cindy's world

It turns out, my hair is no longer wash-and-go. I had to spend about 10 minutes this morning with a curling iron, which is a waste because it’s raining now. I suddenly recollected haircuts of the past I did not like, where the layers were cut too high and too short, so that unless I curled my hair, the shorter layers would bend in odd directions and press the longer layers against my head and then poke out toward the end. =P I guess I’ll just have to get up a bit earlier now until my hair grows out a bit more. I expect it to be wash-and-go again in another month or two.

A problem with Southern California drivers when it’s damp or sprinkling outside is that they don’t know how to handle their cars anymore. The freeway drivers are as aggressive as ever and tend to hydroplane. The surface street drivers slow to half the speed they normally drive. I drive approximately 7 miles on all surface streets to work (I have no freeway alternative), 6 of those 7 miles are driven thru an area where it seems everyone on the road in the mornings are blue-haired retired people in their 70s and 80s chugging along obliviously in 1960 Oldsmobiles and Buicks. By obliviously, I mean that they’ll drive right alongside someone in the other lane (the road is 2-laned only), both cars going 30 mph, for miles. They are unaware that the light in front is green and they’ll go so frustratingly slow until the light turns yellow and they stop, when they had more than enough time to have made it thru the green, but now everyone’s stopped. Once we hit one red, we hit almost all the rest of the 33 lights, it just works that way. And we can’t get around them, because the moment one gains a little ground on the other one so that you think you can get in the other lane, we hit another red light and have to start over. Or, just as I’m finally able to get around a slow car and have a clear lane ahead, another oblivious old driver in front slowly merges over into my lane and gets in my way, blocking me off before I could get my stupid 4-banger to pick up any torque. My next car is definitely gonna be at least a V-6.

And then when I get to work, there are idiots dropping people off while perpendicular to both entrances into the parking structure so that they block everybody off while their obese passenger takes his/her sweet time coming out, orbiting around the car and wobbling off the street. They can’t pull forward 10 more feet or pull up against the sidewalk so that they don’t block off 6 cars trying to get into the structure?! Then when I’m trying to get thru the metal detectors in the courthouse entrance, I’m significantly delayed by either a mom trying to herd her 6 children into the detectors, or by some idiotic man who needs to drop every coin from his pockets onto the tray for the x-ray machine, one coin at a time, or by some fat chick who suddenly goes from the detector archway back to the x-ray belt because she thinks that unless she puts her pack of cigarettes onto the tray, it’d set off the metal detector. There is a side line for employees and attorneys only so that we can get ahead of the general public when there’s a line. But this shortcut isn’t very well enforced because the general public in the geographical area this courthouse services are angry large minority people who block employees off with their large bodies and larger handbags as if their very lives depended on letting no one cut in front of them, and the new security people at the detectors don’t do a damn thing about it.

*growl*

Ah, yes. PMS in full swing. I’m gonna be a lot of fun this weekend.

For our most recent trial about the defendant who chased down the victim on the street and used the victim’s car Club in their fight and to break the van’s windows, the jury came back this morning and found the defendant not guilty of assault with a deadly weapon (I agree, cuz it really does sound like the two were just fighting each other), and guilty of vandalism with over $400 in damages (the victim produced a receipt from a car repair shop showing the repairs cost him $425.)

My bailiff said, “When the defendant’s mom asked him the night of the incident where he’s been, he told her he’d been clubbing.”

Remember that defendant I wrote about in the October 26, 2005 entry The Human Side of the System? I said I’d let you guys know what the sentence is and today is the guy’s sentencing.

I’d like to first address how people seem to think that judges pull a random number out of their butts when they’re sentencing someone to jail time. Our justice system is not so arbitrary as to let judicial officers amerce based on their moods. Every crime has a sentencing range that is mandated by law. Assault with a Deadly Weapon, for example, Penal Code section 245(a)(1), has a sentencing range of 2-3-4, which means that if the judge does not put the guy on probation and decides to give state prison time, he can select either the low term of 2 years, mid-term of 3 years, or high term of 4 years in state prison for this crime alone. The judge can take into consideration myriad factors when he’s selecting the sentence, such as whether the guy has a significant criminal history, whether this was a freak situation that created the assault, etc.

Anyway, in a case where a man is convicted of having shot and killed his wife and therefore is guilty of the crime of first degree murder, Penal Code section 187(a), as the judge said from the bench, “The crime of murder of the first degree warrants significant punishment and there is essentially little to no — with an emphasis on “no” — latitude with respect to Mr. [defendant]’s sentence in this case.”

