Lots of Monkeys

Well, our case was thrown out of court.

Turns out some new evidence turned up that did something legal or illegal or something in lawyerese.

So I got to meet some long time Washingtonians and listen to stories about the good old days. When milk came in glass bottles, when your parents, your friend’s parents, and your teachers could beat you, and when meat at mealtime was for special occasions. When the District had farmland all the way up to Florida Avenue, and there were electric streetcars you could ride for a nickel.

Interesting people, and I’m glad I got to meet them. Thankfully the case was thrown out before deliberations, so I never got the chance to hate any of them.

So. Jury Duty.

I get off the metro at Judiciary Square and immediately start walking towards the courthouse. It annoys me somewhat that I know where it is already. In the past four years I have mde this trip at least once a year.

You’re supposed to get a two year break, at least, that’s what I hear. But I haven’t served on a jury yet. I can’t seem to make it past selection. Last year was the first year I actually made it into a courtroom for the selection process.

I get into the building with no problems. I already know to put my keys and wallet into my bag so they can just xray that. My belt buckle trips the metal detector, as always, and the security guard wands me.

It’s my belt buckle, like I predicted, and I start walking towards the escalators. This year, they’re broken, like every other escalator in the city. I climb the new stairs to the third floor and check in.

At least this time, my check in time was ten-thirty. Last year, I had to check in at eight in the morning. Which was just as bad as going to work.

I’m sitting in the jurors’ lounge, and the guy at the table next to me is talking on his cell phone, underneath a large sign that says, “Cellular devices are not permitted in the jurors’ lounge.” I consider pointing out the sign to him, but then I remember I’m eating a granola bar underneath the “Please no eating & no drinking” sign.

Outside the window, sirens blare and the sun beats down from a clear blue sky. It’s supposed to be 80 degrees today. At least the air conditioning is on. I’ve had to live with keeping my window open overnight at my condo, since they haven’t switched the central air over to Summer.

The magazine rack is empty, which depresses me somewhat. Then again, there’s not much I want to read regarding current events.

On the television is a documentary on the Giant Panda.

I hear someone snoring. I don’t blame them.

The guy next to me gets off the phone, only for a minute. It rings and he looks at the number.

“Yes, commissioner?”

I don’t know if he’s serious or kidding.

I’m distracted as the snoring intensifies into full blown log sawing.

I hear my number through the snoring and I realize I have to line up to go to a case.

There’s a lot of lining up after you get called. You line up to go to the courtroom. There, the judge isn’t ready and you line up to go to another courtroom to sit and wait. Then you line up again to enter the courtoom. Then you enter and wait for your number to get called again.

It’s twelve forty-five and I’m called in front of the judge.

I mention that I have a friend in Law School whose papers I edit on occasion. There are no objections from either of the two atttorneys.

Looks like this year, I made it to the bonus round.

I have a wind up alarm clock that I really like. It’s simple.

Black metal body. White clock face with black hands and numbers. Tiny metal hammer that oscillates back and forth between two shiny metal bells.

It’s a wind up clock, so every night the clockwork gets five or six turns before I go to bed. The hammer runs off a separate spring, but it’s always wound up very tight.

The frequency of the sound that erupts from the clock is somewhere within the range of “Get your ass up now,” and “Painful between the eyes.”

I have heard it ring perhaps twice in the time I have owned it.

I wake up an hour before the clock ever rings. The alarm is primed to go. There is a small lever that restricts the movement of the hammer.

Every evening, I arm the clock by pushing that lever to the right. This frees the hammer to wreak all sorts of mayhem in the half inch space between bells.

Every morning, I wake up and push the lever to the left, restricting the movement of the lever. I can imagine the lever is pretty disappointed about this. All wound up and nowhere to go.

At this point, it is about 5:45, maybe 6:00 and I get out of bed. When I start getting dressed for work around 6:45, I hear an impotent “ding” from the clock.

I think it’s the best alarm clock I’ve ever owned.

I saw the Episode III film to comic book translation in Borders the other day. I read it all in about half an hour.

This was the most efficient manner in which to steal money from George Lucas and a large soulless corporation at the same time. It was also the most efficient manner in which to complete my understanding of the Star Wars movies without actually having to watch Episode III.

You see, after Episodes I and II, I’m not really looking forward to III.

Oh, and before I continue:

One word, which I will choose carefully so as to remain spoiler free: Midichlorians

I know that Episode III has potential to be the good one. The dark one, where important people die and others are reborn. It’s supposed to be tragic, the bridge to Episode IV, A New Hope. I’m not too concerned about spoiling myself about what’s going to happen. I already know the main points.

Lots of Jedi will die. Our angsty Anakin will become Lord Vader. Chancellor Palpatine will be revealed as the Dark Lord of the Sith and rise to become Emperor.

As far as the comic goes, it was an interesting read, some good plot development that answers a few questions from the first two episodes. It does, however, contain only one instance of the aforementioned, “M” word.

One thing though, the action scenes are very brief in the comic. Seemed like they only lasted for six panels at a time. I’m fairly certain that they did this on purpose so that you would have to pay money at a movie theater to see, “the good stuff.”

I’ll watch it at some point, but it’s not going to be high on my list. Besides, I’ll be in Vegas.

Julie and Dan came over the other day to install a clock and a shelf for me in my condo. The clock is this iron monstrosity that hangs relatively freely from the wall, and has a clock face on both sides.

Dan came over with a gyroscopic laser level, which is a very neat and useful toy tool which I am very glad he bought otherwise I would want one. He also brought a cordless drill, a member of the power tools family of ManToys which I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting.

I positioned it (well, I picked the place, but Dan actually put the thing in) so I can see what time it is when I walk into my condo, and wherever I am from the living room.

The shelf is this light wood piece that is convenient for me to place my house keys, car keys, camera, wallet, handkerchief, bike keys, office keys, phone, notebook, pen, Hipster PDA, bills that I need to look at, iPod, headphones, and Barrel Man.

Getting both of those items installed makes me realize there is a whole other subset of toys that I find both unfamiliar and alluring.