Blogging Jury Duty

I am this very moment sitting in a high school like cubicle with a government funded Dell laptop plunked in front of me... because I'm at JURY DUTY! Yes my loves, I am fulfulling my obligation as an American and avid people watcher, by sitting in an oversized, urine stained seat and trying my best trying not to pass out after a "clever" move to drink 9,000 martinis last night, and finish the evening off with a 4 am helping of McDonald's "chicken selects" (which, strangely enough, when burped, tastes exactly like a Ball Park frank.)

The Manhattan jury pool is something else, let me tell you. No typical looking folks here. Everyone is either unbelievably attractive/well put together, or wearing a suit made out of their own filth. Either buffed to a high gloss, or morbidly obese and wearing chalupas for shoes. No suburban looking folks, clearly... I fall somewhere in between. My clothes are definitely clean, but my hair is shellacked down to my scalp, and my face has that grey pallor that only a "Pre Jury Duty" party can induce. Also, my shoes are so tight, that I'm pretty sure one toe just exploded, leaving my foot in a blood-shoe shaped like a tassled J. Crew flat.

Anyway, more on jury duty later... it's been fairly lackluster, although there was a Luke Wilson lookalike, and someone named "Jayson Blair" was called out... could it be THE Jayson Blair? I'll keep you posted, shiterally.

DAY 2 UPDATE:


The only way jury duty could get any better: If it was run by cats.

You guys, I am obsessed with jury duty. If jury duty could be my job, God knows I would do it day in/day out.

I got smart today, and got all fancied up for my fellow jurors: I mean, why sit all day staring at people in a pair of jeans when you can do it in a prom dress, right?


Guilty! Of looking beautiful...

I brought a book today too: Erica Jong's "Fear of Flying", which I knew was a bit saucy, but had no idea as to the sort of pornography I was toting around with me and reading in pubic. Needless to say, it's the best book ever, as it makes me feel like a 37-year-old divorcee whose boning an elementary school P.E. teacher. And if you don't know what a "Z.F." is, read here. (By clicking that link you agree that you're 18 and over, or the biggest slut in your middle school.)

I followed up my leisurely day of reading pornography on the company dime with a delightful trip to MOMA to see the new Edward Munch exhibit. If you're in New York, you must go. Munch's work is kind of like what posters at "Hot Topic" would look like if it was around in 1895.


"Self-Portrait" Edward Munch, 1896.

And here's the dorkiest thing I'll ever admit to doing: While looking at a desolate painting of skeleton faces walking down a street in Oslo, I cued up Gary Jules' "Mad World" on my iPod. It was the first time in 6 years I remembered how to... feel.


Your assignment this weekend is to stare at this picture for 2 hours and figure out what the fuck this guy is talking about. Or even just the phrase "Gamut Point."