhattan from September 4 to September 21.

Joe’s Pub, the intimate nightclub performance space at The Public Theater, is celebrating its 10-year anniversary with an unprecedented 300 shows from September through December. During that time, Joe’s Pub will welcome back many of the artists who have had their US debuts at Joe’s Pub, recorded live albums there, or got their break in the music industry through showcases at Joe’s Pub.

Among the returning stars is one of our favorites, Billy Porter, who will do two shows there, December 7 and 8. Porter calls his show The Contemporary American Standard, and will do songs made famous by Stevie Wonder, Anita Baker, Donnie Hathaway, Oleta Adams, John Legend, Bonnie Raitt, James Taylor, India.Arie and others.

10th Anniversary tickets go on sale Thursday, July 17, 2008.

Ntozake Shange’s powerful mid-’70s “choreo-poem,” for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf, is getting a Broadway revival at the Circle in the Square Theatre. Previews start August 19, with a scheduled opening on September 8. India.Arie is set to star and three time Tony Award winner Hinton Battle will choreograph this play which dramatizes the struggles and journey toward self respect experienced by black women in America.

Another 1970’s black theater revival, The First Breeze of Summer, by playwright Leslie Lee, is being staged by the Signature Theatre Company, August 5 to September 28.

Signature Theatre is celebrating the historic Negro Ensemble Company, which originally staged this play in 1975 on Broadway. The show takes place over the course of one sweltering weekend in June, as the struggles of three generations of the Edwards family collide. Gremmar, the Edwards family matriarch, recalls her past and considers its legacy for her children and grandchildren as they confront the choices that will define their futures. Leslie Lee’s Obie-Award winning play is a timeless portrait of family bonds and coming of age. Ruben Santiago-Hudson will direct.

Although a long way off, another revival of another classic theatre piece was announced this week, to some considerable interest. A new Broadway production of the landmark musical West Side Story, directed by librettist Arthur Laurents, will begin previews Feb. 23, 2009. This production will introduce the unprecedented element of selectively weaving Spanish throughout both the book and songs.

Laurents, who earned solid reviews (and a 2008 Tony nomination) for staging the current Broadway run of Gypsy, stated, “This show will be radically different from any other production of West Side Story ever done. The musical theatre and cultural conventions of 1957 made it next to impossible for the characters to have authenticity. Every member of both gangs was always a potential killer even then. Now they actually will be. Only Tony and Maria try to live in a different world…”

West Side Story has music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and a book by Laurents. The staging will retain the original choreography of late director Jerome Robbins, who conceived the project by transposing Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to the turbulent streets of the Upper West Side in 1950’s New York City.

Casting information and on sale date for tickets will be announced later.

If eating out is more your style, New York City Restaurant Week—which is actually two weeks–runs July 21 through August 1. Over 200 restaurants will offer three-course prix-fixe dinners for $35.00 and lunch at $24.07.

Finally, jazz trumpeter Jeremy Pelt has released a new CD, November on the MAXJAZZ label. Possibly the most cost effective staycation you can have. Just stay at home and listen to music.