libby-paparazzi.jpg

(Photo credit Pachacutec at FDL.com

Jane says I could never work on a film crew. Apparently, she was notorious on film sets for not being able to wait things out. And since I'm orders of magnitude less able to sit and schmooze and relax in the media room than she, I guess that rules me out. Not a surprise, I guess, since I can no longer sit through movies because I hate the way they screw with my sense of time. If I can't watch movies, I surely can't make them.  And this movie is dragging on.

That said, with Judge Walton's assurances that the jury isn't going to come back with a verdict, I'm going to grab a flight home while the grabbing is good and the plane fares not yet exorbitant. By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to MI (if all goes well). I'm sure I'll have lots of tales about ice and snow for you on Monday, when we reconvene for the second third fourth act.

In an effort to give Jane the luxury of taking her time to get into the court house, though (assuming that cable news station you never watch doesn't take the seat that Pachacutec earned fair and square), I thought I'd tell you about our paparazzi moment.

You see, at precisely the moment when Dr. Pachacutec was explaining his expert recommendations to fix my manic mood, we got ourselves stuck in the Libby paparazzi. There Pach was, on the phone with mr. emptywheel, explaining why I was being sent home. And there was, first, Mrs. Scooter and Jeffress, then Wells and Libby were, not ten feet away, loading into their SUV. Snap snap snap snap. And Pach, laughing on the phone with mr. emptywheel.  It was very surreal, because I gotta tell you–as manic as I get when my Toobz access goes down, my problems can't compare to the Scooters' problems. And if I'm not mistaken, our own Pachacutec managed to take that photo "on or about" (I learned that from indictment-speak) the same time as he was speaking to mr. emptywheel. A talented man, our Pachacutec. I hope he doesn't bill me double for the call to mr. emptywheel.

Jane and Pach tell me (and I have no reason to doubt them) that the jury has gotten Plame fever. From which I take to mean that the 11 jurors are roughly where Jane and Christy (then aka ReddHedd) and I were in July 2005, when we were giddy with our early obsession with this story. They're looking at dates and cross-referencing documents and noting inconsistencies. The lawyer is bringing her legal background, as Christy did. The PhD is bringing his neurotic detail background, as I and some other key geeks did. And someone–hopefully the jury foreperson–is taking Jane's role, orchestrating the whole show and bringing it together into one cohesive story. I'm hoping that person is a Jane and not a Tom Maguire (sorry, Tom)–because Jane's stories were always more compelling than Tom's. They have a better ending too.

So I have mixed feelings, as I skip town for the weekend. I could never bemoan (how could I, of all people?) anyone the intrigue of getting caught up in this story–for those who spend the time, you always get sucked in. But I'd be a lot happier if we were at the after stage, where a bunch of newly minted Plameologists were explaining to us what they found. Rather than us just waiting on their next flip chart request.

Maybe the jury should start a blog… 

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