Apparently we’re getting our first tropical storm of the season tomorrow. It doesn’t look like a major storm—it doesn’t even have a name yet, and the path is uncertain. We might get some rain out of it, which wouldn’t be bad. At least it’s not 120° like they’re reporting in Phoenix. So hot that it exceeds the flight tolerances of many commercial aircraft. When we were descending from the higher altitudes into Phoenix at the end of our recent vacation, it was over 100° in Phoenix, and this was around 6 pm. Can’t imagine adding another 20° on top of that.
Yesterday was the first time I’ve ever been called to jury duty when I got as far as voir dire. I was called once many years ago, but at the time I wasn’t a U.S. citizen, so I wasn’t eligible. Then I was called again last year, but the day I showed up we were met outside the courtroom and sent home. “Everyone’s been good this week,” we were told. “No trials today.”
I got my summons in the mail last week and went online to register. Although the summons was for the first week of July, I was given several weeks to choose from. I picked the closest date. In retrospect, given that it was Thursday and the next date was the following Monday, I probably virtually guaranteed I wouldn’t get picked. I ended up with #56 out of perhaps a pool of 60. Even with no-shows and people excused for cause, together with the strikes exercised by the lawyers, they didn’t need to go beyond about #32 to impanel the jury.
It was a civil case, someone claiming a pre-existing back injury had been exacerbated in a car accident, and gross negligence was on the table. Might have been interesting. Perhaps next time I’ll make it farther in the process. Sitting in the back row, I barely got to open my mouth during jury selection.
Today’s the day the issue of Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine containing my story “Pain-Man” goes on sale. I haven’t received my contributor copies yet, but I hear it has been seen in the wild.
Issue 21 of Dead Reckonings magazine features a conversation between me and Hank Wagner about the Netflix series Stranger Things.
We watched an odd movie the other night, Beatriz at Dinner, starring Selma Hayek and John Lithgow, along with Connie Britton and Chloe Sevigny. Hayek plays a masseuse and holistic healer who ends up stranded at the mansion owned by a wealthy couple hosting a dinner for a billionaire real-estate mogul named Doug Strutt (Lithgow). The wife graciously invites Beatriz to stay the night and join them for dinner, which turns into an awkward affair when Strutt starts gloating over his hunting exploits and various business deals that are amoral and destructive. Beatriz can’t remain quiet, speaks her mind, and causes a stir. It’s tempting to interpret Strutt as a certain buffoon who elevated himself to the highest office by screwing people over, but the movie was in production before or during the campaign. The film’s bottom line is that there are a lot of people of his ilk. What do you do about it? Strike or retreat? In a sense, the movie has it both ways. A choose-your-own-ending adventure. It’s a challenging movie. There is palpable discomfort during some of the scenes. But it’s definitely thought-provoking.
I’ve been enjoying the Netflix series Shetland, a crime drama set in the islands of northern Scotland. The first two seasons are based on the novels of Anne Cleeves. Season 1 is one book adapted in two one-hour episodes. Season 2 is three novels, six episodes. Season 3 is also six episodes, but it tells a single original story, not based on Cleeves’ work. The scenery is spectacular (especially the story set on Fair Isle), the accents are thick (especially among some of the older folk), and the stories are intriguing. The third season reminds a lot of the work of Ian Rankin. I hear they’re filming a fourth season.
