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Forgot to mention I got called for jury duty a couple of weeks ago.

I went down to the county courthouse at the appointed time and watched an instructional video with about 40 other jurors.  Then a deputy gave us the standard speech: “Oh, these things rarely go all day, even.  You should be out of here by 5 or so.”  Then we were separated into two groups based on our assigned numbers and the group I wasn’t in was escorted down to a courtroom.  A few minutes later the deputy returned and said, “Well, now that you’re gone I can tell you their trial is scheduled to last three days.”  Nice.

Then my group of 20 went down to another coutroom and 13 of us were called to sit in the jury box; I was number 3.  As it was to be a civil case involving more than $15 thousand, there would be only 7 jurors in the end.  We were asked general questions as a group: Are you an American citizen? Have you lived in this county more than 6 months?  Do you have any health issues that would prevent you from serving? Etc.  Then the two attorneys were asked to excuse 3 jurors each, with no need to justify their choices.

I was the first one cut.  So how am I supposed to feel in that situtation?  Relieved to have the rest of my day free?  Insulted that someone didn’t want me?  I have to say that after spending the whole morning wishing I was somewhere else, by the time I was sitting in that box I was actually getting interested in the process, and wanting to hear the case.   (The judge seemed cool, too: He advised us not to watch him during the trial lest we read something into his expressions that might bias us one way or the other.  “Don’t read anything into it. During the course of the day, I make funny faces for any number of reasons.”)

Anyway, I figure my removal was either totally random (one…two…remove…four…five…remove…) or it was down the fact that I was only one of two male jurors wearing a tie (we both were excused).  Out of the male jurors remaining, all were dressed way down, which may have conveyed a “blue collar” or “down-to-Earth” appeal.  Or something.

Either way, here’s hoping I don’t get called in again; I’ve got two weeks left on my term of service.  But considering I’ve been eligible to serve for 26 years and this is the first time I’ve been summonsed, I figure I’m already ahead of the game.

Okay, so let’s see if I’ve got this straight.  South Carolina governor Mark Sanford just flat-out disappears for five days, leaving no one in charge.  His staff, when pressed, “reveals” he’s gone off on a solo hike of the Appalachian Trail to clear his head and insists it’s no big deal.  But apparently he’s no outdoorsman, because he gets so lost he ends up in Argentina, where coincidentally he’s got a girlfriend on the side.

No doubt we’ll see all sorts of calls for investigations into Sanford’s actions, but maybe what’s really needed is a psychiatric evaluation.  Just how does a governor imagine he can simply go AWOL for days at a time and have no one notice?  And what makes a guy throw away his political future (he was mentioned as a GOP contender for the presidency in 2012) on an extra-marital affair?

And yet, he’s hardly the first, with Nevada Governor Jim Gibbons allegedly dallying with a former Playboy model, NY  Governor Eliott Spitzer caught with a hooker and Senator John Edwards possibly fathering a love child with a campaign staffer, just to name just a few recent examples.  What kind of woman could be worth throwing away your life’s goals?  And why do I feel like if I met the women involved, I’d be even more confused?  It’s almost like there’s something in the mental make-up of these guys who get so powerful and popular…like they’re purposely trying to self-destruct, as the only way to get off the speeding trains that are their careers.  Or maybe it’s just the opposite; maybe they figure they’re past the point where rules apply.

Well, at least one person is benefiting from the mad dash of the media herd down to Columbia, SC. Hey Rod, it’s safe to come out now!

“People say, ‘Oh, it’s dangerous to keep weapons in the home or the workplace.’ Well, I say it’s better to be hurt by someone you know accidentally, than by a stranger on purpose.”

One hundred years ago today in Hobart Tasmania, legendary film star, author, adventurer and all-around trouble magnet Errol Flynn was born.

I first took notice of Flynn in 1991 with a late-night showing of Desperate Journey on TBS.  There I was channel surfing when who should appear but a young Ronald Reagan, climbing from the wreckage of a downed allied bomber deep in Nazi Germany.  With him was a dashing fellow with a pencil-thin mustache, and Chief Executive or no Chief Executive, it quickly became obvious who was the real star of the show.

I managed to stay up to the end of the film despite the constant commercial breaks, and was rewarded with a high-octane adventure in which Flynn, Reagan, Arthur Kennedy and Alan Hale repeatedly outsmarted Nazi general Raymond Massey, destroying roughly half of Germany on their way back to England.  (Not content with this contribution to the war effort, they fly off at the end of the film saying, “Now for Australia and a crack at those Japs!” ) As a war film, it was about as realistic as Indiana Jones, or maybe “Daffy The Commando“, but there was no denying the fun factor, and suddenly I had a new hero.

Thus began my own “desperate journey” to see Flynn in all his great roles; from noble outlaw Robin Hood to sea-going swashbucklers Peter Blood and Geoffrey Thorpe to Western heroes Wade Hatton and George Custer to the rakish, libidinous and suspiciously autobiographical Don Juan.  In each role, Flynn projected all those qualities we fans of heroic fiction so admire; courage, resourcefulness, wit, style, a graceful athleticism and that certain indefinable quality we call leadership. And of course it didn’t hurt that he was impossibly good-looking.

