Justice in a democratic society begins here, in voir dire, or jury selection.
You and everyone else crowds into the courtroom, filling even the jury box. The judge explains the case, the two counts: basically, DUI, and driving drunk with a suspended license.
The judge is tanned, slick, super-friendly.
The truth is, you never try to get out of it. You think about it, you read through all the legit excuses that come on the summons, and you understand the loopholes, all the unwritten, unspoken outs, and still you go.
Yes, you know all the jokes about the stupidity of people who can't get out of jury duty.
But you go. Because, in your own way, you're a little sentimental about America, about justice.
The waning days of summer on 75th Street mean that at 11 p.m., at midnight even, you can find this street corner scene: a teenage girl giggling, sitting on the hood of an American car, her boyfriend leaning in at 45 degrees, his arms roping around her, a luminous and joyful smile on his face.
I'm off getting married and honeymooning and all that so, in my absence, some good friends are filling in. Today's look at the Havana Libre Hotel, the former Havana Hilton, modernism's stake in the Cuban capital, comes from Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo, who resides on the island. The piece is dedicated to the 10th anniversary of his dad's passing.
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On the 13th of August,
the first 10 years without my dad.
As a child, I lived on the outskirts of Havana, in a neighborhood called Lawton.
I promise this will run in English tomorrow!
I'm off getting married and honeymooning and all that so, in my absence, some good friends are filling in. Today's look -- in Spanish! -- at the Havana Libre Hotel, the former Havana Hilton, modernism's stake in the Cuban capital, comes from Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo, who resides on the island. The piece is dedicated to the 10th anniversary of his dad's passing.
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Por el 13 de agosto,
I’m off getting married and honeymooning and all that so, in my absence, some good friends are filling in. Today’s look at Brooklyn’s Red Hook Mercado comes from Ana Sofia Peláez.
I didn’t know it then, but I dreamed of Brooklyn my entire life. Moving here 13 years ago, I was part of a wave of post-graduates trading Manhattan shoe box apartments for Brooklyn’s mom-and-pop coziness, though most of my friends were hold outs. I was just over the Brooklyn Bridge but had to beg friends to visit my Cobble Hill apartment only to find myself trekking out to see them in Fort Greene, Williamsburg and Sunset Park a few years later. As a minority, I felt exempt from gentrification guilt though I knew it was only a technicality. A Cuban-American from middle-class Miami, I wanted the same things my friends did — coffee houses, bookstores, and farmer’s markets set against a shabby chic urban landscape — rough but friendly, quiet but accessible.
Red Hook was the exception.
I’m off getting married and honeymooning and all that and, in the meantime, some friends have been kind enough to write my blog. Today’s piece is by Steve Hashimoto, one of our town’s best and best known jazz musicians, and it’s about his start as a jobbing musician. A few years ago, Steve put me on his “News from the Trenches” mailing list — a weekly dispatch of his adventures in music — and I’ve been a fan of his writing, as well as his music, ever since. If you’re not already on his list, you can reach him at hashimoto@aol.com. It’s really good stuff.
My name is Steven Hashimoto. I’m a musician…no, really, that’s how I make my living, or the majority of it, anyway.
I’m a freelance musician, meaning I don’t have a steady hotel or restaurant gig (which mostly don’t exist anymore, anyway), nor do I play for the Chicago Symphony. I work pretty much for whoever calls me, playing whatever kind of music is required.
