Today is Saturday, October 31st, 2009 and it is now 835 PM here in Brooklyn, NY in the US.
Thursday the 29th saw my Contiuance in that bullshit felony case I fully explained in my preceeding entry/post. I was suprised at how economical the new Bronx County Courthouse is in terms of arhcitecture. The space was highly efficient, with no apparent ostentatiousnness while at the same time incorporating all vital elements (architecture is something I have always been interested in, Art Deco being something of an obsession wit me. Indeed, it is one of the many reasons why I love Phmom Pehn so much).
In NYC, at the close of Initial Arraignment, anyone NOT remaining in custody is given a tiny scrap of paper that has a hate handwritten on it and a marking for the Part (Court Section) for the Continuance.
Following my marking to Part A in the basement, I was 10 minutes early for the 9 AM opening. At 940, with typical American efficiency (cough) a Court Officer posted the Calendar on the outer doors of the Chambers. The Calendar is merely a mimographed paper holding the names and case numbers of each defendant.
Then at nearly 10 AM the inner doors were open and we all rushed in. I met my attorney inside, he having preceeded me as some attornyes with juice spend up to an hour hobknobbing with the prosecution and judge.
He pulled me to side for a quick conference and he said they declined to serve me up to the Grand Jury, making my felong now a misdemeanour. My charge of "posession of a Forged Instrument" could have gotten me 7 years, though the worst case scenario was 4 given NY precedence.
I breathed my first sigh of relief. Then he told me they had offered a buffet of ideas: 5 days Community Service (my first words were "Fuck THEM and fuck THAT"). Next was 2 days Social Services, meaning 2 half days of group counseling. Now I found this one interesting, not knowing WHAT they had intended to counsel me about, NOT using the NYC Transit system? Ergoo, after the requisite, "And fuck that too!" I inquired, "What the hell would that involve anyway." I was told that not even the DAs (prosecuting attorneys) actually knew. Before we could fully confer about the rest of the offers my number was called and up to the front we went.
So the Judge begins asking about Plea Negotiations and the DA begins acting like he's fucken Mother Theresa for having not pushed for indictment until the judge stops him dead in his tracks.
She interrupted him and asked in accusatory fashion just why they had not been willing to offer me a Conditional Discharge. Conditional Discharges are offered to non-violent offenders and simply allow a guilty plea to stand for 1 years from date of conviction. If the subject avoids any further legal contact (at least arrest) the entire infraction AND plea is erased.
If the DA were astute he would note that I am an ex-convict and then in all liklihood the judge would then push for harsher offers as opposed to the converse. However the DA was at most 25, and clearly out of his depth and all he could manage was some mubling before offering me the Conditional Discharge.
So, At 11 AM I left the courthouse feeling somewhat good, but still pissed over the bullshit collar (arrest) as well as the 2800 bill my attorney threw at me. Still, I shouldn't be too salty since IF I had been sentenced to 4 years I would gladly have given 4 times that amount to get out of Sing-Sing (Ossining Prison).
The whole affair caused me a lot of stress, not least of which is my situation back home in the Philippines (collapsing marriage and a large number of business interests and on top of it 8 different insurgencies being fought on my island (Mindanao). 4 years in stir would have really screwed me up.
Although my attorney was always offering up his optimist spiel I could take precious little comfort knowing that this comforting and assuaging of anxiety within his clients was all part of the game.
In more practical terms I have been unable to buy my ticket home not knowing that Thursday's outcome would be.
Firday was spent relaxing, and then this morning, Saturday, I went to the Union Square Farmers' Market on 14th. St. In Manhattan. The Market is an NYC cultural institution on weekends, but especially Saturdays. Farmers from at least 4 states sell everything from Bison and Elk meat to artisinal cheeses and heirloom produce. All of it is homemade and expensive even by NYC standards which happen to be literally the most expensive in the nation.
There are rare bargains, such as apples, Winsaps and Coutlands taste like actual candy apples and so juicy that they squirt like cherry tomatoes. As a Botanist I especially adore all the heirloom produce.
I filled up my 500 byte memoury card with photos which I love to send to the Philippines due to its maddening lack of variety in produce, or for that matter any foodstuff. People cannot believe purple carrots or white peppers exist. I get a kick out of seeing them go ga-ga.
I had intended, last year, to start an heirloom produce operation on some of our land in Prosperidad (provincial capital) but then came my US trip. Hell, I still have to stock my goat operation having bult 3 outbuildings and a nipa (thatched grass/palm house) on the parcel.
