Dear Reader,
As I perused the wares of the Big 5 camping store located directly across from the University Bookstore today I found myself face to face with a piece of equipment that was at the same time familiar and unfamiliar to me. A tent.
Being an Eagle Scout I am familiar with almost all types of tents. I've set them up in the rain, the snow, hail, even fair weather occasionally. Give me ten minutes with a completely unfamiliar tent and I'll have it set up in that time or shorter. So, while exploring big five it came as no surprise that all the tents were different versions of types I'd already dealt with. Big family tents, easily able to fit ten people, small backpacking types, one or two person, cramped. What was missing however, was my personal favorite, the medium 4 person jobs. Just enough room for 4 people, five if you're comfortable with your sexuality.
My most recent experience, and perhaps fondest memories, with these tents took place not in a Boy Scout setting however. No, my most recent experience was the camping trip the Fearsome Fivesome took together early this last summer. This was without a doubt the best camping trip I've ever been on, and one of the only ones where I was completely and utterly sad to have to go back to civilization.
So it was with some sadness and many fond memories that I stared at the tents in Big 5. I am often reminded of the gaping hole the absence of my friends has left in me. This seemed another wound on top of many, but unlike many of my other reminders, this one was more sweet than bitter. Some of my fondest memories of my friends take place on that camp out and I'm glad that we've all agreed it's going to be a tradition.
So Dear Friends, it is not with sadness but excitement that I look forward to the next Ride Of The Fearsome Fivesome, though it is months away. I miss you all terribly.
-Doug
"Dear Friends Dear Friends,
Let me tell you how I feel
You have given me your Treasure
I love you so."
-Dear Friends, Author Unknown
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Meghan: Changes
I can feel the changes whispering on the edge of my mind. Burning through my veins like a sip of fire. Nothing seems to matter, or is it everything? Every minute the mind flicks, flits, flips from thought to thought searching for the answer, trying to put these pieces together. Some pieces fall together only to be torn from their places. But it’s not the ever-shifting puzzle that I’ve noticed; the puzzle is life; it’s always there. It’s the changes that have caught my eye and my soul. Not bone-deep earth shattering differences, just little shifts. Like this person speaks a little differently and that person is a little more emotional and this person more gentle. Then I wonder, am I different? How can I be cast to the other side of the country amid complete strangers and remain untouched by it all? Maybe I’ll return speaking in the honeyed tones of the south and shocked by the scandalous things my friends do. (not likely) But I think and I wonder, and I miss those who would help me thrash out my problems (and who I could badger with my "deep and philosophical questions").
-MeghanDoug: The Well
Dear Readers,
I'm currently sitting in the balcony section of the college restaurant below my dorm, watching the sun burst through the overcast as though it truly were the Greek god Helios, tearing through the clouds with awesome purpose and divine power. The time is now 0830 in the AM. I have been awake for approximately three and a half hours. A massive plate of breakfast fruit and bread lies before me, waiting to be sacrificed to the black hole that has replaced my civilian stomach. And I'm so motivated that I would eat NAILS if I could just get ahold of them.
Today was the first day of Bulldog, which is when all the Marines in the unit get together to punish their bodies into submission. Navy pukes are invited to join in, and a few motivated ones do, but it's mostly Marines. This not only builds team unity among the Marines in the unit (of which our number consists of a mere 21) but also helps us train up for our far more hardcore Physical Training test. Bulldog takes place twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, in addition to Battalion PT, which is Wendsday.
What, you Dear Reader may ask, do we do at Bulldog? Well, it's now my personal pleasure to tell you...
WE WRECK SHIT.
Starting out with a few simple exercises, like Jumping Jacks (Side Straddle Hops) and some simple stretching, we limber our bodies up, prepare for the task we are about to preform. We then proceed to fall into two lines, do a right face and RUN. Now, I hate running, but I've been getting better at it, so I hate it less. I'm beginning to think that many things I don't like doing I simply don't like because I'm not naturally good at it. So we ran in two lines, led by our Platoon Leader, Midshipman Anderson, who seems to be in love with the mere thought of punishing his body, and the actual action brings him to tears of joy. We were also led by Major Crowe, our Marine Instructor.
If it weren't for the grey hair appearing at his temples, it would be easy to mistake Major Crowe's age at about fifteen years younger than it actually is. He is a tall man, well muscled, but in the proportional way, not the bodybuilder way. Unlike Midshipman Anderson, he doesn't seem to be in love with punishing his body, and the actions for him seem less like someone in love with pain and more like a warrior cleaning his weapon.
Regardless of ether's motivation, both stepped it out (began running) at a pace that left me immediately running at at least 80 percent of capacity. I was three runners behind Anderson, and thus in the front for much of the time. I soon found myself breathless, but not just at the run.
We began at Condon hall, a depressing building we're temporarily based at while we wait for our far more impressive, (and Hogwartsish looking) building is remodeled. Condon is the the Hall where many of the law school classes are taught, my father spent much of his time there when he was getting his degree. We then proceeded on a southeast heading towards Lake Washington, down a trail, past a few stop lights and into a neighborhood. Through the neighborhood and down towards what I would guess to be an abandoned or mothballed Naval emplacement down by the water. A old artillery weapon stood in a gravel circle in front of a building. We passed by too quickly for me to read the sign by it.
We then ran headlong into Neverland not pausing for one second. On Lake Washington there is a series of small islands connected by wood bridges. These bridges and paths on the island for what must be, at some sane hour, a running trail for civilians. Trees closed in on us at certain points forming a dark green tunnel broken only by the dark shapes running pell mell in front of you. It was as though we were running in a dream, beauty personified. A primeval forest all around us, I watched carefully for glimpses of dinosaurs, or unseen creatures of the forest.
We paused momentarily in a grassy meadow, broken only by a gravel path that led to a view of the lake. Our taskmasters did not allow us to stop, instead we ran in circles while the slowest of us caught up. Then we proceeded to to some push-ups. Then, back to running.
We followed the same path out. At the abandoned artillery gun, we were ordered to shed our shoes and run back out to a point midway along the bridge over the water. We followed our leaders as they unhesitatingly jumped into the lake water. Lilly pads to the left and right of our jumping point rippled at the intrusion.
It was like jumping into liquid ice. The cold water up here is fed by the ocean and rivers, which are in turn fed by snow melt off the Cascade Mountains all around us. My lungs constricted and I found for the first time that I couldn't breathed, even with my head out of the water. Fear as well as the cold clenched me. The Lilly pads, beautiful when out of the water, now seemed like carnivorous plants, their stems wrapping around my feet, trying to suck me under. I had never been afraid in the water like this before. It was as if my own mother had betrayed me. My body flagged and I began to sink. To sink in a situation like this is to die.
I gritted my teeth and shoved the fear down into The Well. The Well is an abyss, a black hole inside my mind. In it lies fear, anger, loss, sorrow, and pure unadulterated rage. It is my darkness, a super weapon lying inside me, waiting for it's chance to be used. There, almost drowning in the water, I touched The Well.
A weight lifted off of me. I found I could breathe again. Strength flowed back into my arms and legs and I stroked confidently for the shore. Terrible power filled my veins, feeling so powerful, so strong, so good.
I was neither the fastest nor the first to the shore, but I was among them.
Then we ran some more. Upon our arrival back to condon we proceeded to do a pyramid set of pull ups, doing twelve push ups on our breaks. a pyramid set looks like this:
1Pullup
12Pushups
2Pullups
12Pushups
3Pullups
12Pushups
4Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
12Pushups
6Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
...
Then we stretched, and were done.
I'm told the run was four miles. It seems like less. In the past I've had trouble running three. I've just done one of the hardest workouts of my life, and I'm still so motivated that everyone I look at shies back, perhaps at the mad grin on my face, perhaps because they sense something is... wrong.
Walking back to my dorm from Condon I saw all these people who had just woken up, going to class, doing whatever. I am different from these people. I did more work in an hour than they're going to do all day. My roommate was still asleep when I got back. I changed quietly and headed down here to eat. I ate fruit, for breakfast. Those that know me know that this is almost unheard of. I rarely eat breakfast, much less fruit.
But I am different now. This place has changed me. For better or worse, as the saying goes. I am what I am now.
The Well still whispers at the edge of my mind.
-Doug
"NO! You'll never be alone!
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars!
Hear these whispers in the dark!"
Skillet, "Whispers in the Dark"
I'm currently sitting in the balcony section of the college restaurant below my dorm, watching the sun burst through the overcast as though it truly were the Greek god Helios, tearing through the clouds with awesome purpose and divine power. The time is now 0830 in the AM. I have been awake for approximately three and a half hours. A massive plate of breakfast fruit and bread lies before me, waiting to be sacrificed to the black hole that has replaced my civilian stomach. And I'm so motivated that I would eat NAILS if I could just get ahold of them.
Today was the first day of Bulldog, which is when all the Marines in the unit get together to punish their bodies into submission. Navy pukes are invited to join in, and a few motivated ones do, but it's mostly Marines. This not only builds team unity among the Marines in the unit (of which our number consists of a mere 21) but also helps us train up for our far more hardcore Physical Training test. Bulldog takes place twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, in addition to Battalion PT, which is Wendsday.
What, you Dear Reader may ask, do we do at Bulldog? Well, it's now my personal pleasure to tell you...
WE WRECK SHIT.
Starting out with a few simple exercises, like Jumping Jacks (Side Straddle Hops) and some simple stretching, we limber our bodies up, prepare for the task we are about to preform. We then proceed to fall into two lines, do a right face and RUN. Now, I hate running, but I've been getting better at it, so I hate it less. I'm beginning to think that many things I don't like doing I simply don't like because I'm not naturally good at it. So we ran in two lines, led by our Platoon Leader, Midshipman Anderson, who seems to be in love with the mere thought of punishing his body, and the actual action brings him to tears of joy. We were also led by Major Crowe, our Marine Instructor.
If it weren't for the grey hair appearing at his temples, it would be easy to mistake Major Crowe's age at about fifteen years younger than it actually is. He is a tall man, well muscled, but in the proportional way, not the bodybuilder way. Unlike Midshipman Anderson, he doesn't seem to be in love with punishing his body, and the actions for him seem less like someone in love with pain and more like a warrior cleaning his weapon.
Regardless of ether's motivation, both stepped it out (began running) at a pace that left me immediately running at at least 80 percent of capacity. I was three runners behind Anderson, and thus in the front for much of the time. I soon found myself breathless, but not just at the run.
We began at Condon hall, a depressing building we're temporarily based at while we wait for our far more impressive, (and Hogwartsish looking) building is remodeled. Condon is the the Hall where many of the law school classes are taught, my father spent much of his time there when he was getting his degree. We then proceeded on a southeast heading towards Lake Washington, down a trail, past a few stop lights and into a neighborhood. Through the neighborhood and down towards what I would guess to be an abandoned or mothballed Naval emplacement down by the water. A old artillery weapon stood in a gravel circle in front of a building. We passed by too quickly for me to read the sign by it.
We then ran headlong into Neverland not pausing for one second. On Lake Washington there is a series of small islands connected by wood bridges. These bridges and paths on the island for what must be, at some sane hour, a running trail for civilians. Trees closed in on us at certain points forming a dark green tunnel broken only by the dark shapes running pell mell in front of you. It was as though we were running in a dream, beauty personified. A primeval forest all around us, I watched carefully for glimpses of dinosaurs, or unseen creatures of the forest.
We paused momentarily in a grassy meadow, broken only by a gravel path that led to a view of the lake. Our taskmasters did not allow us to stop, instead we ran in circles while the slowest of us caught up. Then we proceeded to to some push-ups. Then, back to running.
We followed the same path out. At the abandoned artillery gun, we were ordered to shed our shoes and run back out to a point midway along the bridge over the water. We followed our leaders as they unhesitatingly jumped into the lake water. Lilly pads to the left and right of our jumping point rippled at the intrusion.
It was like jumping into liquid ice. The cold water up here is fed by the ocean and rivers, which are in turn fed by snow melt off the Cascade Mountains all around us. My lungs constricted and I found for the first time that I couldn't breathed, even with my head out of the water. Fear as well as the cold clenched me. The Lilly pads, beautiful when out of the water, now seemed like carnivorous plants, their stems wrapping around my feet, trying to suck me under. I had never been afraid in the water like this before. It was as if my own mother had betrayed me. My body flagged and I began to sink. To sink in a situation like this is to die.
