A case to watch...

For all of those interested in death penalty jurisprudence, keep an eye on Bell v. Thompson.

( The case... )

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This sort of thing is one of the most compelling reasons I can think of for outlawing the death penalty: it is too capricious. What happens if the District Court has the information from the deposition in its original review? Or, for that matter, what if some other clerk -- who was not a psychiatrist -- reviews the case and misses the deposition?

Not to mention that, Scott Petersen aside, whether or not you get the death penalty can depend, in some jurisdictions, upon how good the attorneys you can afford are. Not to mention that the same crime will get you executed in Texas but not in Michigan. Not to mention all the men (I believe the number stands at around a hundred) who have been released from death row because of DNA evidence. (God bless Barry Scheck and the Innocence Project.)

Justice that can treat defendants who do the same crime so differently from each other is no justice at all.

(no subject)

Starting from a couple of comments in my post about Bell v. Thompson, a couple of links, here (a blog entry from etalkinghead.com) and here (a Salon article reprinted at deathpenaltyinfo.org), about the impact of "death-qualifying" juries (i.e., removing all people from the jury who would not impose the death penalty) on chances of conviction. It's scary, especially the Salon. com article.

Mmmmm...

I'm making red beans and rice. It's sitting on the stove in all it's smushy slurry, sausagey magnificence.

Many people have comfort foods -- I'm no exception. But unlike a lot of people, my comfort foods are not attached to my childhood.

Except for red beans and rice. My mom is a pretty bad cook (sorry, Mom) who overcooks everything to death. Which makes her the perfect person to cook red beans and rice.

I had a really crappy childhood. Almost all of my memories-- the ones I can remember -- make me wince.

Except for red beans and rice. Something about it makes me feel happy and like a child again -- in a good way, this time. Things are possible with red beans and rice.

I never eat it anymore. Neither my husband nor my sons will touch beans, except maybe at gunpoint. (I can sort of get them to occasionally eat green beans, but that's it.) For years I went to the church Mardi Gras party almost solely because the guy in charge of the food was from Louisiana and made proper red beans and rice. He left a couple of years ago, and they haven't been the same since. This year, they were even vegetarian -- proper red beans and rice have hunks of sausage in them.

But I was in the store the other night and decided, what the hell -- the boys (all four of them) could darn well figure out their own dinners; I'm the cook and I'm making red beans and rice. Deal. (Actually, I caved on that part and am fixing them french fries and fish sticks.) I'm sticking up for myself. It feels good.

Rice is done -- time to go eat.