I am not a juror today

Welp, that was an exercise that was both instructive and a total waste of time.

I showed up at the courthouse at the appointed time, with about 40 other people. The jury assistant had us surrender everything — phones, tablets, books, papers, etc. –although one little old lady smuggled her phone in, which we discovered when it started ringing loudly in the middle of the proceedings. We were given little pamphlets about our duties and ushered in to watch a video about jury duties, although actually we spent a lot of time sitting waiting for it to be started (the clerk didn’t seem to know how to run a DVD player), and once it was done we spent an awfully long time staring at a blank TV screen waiting for them to move on to the next step, which was to be shuffled off to the actual court room, with the judge, the defendant and his attorney, and the prosecuting attorney were all waiting for us.

About 20 of us got seated for the jury. It was apparently random, and I was not picked. Then the questioning began, the voir dire. It was stuff like, “Do you know [reads long list of potential witnesses]?” It turns out most of the names were cops, and it begins to sound like an army was dispatched to arrest the lone defendant. This being a small town, several people knew all the named people, so they had to be grilled on how they knew them and whether their acquaintance with them would interfere with their ability to judge them. Then there was the question about knowing or being related to any of the other jurors, and hands went up all over the place. Same grilling. Interestingly, there was also a question about whether religious convictions would interfere, and there were three women who clearly belonged to the Brethren church (long skirts, long hair tied up in a bun — we call them “bun ladies” around here), who announced that they could not stand in judgement over a man, and they were dismissed.

As people were dismissed, new people were called up out of the pool and the questions were repeated. I saw the pool shrinking, but I was never called before they finally settled on the 12 jurors, fortunately.

I say “fortunately” because, while I was willing to serve, as information about the case dribbled out, it became clear to me that I couldn’t do it. It was a drug case, with a guy who’d been arrested for growing marijuana, and as I listened to the questions being asked, I realized how I’d have to answer. I could not in good conscience convict someone for an act thats criminality was arbitrary and unjust, and I wouldn’t be able to set aside my principles to abide purely by the letter of the law. If I had been called up, I would have been dismissed within moments for that.

Also, I wouldn’t even have had a chance to answer the prosecuting attorney’s question, “What three things come to mind when you think of law enforcement?” I would probably have started with “petty thugs who shouldn’t be trusted with a gun” before the bailiff would have hauled me out behind the chemical shed. He also asked jurors what they thought of the War on Drugs, and my answer might have gotten profane and earned me a contempt of court fine.

Well, they asked! They said we had to answer honestly, too.

So I got to go home early. I’m still on the hook to be called up to serve until sometime in January, though — I just hope it isn’t another marijuana case.

Jury duty tomorrow

Maybe. Being on sabbatical means I had no excuse to skip it, but what do you think the odds are that the lawyers send me away for being a godless sciencey nerd? I’ll prepare for a long day, but I kind of expect I’m not the kind of person they’ll want to serve — you know, all weird and stuff, not representative of the community.

But I wouldn’t mind experiencing it all!

I’ve been possessed!

You’re not going to be able to trust that I’m the author of anything I post here. You see, last night I read this thing about how the alt-right was furious at Taylor Swift because she endorsed some Democrats — the fury of Andrew Anglin, that demented Nazi, was gratifying to see — and it included one of Swift’s videos. Now I’m rather ignorant of Swift. I’ve probably heard her songs before, but just as the usual pop music background noise, I’ve never made the association between who she is and what songs she sings, and this was the first time I’d actually paid attention to any of her music.

Uh-oh. I liked it. It’s catchy and energetic. It’s got a good message, too. I can see how the kids can get into her.

And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I decided to watch some TV before bed, and some alien force made me turn on The Great British Bake-Off. God help me, I watched two episodes before tearing myself away.

It was all the niceness. It was a shock to the system, and might just kill me. A couple of hours without rage? What will keep my heart beating?

It’s too damn early for philosophy

Existential Comics makes an interesting point: most discussions of ethics in philosophy are about justifying what we feel are acts of goodness, like feeding the poor.

For a great many questions of practical morally, these three systems [deontology, utilitarianism, virtue ethics] will agree, such as “should you give your extra food to a starving man.” This would have a good consequence, be a virtuous intent, follow a good rule, and would be as God commands it. In fact, such moral values are so universal that it is hard to think of any philosophy, culture, or religion at any time who says that a rich man should walk by a starving poor man and not be obliged to give him bread.

Except one.

Not that I want to find myself on the same side of the fence as Rand, but isn’t it possible that deontology, utilitarianism, virtue ethics, and divine command philosophy are really just attempts to rationalize emotional states and empathy, just as Randian objectivism is trying to rationalize greed and selfishness, and that the philosophy is irrelevant to the humanity of good actions?

Damn. Questioning philosophy is practicing philosophy itself. There’s no way out of that trap.

My president?

In case you don’t like the sword-yanking and beer-catching, there is an alternative: god-anointing. There’s a new movie out titled The Trump Prophecy, in which the author claims that God spoke to him through his TV, announcing that Trump would be the next president.

The belief that Trump’s election was God’s divine will is shared by others. Franklin Graham, the prominent conservative evangelical, said last year that Trump’s victory was the result of divine intervention. “I could sense going across the country that God was going to do something this year. And I believe that at this election, God showed up,” he told the Washington Post.

Taylor has made other claims, which he calls “prophetic words”, including that Trump will serve two terms, the landmark supreme court ruling on abortion in the Roe v Wade case will be overturned, and that next month’s midterm elections will result in a “red tsunami”, strengthening Republican control of both houses of Congress.

Barack Obama will be charged with treason and Trump will authorise the arrest of “thousands of corrupt officials, many of whom are part of a massive satanic paedophile ring”. Trump will also force the release of cures for cancer and Alzheimer’s that are currently being withheld by the pharmaceutical industry.

Don’t laugh at the idea of finding swords or snagging a thrown beer as strategies. There are much, much worse alternatives, and they’re literally being practiced. And are popular.

My king

I think this is an acceptable way to establish kingship.

Kennedy Bakircioglu, a midfielder for a Swedish football team Hammarby IF, scored a stunning 30-yard goal against Gothenburg earlier this week—but it’s not the goal that will go down in history. After scoring the uncatchable free-kick goal, the 37-year-old veteran started a frenzied race with his teammates towards the corner flag. In the middle of all the excitement, and amidst flying toilet paper raining down on them, a fan standing in the bleachers decided to throw him a beer because, well, he deserved one, didn’t he? Bakircioglu, totally unfazed by the foreign object hurtling towards him out of the stands, catches what appears to be a plastic pint of beer (that somehow didn’t all spill en route) mid-air, goes all helan går and downs it like a champ.

We’re all going to have to learn how to pronounce “Bakircioglu” now.

If you don’t like the idea of making him king, he’s at least earned a seat on the Supreme Court.