Profunksticated

My day in jury duty turned out to be a hell of a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.

I was in the jury pool for a medical negligence case involving what the plaintiff alleged is a botched gastric bypass procedure. The defendant, to my surprise, was a doctor who is a member of the same practice that my wife went to for a similar — and successful — procedure in 2005.

“There’s no way I’m going to serve on this jury if I’m called,” I thought.

In trying to pick an eight-member jury – six members and two alternates – several people were excused for various reasons. Then I was called to sit in the box.

I was about to be surprised a second time. The judge said to me in open court that he thought he knew me. I told him that was possible because I had worked for the local newspaper as a reporter based in Camden. I gave the judge the dates I worked there. Then the judge told the opposing counsels that he and I had a past professional relationship, but would allow me to be seated as a possible juror.

He then asked if I would have responded to any of the qualifying questions asked earlier potential jurors. I said “Yes,” then approached the bench. The judge said to me that he recalled I covered the county government and that he at the time was the counsel to the county’s governing body. I nodded, and said, “That’s right.” But his face was still unfamiliar to me.

I told the judge and the lawyers the doctor performed a similar surgery on my wife. At that point, the judge excused me due to my connection to the doctor and his practice. The plaintiff’s lawyer smiled and asked me, “Did you write nice things about them?” To which the judge interjected, “Sometimes.” I smiled as I walked away.

As I left the courtroom, I looked at the judge’s name on the door, the light bulb went on, and I finally remembered the guy.

The judge was once part of the political machine that has run the county for decades. Not that unusual when you consider that the installation of judges, whether by elected officials (re: the President appointing members of the Supreme Court), or by voters, is an inherently political process. Once they’re on the bench, however, they are supposed to rise above politics and rule based on the law.

When I told The Spouse about my day in court, she told me it was one of the doctor’s partners who actually performed her surgery. She initially consulted with the defendant, however. No matter, the judge still would likely have excused me.

Another weird thing: The plantiff had her surgery done in December 2002. The Spouse had hers performed in December 2005.

Microscopic world, I’ll tell you.

More stuff:

I’m scheduled for Jury Duty in Camden, New Jersey on Tuesday. The courts in NJ are giving me another chance to show up. I was scheduled to report on the same day in February, but I tried to get out of it by telling them I work out of state and to travel to NJ would be a financial hardship. (OK, not that much of a hardship, but you know….) I had forgotten about the summons for a few weeks, so I made the request to be excused in early February.

No dice, they responded, all but saying, “Show your butt here on Feb. 24.” Well I didn’t get the response until a day or two before and I was here in the DMV. I didn’t show.

The courts, in their wisdom, then told me to show up March 24. They added that if I didn’t report on the new date, I’d have to stand before a judge and tell them why I didn’t show up twice.

The last time I reported was in 2002. I was in a jury pool for two cases – on a drug case, a couple of guy charged with selling crack near a school; the other was a civil case where the family of a man who died in an apartment fire was suing the apartment owners for negligence. I wasn’t picked for either.

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I have a question: Is it good form to re-pop the unpopped kernels in a microwave popcorn bag? I don’t know about you, but I hate seeing those wasted kernels at the bottom of every bag and seeing them go to waste.

Call me weird, but I feel like those poor corn kernels missed their callings simply because the heat didn’t make them pop, but I never do. I should start trying to re-pop those kernels.

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And to top things, off, The Spouse is running for a seat on the school board in our NJ town. The election is April 21. The term is three years. She’s one of four candidates vying for three open seats. How it works is that one-third of the nine-member board is elected each year.

She’s told she may be the first former teacher ever to serve on the board. My beloved will be following in a proud family tradition. You see, my mother served on the same board for 15 years. Mom was first elected in the spring of 1977, my senior year of high school, too late to do me any good. Had she run a year earlier, I could have used some major leverage up in that spot.

As you may know, The Spouse was forced to retire from a classroom teaching position in the local high school due to a permanent back injury inflicted on her by a student. So she’s trying to go about her mission in another way. I ask that you pray for her successful candidacy.

Got word Friday that the IT firm I work for had to let a few people go. Reason: The economy, stupid!

I believe this is my first time as a survivor. For those of us in my group who weren’t shown the door, we were told today we’re looking at two week furloughs without pay and salary raises capped at 3%. At least those are the cost-cutting measures affecting old Pro. Others were hit a little harder in terms of perks and expense allowances.

And oh yeah, no more free coffee or soda.

These austerity measures will continue through December, as the owners and management review the books on a month-to-month basis. The partner in charge of my department told us in a subsequent meeting that we’ll have to perservere and that we’ll get through this.

Pro feels a little differently. Having been through this before, I have to wonder. My gig is safe, but for how long? What say you all as to what Pro’s next move should be?

I sometimes on my gig spend a lot of time and reams of paper printing a proposal draft that goes thousands of pages and takes several hours with a few paper jams thrown in.

Other times I reformat a 4,000-line Excel document over two days or open hundreds of Word and Adobe files over several hours to mark whether they have comments from reviewers. And then there is the responsibility of riding herd on the muckety-mucks to ensure they either make meetings or deadlines.

Because of my background as an editor and writer, I want to hate with a passion these administrative tasks associated with my position as a proposal coordinator. But I can’t, once I consider that I have a gig. And a halfway decent paying one at that, when many don’t.

I found some stuff on line today that makes me think, “There but for the grace of God go I.” These are stories of guys about my age who were in high-flying jobs but were either downsized or have lost their homes.

Baby boomers, especially those like me who are from the boom’s tail end, are up against it. That’s why I stay in the DMV, where I can quickly make a move elsewhere in the nation’s capital region if my current firm decides to show me the door. I call it my personal form of — to use a favorite Corporate America term — Risk Management.

I should be scared in this economy, but I’m not. I was shown the door twice during the 1990s boom. And then again in 2007, two years before Great Depression II. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Hence my penchant for managing risk.

Still, I feel for these folks who never had the ax fall on them.

Here’s a guy who was in business for himself and lost his home to foreclosure.

And below is a report about folks who were in high paying jobs who now are taking are known as “survival” gigs.

Sorry it’s been so long. I really haven’t had a whole lot to say.

Today marks the first anniversary of my SIL’s passing. Meanwhile, my bro, his current squeeze and their year-old son have set up house in the home he had shared with his wife for all those years.

His two sons, it’s safe to say, aren’t thrilled.

He and the woman traveled to Vegas last month. No word as to whether they’ve tied the knot.

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I received two hard copies of the final edition of the Rocky Mountain News, where I worked as a reporter during our Denver years. They’re keepsakes, for sure, along with all the other editions of the newspaper that we kept, including the ones published the days my daughter and older son were born.

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I’m still adjusting to getting up to speed on this on-line course called Managing the IT-Enabled Enterprise. We’re divided into groups, and an assignment is due next Sunday. I’ve taken it upon myself to e-mail my teammates to get them in gear and to come up with a plan. I don’t want to fall behind, which becomes more of a risk now that I’m depending on other people to pull their weight.

Damn, that sounds like real-world work, doesn’t it?

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I’m still working out and trying to eat right. I’ve been hovering around 230 pounds for the past week or so. I’ve broken below 230 a couple times, but my body won’t stay there. My next goal is to break below 220. Then I’ll be a real happy camper.