Off-screen, Flynn was a lot more complicated; a rogue, a womanizer and something of a con man, his real-life escapades became almost as legendary as his on-screen adventures, if not nearly so noble.  But if the real Flynn was decidedly less valorous than his on-screen alter egos, he was no less fascinating and larger-than-life.  He was an accomplished boxer who did his own fighting in Gentleman Jim and a real-life sailor who logged countless miles at sea.  Under the tutelage of master archer Howard Hill, he mastered the bow and arrow, and he handled a sword with such elan that most people never realized he wasn’t really a fencer (one nobable exception being Basil Rathbone, who grudingly had to “lose” to Flynn on screen despite his superior skill in real life).  Who can say how many generations of little boys were inspired to stage their own backyard swordfights after witnessing amazing fare such as this from The Sea Hawk:

Personally, I consider 1948’s The Adventures of Don Juan the closest we ever came to seeing the real Flynn in a Hollywood production.   Like the title character, Flynn at this point in his life is still handsome, still charming, still up to the action,  but with a few more lines on the face, a few more pounds on the frame and a few seconds cut off the once lightning-like reflexes.  He is a Frankenstein monster of his own creation, enjoying fame and celebrity wherever he goes, but owing that fame (or infamy) to the scandalous reputation he earned as a young man and now finds impossible to move beyond.  Women expect romance from him, men a display of swordplay.  Weary of it all, but ever willing to please, he obliges gamely.  In quieter moments we see he’s realized the pointlessness of his lifestyle, but at the same time he’s having too much fun to ever really give it up.  At one point in the film, caught in the act of seducing a powerful man’s wife, Juan is tossed into a jail cell with his faithful companion Leporello (Alan Hale), who notes, “Surely there must be something more important in life than the pursuit of women?”  To which Juan replies thoughtfully, “Yes, there must be….But WHAT?”

The film ends with the hero a bit wiser but still unrepentant, still treating life as a party that need never end.  Flynn, however, was made of flesh and blood, not celluloid, and thus bound by physical laws; for him the party would only last another ten years.  He passed on in 1959, just 50 years old but looking much older thanks to years of booze and drugs and a list of physical ailments longer than his filmography.   

Ultimately, though, Flynn lives on, and will as long as there are audiences who appreciate a rousing adventure, a daring hero, a thrilling swordfight and a storybook romance. Just pop in a DVD and he’s back among us as Robin Hood, openly defying Prince John in his own palace (”You speak treason!” “Fluently.”); as Wade Hatton, bringing law and order to Dodge City; as Peter Blood, leading his fellow slaves to freedom on the high seas, and in a half-dozen alternate lives in as many historical eras meeting and falling in love with the heart-breakingly sweet and beautiful Olivia DeHavilland (still around and gorgeous as ever, God bless her) in one of the greatest screen pairings of all time.

Flynn may not have had a lot of years on this world, but he lived every minute of what he had to the fullest, and as he saw fit.  And regardless of what condition he was in for his final bow, we fans will always remember him as The Perfect Specimen he was in his heyday.  As his old boss Jack Warner said, “To all the Walter Mittys of the world he was all the heroes in one magnificent, sexy, animal package.” 

So in honor of Flynn’s centennial, go out and seize the day. Scare up an adventure.  Kiss your girl.  Share a laugh with your buddies.  And remember to laugh like a man:

It’s hard to believe that a mere three weeks or so back, Grace could only rock back and forth on her hands and knees and hint at crawling. Today she’s speeding all over the place and inserting herself into any number of nooks and crannies…from which she’s then unable to extricate herself, naturally. She’s also able to stand straight up with one hand on a piece of furniture or other object to steady herself, and more than once, she’s let go with both hands to pick up an object, with predictable results. Over the weekend we visited Nana and Big Daddy in Chase City, and Grace added stair climbing to her repertoire, crawling up the same four carpeted steps Scott first learned to climb on.

Scott meanwhile is teaching himself to read and is currently figuring out vowels. It’s always hard to tell where we are with Scott because if you ask him a direct question he’ll plead ignorance:

“What are the vowels, Scott?”
“I don’t know”
“Well, how do you spell your name?”
“S-C-O-T-T”
“Which of those letters is the vowel?”
“O!”
“Okay, so then O must be one of the vowels, right?”
“I don’t know.”

Last night I took Jason to VCU for “Astronomy Night” and we learned some fun stuff about the planets, nebulae, pulsars, black holes and the lot. The auditorium was filled with homeschooled kids from Jason’s age on up into early teens, and whenever the presenter threw out questions about space and physics they piped up enthusiastically, usually with the right answers. Weird as it can be living with a kid with Jason’s brain, it was even more surreal being in a room full of them. Of course, much of the fun for Jason was just being out and about past his usual bedtime. Hopefully it made up for the night before, when he had a bad dream: Apparently there was an election (for what, I don’t know) and Jason received only 327 votes to Scott’s 916. Devastating.

Recently Jason was explaining to me how fast he could run around the yard and I told him maybe he could be in the Olympics when he grew up and he said, “Yes, and I’ll take my kid to see me in the Olympics. And I’ll buy him popcorn and drinks.” That would be very nice, I said. “Yes,” he answered solemnly, “I’m going to be nice when I grow up.”