I gritted my teeth and shoved the fear down into The Well. The Well is an abyss, a black hole inside my mind. In it lies fear, anger, loss, sorrow, and pure unadulterated rage. It is my darkness, a super weapon lying inside me, waiting for it's chance to be used. There, almost drowning in the water, I touched The Well.
A weight lifted off of me. I found I could breathe again. Strength flowed back into my arms and legs and I stroked confidently for the shore. Terrible power filled my veins, feeling so powerful, so strong, so good.
I was neither the fastest nor the first to the shore, but I was among them.
Then we ran some more. Upon our arrival back to condon we proceeded to do a pyramid set of pull ups, doing twelve push ups on our breaks. a pyramid set looks like this:
1Pullup
12Pushups
2Pullups
12Pushups
3Pullups
12Pushups
4Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
12Pushups
6Pullups
12Pushups
5Pullups
...
Then we stretched, and were done.
I'm told the run was four miles. It seems like less. In the past I've had trouble running three. I've just done one of the hardest workouts of my life, and I'm still so motivated that everyone I look at shies back, perhaps at the mad grin on my face, perhaps because they sense something is... wrong.
Walking back to my dorm from Condon I saw all these people who had just woken up, going to class, doing whatever. I am different from these people. I did more work in an hour than they're going to do all day. My roommate was still asleep when I got back. I changed quietly and headed down here to eat. I ate fruit, for breakfast. Those that know me know that this is almost unheard of. I rarely eat breakfast, much less fruit.
But I am different now. This place has changed me. For better or worse, as the saying goes. I am what I am now.
The Well still whispers at the edge of my mind.
-Doug
"NO! You'll never be alone!
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars!
Hear these whispers in the dark!"
Skillet, "Whispers in the Dark"
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Jasmine: The girls in line for the bathroom
Two days ago I walked across Johnson field and it looked normal, you know… um, grassy. But tomorrow, there will be a shape burned into the grass. Not a shape that anyone would understand, but the shape a fire makes on the world when the wind throws her to the ground and takes her from behind like a dirty wench. She flails about, fighting against her would be master, throwing up sparks and smoldering ashes. But try as she might she cannot defeat the mighty wind, he who ripped her into such a short life, takes from her what she doesn’t have to give until it’s all gone. She lies alone, too low for the wind to touch her, everyone screaming her name has turned back to the darkness and left her behind. Slowly she smothers and dies.
So, UNM apparently has this ritual where before our, I think, first game with State, we burn an effigy of their mascot. It is a kind of ritual sacrifice meant to bring us strength and unity through fire. What it did was bring together thousands of students to watch something that resembled a lynching.
The effigy was basically human shaped, I’m not sure what the actual mascot of New Mexico State University is, something called an agie or an agy, but it looked human, and we burned it.
The progression of the burning could basically be followed by the head. Before burning, obviously the head was at the top, then almost immediately the paper burned away from it and skull like carapace was left behind. This lasted for a few minutes, but slowly the wooden pile the body was propped up against began to weaken and crumble and the head started its decent. It tilted to the side and slid downwards with the fire until finally all that was left were glowing coals.
This has been our tradition, I don’t actually know how many years, I just know that we did it last year. But it was ours. State has now decided that they need a new tradition to bring themselves together for this upcoming game. They are burning a giant paper wolf. Yeah, thanks for the compliment guys.
Tonight is September 25th, four days after the 21st, also known as the autumnal equinox, or Mabon to wiccans. Thousands of years ago Druids would build a man made of branches to symbolize the vegetative spirit, and they would burn him as a prayer for good luck, and to signify the first day of autumn. Julius Caesar saw them doing this and claimed that druids sacrificed humans, but all he saw was a bit of burning wood. Today neopagans build a “wicker man” to honor the old days.
I spent maybe only fifteen or twenty minutes watching this wicker man die, but it made my evening. I watched the fire and it warmed me, and inspired me. I looked into and felt a deep connection with the world, and felt again that I have a purpose. That purpose might not be good, it might not even be bad, because I have no idea what it is.
“The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom”
Repeat unto infinity
-unknown rap artist at the burning
So, UNM apparently has this ritual where before our, I think, first game with State, we burn an effigy of their mascot. It is a kind of ritual sacrifice meant to bring us strength and unity through fire. What it did was bring together thousands of students to watch something that resembled a lynching.
The effigy was basically human shaped, I’m not sure what the actual mascot of New Mexico State University is, something called an agie or an agy, but it looked human, and we burned it.
The progression of the burning could basically be followed by the head. Before burning, obviously the head was at the top, then almost immediately the paper burned away from it and skull like carapace was left behind. This lasted for a few minutes, but slowly the wooden pile the body was propped up against began to weaken and crumble and the head started its decent. It tilted to the side and slid downwards with the fire until finally all that was left were glowing coals.
This has been our tradition, I don’t actually know how many years, I just know that we did it last year. But it was ours. State has now decided that they need a new tradition to bring themselves together for this upcoming game. They are burning a giant paper wolf. Yeah, thanks for the compliment guys.
Tonight is September 25th, four days after the 21st, also known as the autumnal equinox, or Mabon to wiccans. Thousands of years ago Druids would build a man made of branches to symbolize the vegetative spirit, and they would burn him as a prayer for good luck, and to signify the first day of autumn. Julius Caesar saw them doing this and claimed that druids sacrificed humans, but all he saw was a bit of burning wood. Today neopagans build a “wicker man” to honor the old days.
I spent maybe only fifteen or twenty minutes watching this wicker man die, but it made my evening. I watched the fire and it warmed me, and inspired me. I looked into and felt a deep connection with the world, and felt again that I have a purpose. That purpose might not be good, it might not even be bad, because I have no idea what it is.
“The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom
The girls in line for the bathroom”
Repeat unto infinity
-unknown rap artist at the burning
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
That guy: That girl
Because Doug is such a whiny little girl about me blogging, I shall.
Everyone has some sort of attachment.
There are the ones that mean nothing, like which ice-cream flavor is your favorite.
There are the ones that flicker back and forth, like a high-school crush.
There are the ones that will never leave, like the smell of a childhood blanket pressed to your face, breathing in every agony and joy your memory permits.
My track-record with women isn’t good. Hell, it’s downright awful. But there is this one girl. We’ll call her Windy.
My first contact with Windy was at the ripe old age of 2 weeks. She was brought to me in all her swirling, soothing, wonderful glory. Of course, I had no way to know who I was meeting, being that young. But I soon found out. As I grew older, so did she. Her being my senior never strained our relationship; in fact, it enriched it. I yearned for every time we met. It was such a learning experience! She had so many things to teach, to offer! I was like a puppy at a water dish, lapping up all I could.
We became so close, that I actually spent all of my time with her. Literally. For a three month period, I was with her 24/7. But the best laid plans of mice and men so often go astray, as the saying goes.
Things changed. My interests. Her loyalties. It was like a classic cinema. We were the two lovebirds, drifting apart, being torn from each other by life. While I grew, she grew and matured. The difference was staggering. I was still a bitter, broken child, becoming more so with every passing day. She would have none of it. So in my time of need, my darkest hour, she vanished into the wind. The downward spiral continued……………………..
We haven’t seen much of each other since. The occasional, awkward meeting. When either of us brought up the past, things always ended on a downbeat. It was strange. How someone so wise could fall victim to such horrors. But it happened. And there is no denying it. The violence and carnage in her name, and even those linked to her changed both of us.
Recently, I was given a chance. A rare occasion in my life. I was given time with her. By myself. This in itself was, I believe, all our relationship needed to come alive. All the previous times except for that three months, I had been with others, equally vying for her attention. Their connection had never been as strong, but being of a good heart, Windy found time to share with all who wanted. Except this time. The longest 40 minutes of my life took place that day.
People know about my food. I love it. To an unhealthy extent, sometimes. In particular, the attachment that means nothing. My favorite ice-cream flavor is plain-old Vanilla. In a pinch, vanilla bean. But there’s only one place that I truly enjoy vanilla ice-cream. As much as I love Dee-Dee’s, they could never, ever match up. And it just so happens that this tiny little Dairy Queen is in the area I was given with Windy. So naturally, we met there. I could tell the moment we met, things were different. They were back to how they should be.
We spent every single one of those precious 40 minutes together. We went to endless numbers of our hidie-holes. I was literally dragged away from her when our time was up. We had made our amends, and even though we had less than an hour together, it felt like our relationship was stronger than it ever was. And then I had to go. For the first time, in a very long time, I wasn’t ready to move on.
We get to see each other less and less with each passing year. And with our futures drawing us apart, but actually willing to remain together, things will change.
I love you, Windy.
“But if you really care for her, then you would n-never hit the airport, To follow your dreams, sometimes I still talk to her, but when I talk to herIt always seems like she talking about me.”
- Homecoming, by Kanye West feat. Chris Martin
Everyone has some sort of attachment.
There are the ones that mean nothing, like which ice-cream flavor is your favorite.
There are the ones that flicker back and forth, like a high-school crush.
There are the ones that will never leave, like the smell of a childhood blanket pressed to your face, breathing in every agony and joy your memory permits.
My track-record with women isn’t good. Hell, it’s downright awful. But there is this one girl. We’ll call her Windy.
My first contact with Windy was at the ripe old age of 2 weeks. She was brought to me in all her swirling, soothing, wonderful glory. Of course, I had no way to know who I was meeting, being that young. But I soon found out. As I grew older, so did she. Her being my senior never strained our relationship; in fact, it enriched it. I yearned for every time we met. It was such a learning experience! She had so many things to teach, to offer! I was like a puppy at a water dish, lapping up all I could.
We became so close, that I actually spent all of my time with her. Literally. For a three month period, I was with her 24/7. But the best laid plans of mice and men so often go astray, as the saying goes.
Things changed. My interests. Her loyalties. It was like a classic cinema. We were the two lovebirds, drifting apart, being torn from each other by life. While I grew, she grew and matured. The difference was staggering. I was still a bitter, broken child, becoming more so with every passing day. She would have none of it. So in my time of need, my darkest hour, she vanished into the wind. The downward spiral continued……………………..
We haven’t seen much of each other since. The occasional, awkward meeting. When either of us brought up the past, things always ended on a downbeat. It was strange. How someone so wise could fall victim to such horrors. But it happened. And there is no denying it. The violence and carnage in her name, and even those linked to her changed both of us.
Recently, I was given a chance. A rare occasion in my life. I was given time with her. By myself. This in itself was, I believe, all our relationship needed to come alive. All the previous times except for that three months, I had been with others, equally vying for her attention. Their connection had never been as strong, but being of a good heart, Windy found time to share with all who wanted. Except this time. The longest 40 minutes of my life took place that day.
People know about my food. I love it. To an unhealthy extent, sometimes. In particular, the attachment that means nothing. My favorite ice-cream flavor is plain-old Vanilla. In a pinch, vanilla bean. But there’s only one place that I truly enjoy vanilla ice-cream. As much as I love Dee-Dee’s, they could never, ever match up. And it just so happens that this tiny little Dairy Queen is in the area I was given with Windy. So naturally, we met there. I could tell the moment we met, things were different. They were back to how they should be.
We spent every single one of those precious 40 minutes together. We went to endless numbers of our hidie-holes. I was literally dragged away from her when our time was up. We had made our amends, and even though we had less than an hour together, it felt like our relationship was stronger than it ever was. And then I had to go. For the first time, in a very long time, I wasn’t ready to move on.
We get to see each other less and less with each passing year. And with our futures drawing us apart, but actually willing to remain together, things will change.
I love you, Windy.
“But if you really care for her, then you would n-never hit the airport, To follow your dreams, sometimes I still talk to her, but when I talk to herIt always seems like she talking about me.”
- Homecoming, by Kanye West feat. Chris Martin
Doug: First Day
Dear Reader,
I had my first day of actual college today. This kind of school I could get used to.
Well, let me clarify that.
