502

Wow…so I broke the 500 views barrier. I guess that I should be, …celebrating? Maybe I should run for President? My popularity is just booming, someone should throw me a party. Five Hundred and Two (looks more impressive spelled out) times I’ve been eyeballed, yet very few comments, I AM so inspiring. Yet, when you look at it that way, it seems a little creepy. People just staring at me, objectifying me. Hey, my eyes are up here! Oh, …maybe this can qualifies for my “stalker”? Most of the women and some of the men I know have at one time or another had a stalker (and no, I am not talking about me ) of some (some scary, some creepy, others just amusing) kind.. Which outside of being a terrible commentary on today’s society, always made me feel rejected. That no one ever wants to stalk me.


502 views, I wonder if Levi’s will make a jean after me. I have the 502 blues…..

Jury Duty a long tale

I was called in for Jury Duty. Received the initial letter in the mail, I sent in the confirmation and received a reminder notice on when to show up. I really don’t have a great deal of issues with Jury Duty. My Corporate Mother will pay for my absence and upon return I will pay for the time I was gone with twice as much work. No, no, not a real issue. But after all, it is a civic responsibility, “an obligation and an honor” as they put it. The problem arose when I WENT to fulfill this honor. Anyway, they send this cute little brochure with FAQ, what to expect, the what’s and how’s of the Jury Duty experience. Which had a link to their web site, that told you the exact same (?? wtf !! ??) information. A deep and dark foreboding of things to come. And surprisingly it said that you are allowed to bring laptops and cell phone. Well as long as you didn’t look up any info on any case you may be assigned to or take any photos or movies. Part of the info was that this day would be more of a Jury “Selection” than actual “Duty”. We would be filling out assorted paperwork, watching an hour long movie on our responsibilities, and awaiting to be called. If called, we would be interviewed by a pair of Lawyers and speak to a Judge. If selected you would be asked to come back the next day to actually serve your “Duty” and be on a case. Otherwise one would just sit there and wait until they dismiss you. Something to totally look forward to. Excitement that give one goose bumps.

