[Remember: Yes, I do tend to wallow in the occasional pity-party.]
Sometimes I wonder if I'm living in a strange parallel get-me-outta here Universe with this Mr. Mark Twain guy...or if I'm in some terrible nightmare with his alter-ego, a one Sir Edgar Allan Poe. In any case, this Twain guy's getting creepier and more annoying all the time!
I couldn't sleep much last night in anticipation of a day today of Jury Duty. Yes, I was called upon to contribute my non extensive understanding of all things legal, moral, ethical and/or ought-to-be and help decide the fate of some poor soul who has been either:
1) wishing and wishing that he hadn't done sum'n that he shouldn'a done and now is having to pay the piper with to-be-decided upon time periods of his life locked up with people whose sole purpose in life is to make his more miserable....
2) or (deep breath so I might continue)... some poor soul who is just trying to get back some fraction of some $ from someone who wronged him but in the process is having to single handedly support an attorney, the attorney's one wife, two dogs, three fish and four generations of said attorney's offspring.
Anyway, I digress. I was trying to let you know that I was SO excited about this Jury Duty prospect that I could barely sleep all night long for the joy of being called upon to serve as a much-wanted and useful citizen. Thus while wide awake I determined to find out what was up with Mr. Twain and the poor 5 captains unfortunate enough to be in authority over him for 3 long months traveling over all parts of Europe and the Holy Land.
And do you know in turn what this Mr. Twain had the nerve to taunt me with?! My blogging! Yes, back 500 years ago when he was pompously and without sea sickness (grrrr) sailing by the Graces of God towards the beauty of Europe, he took the time to make me feel really unsure about my blogging skills and goals!
"At certain periods it becomes the dearest ambition of a man to keep a faithful record of his performances in a book; and he dashes at this work with an enthusiasm that imposes on him the notion that keeping a journal is the veriest pastime in the world, and the pleasantest. But if he only lives twenty-one days, he will find out that only those rare natures that are made up of pluck, endurance, devotion to duty for duty's sake, and invincible determination may hope to venture upon so tremendous an enterprise as the keeping of a journal and not sustain a shameful defeat."
AND not much later on....
"If you wish to inflict a heartless and malignant punishment upon a young person" (that could be me...I'm not that old.) "pledge him to keep a journal a year."
How does he do that? How does he know exactly what's going on in my and his contemporaries' minds and know how to so quickly dash our fondest hopes and expectations while keeping himself so free of the flinging mud?! And look at this! If you think I am exaggerating about the Edgar Allan Poe allusion, well, read this next macabre bit from his Ch IV narrative!
"Several times the photographer of the expedition brought out his transparent pictures and gave us a handsome magic-lantern exhibition. His views were nearly all of foreign scenes, but there were one or two home pictures among them. He advertised that he would "open his performance in the after cabin at 'two bells' (nine P.M.) and show the passengers where they shall eventually arrive"--which was all very well, but by a funny accident the first picture that flamed out upon the canvas was a view of Greenwood Cemetery!"
OK, OK, now this is the part which convinces me that he knew very well that I was among those whom he taunted! For not may paragraphs shy of wrapping up his Ch IV, he throws this in:
"We also had a mock trial. No ship ever went to sea that hadn't a mock trial on board. The purser was accused of stealing an overcoat from stateroom No. 10. A judge was appointed; also clerks, a crier of the court, constables, sheriffs; counsel for the State and for the defendant; witnesses were subpoenaed, and a jury empaneled after much challenging. The witnesses were stupid and unreliable and contradictory, as witnesses always are. The counsel were eloquent, argumentative, and vindictively abusive of each other, as was characteristic and proper. The case was at last submitted and duly finished by the judge with an absurd decision and a ridiculous sentence."
[Technical Stuff: I lament that I have even given Mr. Twain the satisfaction of quoting him so much as in my entry today. But I fear you would not grasp the full significance of what I say if I wasn't backing it up with very cold hard evidence!]
At least he left me the dignity, for the time being, of his referring to a Trial by Judge, and not a Trial by Jury. So, after very little sleep I arose this morning, downed a gallon of good strong coffee and hurried over to the Court House where I knew I would be appreciated!
And I left disconsolate...
For, after handing out 50 numbered, gavel-shaped cardboard fans to "unappreciates" other potential jurors continuing on with the selection process, men and women who inmediately cursed and lamented the fact that they were not yet being recused, I and about 5 other shame-faced rejects headed home... a mere 30 minutes into the morning....
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