I got verklempt......

I had to go for jury selection today. I was very nervous and excited about it because it was a brand new experience, and serious. I was possibly going to be the one making a decision about somebody else’s life. That’s not an easy thing to think about. My heart was fluttering like mad for the first hour or so, then I just started getting MAD after that, with all the waiting around to go get interviewed. And I thought THAT was the bad part.

Then we get into the court room. There are 54 of us. You are assigned a number. The two opposing attorneys ask the whole room a series of yes or no questions. If it applies to you, you lift up your number card. Cool, no problem, but I do have a bony arse and these wooden church pews are really starting to hurt… What was worse about the situation was that I was on the end of the pew, and somehow everyone ended up scooting right, leaving me with one arse cheek hanging off the bench. I was so incredibly uncomfortable. Then we go to break. The bailiff saw me falling off the bench, and later reminded everyone to make sure all have room to sit; but to no avail, it happened over and over again. The subsequent times though, I felt comfortable enough to tell them to move back over, and it became a running joke, with even the row in front of us laughing when I asked for more space.

The next part of the interrogation began. Having your previous answers recorded, they then asked each one of us individually to tell more about whatever answer that drew a red flag for them. There are 54 of us. It lasted forever! Not to mention the nerves I had before they got to me, and my rear end issues. I was miserable!!! Even moreso after I was interrogated, because it was so tedious and boring and painful. By the end of the day I was ornery. I didn’t want to be there. I was pissed because they made us sit through all that torture. I was angry, and praying that they wouldn’t pick me for the jury.

The end of the session comes along. The two lawyers go back and forth crossing out people on their list, the judge is talking sports and urging us to talk amongst ourselves while we wait to find out who got picked. The guy next to me says that the suspense it killing him, that this is like when we were kids on the schoolyard and hoping that we weren’t going to be picked last, but it is different. I said, and kinda loudly when I reflect back on it, “Yeah, but it’s the OPPOSITE. Here, you’re hoping you don’t get picked!” And then the time came for them to call out the twelve jurors. Runnning down the line, up pops my name. My face turned beet-red with frustration, my heart sank, and I said in a loud tone under my breath “DAMN.”

We are asked to go sit in the jury box (very soft lazy-boy like chairs, thankfully). Before everyone is dismissed, the judge gives us all a lecture. He says (this is not verbatim)

‘I understand that you all took time out of your life to be here. I know a lot of you don’t want to be here, and have to continue to be here. I heard a story once, about a lawyer who was friends with Griffin Bell, an Attorney General who served under many Presidents of both parties. The lawyer friend asked Bell what he should tell his friends when they ask him ‘what is the best way to get out of jury duty?’ He said, without skipping a beat, that our country is founded on two boxes. One , the ballot box. The other, the jury box, and if you’re not willing to participate in either, then maybe you don't deserve to be a citizen of this great country.’ He said a lot more than that, and it wasn't as abrupt. I started to tear up, and was ashamed of myself for my little outburst.

I was humbled, and was tasting the leather of my shoe at that point. I haven’t served in the military like other family members have. I haven’t fought for the Allies, like family members have. I haven’t really done much for this country, except reap the benefits of our freedom. And when I think back to the Revolutionary War days, to Benjamin Franklin, to the Civil Rights Movement, to the current Presidential race, it makes me proud to be called an American. And Bell, and the judge is right. How much is it to ask of me to sit on a hard wooden bench for eight hours, with my rear end hanging off, when there were countless people who have gone through a lot more painful, courageous, horrifying and groundbreaking expieriences than this? All to make sure that we can be free, and we can be protected from those who intend to do us harm, and also to be protected from a judicial system that sometimes punishes people wrongly. It’s not that much to ask of us. And, on the upside, I get to sit in the cushioned chairs tomorrow.

and in Local News......

I was just saying to someone the other day that I sometimes miss bartending in Tucker. I like the small town atmosphere, where everybody knows each other, and the gossip spreads like wild fire. It can be very entertaining. I got a text early today from a friend telling me that someone had been shot at The Other Bar. I used to work there, and have spoken of the place a fews times here in my blog. My favorite post is THIS ONE. The text said that nobody knew he was shot, he went outside to puke, and then he was dead.

Later, on the evening news, I saw a couple no-gooders I know from the place talking about it, and also the owner. A friend was rushing him to the hospital thinking he had alcohol poisoning because he was puking up blood. A cop pulls him over and sees a bloody, slumped body in the back seat, the guy was pronounced dead at the hospital. One news channel said he was shot in the chest, another said in the stomach. Either way, seems to me (I’m no doctor but…), that if someone had a bullet wound in either place, it would be noticeable. Blood on his shirt maybe? A hole in his shirt? Would he really be sitting there guzzling brews and taking shots of tequila while everyone around, including himself, doesn’t happen to notice one teensy little detail like, um, say, he got shot!?!?????