Murder –> 25 years to life in state prison
Enhancement that he used a gun in committing the crime –> another 25 years to life in state prison
total sentence –> 50 years to life in state prison

This means he needs to serve 50 years in state prison before he’s even eligible for parole. This guy’s not even 40 yet.

So, boys and girls, the moral of this story is, when your wife is divorcing you, LET HER GO. Do not kill her. And if you do decide to kill her, DO NOT USE A GUN. Not even as a bludgeoning device, cuz that still counts as using a firearm in the commission of your offense. Seriously, if someone no longer wants to be with you, take that as an opportunity to get a clean start and have a great rest-of-your-life.

I had lunch today with 4 coworkers plus one retired coworker. The retired coworker was a very good friend when she worked with us, and she drives back to the courthouse almost every Tuesday to have lunch with whomever would like to come along. I haven’t been going to lunch with them because I’d been working out every lunch. Today, I’m just tired, hungry, and vexed by the lack of result from all the working out and running (my body is SO stubborn, whereas my trainee’s weight’s just flying off her body such that people come up to ME to tell me how great she looks now), so I went to lunch and had a great time. I tend to be reclusive at work although I consider myself on at least decent terms with everyone, so it was nice to see the girls in a more social setting and catch up on each other. I also got a heaping helping of moral support and affirmation. That’s definitely worth missing a workout for. 🙂

This is the basis for our present criminal trial:

The soon-to-be victim (5’5″ Latino man in his 20s) is driving down a street in his van, when the defendant (5’6″ 22-year-old Latino man) drives by and sees him. The two know each other and they don’t get along. The defendant starts waving and screaming profanities out the car at the victim. The defendant keeps following the victim until they get to a more residential street, at which time the defendant drives in front of the victim and cuts him off and stops the car. The defendant gets out of the car and goes to the victim’s van, pulls the victim out, and starts smacking him upside the head. Somehow one of them gets the victim’s Club (metal steering-wheel lock anti-theft device) out of the victim’s car and the story gets disputed at this point about who was hitting whom on the top of the head with the Club. The defendant uses the Club to smash the side of the victim’s van and some of the van windows. This altercation took place in front of a car repair shop and the owner of the shop and one employee are eye witnesses.

I’m sorry, this scenario sounds so juvenile that it’s actually funny to me. It plays out in my head like a movie. These two kids just going at it, and they’re costing the County millions of dollars in resources to make the arrest, prosecute this case and bring it to a jury trial.

Sentencing hearing this morning on a man who shot and killed his wife shortly after she obtained a restraining order against him in the midst of their divorce proceedings. I’m normally pretty jaded about these things and don’t even listen much, but I actually lost it a little. I had to look down and busy myself on conforming some paperwork. The victim’s mom addressed the Court and gave us a glimpse of what the children were going through.

The seven-year-old daughter of the victim (and of the defendant) had asked her grandma, the speaker, to ask the judge, “Now that my mommy’s dead, when Dad dies, will he go to the same place that my mommy’s at right now?” The mother of the victim had told her granddaughter, “No, honey, he did the lowest thing possible before God, he took the life of another person. He will never be where your mom is right now.” The little girl had said, “Good, because I know that if he goes where she is, he will keep hurting her.” The victim’s mother sobbed as she explained how her very young granddaughter still lives in constant fear that even when the defendant is no longer of this earth, that he will still keep hurting her mother.
(more…)

I was feeling so good driving back after lunch. Encouraged by my successful 5K run last week, I figured I’d go for a 4-miler today. I did 4 miles (in 42 mins) plus another lap for cooldown, and aside from the boredom, it wasn’t painful at all. Took a nice hot shower at the gym, chit-chatted with a coworker who was also getting ready to come back to work, drove back to work feeling productive, pulled into the parking structure, parked, turned off the ignition, reached over for my purse. Not there. I looked in and under my gym bag. Nope. Damn it, I left my PURSE at the GYM in the LOCKER! As it was the end of the lunch hour already, I considered going in and checking in first, but instead just backed out the car and went back to the gym. Luckily, it was still there hanging on the hook in the locker. Drove back to work. Walking from the structure back into the c0urthouse, now almost 15 minutes late, I saw one of my supervisors outside overseeing the unloading of some equipment into the front door. DAMN! I walked by him and explained what happened with my purse in a sort of rant. Went to the elevator, waited for the doors to open. Another clerk walked up to me. “Hi. You missed the meeting.” “WHAT meeting?” “The employee meeting at lunch today!” DAMN IT. That meeting date had been postponed so many times that I forgot it was today. I told her, “I just passed by [supervisor] outside and he didn’t say anything.” She said, “Well, he probably didn’t notice you weren’t there. There were so many people there that you may have gotten away with not showing up.” “Except for the fact that I already CONFESSED to him outside that I was at the gym!” I said.