I had two classes today, one, Naval Science 101, took place at 830. That one I was almost late to, and that was kind of scary. I wanted to wake up at 6, but ended up crawling out of bed at 745. I know, I'm pathetic. Fuck me right?
Our Naval Science instructor just happens to be the Battalion XO, meaning he's second in command next to the skipper. He's a chill guy, says um a lot, but that's fine. He's way cooler than Mrs. Coffee. But then, anyone would be. The class is going to be more organization based than any other course I've got, which is good, cause I need to get organized more. I'm staying above water, but it's got to become a habit.
My next class was at 1130, and it was English:Composition. Now comes the funny part. The fine print apparently said: British Romantic Poetry. So, I didn't know it, but I'm taking a class about romantic poetry. I'm about as romantic as a kettle. Flowers are like my affection, they die.
I'm excited for the class though, our professor is some guy in his late twenties. He's not short, but not particularly tall either. He opened the class by busting in and repeating John Keats's "Ode to a Grecian Urn" from memory. Not only was that impressive, but it was really quite moving as well. It's full of passion and provocative imagery.
He was sick too, and totally had the whole, "I'm artsy, so when I'm sick I carry around a handkerchief I can cough into" thing going for him. It reminded me a little too much about good ol' E.A. Poe and his fun with tuberculosis though.
I keep waiting to get sick. I don't want to, but everything about this place seems a little unsanitary. Like, the not really washed dishes, and the lack of hand soap, and a million other things that keep me in the "I'm gonna get sick" mode. I've been washing my hands a lot, maybe I'll develop OCD, and have to count things for a living.
I've decided against getting a credit card. They seem too dangerous a temptation. Especially because of the trouble with my bank. Apparently they put a hold on one of my transactions. It makes sense, it was like, a thousand dollars. Normal people don't just transfer that amount of money without having some ulterior motive. Yep. It's true. I'm an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. heh. shield. The Avengers. I am Iron Man.
But it made it difficult to buy books. which I'm not okay with, books are totally my thing. Not being able to buy them is like holding my nuts hostage. With a baseball bat at the ready.
But so far, College is better than it was before. I'm excited now. But anyone who says I told you so will get punished, with baseball bat delivery to the gonads. Chuck Norris style.
And on that note...
-Doug
"Jebel Ali!
I Dream of God,
I Dream of Rain."
-Jebel Ali, Unknown
I had my first day of actual college today. This kind of school I could get used to.
Well, let me clarify that.
I had two classes today, one, Naval Science 101, took place at 830. That one I was almost late to, and that was kind of scary. I wanted to wake up at 6, but ended up crawling out of bed at 745. I know, I'm pathetic. Fuck me right?
Our Naval Science instructor just happens to be the Battalion XO, meaning he's second in command next to the skipper. He's a chill guy, says um a lot, but that's fine. He's way cooler than Mrs. Coffee. But then, anyone would be. The class is going to be more organization based than any other course I've got, which is good, cause I need to get organized more. I'm staying above water, but it's got to become a habit.
My next class was at 1130, and it was English:Composition. Now comes the funny part. The fine print apparently said: British Romantic Poetry. So, I didn't know it, but I'm taking a class about romantic poetry. I'm about as romantic as a kettle. Flowers are like my affection, they die.
I'm excited for the class though, our professor is some guy in his late twenties. He's not short, but not particularly tall either. He opened the class by busting in and repeating John Keats's "Ode to a Grecian Urn" from memory. Not only was that impressive, but it was really quite moving as well. It's full of passion and provocative imagery.
He was sick too, and totally had the whole, "I'm artsy, so when I'm sick I carry around a handkerchief I can cough into" thing going for him. It reminded me a little too much about good ol' E.A. Poe and his fun with tuberculosis though.
I keep waiting to get sick. I don't want to, but everything about this place seems a little unsanitary. Like, the not really washed dishes, and the lack of hand soap, and a million other things that keep me in the "I'm gonna get sick" mode. I've been washing my hands a lot, maybe I'll develop OCD, and have to count things for a living.
I've decided against getting a credit card. They seem too dangerous a temptation. Especially because of the trouble with my bank. Apparently they put a hold on one of my transactions. It makes sense, it was like, a thousand dollars. Normal people don't just transfer that amount of money without having some ulterior motive. Yep. It's true. I'm an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. heh. shield. The Avengers. I am Iron Man.
But it made it difficult to buy books. which I'm not okay with, books are totally my thing. Not being able to buy them is like holding my nuts hostage. With a baseball bat at the ready.
But so far, College is better than it was before. I'm excited now. But anyone who says I told you so will get punished, with baseball bat delivery to the gonads. Chuck Norris style.
And on that note...
-Doug
"Jebel Ali!
I Dream of God,
I Dream of Rain."
-Jebel Ali, Unknown
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Doug: I can't leave you alone for one minute...
Dear Readers,
As you may or may not have noticed, I've been kind of out of touch. During my absence into the wilds of ROTC land, many strange and portentous events have been taking place, and I feel as though I am the Hero, waiting patiently for the quest to begin after his training journey.
I've spent the last week and a half training, allowing my mind and body to be broken down and reforged; My body the sword, my mind the shield. I and others have been working since before light, and well into the night to make ourselves the best. The strongest, the greatest. We are still a long way off from being true warriors, but we are on the path.
Basically, we did a lot of hard work in a very little amount of time. We were yelled at, ordered around, and worked until our bodies collapsed. But we survived, and now we're stronger for it. That's all I'm going to say about it.
Now I just have to get used to college. I'm on my own now, taking care of myself. I never realized how much an established home and parents who helped take care of you helped your mental state. So, now that they're gone, I appreciate my parents more than I ever did before. that's pretty messed up.
Because of the ROTC thing I feel a massive disconnect with almost everything. My civilian friends often speak up getting up at 1000 as if they were getting up early. I consider sleeping in to be 0600. I see things different ways. I am looking for threats everywhere now, constantly tense, bracing for someone to call my last name and bark a command. I often have to fight the urge to call someone "Ma'am" or "Sir". When someone suggests a group activity, it's almost instinct for my mind to flash back to "Aye Aye Platoon Sergent!" Where I was once gregarious, I now shut my mouth, waiting for orders. It's like i have some toned down form of PTSD. But as they say in Australia, HTFU! I feel that I can find a balance between my civilian life and my military one, and will.
But enough of all this sappy self pity shit. I've been calling Jasmine a lot, because she's the only one who doesn't baby me about my feelings. She tells me to harden the fuck up.
Now. On to my real topic. You people. I cannot leave you alone for a minute!
Sarah! If you look at the progression of the blogs you'll see that yours actually come after mine! And just because my Internet creeper father likes to read and comment on shit doesn't mean you get to abandon us all on blogs! That's just unsat!
Abe! I know you work hard, but you gotta blog too bro. btw, send any packages for me to 1102 N. 49th St, Seattle, Wa, 98103.
Meghan! You'll get through college. I promise.
Jasmine! I have no complaints on your end. I've already talked to you a whole bunch.
All this being said, I miss you guys like Hell. Sarah, one of the only things that got me though the last few days is the little notebook covered in everyone's pics. I saw that one day and literally burst into tears. After I felt better than I had all week. I love you guys. And that's the one thing that no one up here can take away from me.
-Doug
"This one goes out to the one I love,
This one goes out to the one I left behind."
-R.E.M. "The one I love"
As you may or may not have noticed, I've been kind of out of touch. During my absence into the wilds of ROTC land, many strange and portentous events have been taking place, and I feel as though I am the Hero, waiting patiently for the quest to begin after his training journey.
I've spent the last week and a half training, allowing my mind and body to be broken down and reforged; My body the sword, my mind the shield. I and others have been working since before light, and well into the night to make ourselves the best. The strongest, the greatest. We are still a long way off from being true warriors, but we are on the path.
Basically, we did a lot of hard work in a very little amount of time. We were yelled at, ordered around, and worked until our bodies collapsed. But we survived, and now we're stronger for it. That's all I'm going to say about it.
Now I just have to get used to college. I'm on my own now, taking care of myself. I never realized how much an established home and parents who helped take care of you helped your mental state. So, now that they're gone, I appreciate my parents more than I ever did before. that's pretty messed up.
Because of the ROTC thing I feel a massive disconnect with almost everything. My civilian friends often speak up getting up at 1000 as if they were getting up early. I consider sleeping in to be 0600. I see things different ways. I am looking for threats everywhere now, constantly tense, bracing for someone to call my last name and bark a command. I often have to fight the urge to call someone "Ma'am" or "Sir". When someone suggests a group activity, it's almost instinct for my mind to flash back to "Aye Aye Platoon Sergent!" Where I was once gregarious, I now shut my mouth, waiting for orders. It's like i have some toned down form of PTSD. But as they say in Australia, HTFU! I feel that I can find a balance between my civilian life and my military one, and will.
But enough of all this sappy self pity shit. I've been calling Jasmine a lot, because she's the only one who doesn't baby me about my feelings. She tells me to harden the fuck up.
Now. On to my real topic. You people. I cannot leave you alone for a minute!
Sarah! If you look at the progression of the blogs you'll see that yours actually come after mine! And just because my Internet creeper father likes to read and comment on shit doesn't mean you get to abandon us all on blogs! That's just unsat!
Abe! I know you work hard, but you gotta blog too bro. btw, send any packages for me to 1102 N. 49th St, Seattle, Wa, 98103.
Meghan! You'll get through college. I promise.
Jasmine! I have no complaints on your end. I've already talked to you a whole bunch.
All this being said, I miss you guys like Hell. Sarah, one of the only things that got me though the last few days is the little notebook covered in everyone's pics. I saw that one day and literally burst into tears. After I felt better than I had all week. I love you guys. And that's the one thing that no one up here can take away from me.
-Doug
"This one goes out to the one I love,
This one goes out to the one I left behind."
-R.E.M. "The one I love"
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Meghan: school stress
I’m eating cookies and drinking tea
Playing soothing music
And I’m wearing a goddamn skirt
The next person I see wearing our school colors is going to die
I’m going to maintain this state of being until I’ve calmed down, If anyone interrupts my state of being henceforth their life will be on the line.
Yes, I’m stressed, because this week is the week that I decided to question my life, the meaning of it all.
What in all hell possessed me to do this? I have no idea, it just happened and I didn’t fight it. My mind wanted to figure things out? Fine, be my guest.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, my mind works in weird patterns and pieces. Doug says that he doesn’t like it when people talk in third person but sometimes it’s less confusing if I speak that way. (At least it is to me, the rest of you can suck it up)
So, to the main topic at hand. My major is Biology, and I want to go to veterinary school. Yes I want to heal the cute, fuzzy animals. Hahaha, the dogs and cats would be okay, but I’d much rather work in a zoo or specialties clinic with exotics like tigers or elephants. If perchance I don’t get into vet school, that’s the situation I’m worried about. Basically the only options left for my degree are research-lab work or teaching. Ug. Teaching. I’d kill the students if they didn’t kill me first. If I did lab work for the rest of my life I think I’d light myself on fire with a Bunsen burner out of sheer boredom. So, I’m left with the options of vet school or death. Oh joy. Vet school takes obscenely high grades; it’s harder to get into than med school.
So what the hell do I do if I don’t get in? This stupid question haunted me into the night and day. What if I don’t get the grades I need and I have to…What? What will I do? Just exist? Is that enough? Just floating along going at life half-assed until I die? Or is it better to compromise, take a job doing lab work I hate so I can live the other parts of my life the way I want to?
What is the meaning of life?
To all of you who say 42 I have one reply
Fuck you
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Jasmine: It's random, but it does flow i swear
So my parents now have a very big plus in their currying-favor-with-Jasmine column. I’m a simple person, and food really is all it takes to get to my heart, my cold, insensitive, war mongering heart.
I went home this evening, took Sarah with me. Or it could be the other way around; Sarah went to my home and brought me with her. I lose track when someone else’s car is involved and sometimes treat it as my own, if my own had a chauffeur who I didn’t pay even minimum wage. Hi Meghan (Jasmine waves sheepishly). So after dropping by Sarah’s house we made our way to my house and indulged ourselves in pork chops, eggplant tomato casserole smothered in delicious cheese(which incidentally I’ve been calling eggplant parmesan), and succotash (I’m not really sure how to spell that). Afterwards we had some rice pudding cold; I gave my raisons to Sarah, disgustingly sweet grub looking things.