It was Wednesday, a Wednesday like many other Wednesdays this month. The day started off hot, 87 degree by 9am and was predicted to hit 94 degrees. I noticed on the instruction that they ask you to enter the Court House by the back entrance, where you will pass thru a metal detector and then proceed up to the fourth floor. They also mentioned that there was “limited” parking at the courthouse. Limited parking…..an understatement. Now, you are requiring people to attend Jury Duty, forcing them to come from across the county which incorporated 772 square miles 21 towns and 4 cities. Yet you do not have the parking at the NEW courthouse to accommodate the people who are being “honored” by this civic duty. GREAT planning! Well, that in hind sight, seemed to be the least of the issues to raise its ugly head. On this Wednesday I awoke late from my normal routine, not having to be in with my Corporate Mother at “O”dark thirty. I sat and ate a breakfast that I never get on week days. Enjoyed the sounds of the birds off my back deck and noted how peaceful and calm the morning seemed without the early rush to work commute. The ride down was uneventful. So I followed the instruction, actually found parking, and proceeded up to the fourth floor. Standing in line, the wait wasn’t obnoxiously long, but long enough to be a wait. As I progressed in line, I came to the door to enter and sign in. There on the door was a piece of paper hastily scotched taped to the wall that had hand written in marker on it “No Short Pants”. Entering, I was greeted by this official looking women who instructed me to find my name and insure all the information was right. “Excuse me mam, I’m wearing shorts” “What? Those are shorts, well shorts are unacceptable clothing for men” she said in a very rude tone. “Well, it would have been nice if that was mentioned somewhere”, I calmly responded. “It’s in the brochure” she snorted back. “No, No it’s not”, catching her in a blatant lie. (Now, I have to put in a disclaimer here. I was wearing shorts, but they were “nice” shorts. I hate to actually admit it, but I was so contemporary casual dressed, that they could have put me on the cover of an L.L. Bean catalog. Kaki cargo shorts down to my knees, a cotton twill short sleeve collar button shirt and ankle high ultralite hikers. All were clean and even pressed.) “Well, they are totally unacceptable” she snapped becoming increasingly rude and short. “Well, I don’t really understand that”, I simply replied. Looking around, some of the people there were wearing worn jeans and stained Tshirts, “if I wore a skirt like the women in front of me, would I then be appropriately dressed?” “Well, Well, …” “Or maybe a sun dress”, pointing at this very sweet women wearing a spaghetti strapped sundress that was low cut and very “revealing“ on top and so short you could bearly call it a dress. (Now don’t get me wrong, that outfit she was wearing definitely worked for me. Matter of fact I had already decided that she was going to be my Jury Duty Buddy, and I would be sitting next to her) Using it as only a comparison to how much bear skin I was showing. “Obviously that’s acceptable”. “Well, well, men wearing shorts are not acceptable, I didn’t make these rule, the judge did” . “But chances are, I won’t even see the judge today’. “It doesn’t matter, the judge doesn’t want men to be wearing shorts” she spat out with pure vehement.. “Fine” still being calm and not pissed. yet. “It would have been nice to have been informed of that before I drove the half hour to get here. So what about today, I have a full time job”. “YOUR NOT GETTING ANY CREDIT FOR TODAY (no pay for me), YOU are inappropriately dressed. YOU NEED TO LEAVE! That’s YOUR problem with your job”, she loudly proclaimed. “Fine”, thinking to myself that this is a prime example of why people don’t have faith in the American justice system. As I turn there was a court cop standing there who pointed to the elevator and said “elevator is that way". “Thanks” I said, not think too much about it. As I approached the elevator, the doors opened and a few more prospective jurors exited, one man wearing shorts. “Good luck” I commented as I boarded the elevator with the cop coming in behind me. The ride was short back to the first floor. The doors opened and two more cops were standing there, “hey, see you later”, I said walking by them. As I was walking out, it slowly dawned on me that all three cops were following me out. That they were actually escorting me out of the court house. That I was considered a threat for wearing shorts. What kind of syphilis fester brained, bigoted, dickhead of a judge has the nerve to decide what is fashionable correct for a juror to wear. Especially one that considers scantily clad women and men wear distressed dirty jeans acceptable but men in shorts not. What ever happen to “Impartial” justice. Sitting there making a six plus digit salary with his rich ass lawyer friends and political scumbag connections. Deciding that the little people should dress according to his weighty opinion. Did he forget that we the people put him there to determine justice not to be a fashionesta. Especially a guy that sits around in a black robe all day. Only some lonely StarWar Sith geek or some delusional SCA follower would believe that is fashionable. So if no shorts were the policy, then it should have been printed in the brochure and not some last minute whim tacked to the door. If I knew that was the policy I would have came dress as I do at work, Dior and all.

So that is how I got kicked out of Jury Duty. And will have to repeat the whole wonderful process again.

July 4

Musings from Blandinton, Southwest of Dulless, East of Boreville, in the heart of the State of Apathy.

Midweek holiday are somewhat sad. It is a day off from work, but it misses the point, in as holidays go. Oh and Yes, I was invited to a picnic this year. So I guess you may say in that category things are looking up. The work situation is something different. Still too early to write about it, and I am trying to be cautiously (or is that caustically?) optimistic. And all in all I can still say that I have a job, YEA (dripping with sarcasm, distain and disgust), and I can keep my Corporate Whore status, YEA!

So, I decided that as my famous rice salad (6 different rice, chopped veggies, corn, peas, and a killer homemade herbal vinaigrette dressing) melds flavors in the fridge I would revisit my poor neglected blogosphere. Sitting here, wondering what ever happen to the days of blogable wonder and missing that sweet nectar punch that an old girlfriend use to make. I look back and reminisce on July 4^th of the past……yea right, I’m not quite dead yet…Fuck that!  There will be plenty of time for that when I am old, Alzheimer's ridden and senile, a future to look forward to. I plan to rock-n-roll this picnic. Purely an adult affair with no (praise the powers that be) kids under foot. Now don’t go hate’n, kids are great, but sometimes you need a break. And to think, no worries on who’s drinking the adult beverages. So to all who are celebrating anything, may your day be full of happiness, song, and fun. For tomorrow is another day to die.