New Semester

Back in Newark and back to work but it’s a new semester and a new group of students- a better group of students. I didn’t realize just how bad my last class was until the first day of this semester when I raised my voice to get the class’s attention and it was followed by silence… sustained silence. When I would ask a question twenty hands would be raised rather than twenty answers shouted. But this new class is not without faults; I do have a few students who seem like they’ll be keeping me on my toes.

One student for example, we’ll call him Judas, gave me an incredibly hard go on the third day of class. I had assigned a group project in which students were supposed to draft up a constitutional preamble (mission statement) for their new country. Judas took to this assignment with vigor, directing his group on what should be done and drawing up a layout for their poster. It was not until Judas’s group presented their country of Eattabutt’s preamble, which highlighted the need for free fornication, that I realized he might not be the angel I thought him.

But Judas or no Judas, this semester’s class is heads above my last one both in academics and behavior. And because they’re doing so well I’m considering (if I can secure the funds) an overnight class trip to D.C., a tour of the capital, and meetings with their representatives.

Jury Duty - Dec 23

Jury Duty


I had been sitting in the jury pool room for nearly five hours with nothing to do but brood over how much I didn’t want to be there and read outdated magazines, all of which had an air of prophecy to them. One Forbes magazine warned of a housing bubble leading to a long term recession- who knew? And one National Geographic was full of ‘what if’ scenarios like: What if a Hurricane hits Louisiana … hmmm.
So there I sat reading my depressingly accurate magazines and counting the minutes until I could go home when above me the overhead speakers crackled to life “All right jurors please pay attention while I read off the list for the next group.” I immediately started trying to bargain with God.
“Lord, keep my name out of this and I promise to…”
Sarah Keller
“…to subscribe to Forbes and prevent the next financial crisis…”
Claire Johnson
…okay…I’ll evacuate all the danger regions mentioned in National Geographic…”
Elliot Martinez
“…and I’ll read a New Yorker from cover to cover.”
Jacob Barnes
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Lesson learned: God knows an impossible task when he hears one.
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As it turned out I was not only selected for a group to be considered for a trial but I was chosen to serve. Me, the poor volunteer who was only home in MN visiting for Christmas was selected to serve as a juror! I think it was the state your name and occupation part of the selection process that got me. When I said I was a volunteer teacher, I was immediately asked by the attorneys what I taught. When I said civics they both laughed and one said “well now you can tell your class about fulfilling your civic duty”.

My duty involved me sitting for two days listening to pointless testimony and critiquing the prosecuting attorney’s tie choices before being informed on the morning of the third day that the case had been pled out the night before and that we, the jury, were dismissed. I would have left with bitterness towards the entire experience if it weren’t for what happened next.

While turning to leave the court room after being informed of my dismissal I heard the presiding judge call out, “Mr. Barnes?”
“Yes?”
“Would you step back into my chambers please” I must have had a look of concern because he continued “you’re not in trouble, I would just like a word with you.”
“Okay” following the judge through a door at the back of the courtroom I couldn’t help feeling nervous despite his assuring me that I had no reason to.
After getting situated in his office I was given a cup of coffee and as the judge poured one for himself he said “So I was reading through the juror profiles and I saw that your currently living and working as a volunteer out in Newark.”
“Yep, Newark NJ."
"I think that's great. You know I volunteered in Newark for a summer and we all just thought it was the armpit of the world. The streets smelled, there were homeless people everywhere, all the shops would close down at 4pm - but gosh that was twenty years ago now, I'm sure it's gotten a lot better."
(Pause in conversation)
"No- actually sir that sounds about right."

We went on like this for nearly forty-five minutes in what turned out to be very pleasant conversation before we got to the topic of future plans; when I told him that I was applying to law schools he started suggesting places I should attended and at one point even offered to put all call in for me. When I finally indicated that I needed to be leaving, which I really did, he suggested that before I go I get something to take back to my class as proof that I’d served on jury duty.

Seated behind the bench donning the judge’s robe and holding a gavel I posed for a picture to show my class. (I had to use my cellphone- no cameras allowed in the courtroom- so I can't post it.) If someone were to have walked into the room at that moment I can’t imagine how strange we must have looked- me playing judge while the actual jurist took pictures.


Justice Earl Warren was once quoted as saying that “It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive.” When I left the government building that day I was smiling and happy to have had the jury duty experience.

So much Happening

Hello Everyone!

I am very sorry for not keeping my blog up to date and I do plan to catch everyone up before I move on to current happenings but I'm afraid that right now I need to get some sleep.

Upcoming posts:
-Jury Duty
-New Semester
-Wrestling Meet From Hell
-Preparing for yoga
-The politics of it all
-The last biscuit...who am I?

Dec- Snow

“Snow, Snow, Snow. It won’t be long before we’ll all be there with snow.” Newark, NJ is technically a subtropical region, and any snow that falls here rarely stays, which does have its benefits, but with Christmas just around the corner I, like any real Minnesotan, was really looking forwarding to flying home to a white Christmas and the sincere merriment that tends to come with it.

Newark had taken on its own form of Christmas spirit. I had noticed it the week before while I was driving down Market Street. I flipped on the radio and the speakers rang with the familiar warm chorus:

"...Ev'rywhere you go; Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes aglow. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Toys in ev'ry store But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be On your own front door."

Approaching the intersection of Market and Broad I looked up and noticed- shinning above a pile of trash - a glittery fake wreath. A half block beyond that another shiny blotch of green hung from a lamppost, and beyond that yet another. With each additional wreath the awkwardness of their ostentatious presence among the piles of trash, street venders, and abandoned buildings, became increasingly obvious. By the time I had finished my errands for the day I was longing for piles of snow rather than trash.