I will follow with another entry shortly.
Thursday the 29th saw my Contiuance in that bullshit felony case I fully explained in my preceeding entry/post. I was suprised at how economical the new Bronx County Courthouse is in terms of arhcitecture. The space was highly efficient, with no apparent ostentatiousnness while at the same time incorporating all vital elements (architecture is something I have always been interested in, Art Deco being something of an obsession wit me. Indeed, it is one of the many reasons why I love Phmom Pehn so much).
In NYC, at the close of Initial Arraignment, anyone NOT remaining in custody is given a tiny scrap of paper that has a hate handwritten on it and a marking for the Part (Court Section) for the Continuance.
Following my marking to Part A in the basement, I was 10 minutes early for the 9 AM opening. At 940, with typical American efficiency (cough) a Court Officer posted the Calendar on the outer doors of the Chambers. The Calendar is merely a mimographed paper holding the names and case numbers of each defendant.
Then at nearly 10 AM the inner doors were open and we all rushed in. I met my attorney inside, he having preceeded me as some attornyes with juice spend up to an hour hobknobbing with the prosecution and judge.
He pulled me to side for a quick conference and he said they declined to serve me up to the Grand Jury, making my felong now a misdemeanour. My charge of "posession of a Forged Instrument" could have gotten me 7 years, though the worst case scenario was 4 given NY precedence.
I breathed my first sigh of relief. Then he told me they had offered a buffet of ideas: 5 days Community Service (my first words were "Fuck THEM and fuck THAT"). Next was 2 days Social Services, meaning 2 half days of group counseling. Now I found this one interesting, not knowing WHAT they had intended to counsel me about, NOT using the NYC Transit system? Ergoo, after the requisite, "And fuck that too!" I inquired, "What the hell would that involve anyway." I was told that not even the DAs (prosecuting attorneys) actually knew. Before we could fully confer about the rest of the offers my number was called and up to the front we went.
So the Judge begins asking about Plea Negotiations and the DA begins acting like he's fucken Mother Theresa for having not pushed for indictment until the judge stops him dead in his tracks.
She interrupted him and asked in accusatory fashion just why they had not been willing to offer me a Conditional Discharge. Conditional Discharges are offered to non-violent offenders and simply allow a guilty plea to stand for 1 years from date of conviction. If the subject avoids any further legal contact (at least arrest) the entire infraction AND plea is erased.
If the DA were astute he would note that I am an ex-convict and then in all liklihood the judge would then push for harsher offers as opposed to the converse. However the DA was at most 25, and clearly out of his depth and all he could manage was some mubling before offering me the Conditional Discharge.
So, At 11 AM I left the courthouse feeling somewhat good, but still pissed over the bullshit collar (arrest) as well as the 2800 bill my attorney threw at me. Still, I shouldn't be too salty since IF I had been sentenced to 4 years I would gladly have given 4 times that amount to get out of Sing-Sing (Ossining Prison).
The whole affair caused me a lot of stress, not least of which is my situation back home in the Philippines (collapsing marriage and a large number of business interests and on top of it 8 different insurgencies being fought on my island (Mindanao). 4 years in stir would have really screwed me up.
Although my attorney was always offering up his optimist spiel I could take precious little comfort knowing that this comforting and assuaging of anxiety within his clients was all part of the game.
In more practical terms I have been unable to buy my ticket home not knowing that Thursday's outcome would be.
Firday was spent relaxing, and then this morning, Saturday, I went to the Union Square Farmers' Market on 14th. St. In Manhattan. The Market is an NYC cultural institution on weekends, but especially Saturdays. Farmers from at least 4 states sell everything from Bison and Elk meat to artisinal cheeses and heirloom produce. All of it is homemade and expensive even by NYC standards which happen to be literally the most expensive in the nation.
There are rare bargains, such as apples, Winsaps and Coutlands taste like actual candy apples and so juicy that they squirt like cherry tomatoes. As a Botanist I especially adore all the heirloom produce.
I filled up my 500 byte memoury card with photos which I love to send to the Philippines due to its maddening lack of variety in produce, or for that matter any foodstuff. People cannot believe purple carrots or white peppers exist. I get a kick out of seeing them go ga-ga.
I had intended, last year, to start an heirloom produce operation on some of our land in Prosperidad (provincial capital) but then came my US trip. Hell, I still have to stock my goat operation having bult 3 outbuildings and a nipa (thatched grass/palm house) on the parcel.
I will follow with another entry shortly.