I know all the employees, and am familiar with the regular crowd. They are not quite angelic (to say the least). It reeks of them covering either one, or all, of their arses. I really wouldn’t put it past them. That’s my take anyway.

I did enjoy seeing my old bar, and people I know on the boob-tube. That was high up on the entertainment-value scale for me. Here’s the link to the Fox 5 News video that shows both the bar I loved dearly, some crazy mofos I know, and actually a couple cops I know (including the precinct’s Sarge, who I dated for a minute). The station that aired my old boss talking had a way better report on it, but they didn’t post it in their video section- shame on them.

Needless to say, this is one of the moments where I am relieved to not be bartending in Tucker anymore.


The video link from Fox 5 is crappy. Here's a better link from Channel 46 News, and this has my old boss on it. It's a re-cap.

update:

Got the real story now (from both a cop friend and the owner). Very different than what the news said, and what the owner said on the news etc. but that was all for the sake of the investigation. Long story short, dude got shot in the parking lot during a drug deal. He got shot in the back of the head, so blood was coming out of his mouth in large ammounts- hence the “he was puking blood.” He was a hairy dude, so the gunshot was not immediately apparent. Both the guy who got shot, and the shooter, were not regulars in the place. (I can now replace ¼ of the humanity that I subtracted from that crew after hearing the real story.)

dying satellite

So, THIS Reuters article says that the U.S. will foot the bill if the satellite or any of it’s debris causes any damages. The article says:

“Ambassador Christina Rocca said that if efforts fail to strike the satellite with a missile while it is still in space, it was expected to make an ‘uncontrolled re-entry into the earth's atmosphere on or about March 6’.”

I wonder what the chances are of it “uncontrollably” landing on Ahmadinejad’s house?

#9 and Burlesque

(I think I want to word this differently...)

Great V.D. Day

I am stone cold sober right now, and completely high on life. I can feel my veins pumping, and I’m so awake at 2am that it’s insane (my normal bedtime is eleven-ish). Adrenaline? Epinephrine? Serotonin? Whatever, I’m stoked! I’ve been thoroughly amused, and creatively inspired tonight.

I wanted to see my friend’s band play, because it had been a long time. It was also one of their last shows. It was a late show for me, but I went anyway. I intended to only stay thirty minutes, and bolt. Turns out there was a burlesque show, with pin-up type chicks dancing partially nude. This struck my interest immediately, and I was spellbound. These chicks were not your typical “hot chick” types. They were naturally curvy, and one was a little on the heavy side, but you could cut the sensuality and sexual tension with a knife! It was so hot and ballsy and creative! I really commended them for their performance.

As my friend’s band starts playing, I notice, and hear that there is going to be some suspension going on. I watch as big metal hooks are pierced into three people’s chests. I HAD to stay for that. I called the babysitter (g-ma), asked for an extension, and explained why. (“Somebody is going to hang from the ceiling by hooks in his chest!!! I HAVE TO SEE THIS!!!”) Not an everyday occurrence. Also, girl and a guy are attached to each other, and create the tension themselves. They pulled backwards and balanced their bodies between the rope that was hooked onto them. The hanging guy ended up bleeding profusely, and couldn’t finish his act. It was a disappointment, but the couple came back on for an encore. It was pretty neat.

My friend’s band played a great set, I enjoyed seeing him in action. They rock. It was good to say hi again. I also met a new friend who seems cool. Just a great night overall.
I don’t get out much anyways, so my enthusiasm is probably heightened, but tonight was one for the books!


Also, I got showered with Valentine's day goodies "from" my baby boy this morning. It was such a good day!!

Is this for real?

If so, it's already shamefully funny, so what's up with the underroos?

Check this

10 wierd facts

I was tagged on myspace to complete this list. I had fun with these reminiscings and realizations, so thought I'd add it here too. (Tag, you're it, for anyone reading this)

1. I have a mild fear of stairs. Falling to my death on them, falling and hurting myself badly on them (2 weeks ago), and being chased up them (all you have to do is stand at the bottom while I am walking up and make it sound as if you are running after me and I will bolt to the nearest room and lock myself in it, thanx to my bro Paul)

2. I often talk in my sleep. I wake up still talking but can't shut that part of the brain off for a second, and can't prevent myself from finishing the sentence. So I wake up going "it's on the beach you a**hole!" and I'm like whoa, what was that all about?

3. One of my guilty pleasures is pork skins. It's embarassing for me to admit it, and to buy them ( I'm thinking "YES, I'm a big redneck…")

4. My childhood dream careers were fashion design and archeology. I wish I had remained with either one of those dreams. I find myself fascinated, once again, with both.

5. A friend of mine once threw about twenty bottle rockets into a bonfire, and I was among the 15 or so people who ran away leaving our wheelchair-bound paraplegic friend sitting five feet away from the fire. AND I love a good ol' fashioned bottlerocket fight.

6. I have this toothpaste thing. I can't stand toothpaste that foams up too much, but hate it when it's too pasty and feels like you're just smearing it around on your teeth. The toothpaste companies discontinue toothpaste so much that I end up in a perpetual state of finding my favorite toothpaste. Drives me nuts twice a day.