Not satisfied that we had partaken in their food, they gave me the leftovers now sitting in my fridge, and I managed to snag some peanut butter and chocolate. Raven hid the peanut butter we had, I think. Evil Raven.
Still they were not done with their amazing generosity. They sold books earlier in the week, which is where we take the books we’ve finished reading and don’t care to read again and sell them to a used bookstore for credit. They gave me the credit. I’ve got ninety dollars worth of books out there waiting to be bought. Woot! Before leaving I also grabbed my risk game, but that was mine to begin with. We’re going to get some weekly games in I swear it.
So food and books, it’s what college is all about. It’s what I’m all about, or what I used to be about. I used to read nearly a book a day. I was a four books a week minimum girl. I don’t know what happened to her. No I do know. She got a life, some friends, and the books grew lonely. Friends are needy time sucking things, but so are books. Right now I’ve got an absence of friends, or at least people I care enough about to spend my time with, but I’ve still got all those books waiting on the shelf. I like who I am now, but I still miss who I was a lot. I think I’m going to try and find her this semester. Bring on the books.
Recently I’ve been feeling kind of purposeless. Friends distract me from it, but like I said, not so many of them around anymore, and now it’s glaringly obvious that I need something to do. There were supposed to be clubs, but I didn’t go to any of the meetings, apart from pre-med. There’s supposed to be volunteer work, but I’m slacking on getting signed up. There needs to be a job, but once again, blargh. I’ve got too much time on my hands. And even if I managed to acquire a few more friends I don’t think I could be distracted from my uselessness now that I’ve seen it. I want to either create or destroy. Nothing else will satisfy. It means I need to start writing again. Because for those of you who know me, destroying is kind of legally impossible, and I don’t have the means not to get caught right now.
So writing. Yep. It’s been a while. I still write little bits in notebooks and journals in between classes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I need to set aside time each day where I do nothing but write. An hour or two devoted to my muse. I’ve got plenty of story ideas stashed in my computer and in my head. I’ve just not been writing them. it’s going to suck getting started again, but kind of like running, you just have to do it, or you never will.
This was all very… I’m looking for a word, I’m not finding it, I’ll settle for sappy. First I tout my parents. That doesn’t happen very often. Then I complain about not having friends or a life’s purpose. I feel like I need to go slaughter kittens just to balance me out to my normal level. No I like kittens, maybe puppies. Yes I will ritually sacrifice puppies and then paint the hookers and hobos with their blood. That sounds like a lot more fun.
Doug, write zombies.
I went home this evening, took Sarah with me. Or it could be the other way around; Sarah went to my home and brought me with her. I lose track when someone else’s car is involved and sometimes treat it as my own, if my own had a chauffeur who I didn’t pay even minimum wage. Hi Meghan (Jasmine waves sheepishly). So after dropping by Sarah’s house we made our way to my house and indulged ourselves in pork chops, eggplant tomato casserole smothered in delicious cheese(which incidentally I’ve been calling eggplant parmesan), and succotash (I’m not really sure how to spell that). Afterwards we had some rice pudding cold; I gave my raisons to Sarah, disgustingly sweet grub looking things.
Not satisfied that we had partaken in their food, they gave me the leftovers now sitting in my fridge, and I managed to snag some peanut butter and chocolate. Raven hid the peanut butter we had, I think. Evil Raven.
Still they were not done with their amazing generosity. They sold books earlier in the week, which is where we take the books we’ve finished reading and don’t care to read again and sell them to a used bookstore for credit. They gave me the credit. I’ve got ninety dollars worth of books out there waiting to be bought. Woot! Before leaving I also grabbed my risk game, but that was mine to begin with. We’re going to get some weekly games in I swear it.
So food and books, it’s what college is all about. It’s what I’m all about, or what I used to be about. I used to read nearly a book a day. I was a four books a week minimum girl. I don’t know what happened to her. No I do know. She got a life, some friends, and the books grew lonely. Friends are needy time sucking things, but so are books. Right now I’ve got an absence of friends, or at least people I care enough about to spend my time with, but I’ve still got all those books waiting on the shelf. I like who I am now, but I still miss who I was a lot. I think I’m going to try and find her this semester. Bring on the books.
Recently I’ve been feeling kind of purposeless. Friends distract me from it, but like I said, not so many of them around anymore, and now it’s glaringly obvious that I need something to do. There were supposed to be clubs, but I didn’t go to any of the meetings, apart from pre-med. There’s supposed to be volunteer work, but I’m slacking on getting signed up. There needs to be a job, but once again, blargh. I’ve got too much time on my hands. And even if I managed to acquire a few more friends I don’t think I could be distracted from my uselessness now that I’ve seen it. I want to either create or destroy. Nothing else will satisfy. It means I need to start writing again. Because for those of you who know me, destroying is kind of legally impossible, and I don’t have the means not to get caught right now.
So writing. Yep. It’s been a while. I still write little bits in notebooks and journals in between classes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I need to set aside time each day where I do nothing but write. An hour or two devoted to my muse. I’ve got plenty of story ideas stashed in my computer and in my head. I’ve just not been writing them. it’s going to suck getting started again, but kind of like running, you just have to do it, or you never will.
This was all very… I’m looking for a word, I’m not finding it, I’ll settle for sappy. First I tout my parents. That doesn’t happen very often. Then I complain about not having friends or a life’s purpose. I feel like I need to go slaughter kittens just to balance me out to my normal level. No I like kittens, maybe puppies. Yes I will ritually sacrifice puppies and then paint the hookers and hobos with their blood. That sounds like a lot more fun.
Doug, write zombies.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Doug: Seattle and other Insanities.
Dear Reader,
Okay, as the last post rather dramatically demonstrates, uprooting your entire life and plopping it down somewhere else can strain the mind a bit. It'll make you say the things you actually mean, as opposed to putting on a face and telling the world that you'll be fine with a few years of therapy. When really you won't. You'll either HTFU, or become a black hole of emotional turmoil and misery that not even trained shrinks can penetrate. You'll start off small, puppies or squirrels or some other cute, helpless animal, and it will eventually escalate until you've become what the rest of us only contemplate in our deepest, darkest nightmares. Yes, you will be... an emo kid.
Incidentally, if you're an emo kid and you're reading this, I'd like to take this moment to say, Fuck You. Your father really does love you, your hair really does make you look gay, you're wearing girl pants and everyone knows it, and your life isn't nearly as hard as you'd like to think it is. You want to see hard? Try living in a third world country you candy ass terdlicker.
Now that that's out of the way, we're going to move on to Seattle.
It's a nice city. The thing I'm most impressed with is the public transportation system, which as a well traveled individual, I believe to be one of the top five in the world. Buses turn a largely spread out metropolitan area into a place that's easily navigated. Ferries provide fun and timely transport to local islands, and a monorail system is currently under construction that would allow speedy public transit 40 miles to the nearest international airport. Coming from Albuquerque, where the bus system closely resembles a 90 car smash up and monorail systems are still viewed as somewhat science fiction, this is a huge step up.
The weather so far is sunny and warm, except at night, where temperatures drop to not too cold, but certainly uncomfortable for someone as used to a warm climate as I am. I'm told the rain is coming, which I'm excited for, but also told will get dreary after a while. They say that, but what they don't know is that Doug Wood loves the rain enough to dance outside naked in it.
On a completely unrelated note, aren't people that talk in the third person creepy? "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's".
Anywho. Seattle is cool. But the people who populate it seem to be... eh, well, a lot of them are jerks. I don't know if it's my personal aversion to really long hair, and the combination of short hair with facial hair, or how all the women seem to be angry brunettes, or if it's just the stress of moving into college, but no one here seems to be a genuinely nice person. That depresses me a little. Maybe they're too into their eco-friendly liberal self-righteousness to be friendly. Maybe I'm just less than excited to be here and looking for stuff to whinge about.
Quick rundown of my last few days:
Last Morning in ABQ:
Get woken up by dad. Eat breakfast, fight with parents for no good reason, leave on jetplane. Sleep through jetride, arrive Seattle fresh and ready to kick ass.
I'm bitchin awesome at this point, I just woke up, I've arrived, and I feel like I could take on Mt Rainer. I find out a good friend of mine is actually in Seattle, and we make plans for lunch.
We eat lunch at a place called Tutta Bella's. I personally am not particularly fond of Tutta Bella's, I find their pizza to be too fancy, too frou frou. That being said, if you're in the mood for an overpriced very veggie focused set of personal pizza's, Tutta's is the way to go. My brother swears by it though, and he makes eating good food a personal habit. The conversation is mostly directed by my mother who has accompanied me on my odyssey. This is good and bad, good because I'm too zoned out to concentrate on a real conversation, and bad because I don't really participate in the conversation at all, and just stare off into space most of the time.
After that we return to my brother's house. We had been there, and I almost forewent lunch in favor of the activity I'm about to describe. However, it is unlikely that I'll be able to see my friend up here all that often, so it was a good idea of me to spend time with her while I could. That being said, when I arrived, my brother was engaging in an activity that will never get old for me.
Demolition.
I like to wreck shit, and when I saw my brother taking a sawzal to the bushes in front of his house, I almost wet myself with excitement.
I"m know, I'm like a puppy. But really, nothing appealed to me more than tearing out a bunch of bushes. It worked like a charm to cure my zoning out problem, and provided me with some much needed exercise.
For dinner we went to Taste of India, which is a restaurant kind of out of the way, but well worth the trip to get to. It always surprises me exactly how good the food there really is, as somehow I expect my mind to have over hyped it for me. Anyone who visits me is getting a trip to there, as well as an introduction to Arfan.
Arfan owns Taste of India, he is a short Indian male, who is unexpectedly young. He greets my brother and mother by name as we walk in the door. I'm not offended by being forgotten, I'm rather shocked he remembers my mother's name. Taste of India is always packed, and to remember one patron's name is impressive.
One of the benefits of being related to Jordan is that when you're with him you get to bask in his aura of notability. Doors open, free things are given to him, and by association, you. Women notice him, and by association, you as well. Men look up to him, and almost always find instant camaraderie. In other words, men like him, women like him, I like him. What it boils down to is that we got two appetizers and one dessert from Arfan free, just because he knows him. It's a nice thing.
I spent all of the next day moving in, and buying shit for my dorm room. I say shit and not stuff because that's what it is. Shit. Mostly it's shit I would have at home, or would be able to bring from home, but space is a premium when locking yourself in a flying cigar tube, so I was unable to bring a lot of my shit. Things like trash cans, cork boards, hangers, kitchenware, all shit I have plenty of at home, if home weren't about a thousand miles away.
I feel like Edward Norton's character in Fight Club. Which dining set defines me as a person?
But I'm mostly moved in. there's just a last few things I need before I'm all set. Like stuff to spruce up the room itself. It looks like prison cell in here.
That's about it. I know this one wasn't all deep and stuff, but Meghan wanted one that wasn't, so she got it, it reads like a mission report, and I promise the next one will be about something inflammatory. Like abortion, or aids, or autism... isn't it weird how so many nasty things start with a's?
-Doug
"I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone,
Sweep the streets I used to own."
-Coldplay, "Viva la Vida"
P.S. There was a whole bunt cake, sliced, sitting in the bed bath and beyond parking lot. All by itself. Seattle is fucking insane.
Okay, as the last post rather dramatically demonstrates, uprooting your entire life and plopping it down somewhere else can strain the mind a bit. It'll make you say the things you actually mean, as opposed to putting on a face and telling the world that you'll be fine with a few years of therapy. When really you won't. You'll either HTFU, or become a black hole of emotional turmoil and misery that not even trained shrinks can penetrate. You'll start off small, puppies or squirrels or some other cute, helpless animal, and it will eventually escalate until you've become what the rest of us only contemplate in our deepest, darkest nightmares. Yes, you will be... an emo kid.
Incidentally, if you're an emo kid and you're reading this, I'd like to take this moment to say, Fuck You. Your father really does love you, your hair really does make you look gay, you're wearing girl pants and everyone knows it, and your life isn't nearly as hard as you'd like to think it is. You want to see hard? Try living in a third world country you candy ass terdlicker.