I thought I was functioning so well today, having been up and at ’em since 2:30 a.m.. Instead, it turns out I’m totally absent-minded. As we say in Mandarin, “Toh nau xao yi gun jing,” or “Brain missing one neuron.” Colloquilly (if that’s even a word), roughly, “One card short of a full deck.” Yup. That’s me.

We were doing a family law court trial the last 2 days, in which a wife has filed for divorce against her husband. In testimony, it came out (among many other issues) that the husband is a frequenter of strip clubs and spends $1000/month on his drug habit. So we already know he’s a winner.

Yesterday, my reporter walked by and mentioned something about the respondent’s lifestyle. And then she added that he had been checking me out every time I stood up or walked to the filing cabinet. I said, “What is it about me that attracts these types?! We’ve both been there, done that, never again.”

Today, my bailiff said, “Didja hear what he did in his marriage, goin to strip clubs and stuff?” I told him yeah. He said, “I’ll tell ya somethin else he was doin. He was checkin you out.” I said, “That’s what [reporter] said yesterday!” He said, “Everytime you got up to walk out or went to the filing cabinet, he was lookin at your behind.” I said, “How do you know he was checking me out as opposed to just looking up when someone walks by?” He said, “I can tell where his eyes are, whether they’re lookin high or lookin low! Here they’re talking about his divorce and alimony and support and he’s not even listening cuz he’s lookin at you.” What is it about me that attracts people who like to abuse substances and betray their partners and frequent strip clubs?

This reminds me of a letter I got from a criminal trial defendant after he was sentenced to state prison (for beating up his step-sister) by my judge. Diana alluded to it in one of her recent comments on my blog. She jinxed me, haha! Well, like my ex had said, “Worry when they STOP lookin’.”

On the way to the gym at lunch, I actually listened to the words of Tupac’s “Dear Mama.” It is an amazingly touching song.
It’s a struggle everyday, gotta roll on
And there’s no way I can pay you back
But my plan is to show you that I understand
You are appreciated

It really is nice to be appreciated, and sometimes the best thing to receive is a small gesture saying “I acknowledge what you’ve done, and I appreciate who you are.”

1.) I had to be a buffer in a power play between an irrate party and another party yesterday. The other party was accomodating, and then softened his tone and said in a very off-the-record way, “It must be hard for you sometimes. I just want you to know you’re doing a good job.” Coulda’ brought me to tears, man. *sniff*

2.) We took jury verdicts on our sexual battery trial an hour ago. My bailiff just handed me a pink envelope, which he discovered on the floor. The front says “Madam Clerk for Dept. E”. Inside is a cute little thank-you card, in which a juror had written
To: Maddam Clerk of Dept. E October 2005
First of all, I just wnated to say thank you so much for making my first jury experience such a fun and exciting one. Thank you so much for lightening up the mood of everything. Thanks for easing the stress and nerves of the whole experience. I think it’s so cool how you ease the mood, and I know I’m not the only one who’s thankful for that. Good luck with your profession and all future cases. Thanks again.
Sincerely,…

I go out there and do a whole song and dance with my orientation to the jurors; I know most other clerks never interact with jurors, but I like to make sure they know what’s going on and I crack my jokes with them here and there to get them laughing. I think it’s important that they’re laughing in the hallway instead of griping and contaminating other jurors with their gripes. It’s nice to know that’s appreciated. =)

My judge (Cal alumnus) has a running bet with one of my other favorite judges, Judge Higa (UCLA alumnus). Whenever Cal plays UCLA, the loser has to buy the winner a six-pack of specialty beer. This morning, I passed my judge in the hallway who told me that he was stepping out for a few minutes. “We won this weekend!” I said, dangling my UCLA keychain attached to my work keys. “I know,” he grumbled, “I’m on my way to bring beer to Judge Higa right now.”

Later on, we were in another judge’s chambers singing happy birthday to a coworker over Boston Cream, lemon meringue, and Dutch apple pies. My judge reached for my court keys and said, “Mind if I borrow that for a minute?” I was about to hand it over, thinking he needed to access a locked door or something, when he continued, “I’m gonna stomp on that keychain for a minute.” I snatched my hand back.

Sports nuts. tsk.