The jury is out

Just before last year ended, I got a notice in the mail that I'd managed to avoid for years: a summons to report for jury duty.

Two thoughts immediately collided in my head.

On one hand, if it were me on trial, I would hope to draw a jury that wanted to be there, doing their civic duty and rising to their responsibility as citizens. And I'd definitely want someone like myself in the box. Smart, a critical thinker, an objective listener, an educated individual, someone with a solid moral compass plus good looking and a wicked sense of humor.

Oh yeah, and humble. The complete package.

The other thought was this is going to be a monumental inconvenience and I haven't got the time.

Which is just wrong thinking if you think about it.

Jury duty is the best people watching around. It's a insider's view of the justice system. It also explains why so many verdicts are as controversial and wrong as they are. There are more people than you'd like to think in the jury pool who can't understand basic directions on how to get in line, much less the complicated nuances of a trial.

On one hand it's encouraging to see people show up and ready to serve. On the other hand it's depressing because all I could do for the day I was there was think about how I wouldn't want most of these nitwits deciding my fate.

Last time I had jury duty, years ago, I got as far as the box in the courtroom. The lawyers on the case were asking the jurors questions to decide whether we would be helpful to their case or not. I was asked if I had any relatives in law enforcement, and I let them know my brother-in-law at the time was an Orange County sheriff reserve officer.

"Thank you Juror #9, you're dismissed."

This last visit was to the new courthouse in downtown Long Beach. The juror waiting room was pleasant, comfortable, had vending machines and workstations. The lobby had a Subway and a Mexican food place. For all intents and purposes it could've been the customer waiting lounge in the Lexus service department.

In the late afternoon, the judge called us all into her courtroom, explained that she'd hoped to select a jury but because of day-long proceedings didn't have enough time left. So we were all dismissed.

In a strange way, like a ride you don't want to get on but do and then enjoy, I found myself wanting to do it again. And if I do, this is the way I hope it goes:

Seeing red

There's good news and there's bad news.

The good news is that for the past week, and the next couple coming up, I'm working in Santa Monica. I lived here for almost 20 years, and the city feels like home to me. I can see the ocean from my office, the sunsets are stunning and I know the shortcuts when I need to get where I'm going.

The bad news is those shortcuts don't do jack for me at quittin' time.

See that red cross going from where the 10 freeway starts to where it intersects with the 405? That's what I have to navigate every night to get out of the west side, and then crawl the rest of the way home to Long Beach.

As I've said many times here, I grew up on the mean streets of west L.A., north of Wilshire. And I don't want to become one of those guys that starts a lot of sentences with "back then", but back then this was a precision driving town. People knew how to maneuver. They knew how to go with the flow.

Which is hard to do if the flow's not going.

It's also gotten a lot more crowded since I was a kid. I blame it on the Rose Parade.

Every January, at the same time the rest of the country is digging out from fifteen feet of snow, playing hopscotch over downed power lines and holding on to lamp posts so they don't blow away, they're also watching the Kiwanis Club float celebrating "Togetherness Through Diversity" and the Davis High School Marching Band on television, and seeing the clear, beautiful and often warm sunny January days we get to enjoy here.

So everyone watching sells their house and moves here. The majority of them from the east coast. The thing about the east coast is they actually have public transportation that works, so many times the car they're driving here is their first one.

Which is no news to you if you've ever been on the 405 at rush hour.

Cruising the root canal

I went to the dentist today.

I try to keep my visits down to the twice a year cleanings, and not just because of the usual reasons. So happens my dentist is in Santa Monica, which works out to a 60-mile round trip. Yes they have dentists in Long Beach, but mine is not only the world's best dentist, the practice happens to be owned by my very good friend's uncle.

And in dentistry, like Hollywood, it's who you know.

Anyway, the reason for the visit, or so I thought, was to get a filling for a cavity. Wasn't too happy about it. I've been a member of the No Cavity Club for a long time, and as of today I had to surrender my membership.

Turns out I had more than a cavity to be unhappy about.

The cavity was fairly close to the gum line (queasy yet?), and once my dentist started drilling, he decided he better stop and take an x-ray to see how far down the decay was. It was far enough to need a root canal.

I'm not new to the root canal circuit. I've had two before, plus crowns, both in the back bottom teeth. My first thought was "Gosh, another root canal. I'm so glad we're doing this! He'll save the tooth and it'll be better than ever!"

No it wasn't. My first thought was "Crap, the last time this cost $2500 a tooth."

Until I'd had my first root canal - and you never forget your first - I was terrified of them. I imagined incredible pain, swollen chipmunk cheeks, sleepless nights and soup through a straw for days. Come to find out root canal technology has advanced along with everything else. It really was no worse than getting a filling.

The only thing that hurt afterwards was my wallet.

P.S. If I could've embedded the Bill Murray root canal clip from Little Shop Of Horrors I would've. Does that answer your question?