Now that that's out of the way, we're going to move on to Seattle.
It's a nice city. The thing I'm most impressed with is the public transportation system, which as a well traveled individual, I believe to be one of the top five in the world. Buses turn a largely spread out metropolitan area into a place that's easily navigated. Ferries provide fun and timely transport to local islands, and a monorail system is currently under construction that would allow speedy public transit 40 miles to the nearest international airport. Coming from Albuquerque, where the bus system closely resembles a 90 car smash up and monorail systems are still viewed as somewhat science fiction, this is a huge step up.
The weather so far is sunny and warm, except at night, where temperatures drop to not too cold, but certainly uncomfortable for someone as used to a warm climate as I am. I'm told the rain is coming, which I'm excited for, but also told will get dreary after a while. They say that, but what they don't know is that Doug Wood loves the rain enough to dance outside naked in it.
On a completely unrelated note, aren't people that talk in the third person creepy? "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's".
Anywho. Seattle is cool. But the people who populate it seem to be... eh, well, a lot of them are jerks. I don't know if it's my personal aversion to really long hair, and the combination of short hair with facial hair, or how all the women seem to be angry brunettes, or if it's just the stress of moving into college, but no one here seems to be a genuinely nice person. That depresses me a little. Maybe they're too into their eco-friendly liberal self-righteousness to be friendly. Maybe I'm just less than excited to be here and looking for stuff to whinge about.
Quick rundown of my last few days:
Last Morning in ABQ:
Get woken up by dad. Eat breakfast, fight with parents for no good reason, leave on jetplane. Sleep through jetride, arrive Seattle fresh and ready to kick ass.
I'm bitchin awesome at this point, I just woke up, I've arrived, and I feel like I could take on Mt Rainer. I find out a good friend of mine is actually in Seattle, and we make plans for lunch.
We eat lunch at a place called Tutta Bella's. I personally am not particularly fond of Tutta Bella's, I find their pizza to be too fancy, too frou frou. That being said, if you're in the mood for an overpriced very veggie focused set of personal pizza's, Tutta's is the way to go. My brother swears by it though, and he makes eating good food a personal habit. The conversation is mostly directed by my mother who has accompanied me on my odyssey. This is good and bad, good because I'm too zoned out to concentrate on a real conversation, and bad because I don't really participate in the conversation at all, and just stare off into space most of the time.
After that we return to my brother's house. We had been there, and I almost forewent lunch in favor of the activity I'm about to describe. However, it is unlikely that I'll be able to see my friend up here all that often, so it was a good idea of me to spend time with her while I could. That being said, when I arrived, my brother was engaging in an activity that will never get old for me.
Demolition.
I like to wreck shit, and when I saw my brother taking a sawzal to the bushes in front of his house, I almost wet myself with excitement.
I"m know, I'm like a puppy. But really, nothing appealed to me more than tearing out a bunch of bushes. It worked like a charm to cure my zoning out problem, and provided me with some much needed exercise.
For dinner we went to Taste of India, which is a restaurant kind of out of the way, but well worth the trip to get to. It always surprises me exactly how good the food there really is, as somehow I expect my mind to have over hyped it for me. Anyone who visits me is getting a trip to there, as well as an introduction to Arfan.
Arfan owns Taste of India, he is a short Indian male, who is unexpectedly young. He greets my brother and mother by name as we walk in the door. I'm not offended by being forgotten, I'm rather shocked he remembers my mother's name. Taste of India is always packed, and to remember one patron's name is impressive.
One of the benefits of being related to Jordan is that when you're with him you get to bask in his aura of notability. Doors open, free things are given to him, and by association, you. Women notice him, and by association, you as well. Men look up to him, and almost always find instant camaraderie. In other words, men like him, women like him, I like him. What it boils down to is that we got two appetizers and one dessert from Arfan free, just because he knows him. It's a nice thing.
I spent all of the next day moving in, and buying shit for my dorm room. I say shit and not stuff because that's what it is. Shit. Mostly it's shit I would have at home, or would be able to bring from home, but space is a premium when locking yourself in a flying cigar tube, so I was unable to bring a lot of my shit. Things like trash cans, cork boards, hangers, kitchenware, all shit I have plenty of at home, if home weren't about a thousand miles away.
I feel like Edward Norton's character in Fight Club. Which dining set defines me as a person?
But I'm mostly moved in. there's just a last few things I need before I'm all set. Like stuff to spruce up the room itself. It looks like prison cell in here.
That's about it. I know this one wasn't all deep and stuff, but Meghan wanted one that wasn't, so she got it, it reads like a mission report, and I promise the next one will be about something inflammatory. Like abortion, or aids, or autism... isn't it weird how so many nasty things start with a's?
-Doug
"I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone,
Sweep the streets I used to own."
-Coldplay, "Viva la Vida"
P.S. There was a whole bunt cake, sliced, sitting in the bed bath and beyond parking lot. All by itself. Seattle is fucking insane.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Doug: Arrival.
Dear Reader,
I have a plan. I've been working on this plan all day. I've been slaving over it, divining, scheming, and compiling to form the perfect master plan. You, Dear Reader, have no idea the dedication that has gone into this plan. I have loved this plan; I am dedicated to it, as though it were my lover, which it is. This is my Mona Lisa, my Starry Starry Night, my trip to the moon. Are you guys ready for this?
The next person that tells me I should be excited for college, I'm going to punch in the face.
Hard.
And I'll smile like a saint while I do it.
:-)
That's all. Have a good night.
-Doug
"I'll give you a hint. Instead of helping an old lady cross the street, you should shoot her in the face with arrows until it stops being funny."
Richard, LFG
I have a plan. I've been working on this plan all day. I've been slaving over it, divining, scheming, and compiling to form the perfect master plan. You, Dear Reader, have no idea the dedication that has gone into this plan. I have loved this plan; I am dedicated to it, as though it were my lover, which it is. This is my Mona Lisa, my Starry Starry Night, my trip to the moon. Are you guys ready for this?
The next person that tells me I should be excited for college, I'm going to punch in the face.
Hard.
And I'll smile like a saint while I do it.
:-)
That's all. Have a good night.
-Doug
"I'll give you a hint. Instead of helping an old lady cross the street, you should shoot her in the face with arrows until it stops being funny."
Richard, LFG
Meghan: Strange Dreams
When Meghan takes drugs her dreams get strange
Let me rephrase that: When Meghan takes drugs her dreams get freaky-fracking-hell-on-earth-trippy-weird
But they’re fun
I wouldn’t call them restful; interesting, yes, fun, definitely, restful, not so much
Let me demonstrate…
It was a fine sunny day in heaven and Abe, Jasmine, Sarah, and I floated on clouds
I lay back in restful joy and looked over at Abe to discover he was dressed like the white power ranger
I laughed at him until I discovered that I was dressed in similar garb (we all were)
While we exclaimed in dismay Doug landed among us carrying two squalling infants
We looked at him worriedly
“What?” he asked as he handed one to Abe
We looked at him more worriedly
“They’re not mine!” he exclaimed “Don’t you guys remember the babysitting agency.”
And then it dawned on us
Not only were we white power rangers, but we were a power ranger babysitter agency, doomed forever to…
…
…
Suddenly I was in a Frat/Sorority house owned/occupied by the F.F and my Suitemates (aka Doug, Abe, Sarah, Minel, Sarah, Rivers, and me), and I was answering the door whose doorbell had just rung. I opened it and the girl standing there burst in with her suitcases and demanded a room. I looked at her, confused, and asked who she was. She said she was my ex and I may have broken up with her but I was obligated to put her up when she needed it.
“Buh-buh-“ I stammered, “But I don’t have an ex girlfriend.”
“Yes. You do.” She insisted, and pushed past me.
I hovered over her, as she moved in, trying to figure out what to do. I couldn’t hit her, could I? No that would be bad. Could I call the cops? I suddenly felt overwhelming sympathy for the male species. I saw Doug and Abe on the way down the stairs and I nearly flew over to them.
“Help me with her!”
“She’s your problem.” They said shrugging
“I DON’T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!!!”
They shrugged and walked out the front door.
I followed them out and all of the residents had a huge garage sale (except for our strange new inmate).
The next night the medicine of choice was cough syrup, as opposed to the migraine pills the night before
I had to have sex.
Not only did I have to have sex I had to have sex in every building of every city in every state of every country
And in every position
I told you my dreams weren’t restful? Ha, you have no idea
It’s like the adults telling kids that Santa Clause can’t possibly get to every child’s chimney in one night
Well I tell you, it is possible, some fricking way
The next morning, exhausted, happy, and coming back from Paris in a little car (I don’t know how it works it just does) I meet with Edward (yes it’s a code name). He pulls me to another car and tells me he has some exciting news. I eye him with misgivings
“And by exciting you mean…?
“They love it, isn’t it great?”
“They love what?”
“Our relationship, they’re going to do a special on it in the magazine.” He beamed at me, “Lilith’s going to meet us at the warehouse and then we’re going to give them an interview. They want to know everything about how our threesome works.”
“Th-Th-Th—“
The door to the car opened and the lights started flashing, I clutched at Edward’s arm; I couldn’t help it this was one secret that was not supposed to get out. But before I could stop it we were walking down a red carpet, me in a long evening gown and him in a tux. Lilith waved to us at the end of the carpet and the entrance to the building. I saw my Dad in a Volkswagen bug made of fish scales parked beyond the mob of reporters. What the-? Lilith linked arms on Edward’s other side and we strode into the dark building.
-Meghan
Meghan:UBERSUCK
“You realize what this means don’t you?”
Jasmine’s eyes snap open to the darkness of her dorm room.
She tries to lunge forward only to be brought up short by the clatter of handcuffs, shackling her wrists to the bedposts.
“Meghan, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
The lights flick on and Meghan is seen sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed (safely out of reach) and holding a strange contraption cradled in her arms that looks like a cross between a flamethrower and a vacuumed cleaner.
“Hey Jasmine, long time no see! How’s life?”
“UNTIE ME STUPID!!!” Jasmine thrashes angrily
“No can do. You see, there’s a little problem. With your blogging. You mentioned that you want to keep all of your thoughts in your head? No, no, we can’t have that.”
Jasmine narrows her eyes suspiciously, “So you’re going to do… What exactly?”
Meghan grins and flourishes her weapon, “I present to you…
THE UBERSUCK 3000!!!”
…
…
“Ow, OW! Stop biting me! What was I supposed to name it? It’s supposed to suck out thoughts so it makes sense. And the Chibisuck sounds so nonthreatening…”
“It does what?”
“It sucks out thoughts! See, you just push this little button here—“
…Bzzzt…
…
…
“Jasmine?”
…
…
“Oh shit.”
Suddenly the rest of the F.F + Sarah’s roommate started to pound on the door. Of course they wanted to know why Jasmine was sleeping so early and if she wanted to go get pizza. Damn that two hour time difference between New Mexico and North Carolina, it always did screw up my traveling.
“Jasmine! Hurry up.” Abe called
Oh, what the hell.
I unlocked the door and opened it, “Hi guys!”
Expressions of joy mixed with confusion, “Meg--! Wait. Why are you--?”
“Later,” I waved towards the interior of the dorm, “I think I broke her.”
I received many different looks. They ranged from ‘you idiot’ to ‘What the hell?’
They all traipsed into the dorm, Sarah’s roomie last.
“Who are you?”
I spread my hands and gazed towards the heavens, “They call me the angel of death—“
Doug smacked the back of my head.
“So where exactly is she?” he asked
“Handcuffed to the bed.”
He blinked at me, “Right, obviously. And do you have a key?”
I just looked at him.
“Stupid question, Abe can you pick those things please?
When we’d lifted her down we pondered the mystery of how to turn her into herself once more.
“We could just start pushing buttons.”-Meghan
“We could take the machine to a technician and have him systematically examine it until he found the correct lever to reverse it.”- Sarah’s roommate
“We could make cookies.”-Sarah
“We could put her soul into a giant robotic killing machine and then enter her in robot wars and take over the world! Jasmine wouldn’t mind.”-Abe
“What the fuck is wrong with you people? We still have those fireworks from the Fourth of July, maybe if we set them all off at once…”- Doug
So eventually we came to the conclusion that we couldn’t agree, so we decided to try all of our plans on the Ubersuck that held Jasmine’s soul. And loe and behold, when Sarah began baking her cookies the aroma wafted through the air and the Ubersuck (which still sizzled from Doug’s fiery attack) crumbled in defeat and Jasmine’s soul drifted back into her body.