And so it was that just one day after winning my battle with swine flu I took to the air with visions of snow flakes dancing in my mind. When the pilot announced that we were starting our decent into Minneapolis my heart leapt and I, along with every child on the flight, had my forehead glued to the window. My Christmas began then while I was thousands of feet in the air looking down at a winter wonderland.

Dec

Two Weeks prior to Christmas

The decorations were up, the Christmas tree was all a glow, the eggnog was spiced, and the guests were beginning to arrive. I had spent much of the 48 hours prior to this evening preparing food, responding to RSVPs, cleaning the house, and hanging lights. But when the moment finally had arrived I was quarantined to my room where I would stay for nearly a week under the haze of H1N1.

After the party, word quickly spread among the faculty and students that I was sick and with in a day students were emailing me, dropping notes, and even coming to the Turrell house window just to say hello. On the Thursday following the Christmas gathering the following note was slipped under my door:

“Dear Mr. Barns,
I heard you were dieing and I just wanted to say good by B 4 you leave. Say hi to God for me.
- James”

There were a few moments that I felt like dieing but the entire experience would have been much worse if not for the kindness of the Jersey man himself- Hank. Every morning I would wake to a knock on my door followed by a light raspy “Jaker-mister. Time to wake up.” Then Hank would give me a bottle of orange juice, a bit of breakfast, and the sports section before heading up to teach his second block class.
When I later asked Hank why he’d been so kind he jokingly said “I’m your Jersey Dad and as your JD it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

I was very thankful to have a JD.

Tucker

When my parents came out for thanksgiving they brought Tucker, a 5 month old Weimaraner. When my parents left, Tucker stayed and became part of the Turrell House family.

Tucker Story # 1: Stay off the furniture

Before Tucker arrived I had my mind set that he would not be allowed on the furniture. He had a kennel and one of my co-workers even bought him a dog bed. He was set to live the life of a well cared for dog, a prince of pooches by Newark standards.
The day Tucker arrived it immediately became apparent that the title of prince was not lofty enough, and that the idea of a kennel was absurd. Upon entering the apartment that my parents would be staying in while visiting, Tucker instantly found his way onto one of the twin beds. Then as if inspecting which bed suited him better he leapt the gap between them and circled. He did this several times before finally settling on the one he had originally started with. As I write he is seated in my reading chair.


Tucker Story # 2: Good Morning

Pre-Tucker
7:15 a.m. The sun shines, the grammar school children can be heard chattering next door, and my alarm begins to ring. My work day begins.


Currently
Anywhere ranging from 5:50 to 7:00 in the morning there will be a weight that starts to creep up my chest followed by warm dog breath on my face. I turn trying to avoid the inevitable early morning chore. But the breath follows me and soon it’s in my ear, dear god it has a tongue, and when I turn to scold, that same tongue stifles my objections.
Spitting and swearing I roll out of bed, throw on the nearest clothes I can find, grab a plastic bag and walk outside with Tucker close behind.

The second most embarrassing thing I do on a daily basis: “Come on buddy, here we go, this grass looks good, empty. Come on… empty.”

The most embarrassing thing I do on a daily basis: Pass my fellow teachers immediately after the second most embarrassing thing. They glance at the bag, take a step to the side, and say nothing but “good morning.”

My work day begins.

Tucker story # 3: Jealousy



I debated for quite a while about whether or not to have Tucker neutered. I was convinced that he would not be able to live a full life as a male dog if he weren’t whole. So I sought advice from people in the field: veterinarians, animal science students, gender studies majors, and everyone said that for a male dog, unless I was planning on using him as a stud (I was not going to be a dog pimp), the best thing to do was snip’em. And so it was under this guidance that I condoned the operation.

The first thing most people say about Tucker when they see him is “Wow those are some big paws.” If they are male they will, within seconds of this observation, no longer marvel at the paws’ size but the speed at which they can move. Tucker has managed to smack the testicles of nearly every single male he has ever encountered; and he has done so with such frequency and precision that my roommates and I have concluded that Tucker has a vendetta against intact men.

The clearest example of this came last week as my roommate and fellow volunteer, Pat, seated on a couch, called to Tucker. The dog came slowly at first, but then faster and with purpose. He was barreling towards Pat at a fantastic speed before he jumped with legs fully extended to hit Pat square. It should be noted that this jump was not up, as if to gain height with which to land on the coach, but forward and with force. He was trying to hit Pat.

Weimaraners are credited as being incredibly intelligent creatures, which is fine, so long as they never learn how to use a scissors.

Nov 29

I was asked to speak at convocation again and I think I'm just going to read this prayer I wrote sometime ago.

I desire a passion, a fire, something so invigorating that I feel it flow through my veins and can’t help but be moved by it. I stand here surrounded by a world of indifference, and stagnancy watching life move slowly along, and the boredom is excruciating. My soul is growing anxious longing to run, jump, and race with the winds of life. I am tired of seeing passionless people with out conviction or drive, I am tired of settling. No more- These dull circumstances that bind me will hold me no longer.
I want to live. I want to live with passion, purpose, and love. I want to breathe deep and stand tall. The world may sit motionless but I will live my life with an energetic love that shatters the dullness, wakes the sleeping, and makes them restless.
I will stand for and inspire others to seek justice, love, and drive. I will live out loud and help spread your light.