Perspective

I have been studying wrongful convictions. It is heartbreaking to read the stories of innocent individuals who got caught up in a system that seemed to be more interested in finding (any) "culprit" rather than solving the crime. The average age of those wrongfully convicted is 26 years old and they spend, on average, 12 years in prison. Those exonerated have usually been accused of rape or murder -- DNA testing eventually sets them free. Witness misidentification, coupled with police and/or attorney misconduct seem to be the leading causes of wrongful convictions. Unfortunately, the system isn't set up to help innocents after they've been exonerated. They are not on parole so they do not qualify for any of the services that help them adjust to life outside prison, such as help with finding a job or housing. However, although proven innocent, they still face the stigma of having spent a significant portion of their lives in prison. They don't have resumes, they don't have work experience, their lives have literally been taken away from them.

Recently, after spending a day deep in the world of such injustice, I chose some light reading for the BART ride home to my kids: a People Magazine someone kindly left behind on the train. The feature article was on Jessica Simpson and how she has channeled her past heartache into a new country album.

Ms. Simpson "looked for inspiration in the spiral notebooks she uses as journals."

Fortunately for Ms. Simpson, "she didn't have to read the words inside.... In fact, she didn't even need to look past the covers."

She chooses the journal cover based upon her moods and then "picks a shade of ink from her four-color ballpoint pen to further channel her mood."

"'I have a lot of black [journals]. A lot of black and blue.' Yet over the last year, 'I went to pink,' says Simpson.... These days her journal sports a white cover, and inside it's filled with the red-ink musings of a woman in love."

I used to have one of those four colored ballpoint pens. I think that was in the fourth grade.

I'm concerned that Ms. Simpson only has four colors of ink to work with. I think that would tend to limit her ability to express the nuanced thoughts that surely cross her mind as she delves deep into her heartache. Imagine how great her album would have been if she had used this gel pen set instead.

BART Haiku - September 9, 2008

Tired plain-faced woman
Public metamorphosis
No beauty secrets

Something in the water?

I think pets are great. I just haven't wanted to deal with one and, until recently, have managed to convince my kids that the rabbit-furred stuffed cat was a great pet: it could be petted and then thrown into the toy basket without a second thought. I've also acquiesced to the few "pets" Lily has asked to keep -- an inchworm, a mayfly, and most of a spider. Each time I paused, considering the magnitude of her request, then solemnly said "yes, if you're prepared to take responsibility for it."

Molly spent the summer convincing me that she is mature enough to have a pet. She did laundry, made beds, hung up her towel, and offered to help with sufficient regularity to convince me that she was ready to take on the responsibility of caring for another life form. So, almost two weeks ago, we went to the pet store and picked out a couple of gold fish and all the acoutrements necessary to keep them alive.

Molly's goldfish, Pumpkin died after the first week, a few hours after Molly cleaned the tank. Molly was crushed. She buried Pumpkin in the back yard, under a gravestone strewn with fresh flowers.

This evening, alas, Lily's fish, Rainbow Sparkle bit the dust as well. Lily sobbed and sobbed, so much so that Molly crawled into her bed to comfort her and gave her a treasured stuffed bear to snuggle. I too tried to comfort Lily, pointing out that although Rainbow Sparkle's life was short, she was well-loved and had a happy week-and-a-half in her pretty fishtank. "I should have spent more time with her instead of watching TV," lamented Lily.

My proposal to get new fish this weekend was met with no enthusiasm whatsoever.