7. I often curse myself for my ability to see both sides of the equation. It leaves me a suffering piggy-in-the-middle because I try to please everybody. I should learn to say screw everyone else's P.O.V., It's all about me.

8. If I were forced to make the decision of sleeping with one of the presidential candidates (even if by now they've dropped out of the race), it would be…..this is so sick because they are all repugnant in their own special way……maybe based on looks (this is so sick, I'm picturing their sex face- eewww!) in this order…Romney, Huckabee, Biden. Based on testoserone levels…..I'd have to be blindfolded….Giuliani and McCain. Fred Thompson is so nasty I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. If Hilary weren't so bulldog-faced I'd say that I'd switch teams, it's that bad, but oh well. (here's the url to seeing what they all look like: http://youdecide08.foxnews.com/candidates/) Nasty!

9. I was never jealous of beautiful, buxom, have-it-all (such a myth) women until I hit about 25yrs old. I never envied "sexy" women until then. I didn't care about that. I don't watch VH1's '100 Sexiest Hollywood Bodies' because I know that it will make me feel inadequate and need to be changed, when I'm really awesome already. AND in all reality maybe 1% of women are perfect like that, and who wants to be wanted for purely physical worth anyways?

10. I know a lot of good music, but don't know the details. A good chunk of my musical knowledge lies in solely songs themselves. I know a song, but couldn't tell you the artist or album or name of the song. This comes from stealing my oldest brother's mixed cassette tapes after he moved out. Oh well, it's all about the music anyways, isn't it? (Thank you James for both my initiation to good music, and the influence to be open to all kinds of music)

kinda scary

Stumbled upon this video. I think it's worth listening to.

Jen warns me...

not to go too far with my newfound domesticity.


(A little insight on our conversation: I am expressing to her how I am becoming a little bit Suzie Homemaker and loving it- learning new recipes to cook, taking care of people etc..... and she warns not to go too far, that the moment I find myself with eyes full of tears watching Oprah- it's gone TOO FAR!!!!!!)

Here's my sign:

My piercing guy in N.Ireland was piercing me the first time (about 5 years ago); and we talked about N.America, and how he had only been to Canada, and we chatted about the place for a bit. He then added "I don't know what we ever did to them to deserve Celine Dion." Of course I cracked up, and any time I see/hear of her, I can't help but think about it. So, the other day, my son wakes up from his afternoon nap. My mom is in the living room watching Oprah. I'm changing his diaper and having floor time with him, and only semi-paying attention to the tv. It's a Celine Dion special. *GROAN* I say to him in my playful baby voice "What did we ever do to Canada to deserve Celine…"

It gets to this part where some girl in the audience lost her dad recently and "their song" is "Because You Loved Me" by her, and they used to slow dance to it etc… Celine sings it for her. Then (and Celine doesn't know this but) some video footage of one of her performances was given to Oprah by her husband. It's about the night her dad died. Celine went ahead and performed that night (saying she knew that was what her dad would've wanted her to do), but she was extremely fragile. It shows her singing and sobbing at the same time. She sings a line and then goes "uh-huh-huh-huh"- catching her breath- you know when you cry really hard and have hiccupy breaths……

I don't care who you are- if you have a ¼ of a heart in you, you would at least well up at the sight. Hands down you have to be a sociopath not to be touched by that. So yes, the Oprah show made me cry once, ONCE.

Upon wiping the quiet tears streaming from my eyes, I looked down and said to my boy "That BAD Celine Dion, going around and making people cry like that!"

To read or not to read...

There's some hippies on a plane in 1970 who want their drugs back because it sure is lonely without them.

I’ve been reading some bizarre stuff lately.

An example being “The Illuminatus! Trilogy.” I have got to finish this book! It is a book that I’ve owned for a few years now, but never picked it up long enough to stay interested. I’ve managed to get a couple hundred pages in, and am starting to finally get caught up in the story line. It's quite dramatic, but dern hard to read. The narrorator keeps changing places with others, and it’s based on a lot of crack-pot theories and conspiracies mixed in with mysticism- Rosicrusians, Masons etc… It is entertaining though.

I can’t stop wondering what Wilson and Shea were on when they wrote it. And wondering what the point of it all is. It's like reading "Uncle Tom's Cabin" or "Moby Dick" in the sense that it's something to chew on for posterity's sake. I have to admit, in my innermost self-proclaiming voice, that there are some mountains worth climbing. Three cheers for creativity, and the resonance that "I have read that" makes.

I dunno, it is a trudge though. I might just resolve myself to thinking it's not worth reading by me, kinda like Burroughs' "Naked Lunch"- sorry not interested. The 'I am king of the intellectual world' viewpoints, mind altering, and cruelty are just parts of an existence I wouldn't want to live in.

I'll keep at it for a little while longer. It is, after all, just fiction.