$2mm/6BR is still too rich for my blood, but that is a nice castle. I have been feeling like maybe instead of (or in preparation for or in addition to or something) Buffista island/compound we should have a club like is always cropping up in 19th century novels where members can stay and eat when they are in town (for whatever values of "in town" might be practical, I guess). I haven't thought this through very hard, it just sounds so nice. Sort of a timeshare, I guess, although that doesn't sound nearly as pleasant.

I've only gotten as far as being interviewed for jury service once, and was dismissed from that civil case. And have only had to call in to see if I needed to report a few times. I used to move pretty frequently, though.

the prosecution couldn't prove

Yeah. My two take-aways from my jury duty experience were:

1) The trial mostly comes down to the quality of the prosecutors' preparation and presentation, and whatever holes the defense can poke in it. Not "did he do it," but rather "did the prosecution prove that he did it."

2) A defendant should never take the stand. In the one criminal case, the prosecution left open several areas of reasonable doubt. Then the defendant took the stand, and promptly removed them all.

I've been called four times--twice I went in for the day but wasn't selected. For the other two, one time I had an international flight scheduled that very day, so I was excused, and the other time I'd just moved across the country but was still in the process of changing my address and voter registration, so they just wished me well and took my name off the list.

I have never been called for jury duty, despite being registered to vote everywhere I've lived for at least 20 years.

That is wild to me. I was thinking about this recently, and I don't think I was ever called in Boston, but I've been called in every other county I've lived in since I was 18. I've been on two juries, neither of which had a verdict -- in one we hung, in the other they settled. I was empaneled one other time (as alternate #3!) but they settled that night, thank goodness. That was sexual assault and I was not looking forward to it.

I've been called at least 6 times, but I've never been selected to serve. Three of those times, I called in every day and never had to report. One time I got as far as the voir dire but wasn't chosen.

That was sexual assault and I was not looking forward to it.

Oh, wow. I had totally blocked the memory of being called for jury duty here in MO about ten years ago (perhaps?). It was a sexual assault case, and I really didn't want to be selected. In voir dire, they asked if anyone had been on a jury before. When I raised my hand, they asked if I had been jury foreman. I had once, and told them so. They asked for more detail, and I told them it had been very frustrating. I used the phrase "It was like herding cats."

I was not selected to sit on that jury. Whew.

Yes, I was grateful that my trial was a rather hysterical civil case and not a horrible criminal case. A friend was on a murder trial with all the gruesome pictures and details. She suffered nightmares and said she would never agree to be a juror again under any circumstances.

For your consideration: Buffista Castle.

Look at all those summer pictures with nary a winter picture to be had of what frequently is a frozen hellscape of the Lake they call Michigan.

One time I got as far as the voir dire but wasn't chosen.

When I wasn't chosen for the kidnapping case, where everyone was trying to get out of it, but I wasn't (since I was in grad school and had all the time in the world and NY was paying a decent amount for a broke student), I gave all the "right answers" in the voir dire but (and I know you'll all be shocked by this) I'm pretty sure my smart-ass first comment sealed the deal on not getting chosen. The prosecution, who was making a point of using and remembering everyone's name, joked about my name being difficult to spell. My deadpan response? "I learned when I was six."

Look at all those summer pictures with nary a winter picture to be had of what frequently is a frozen hellscape of the Lake they call Michigan.

Truth.