I’ve been chosen for jury duty

This is my first time going through the process, and today I sat in a room with about 25 other people (I hope none of them realize I am getting over the flu) and watched a short Charles Kuralt-hosted tape on what it means to be a juror.
They sent us home after an hour (they said we’ll each get $12 too!) and told us to come back tomorrow at 9:30 a.m.
I’m just wondering how long it will take from the time I tell them what I do to the moment they tell me, “good bye.” I’ve never been one to just “toss around” my position to anybody … in fact, the fewer people who know what I do, the better my life is … but you can bet I’ll be making it well known that I work for a newspaper tomorrow.
So I’m curious. Will my position affect whether they choose me or not? Any lawyers out there who can give me a heads up? I’m looking at you, Ed.
And if I do get picked, is it ANYTHING like the hilarious Pauly Shore romp from the 90s?
Just so there’s no worries … I will NOT be posting actual jury stuff on this site, nor will I divulge any of the secrets I’m sworn to uphold. I WILL, however, let people know how the cafeteria food tastes and if the seats are comfortable if I’m picked.
Because, you know, that’s the important stuff anyway.

Flu nearly kicked

“Monday, back from the dead.”
— Stone Temple Pilots

Well, except for the occasional cough and chill, I’ve conquered the flu. My wife will tell you I was a wimp about it … and she’s right. Sunday I did nothing but lay on the couch, hack and feel sorry for myself.
My Sunday column this week was about the flu, sorta. I don’t remember writing it.
Enjoy:

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Under the inFLUence

A Harvard University author penned “The Road to Excess: A History of Writers on Drugs” in 2002, and examined how mind-altering drugs (from caffeine to LSD) impacted some of history’s greatest writers.
I have not read the book, but I can only imagine some of the stronger drugs mentioned in this book took the authors down a dark road, turning them into either geniuses or idiots. My guess is most of them became idiots.
I mention this book because today — Saturday, March 1, 2008 — I am writing a column under the influence of drugs. But don’t go calling rehab for me … these drugs are battling my bout with the flu.
And instead of “phoning it in” and offering you a column from some wire jockey, I’m giving you all I got … altered mind and all.
Before I go into how exactly I’m feeling (and how many times I’ve had to use the backspace button), I’ll let you know how I got here. Last week, The Herald did a feature on the flu virus hitting North Carolina hard.
Instantly, the story’s author, Jonathan Owens, came down with it. He missed Monday and Tuesday. Jon said he was “good enough” to come in Wednesday, and by Thursday, I was feeling a little ill. (I suppose I shouldn’t have shared that milkshake with him.)
After a banquet I had to attend Thursday, I pretty much gave in to the bug Friday morning.
And I’m a man who prides himself on not missing work. My last sick day was in Louisiana, more than a year ago, because of an insanely sore throat. My wife laughs at me how I belly-ache over every little pain, but even she’s impressed with my ability to suck it in and march to work.
But Friday, I couldn’t take it. I was calling what I had the “mini-flu,” and I thought I was getting better throughout the day, but at 3 a.m. Saturday, I couldn’t take it any more.
One minute under the covers, I was hot. The next, it was like somebody tossed me into the ice-cold Haw River. No position was comfortable, my head felt like it ballooned to twice its size, and my mind kept racing with theories on the TV show “Lost” and odd Broadway showtunes. I don’t even know many showtunes.
By 5, my lovely, lovely wife went to the drug store (thank you Walgreens, for being the only one open) and got me some powerful elixir. Minutes after her arrival, and my dosage, I was out for six straight hours … snoring like the crowd at a foreign film festival.
Fast forward to now. I can barely lift my fingers on the keyboard, my mind’s wandering (I just had a two-minute lapse thinking about Cadbury Cream Eggs), and I just want this column to end.
I’m under some pretty good medication. Oh yeah.
Looking back at what I’ve written so far though, I’m no Jack Kerouac or Aldous Huxley. You’re not getting any psychadelic trips from me (that’s because I’m not going to tell you about the leperchaun looking over my shoulder), and you’re not seeing any dark side of me.
Unfortunately, you’re not getting much content from me either. I suppose that’s why it’s always smart to just skip out on work when you’re feeling ill.
I should have listened to my wife. Please don’t hold this column against me.