Or rather, I did. With jury duty.
My coworker Pam said she served the full two-week term without getting called for voire dire (fancy Latin meaning, roughly, "jury selection") once. I was called for it before noon yesterday, my first day. And despite being number 22 of the group of 24 called (the first 12 are automatically seated for questioning, and then if they get the boot, the back 12 serve as replacements), I'm on the thing as an alternate. So much for the hours of Veronica Mars-watching I had planned for my time.
Anyhoodle, jury instructions and such pretty much prevent me from sharing anything more, although I will say this: The $2.80 veggie burger served in the Ben Franklin Cafeteria (Seriously. Ol' Ben would be so proud if he knew) on the 16th floor of the courthouse is not as bad as one might think.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Commercial Interruption
OK, I will stop harping on the writers' strike for a moment ...
So, Kyle is promoting a big show tonight featuring one of his all-time music heroes, Eric Bachmann. And while it is sure to be awesome (Bachmann, performing for several years as Crooked Fingers, and before that, as a member of the seminal indie band Archers of Loaf, has this gravely voice that digs down under listeners' skin until it pierces their hearts, an experience that is much more pleasant than one might think. And, oh yeah, he does the best Prince cover I've ever heard.), I think we both are pretty anxious about it. You see, Kyle's put down a pretty big guarantee on this thing, meaning he needs about 50 people to come to this show, a daunting goal considering a.) It's Tuesday, b.) The cover is $12.
But perhaps the scarier thought is that Eric and another bandmate might be spending the night at our house. And that possibility has prompted a cleaning frenzy over here at Friendship Village. There has been sweeping, dusting, de-cluttering, dishes-doing, animal hair removal, and shortly, fridge-cleaning and a total household vacuuming in our effort to trick him into thinking that we don't live in filth. And by "we," I mostly mean "me," as anyone who has checked out my desk at work can attest.
So, anyway, as part of the cleaning madness, I decided to clean that daggone mesh screen in the hood of the stove, even though I totally know it is one of those things that only I would notice. Man, was that thing nast-tay. It was brown, like the brown of an acorn, of milk chocolate, of certain types of poo. And, also thanks to years of neglect, it was rubber cement-sticky. I decided to let my fingers do the walking, and used dear ol' Google to find a cure for the gross. Happily, I quickly found a site that had what I was looking for: A number of postings on different screen-cleaning techniques. Most suggested the use of harsh chemicals, which, although I am no fan of such things, I would have totally employed, had that not required I make a trip to the store to buy 'em.
Because, duh, I am lazy.
So, after a brief -- and failed -- experiment trying to bake the grease off in the oven, I tried another suggestion, and I soaked the thing in a mixture of OxyClean and hot water in our kitchen sink. Man, I have no idea what was in that shit, but it worked amazingly well. The water bubbled and fizzed and turned ever more brown as the screen came clean. Within 30 minutes -- and with no scrubbing -- it was was a shiny silver color and no longer sticky to the touch. Magic.
So, yeah, my new plan for life involves scrubbing down every surface with the stuff, including my own skin. I can only imagine the wonders it will bring.
So, Kyle is promoting a big show tonight featuring one of his all-time music heroes, Eric Bachmann. And while it is sure to be awesome (Bachmann, performing for several years as Crooked Fingers, and before that, as a member of the seminal indie band Archers of Loaf, has this gravely voice that digs down under listeners' skin until it pierces their hearts, an experience that is much more pleasant than one might think. And, oh yeah, he does the best Prince cover I've ever heard.), I think we both are pretty anxious about it. You see, Kyle's put down a pretty big guarantee on this thing, meaning he needs about 50 people to come to this show, a daunting goal considering a.) It's Tuesday, b.) The cover is $12.
But perhaps the scarier thought is that Eric and another bandmate might be spending the night at our house. And that possibility has prompted a cleaning frenzy over here at Friendship Village. There has been sweeping, dusting, de-cluttering, dishes-doing, animal hair removal, and shortly, fridge-cleaning and a total household vacuuming in our effort to trick him into thinking that we don't live in filth. And by "we," I mostly mean "me," as anyone who has checked out my desk at work can attest.