But the battle was not over yet.
I crept over and warily poked her in the arm, “Jasmine?”
Her eyes slid open, and I darted back, “Good, you’re okay! See everything’s fine, nothing to worry about…”
She rolled over onto her knees, “Meghan, while I was fighting robots, being dissected by engineers, and lit on fire, I had time to think.”
I paused briefly from my getaway, “About what?”
She grinned evilly, “About the bloody and terrible revenge that I will reap upon your soul.”
Jeeze that sounded sort of harsh.
“Well, I’ll leave you to that, and I think I’ll just…go.” I backed towards the door.
“Go? Oh, I don’t think so. You’ve forgotten that I have the ultimate bargaining chip!” And then she snapped out her hands and what was it she held? The key to my soul which stopped me in my tracks despite imminent torture?
A $1 bill
Everyone gasped in horror.
Well, nearly everyone; Sarah’s roommate snorted in disbelief,
“Come on, nobody’s that cheap.”
“Some people are,” Doug said solemnly, “some people are.”
Some stories have no endings...
-Meghan
Doug: And... Here... We... Go.
Dear Reader,
On October 3, 1993 elements of Delta Force and The United States Army Rangers engaged in what has come to be known as the First Battle of Mogadishu. Their mission was to secure members of a Warlord known as Mohamed Fara Adid's core political advisors. That part of the mission went of without a hitch. However, while providing air support to the soldiers on the ground, a Black Hawk helicopter commanded by Leiutenant Cliff "Elvis" Wolcott was downed by a Rocket Propelled Grenade. (RPG) Minutes later, another Black Hawk under the command of Michael Durant was shot down. In the ensuing rescue mission, 18 United States soldiers were killed and more than 70 injured. Their heroism in the face of impossible odds is truely a story that everyone should know.The details of the battle are chronicled quite well in the book "Black Hawk Down" by Mark Bowden, and the movie by the same name, directed by Ridley Scott. Both come highly reccomended.
I bring this particular battle to your attention not because of any particular desire to bring up the uncommon valor that soldiers in the military exemplify every day, but rather to call your attention to one soldier in particular, who almost missed the battle entirely.
PFC Todd Blackburn was 18 the day he showed up at the forward operations base that the Rangers had established just outside of Mogadishu. He had completed Ranger school and was looking forward to his first mission as a real life Army Ranger. He was so eager to get into the action. He believed his whole life had been a series of events leading up to this one moment. He wanted to prove himself so badly.
The first stage of the operation called for four Ranger Squads (chalks) to drop into the target zone from Black Hawks and secure the four corners of the building that Adid's advisors were believed to be hiding in. While this was happening, Delta Force would secure the building itself, take the prisoners, and wait for extraction by Captain Danny Mc'Knight's Humvees.
During the insertion of the Ranger chalks by the Black Hawks, the pilot of Blackburn's helicopter engaged in an evasive action because of RPG fire. During the manuver, Blackburn fell from the chopper 30 feet to the ground.
He was immediately rendered unconsious by his fall, and was medevaced by elements of the Humvee extraction force. Blackburn made a full recovery, what he missed was the twenty four hour gun battle against the entirety of Mogidushu to save the downed Black Hawk pilots.
He was so excited for this mission, but one slip up caused him to miss it almost entirely. It was a complete accident, and could have happened to anyone, Blackburn was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
What disturbs me is that I was talking to myself a few hours ago and all of a sudden I was instantly reminded of the way Blackburn had spoken of his mission before he fell. About how excited he was, and how he felt his life had been leading up to this moment.
I talk to myself a lot. As my dad says, sometimes it's the only way to have an intelligent conversation. That internal voice talks back. I was packing my stuff for college, thinking about how I wasn't scared and how I wasn't sad to be going, and how missing people wouldn't really be that bad.
My inner voice called bullshit. And then proceeded to dress me down for even thinking like an Army Ranger Private who's only claim to fame was falling out of a helicopter. It was something of a revelation. I am scared. I like this place, I live here. I don't want to leave. Tonight's the last night in a long time where I'm going to get to sleep on my bed! Hell, It's 2 am right now. I get another four hours if i'm lucky. I said goodbye to people I love not an hour and a half ago. I'm not going to see my sister for another three months. My brother, either, and... somone else. Someone very dear to me.
It's a weight.
But it's a burden I'll carry until I see them again. Because I'm Doug Wood, and I AM strong enough. I'm going on an adventure. I'm going to see the world. Meet new people, see new things, learn secrets and wonders. I will wander, I will roam.
But as the song says, this will always be my home.
-Doug
"I'll come back when you call me. No need to say goodbye."
Regina Spektor, "The Call"
On October 3, 1993 elements of Delta Force and The United States Army Rangers engaged in what has come to be known as the First Battle of Mogadishu. Their mission was to secure members of a Warlord known as Mohamed Fara Adid's core political advisors. That part of the mission went of without a hitch. However, while providing air support to the soldiers on the ground, a Black Hawk helicopter commanded by Leiutenant Cliff "Elvis" Wolcott was downed by a Rocket Propelled Grenade. (RPG) Minutes later, another Black Hawk under the command of Michael Durant was shot down. In the ensuing rescue mission, 18 United States soldiers were killed and more than 70 injured. Their heroism in the face of impossible odds is truely a story that everyone should know.The details of the battle are chronicled quite well in the book "Black Hawk Down" by Mark Bowden, and the movie by the same name, directed by Ridley Scott. Both come highly reccomended.
I bring this particular battle to your attention not because of any particular desire to bring up the uncommon valor that soldiers in the military exemplify every day, but rather to call your attention to one soldier in particular, who almost missed the battle entirely.
PFC Todd Blackburn was 18 the day he showed up at the forward operations base that the Rangers had established just outside of Mogadishu. He had completed Ranger school and was looking forward to his first mission as a real life Army Ranger. He was so eager to get into the action. He believed his whole life had been a series of events leading up to this one moment. He wanted to prove himself so badly.
The first stage of the operation called for four Ranger Squads (chalks) to drop into the target zone from Black Hawks and secure the four corners of the building that Adid's advisors were believed to be hiding in. While this was happening, Delta Force would secure the building itself, take the prisoners, and wait for extraction by Captain Danny Mc'Knight's Humvees.
During the insertion of the Ranger chalks by the Black Hawks, the pilot of Blackburn's helicopter engaged in an evasive action because of RPG fire. During the manuver, Blackburn fell from the chopper 30 feet to the ground.
He was immediately rendered unconsious by his fall, and was medevaced by elements of the Humvee extraction force. Blackburn made a full recovery, what he missed was the twenty four hour gun battle against the entirety of Mogidushu to save the downed Black Hawk pilots.
He was so excited for this mission, but one slip up caused him to miss it almost entirely. It was a complete accident, and could have happened to anyone, Blackburn was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
What disturbs me is that I was talking to myself a few hours ago and all of a sudden I was instantly reminded of the way Blackburn had spoken of his mission before he fell. About how excited he was, and how he felt his life had been leading up to this moment.
I talk to myself a lot. As my dad says, sometimes it's the only way to have an intelligent conversation. That internal voice talks back. I was packing my stuff for college, thinking about how I wasn't scared and how I wasn't sad to be going, and how missing people wouldn't really be that bad.
My inner voice called bullshit. And then proceeded to dress me down for even thinking like an Army Ranger Private who's only claim to fame was falling out of a helicopter. It was something of a revelation. I am scared. I like this place, I live here. I don't want to leave. Tonight's the last night in a long time where I'm going to get to sleep on my bed! Hell, It's 2 am right now. I get another four hours if i'm lucky. I said goodbye to people I love not an hour and a half ago. I'm not going to see my sister for another three months. My brother, either, and... somone else. Someone very dear to me.
It's a weight.
But it's a burden I'll carry until I see them again. Because I'm Doug Wood, and I AM strong enough. I'm going on an adventure. I'm going to see the world. Meet new people, see new things, learn secrets and wonders. I will wander, I will roam.
But as the song says, this will always be my home.
-Doug
"I'll come back when you call me. No need to say goodbye."
Regina Spektor, "The Call"
Technical Difficulties
Okay, so, Sarah, Abe, A couple of your blogs saved as drafts. I managed to publish one of them, but the others didn't save correctly, and Sarah, your greetings one is gone, you can rewrite and publish it if you want, but the point is kind of moot. Abe, your Nick Cage one didn't save, sorry, it's still on as a draft, but the only thing it says is Nicholas Cage. Shit happens, the computer eats good material, it happens to the best of us. We will survive adapt and overcome. For the forseeable future, you should write your blogs in word and then copy paste.
Love,
God.
Love,
God.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Jasmine: is this really happening? yes i think it is
This is my first blog. Way to state the obvious Jasmine. Back to the point.
When (I forget who, it was probably Doug) first brought the idea of a blog to the group, I was all for it. It sounded like the perfect way to keep in touch with all of you who keep abandoning us. That is, apart from the zombie project, this is sorely lagging. (I don’t remember who is next, does anyone?) However almost immediately I foundered on the blog front. I don’t keep actual diaries. I very rarely write about my life or my thoughts on life. And when I do I tend to use a different alphabet or a combination of them so that no one can read it. If I could I would never write these thoughts down. But sometimes you can’t help it, you need to vent, and writing does that for me.
I have two reasons for not journaling or in this case blogging. One they’re my thoughts. Mine. They belong in my head where they can be carefully controlled by me and me only. I worry about what someone out there could do with my thoughts, or what my thoughts would do with someone. Dangerous things they are. Two, who would be interested, maybe my friends to an extent. But I can’t think of anyone else. I read one other blog. It belongs to an author that I obsess about. I read her blog to find out how far she is into the next book. I want to know to the day how long I’m going to have to wait before I get to hold it. Yes I need help. But mostly her blog is filled with mundane things I have to slog through to get what I really want. I don’t want to write a blog people have to pick and choose through.
Today I’ve decided to screw all that to hell. I need to vent. I don’t want to call anyone, I want to write. The days I write the most tend to be shittiest days. But I’m not going to write about today. Today was stupid for no reason other than me being stupid. I’m going to write about a couple of days ago. Something happened to me, well to me and one other person who, for now, I’m going to call Cricket. The name makes sense if you know him, sort of, well it makes sense to me at least. My post, my mental connections.
I met up with Cricket around five, five-thirtyish, he picked me up from my parent’s house and we went on our merry way to see Hancock. I’d never seen Hancock before. Hancock is amazing. Will smith is hot with his clothes burning off of him. Go Sarah, I’ll hold him down while you take him in the dark. Woot! From there we went to Corey’s birthday party. Didn’t get him a present. Corey’s a creep, always will be in my book. He stared in my window one night for long enough that I slept in the living room. He’s a creep. But there were people there that I missed. Snooze, Jared, I miss you guys. Anyways, the party was fun, praying mantises kept appearing and trying to live in the house which was ok with me, it’s not like they wouldn’t find things to eat. We left the party eventually and headed back to my dorm.
All of that was really unnecessary and just an exposition leading up to the actual story. Here’s the actual story.
So we get into my dorm at around eleven thirty. My late flatmate Diana was in the kitchen making pizza with two former people who were her friends. We make polite conversation, tell a few stories. Another of my flatmates arrives looking like the walking dead only more tired. We too are tired and excuse ourselves to my room. I’m not going to say we tried to go directly to sleep. Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. Use your imagination how you like it, it’s one of the few things I can’t control in this world. But eventually we did try to sleep. Try I say because due to Diana and her friends we couldn’t. They were too loud. We tossed, we turned we talked, we grumbled, we plotted her death and the deaths of everyone she knows and loves. I went to the bathroom and got them to turn down the movie they were watching. Let me just say that I no longer like 21. It did nothing. I think I got some sleep in there somewhere. Maybe. It was kind of a blur. Cricket didn’t fare any better. Every once in a while I would poke him to see how he was getting on with sleep. This is the kind of person I am. I like to know if the people I care about are comfortable. Or in this case more comfortable than I was. Anyways I would poke him and he would entertain me.
