Impanel That Juror in a Pine Box, Please

The county’s new juror summons form contains a line that reads, “No other person may sign here, unless potential juror is deceased.”

That elicits “some creative responses,” said Jerrianne Hayslett, the L.A. Superior Court’s public information officer. One guy wrote, “I am pushing up daisies at Forest Lawn.” He signed and dated his form, which included his home phone number.

When Gloria Gomez, the juror services manager, called, the man answered. Gomez said later: “Never had the experience of talking to a dead person before.”

Moral of the story: If you’re dead, don’t keep a live telephone.

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT: In this week’s Only in L.A. Dining Guide for the Adventurous (see accompanying), may I suggest that we start with some “spit” pea soup, followed by some unwell rice (submitted by Jefferson Der), a dish with gang overtones (from Karen Satzman) and a “Lurch” entree (from Kady Lane of L.A.). I can’t seem to recall what Lurch used to eat, though I was a big fan of “The Addams Family.”

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HOMEWORK EXCUSES: When Jorge Minaya, age 14, told his teacher why he couldn’t turn in his homework, she “didn’t believe him until my husband and I sent a letter confirming the story,” relates his mom, Cecilia.

What happened was this: “My son was done with his homework and left it on his desk for me to go over. He went outside to play basketball. My husband didn’t notice that the window in my son’s room was open so he proceeded with his task of washing the window and guess what? My son’s desk is right under the window. When Jorge came back to his room, the homework was completely soaked. . . .”

And that’s why, in my opinion, husbands shouldn’t be trusted to wash windows.

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NO EXCUSE HERE: My apologies to Gavin Yee, whose name I misspelled in Thursday’s column. Yee snapped the photo of a sign that said “The Passage of the Magnetic Card” at the entrance gate of the Forbidden City in Beijing.

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THE SPIRIT OF SOUTH BAY: A biography of Redondo Union High’s most famous alumnus is on the best-seller list--”Lindbergh,” by A. Scott Berg. The Minnesota-born aviator spent part of 1917 in Southern California with his mother, who wanted to be with her gravely ill step-daughter.

During his one semester at Redondo High, Berg writes, the shy Lindbergh “made no friends, sticking to himself, his family and his dog in the small cottage they rented on the beach.”

One evening, the 15-year-old Lindbergh was pulled over for driving at night without headlights (they were in disrepair) and was “cited for driving without a license.”

Not that the kid was a neophyte motorist. On the 40-day motor trip that brought his mother here from Little Falls, Minn., Lindbergh drove the whole way. Even then, the kid knew how to get around.

miscelLAny:

Having missed the initial discussion here of the British phrase for dumping trash on the sly, Stephen Barrett of Corona was intrigued when he saw a mention of “fly tipping” in a subsequent column.

“I was reminded of the practice of cow tipping that was the rage in recent years,” he wrote, referring to the unkind practice of pushing over sleeping bovines. “My thought was that I have enough trouble just swatting a fly, and it would take considerable skill to ‘tip’ one. Interesting mental image!”