So, anyway, as part of the cleaning madness, I decided to clean that daggone mesh screen in the hood of the stove, even though I totally know it is one of those things that only I would notice. Man, was that thing nast-tay. It was brown, like the brown of an acorn, of milk chocolate, of certain types of poo. And, also thanks to years of neglect, it was rubber cement-sticky. I decided to let my fingers do the walking, and used dear ol' Google to find a cure for the gross. Happily, I quickly found a site that had what I was looking for: A number of postings on different screen-cleaning techniques. Most suggested the use of harsh chemicals, which, although I am no fan of such things, I would have totally employed, had that not required I make a trip to the store to buy 'em.
Because, duh, I am lazy.
So, after a brief -- and failed -- experiment trying to bake the grease off in the oven, I tried another suggestion, and I soaked the thing in a mixture of OxyClean and hot water in our kitchen sink. Man, I have no idea what was in that shit, but it worked amazingly well. The water bubbled and fizzed and turned ever more brown as the screen came clean. Within 30 minutes -- and with no scrubbing -- it was was a shiny silver color and no longer sticky to the touch. Magic.
So, yeah, my new plan for life involves scrubbing down every surface with the stuff, including my own skin. I can only imagine the wonders it will bring.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
What I've been doing
Sorry for being lame and quiet 'n' all. I'm here, at work (at 12:30 a.m.) on election night, which should mark the apex of my lameness.
Meaning tomorrow, I should be un-lame, right? Here's hoping.
A quick story:
OK, so a good portion of my night tonight was spent waiting -- SO MUCH WAITING! -- for elected officials to climb out of their fancy hotel rooms and into the fancy hotel ballroom to celebrate being reelected. I was supposed to leave, to return to work and write my story, by 9:30 p.m. By about 9:15 p.m., I started getting nervous, and began pestering every city staffer I knew to see if they would help me connect with my office-seekers.
No dice.
They finally showed their faces at 10 p.m., said a few things about a city full of optimism and such, thanked a laundry list of supporters, etc. Meanwhile, it was 10:30 p.m. Shit.
I had to get out of there.
So, I busted ass, ran to the parking garage, got my car out and sped down the city streets, going nearly 50 mph in a 35 mph zone. At a certain point, as I zoomed under traffic light as it turned red, I began to think I should maybe slow down.
At almost the exact moment that thought made its way through my caffeine- and carb-addled mind, I noticed a car stopped at the light I was approaching. More precisely, I noticed the police car stopped at the light I was approaching.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I slowly pulled up alongside the car. A light flashed in my peripheral vision. It was the driver, trying to get my attention. He motioned for me to roll down my window. I did it.
"Are your headlights on?" he asked.
Uhhh ... Happily, they were, at least according to my dashboard.
"Yep, they should be -- do I have a headlight out?" I asked.
The lights were on, but looked dim, he said. That's probably because I have a cheap Korean car, I replied.
To that, he made a confused sidelong look at me and his fellow officer, and then, as the light changed, let me go.
Whew.
The end.
Meaning tomorrow, I should be un-lame, right? Here's hoping.
A quick story:
OK, so a good portion of my night tonight was spent waiting -- SO MUCH WAITING! -- for elected officials to climb out of their fancy hotel rooms and into the fancy hotel ballroom to celebrate being reelected. I was supposed to leave, to return to work and write my story, by 9:30 p.m. By about 9:15 p.m., I started getting nervous, and began pestering every city staffer I knew to see if they would help me connect with my office-seekers.
No dice.
They finally showed their faces at 10 p.m., said a few things about a city full of optimism and such, thanked a laundry list of supporters, etc. Meanwhile, it was 10:30 p.m. Shit.
I had to get out of there.
So, I busted ass, ran to the parking garage, got my car out and sped down the city streets, going nearly 50 mph in a 35 mph zone. At a certain point, as I zoomed under traffic light as it turned red, I began to think I should maybe slow down.
At almost the exact moment that thought made its way through my caffeine- and carb-addled mind, I noticed a car stopped at the light I was approaching. More precisely, I noticed the police car stopped at the light I was approaching.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I slowly pulled up alongside the car. A light flashed in my peripheral vision. It was the driver, trying to get my attention. He motioned for me to roll down my window. I did it.
"Are your headlights on?" he asked.
Uhhh ... Happily, they were, at least according to my dashboard.
"Yep, they should be -- do I have a headlight out?" I asked.
The lights were on, but looked dim, he said. That's probably because I have a cheap Korean car, I replied.
To that, he made a confused sidelong look at me and his fellow officer, and then, as the light changed, let me go.
Whew.
The end.
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