Jasmine: (poke) you asleep?
Cricket: Mooshu what time is it?
Jasmine: (pauses) did you just ask Mooshu what time it was?
Cricket: huh? Yeah, I thought he was on the floor.
In case you didn’t get that Mooshu is another code name, it is. Example 2:
Jasmine: (poke) you asleep?
Cricket: Hang on, which slice is my father?
Jasmine goes back to sleep
It was off and on like this till past four thirty which was the last time I looked at the clock.
My dorm room has two temperatures. Too warm and too cold. Here we were, curled around each other, listening to Diana and her demonic spawn hack their lungs out laughing, exhausted beyond thought, and it was hot. I remember mumbling something about the air conditioner before we ended up on the floor with all the blankets. Then the floor wasn’t comfortable, so we turned the air conditioning up and got back on the bunk. Seriously, thinking straight doesn’t work that early in the morning.
Sometime that night Diana exorcised the evil ones or we fell asleep despite them. I had some rather disturbing dreams about Greece and Germany and then we woke up at ten. We talked more about killing Diana and then fell back asleep. At eleven we were up for good. And ready for a shower.
We collect our supplies, I load cricket up with my shower basket and he hobbles over there barely able to take the weight of it. I wrap a towel around myself and close the door on my way out. I close the door. Closed door. Door, keys, locked, oh shit.
“You ok?” he asks this because I’m banging my head into the door repeatedly. “I closed the door.” he laughs a little. I narrow my eyes in his general direction. “You have to admit it is a little funny.” “Your keys are in there too you know.” “Oh shit.” Now he was worried.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t call my RA phone was in my room. Everything was in my room. My clothes were in my room. Cricket’s clothes were in my room. We were standing in my living room with nothing but towels and some shampoo. Yes it was a little funny. Yes I tried to pick the lock with a fork. No it didn’t work. So I knocked on Diana’s door.
“Diana? Diana? I locked myself out of my room, can I borrow your phone.” I figured she kept us up last night, she deserved to be punished. So when she opened the door I pushed past her and threw her against the TV hard. She hit her head and rolled over moaning. Then I grabbed a pair of jeans from her closet and wrapped one pant leg around her neck, holding her there a good three minutes after she’d stopped thrashing. Rewrapping the towel around myself I grabbed her phone and headed into the kitchen where my RA’s phone number was posted on the fridge.
He didn’t answer. Luis is a useless human being.
“Fuck this, let’s take a shower.” Well said cricket.
We showered, it was glorious, an escape from the troubles of our haunted world. Half way through we both burst out laughing because it really was just too funny. We dried off and went back into the living room having accomplished a great deal I think. I called Luis again and this time he picked up. Hurrah for Luis, unfortunately he did not have an extra set of keys. The Coronado desk had my extra set of keys. This is because Luis is a useless human being.
Raven picked now to arrive back from I think her boyfriends. She sleeps there a good portion of the week, which is irrelevant, because all that was relevant was that Raven had clothes, which I borrowed to go to the Coronado desk to get to my clothes.
Thus the story is ended. Both Cricket and I were not forced into too much humiliation for my very, very avoidable mistake. I’m going to make an extra set of keys and hide them in various places. Diana’s body hasn’t yet begun to smell. But eventually it will. I’m not sure what I will do when that happens, I’m open to suggestions.
That took way too long to write, but I feel much better. I need to do some homework now.
When (I forget who, it was probably Doug) first brought the idea of a blog to the group, I was all for it. It sounded like the perfect way to keep in touch with all of you who keep abandoning us. That is, apart from the zombie project, this is sorely lagging. (I don’t remember who is next, does anyone?) However almost immediately I foundered on the blog front. I don’t keep actual diaries. I very rarely write about my life or my thoughts on life. And when I do I tend to use a different alphabet or a combination of them so that no one can read it. If I could I would never write these thoughts down. But sometimes you can’t help it, you need to vent, and writing does that for me.
I have two reasons for not journaling or in this case blogging. One they’re my thoughts. Mine. They belong in my head where they can be carefully controlled by me and me only. I worry about what someone out there could do with my thoughts, or what my thoughts would do with someone. Dangerous things they are. Two, who would be interested, maybe my friends to an extent. But I can’t think of anyone else. I read one other blog. It belongs to an author that I obsess about. I read her blog to find out how far she is into the next book. I want to know to the day how long I’m going to have to wait before I get to hold it. Yes I need help. But mostly her blog is filled with mundane things I have to slog through to get what I really want. I don’t want to write a blog people have to pick and choose through.
Today I’ve decided to screw all that to hell. I need to vent. I don’t want to call anyone, I want to write. The days I write the most tend to be shittiest days. But I’m not going to write about today. Today was stupid for no reason other than me being stupid. I’m going to write about a couple of days ago. Something happened to me, well to me and one other person who, for now, I’m going to call Cricket. The name makes sense if you know him, sort of, well it makes sense to me at least. My post, my mental connections.
I met up with Cricket around five, five-thirtyish, he picked me up from my parent’s house and we went on our merry way to see Hancock. I’d never seen Hancock before. Hancock is amazing. Will smith is hot with his clothes burning off of him. Go Sarah, I’ll hold him down while you take him in the dark. Woot! From there we went to Corey’s birthday party. Didn’t get him a present. Corey’s a creep, always will be in my book. He stared in my window one night for long enough that I slept in the living room. He’s a creep. But there were people there that I missed. Snooze, Jared, I miss you guys. Anyways, the party was fun, praying mantises kept appearing and trying to live in the house which was ok with me, it’s not like they wouldn’t find things to eat. We left the party eventually and headed back to my dorm.
All of that was really unnecessary and just an exposition leading up to the actual story. Here’s the actual story.
So we get into my dorm at around eleven thirty. My late flatmate Diana was in the kitchen making pizza with two former people who were her friends. We make polite conversation, tell a few stories. Another of my flatmates arrives looking like the walking dead only more tired. We too are tired and excuse ourselves to my room. I’m not going to say we tried to go directly to sleep. Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. Use your imagination how you like it, it’s one of the few things I can’t control in this world. But eventually we did try to sleep. Try I say because due to Diana and her friends we couldn’t. They were too loud. We tossed, we turned we talked, we grumbled, we plotted her death and the deaths of everyone she knows and loves. I went to the bathroom and got them to turn down the movie they were watching. Let me just say that I no longer like 21. It did nothing. I think I got some sleep in there somewhere. Maybe. It was kind of a blur. Cricket didn’t fare any better. Every once in a while I would poke him to see how he was getting on with sleep. This is the kind of person I am. I like to know if the people I care about are comfortable. Or in this case more comfortable than I was. Anyways I would poke him and he would entertain me.
Jasmine: (poke) you asleep?
Cricket: Mooshu what time is it?
Jasmine: (pauses) did you just ask Mooshu what time it was?
Cricket: huh? Yeah, I thought he was on the floor.
In case you didn’t get that Mooshu is another code name, it is. Example 2:
Jasmine: (poke) you asleep?
Cricket: Hang on, which slice is my father?
Jasmine goes back to sleep
It was off and on like this till past four thirty which was the last time I looked at the clock.
My dorm room has two temperatures. Too warm and too cold. Here we were, curled around each other, listening to Diana and her demonic spawn hack their lungs out laughing, exhausted beyond thought, and it was hot. I remember mumbling something about the air conditioner before we ended up on the floor with all the blankets. Then the floor wasn’t comfortable, so we turned the air conditioning up and got back on the bunk. Seriously, thinking straight doesn’t work that early in the morning.
Sometime that night Diana exorcised the evil ones or we fell asleep despite them. I had some rather disturbing dreams about Greece and Germany and then we woke up at ten. We talked more about killing Diana and then fell back asleep. At eleven we were up for good. And ready for a shower.
We collect our supplies, I load cricket up with my shower basket and he hobbles over there barely able to take the weight of it. I wrap a towel around myself and close the door on my way out. I close the door. Closed door. Door, keys, locked, oh shit.
“You ok?” he asks this because I’m banging my head into the door repeatedly. “I closed the door.” he laughs a little. I narrow my eyes in his general direction. “You have to admit it is a little funny.” “Your keys are in there too you know.” “Oh shit.” Now he was worried.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t call my RA phone was in my room. Everything was in my room. My clothes were in my room. Cricket’s clothes were in my room. We were standing in my living room with nothing but towels and some shampoo. Yes it was a little funny. Yes I tried to pick the lock with a fork. No it didn’t work. So I knocked on Diana’s door.
“Diana? Diana? I locked myself out of my room, can I borrow your phone.” I figured she kept us up last night, she deserved to be punished. So when she opened the door I pushed past her and threw her against the TV hard. She hit her head and rolled over moaning. Then I grabbed a pair of jeans from her closet and wrapped one pant leg around her neck, holding her there a good three minutes after she’d stopped thrashing. Rewrapping the towel around myself I grabbed her phone and headed into the kitchen where my RA’s phone number was posted on the fridge.
He didn’t answer. Luis is a useless human being.
“Fuck this, let’s take a shower.” Well said cricket.
We showered, it was glorious, an escape from the troubles of our haunted world. Half way through we both burst out laughing because it really was just too funny. We dried off and went back into the living room having accomplished a great deal I think. I called Luis again and this time he picked up. Hurrah for Luis, unfortunately he did not have an extra set of keys. The Coronado desk had my extra set of keys. This is because Luis is a useless human being.
Raven picked now to arrive back from I think her boyfriends. She sleeps there a good portion of the week, which is irrelevant, because all that was relevant was that Raven had clothes, which I borrowed to go to the Coronado desk to get to my clothes.
Thus the story is ended. Both Cricket and I were not forced into too much humiliation for my very, very avoidable mistake. I’m going to make an extra set of keys and hide them in various places. Diana’s body hasn’t yet begun to smell. But eventually it will. I’m not sure what I will do when that happens, I’m open to suggestions.
That took way too long to write, but I feel much better. I need to do some homework now.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Meghan: Bullshit
The class is bullshit, pure bullshit. I don’t even know why we do it. But that aspect applies to much of life does it not? The project: create a poster that showed your values in life. Ha. Put all of my values down on a tiny scrap of paper and then explain those values to a bunch of people my age? You might as well ask me to go find the Holy Grail; I would have about the same success. So we grouped in our little flocks to impart valuable knowledge unto our brethren and I prepared to impart some worthless b.s. ‘So, what is it that you value in your life?’
‘Well, I find that both family and religion are pillars that help hold me up whenever I need it.’
I looked up from where I had been drawing pagan symbols on my hand.
‘What about you?’
I looked at their happy faces; these people who found peace in the church, who had loving supportive families, who were happy with their simple ‘normal’ lives.
What the hell was I supposed to tell them? The truth? The very idea was laughable. I knew what would happen if I told them what really made me happy. Their faces would slowly freeze; features taking a painted look. Then their eyes would shift from painted to nervous. You know the type, the maybe-I-shouldn’t-be-talking-to-this-person-nervous. Next their faces shut down to a polite smile topped with worried, scornful eyes. They’ve come to their conclusion: you’re crazy. You’re just another loony-tune caught up in your own little world, and their little world does not have to deal with your little world.
‘What about you?’
I smiled, and laughed a little, ‘I love my friends and having fun.’
Understatement of my life
-Meghan
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Doug: The Journey
Dear Reader,
So, big news. I am the proud owner of a new laptop. It is a HP Pavillion dv9000, and can only be described by these two words: "Bitchin' Sweet." I'm rather pleased with it, despite it's lack of Microsoft Office, and occasional glitchyness, which I'm rather sure has to do with the sound system, which I'm going to adjust at the earliest opportunity.
But now on to more important things.
September 1st was my nineteenth birthday. For those of you wondering why I'm so much older than my peers, it seems that I was born about 13 hours too late to make the cutoff line for being in the school grade ahead of the one I'm in now. In other words, I was fashionably late. (sorry for the extra 13 hours of labor, mom, it had to be done).
I like birthdays, they're normally an excuse to throw a party and acquire excessive amounts of swag. However, this birthday was not normal.
