Addendum: The court wants you, Baltimore citizen!

Oh I totally forgot, someone sitting behind me in the courtroom let out this amazing fart. I'd say the duration was around 5 seconds. And it was just after the crazy thunderstorm had passed, so everyone heard it. V.v.V

The court wants you, Baltimore citizen!

Today was my first time serving jury duty. About 800 people showed up to the courthouse, all of them pretty annoyed and resigned to their fate. When I arrived, the people in charge seemed lenient; after everyone signed in, we could have 10 min breaks at any time, an hour lunch break, and the pièce de résistance: the $15 the secretary gave you for showing up. In cash. I decided to go into the "quiet room" where I found a ridiculously comfy sofa and hooked up my laptop. The internet was free. I relaxed, considering that everyone I had talked to who did jury duty never got past the waiting room. So I thought things were going darn well, until I heard the announcement at 11 am. My number was called. About 300 of us had to report upstairs to the courtroom. We had to stand up when the judge sat down and swear in, right hand raised, cross my heart and hope to die. Almost 5 hours later, we were still sitting on those hard benches, sweating, praying that we wouldn't be selected to the panel -- the folks who were selected sat at the jury bench with sad, sad faces. They were like lambs heading to slaughter. The trial was for a gang murder, and the judge said it would take at least 5 days to get through all the witness testimony. The charges: first degree murder and 2 counts of conspiracy. Once the jury panel was filled, the defense or the prosecutor would inevitably "respectfully challenge" a seating, and they had to call names all over again to fill the spot. Basically what happens is if you're white, the defense wants you out, and if you're black, the prosecutor wants you out. Me, being neither, could potentially fall either way. It turned out to be a lot like Russian roulette. The judge called each of us to his bench to ask questions, and of course, I was terrified. The person on my left and my right were selected to the jury. But thank heavens, I was spared. The rest of us rejoiced when the judge let us go home "early," since we had missed our lunch break and an epic thunderstorm that made the courtroom lights flicker. So the moral of the day is: murder sux ass. V.v.V

Graduation + Outside + Heat = Fail

The day of my college graduation, May 27, was the first hottest day to arrive this year. 93 degrees outside, 130 degrees measured on the blacktop. And it was held out on a lacrosse field, with no shade whatsoever (oh, except for the tent under which the professors sat). We wore black, plastic gowns. At least three kids that I know of passed out, and I'm sure some of those poor grandmas and grandpas almost died. My parents left two hours early--they were literally like, fuck this shit. President Ron Daniels, please, did you not see all the old folks sitting on the metal bleachers (yes, fucking bleachers) who paid $200,000 for their child to stagger across in the sweltering sun to shake your hand? Next time, buy a fucking tarp to cover the field, or better yet, have it at the Convention Center like you guys were planning to do, but mysteriously gave up on. I say, cut back on the free booze for the faculty and all the obsessive-compulsive gardening, and make graduation day a little less like hell. V.v.V

Snow + Haiku = Snowku

Fluffy cold flakes flai

into the window, my face

Front stairs are snow foodz

Two guys wading loud

one guy grabs the other's arm

Rebuttal; moar shouts

Lamp post standing there

its head icicled, turning

with the snow-ass wind

Snow snow snow snow snow

sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks

Desist desist de

Catch-21

So here's the problem. I'm finally turning 21. Okay, so I still need to wait a couple months, but it's all good. As a typical college kid, I am ecstatic that I can finally buy my own alcohol. Wait. Shit, I have to buy my own?! Damn. I am going to miss all those free drinks. And I'll probably be hitting up some bars on my birthday - yeah, some pretty heavy anticlimactic shit will go down, I'm guessing. The funny thing is my birthday falls on the Monday after my school's spring fair, well-known for its beer garden and other cuteness. Yeah. But I'll also be 21 in time for a lab conference - yet, alas, I'll have to buy my own drinks. There is also another conundrum: I'm 99% sure my parents think the legal drinking age is 18. So I can't be like, "I can finally go to bars and buy drinks, Mom!" Because then, she would most certainly ask, "Then what the hell were you doing at that so-and-so bar you told me you visited two years ago? And when you came home drunk two months ago? And last Tuesday night?!!!" Yes, drinking patterns made obvious are part of the territory that comes with living with your parents (I consider myself a friendly parasite). Yeah, yeah I know my whining is pretty lame, and I am thankful that I have the chance to even turn 21, much less buy alcohol. Either way I'll still be puking in the morning... V.v.V