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Still Waiting in Prettyman


(Photo credit to Reuters/Kevin Lemarque)

Well, maybe it's me. I've never been a particularly moderating or calming influence (in fact, if mr. emptywheel read that he's be snorting with laughter). But here I am at a very calm, almost soporific courthouse. As far as we know, the remaining 11 jurors are deliberating in peace, free from any Victoria Toensing-like distractions. There is full power in the courthouse (there doesn't seem to be air conditioning, or maybe it's just the horde of media people shoved into a fairly small space). There are workmen playing in the ceiling, hopefully to give us more aircon. Jane now has her wallet, her phone, her stockings, and–thanks to Pat_AlexVA, even the glasses which she misplaced last week (good thing Kobe was around to drive the car over the weekend).

I took down the superpasted Firedoglake sign Pach put up during voir dire last Thursday, so I lost the best seat in the media room (I won't mention which cable channel took the seat, but suffice it to say none of you get your news from that network). 

And we are waiting.

Walton has gone back to ruling on the kinds of cases that–I suspect–he usually deals with. A number of African-Americans who had violated parole. One guy who had about 6 kinds of drugs in his system when he was re-arrested. And we got to see Reggie Walton at his finest–imploring young African-American men to clean up their act and stay out of the legal system.  If Libby were to be found guilty, would Walton similarly implore him to start telling the truth to the American people?

And outside–at least to this Michigan gal's eyes–it looks positively spring-like. Balmy, even, with the sun coming out. After the ice storms I've seen for the last two days, it sure is nice to see the sun. 

Very important update. They've just turned on the airconditioner. Your tax dollars at work, thank you, American taxpayer. 

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