Precisely three days before my birthday, (Aug 28) my construction fellows and I started on what I like to call a "Shock and Awe" job. The basics of this are thus: The homeowner commissions us to remodel a part of their home, I.E. kitchen, bedroom, whatever. The homeowner then proceeds to go out of town and the day they leave, we move in, demolish whatever we need to demolish, fix whatever damage we've done on accident, remodel whatever it is we were supposed to, throw some paint on, and then have it all done by the time the homeowners get back from their vacation.
My boss really likes shock and awes. Before he got sucked into doing three jobs at the same time due to circumstances not under his control, he did quite a few of them. They're quick, they're easy, and best of all, they make lots of money. My boss likes money, and hey, who doesn't? And we, as workers, like shock and awes too. They aren't particularly hard, they make plenty of money, and if you don't like what you're doing, in about thirty minutes you'll have something else to do. My work is like that.
Back to the S&A. Abe and I were working on taking out tile, and, we were discussing our previous adventure to Arizona. Yeah. The one where we went and saw Haylee Williams and Paramore play. We drove nearly a thousand miles in two days, got pulled over by the State Police, and saw quite possibly the greatest band in the history of pop music play. Not only that, but we ended up right on the fence, and I caught the bass player's pick. We also technically stole his parents car to pull the trip off, and bad things happened because of it. Moral of this story: Tell your parents what you want to do, as opposed to lying to them about it and doing it anyway.
So we, since we obviously don't learn from our mistakes, were discussing various alibis we could use on our parents, mine especially (all hypothetical of course), and our discussion took what we thought to be at the time to be a turn for the absurd when we mentioned my impending birthday.
Abe: Well, we've already used sleeping over at someones house. Plus, I don't really have a house anymore.
Me: I'm sure the people you're staying with wouldn't care.
Abe: Probably not. What should we do for your birthday?
Me: Something cool.
Abe: Really? Great thinkin' there.
Me: Yeah I know, Fuck me right?
Abe: Exactly.
Me: Something cool... Bike to Santa Fe.
Abe: (pause for a beat) Dude, you're a genius.
Me: I wasn't serious.
Abe: I am. Let's do it.
Me: That's a long way, like 60 miles. Think we can?
Abe: Of course. I'm awesome and you're Iron Man.
Me: Okay. Let's do it.
Three days later I found myself waking up at 5, Abe by my side, my dad dropped us off in Tijeras, and we were off. That's right, we come up with an idea and we just do it. That's just how we roll.
The route is called Highway 14 on state maps, but this series of letters and numbers doesn't even begin to adequately describe the beauty that Abe and I found on what is called on biking maps "The Turquoise Trail".
We start off with a long climb to the crest of a series of hills that makes up the back of the Sandia Mountains. This climb is mildly difficult, but since it is at the beginning of the ride, it seems almost easy. Abe and I took these hills and made them submit to our will, riding up and down them with cries of "Get Some!" and "Tiger Style!", the opening words to one of our pump up songs, "Wu-Tang Clan ain't nothin' to fuck with".
We rode through a cloud, which was, due to our altitude, more like fog. This is a magical experience, disturbingly beautiful. Visibility is reduced to something like 200 meters, which, compared to the sweeping vistas we had been encountering before this, turns the world into a cave. Sound is muffled. While biking at 7,000 ft, all you can normally hear is your own labored breathing, the sound your bike makes as it moves, but when you stop, the normal sounds of the road take over. When we stopped in the cloud, nothing seemed to move, there was dead silence, and Abe and I took a few moments to savor it.
We biked about fifteen miles before we began to see the light at the end of the cloud. In a twenty minute period, which seems like a second while biking, we broke through the last murky vestiges to brilliant morning sunlight. We realized once again that it was no later than 8 in the morning, biking in the cloud we had entered a sort of twilight land, where time had no meaning whatsoever, and the universe had seemingly stopped itself on our will.
Now we were facing a series of rolling hills, and these were not willing to submit like our previous dirt piles. At this point, we were flagging, we made it up several of these hills, but, like all great warriors, met with our greatest challenge at the last one. We toiled up it, making it to top winded, but unscathed.
I'm lying, that hill kicked our asses up one side, but we beat it down on the other. At the top we were greeted by a startling view of the valley below us. It seemed as though the whole world was stretched out before us, going on forever and ever until it grew hazy with the distance. Though we didn't know it, it was almost all downhill from here.
We stopped for brunch in Madrid, a tiny town that was originally intended for mining. Now it serves as a smaller, and far more intimate version of Santa Fe itself. Small shops sell jewelry and art, and the town was just coming alive as we entered it.
We ate at Jezebel's, a tiny cafe near town center. A small card located on our table gave us a brief, but fascinating history of Jezebel, the queen the cafe was named for.
Jezebel was a pagan ambassador to Ahab, King of the Israelites. She was princess of the Pagan nation of Phoenicia, and the two countries were at war. During peace negotiations she and Ahab fell in love, and she converted him to the pagan religion. This resulted in civil war, and naturally, since the winners write the history books, she was subsequently demonized. Although there is no evidence she was ever an adulteress, the name Jezebel has come to be synonymous with whore, or slut. Too bad, it's a pretty name.
After a tasty lunch we were on the road again. Our host at Jezebel's had informed us that it was mostly downhill to the outskirts of Santa Fe from here, and we enjoyed smooth sailing. We encountered an abandoned Chevy Bel Air (2 actually) in front of a trading post. A tiny kids version of a Corvette lay just two hundred meters down the road. This is all on the downhill slope on the other side of the hills we just rose above, leading down into rolling plains.
We hit the plains and it was smooth sailing from there, we covered well over twenty miles at an easy pace, riding side by side, chatting and looking at the scenery. New Mexico is one of the most beautiful lands I have ever had the privilege of seeing, my continued time spent outdoors has underscored that in the most magnificent way possible.
At last, after about an hour and a half of plains riding, we reached the intersection of I-25 and Highway 14. This is a mere twenty minutes outside of the Santa Fe city limits. Those twenty minutes seemed like seconds.
It was odd coming back to the city after riding in the wilderness for so long. Cars roared around us, and inside the city proper, it was difficult to get around, almost to the point of frustration. Due to poor planning and neglect, the city's sidewalks are almost impassible by bike, forcing us to walk the 6 miles into the city proper in just over two hours, stopping for a smoothie on the way to our final destination, a church in Santa Fe old town. After making almost twenty miles an hour on the highway, this was more than frustrating, it was infuriating.
Finally, we made our way to the church and were greeted by our ladies, Sarah and Jasmine, who we'd asked to pick us up in Sarah's truck.
There is nothing quite like being reunited with someone who cares about you after an adventure, I enveloped Jasmine in a bear hug as Sarah rushed to embrace Abe. We'd done something we hadn't known for sure that we could do, and these two were here to support us. That means something, something more than just your average friendship.
I had picked the church as the final destination for two reasons. First, it was a landmark that is not only easily recognized and not particularly hard to find, but also well known to me. The second reason is personal and has to do with a ritual I have established on previous trips to Santa Fe. After reuniting with the girls, we made our way into the church, paid our respects, and left.
As we left the city of Santa Fe I pondered the meaning of adventure. To go on an adventure is to set forth with a destination in mind, and to reach that destination. It is often said in regards to adventure that it is not the destination that matters, but rather the journey.
I hold with the thought that perhaps there is a middle ground. Perhaps the journey is only part of the story. Perhaps, at journey's close lies not another ending, but the beginning of another adventure. This journey ended at a church, with friends and loved ones close, and, despite reaching the end of this one, I feel that in doing so I may have discovered the beginning of another.
I am nineteen now. Many friends of mine have rather jokingly called me old. I know that seems like a joke to adults, if a nineteen year old is old then what is a 45 or 50 year old? Exipirienced is what they'd like to hear me say. Still, this age brought to mind questions I didn't think I'd be asking myself a year ago. I feel that things mean more as you get older. Learning isn't quite so much an effort as a habbit. I feel older, not old, just older. It occurs to me that all of this is a rather grand journey, many adventures, with many destinations in between.
So, Dear Reader, good friends, lovers, family, to the journey, and the destination, may it be all we hoped, and far, far more than we bargained for.
-Doug
"My pants are sticky... I'll give you one guess as to why."
Rayne, Least I Could Do
So, big news. I am the proud owner of a new laptop. It is a HP Pavillion dv9000, and can only be described by these two words: "Bitchin' Sweet." I'm rather pleased with it, despite it's lack of Microsoft Office, and occasional glitchyness, which I'm rather sure has to do with the sound system, which I'm going to adjust at the earliest opportunity.
But now on to more important things.
September 1st was my nineteenth birthday. For those of you wondering why I'm so much older than my peers, it seems that I was born about 13 hours too late to make the cutoff line for being in the school grade ahead of the one I'm in now. In other words, I was fashionably late. (sorry for the extra 13 hours of labor, mom, it had to be done).
I like birthdays, they're normally an excuse to throw a party and acquire excessive amounts of swag. However, this birthday was not normal.
Precisely three days before my birthday, (Aug 28) my construction fellows and I started on what I like to call a "Shock and Awe" job. The basics of this are thus: The homeowner commissions us to remodel a part of their home, I.E. kitchen, bedroom, whatever. The homeowner then proceeds to go out of town and the day they leave, we move in, demolish whatever we need to demolish, fix whatever damage we've done on accident, remodel whatever it is we were supposed to, throw some paint on, and then have it all done by the time the homeowners get back from their vacation.
My boss really likes shock and awes. Before he got sucked into doing three jobs at the same time due to circumstances not under his control, he did quite a few of them. They're quick, they're easy, and best of all, they make lots of money. My boss likes money, and hey, who doesn't? And we, as workers, like shock and awes too. They aren't particularly hard, they make plenty of money, and if you don't like what you're doing, in about thirty minutes you'll have something else to do. My work is like that.
Back to the S&A. Abe and I were working on taking out tile, and, we were discussing our previous adventure to Arizona. Yeah. The one where we went and saw Haylee Williams and Paramore play. We drove nearly a thousand miles in two days, got pulled over by the State Police, and saw quite possibly the greatest band in the history of pop music play. Not only that, but we ended up right on the fence, and I caught the bass player's pick. We also technically stole his parents car to pull the trip off, and bad things happened because of it. Moral of this story: Tell your parents what you want to do, as opposed to lying to them about it and doing it anyway.
So we, since we obviously don't learn from our mistakes, were discussing various alibis we could use on our parents, mine especially (all hypothetical of course), and our discussion took what we thought to be at the time to be a turn for the absurd when we mentioned my impending birthday.
Abe: Well, we've already used sleeping over at someones house. Plus, I don't really have a house anymore.
Me: I'm sure the people you're staying with wouldn't care.
Abe: Probably not. What should we do for your birthday?
Me: Something cool.
Abe: Really? Great thinkin' there.
Me: Yeah I know, Fuck me right?
Abe: Exactly.
Me: Something cool... Bike to Santa Fe.
Abe: (pause for a beat) Dude, you're a genius.
Me: I wasn't serious.
Abe: I am. Let's do it.
Me: That's a long way, like 60 miles. Think we can?
Abe: Of course. I'm awesome and you're Iron Man.
Me: Okay. Let's do it.
Three days later I found myself waking up at 5, Abe by my side, my dad dropped us off in Tijeras, and we were off. That's right, we come up with an idea and we just do it. That's just how we roll.
The route is called Highway 14 on state maps, but this series of letters and numbers doesn't even begin to adequately describe the beauty that Abe and I found on what is called on biking maps "The Turquoise Trail".
We start off with a long climb to the crest of a series of hills that makes up the back of the Sandia Mountains. This climb is mildly difficult, but since it is at the beginning of the ride, it seems almost easy. Abe and I took these hills and made them submit to our will, riding up and down them with cries of "Get Some!" and "Tiger Style!", the opening words to one of our pump up songs, "Wu-Tang Clan ain't nothin' to fuck with".
We rode through a cloud, which was, due to our altitude, more like fog. This is a magical experience, disturbingly beautiful. Visibility is reduced to something like 200 meters, which, compared to the sweeping vistas we had been encountering before this, turns the world into a cave. Sound is muffled. While biking at 7,000 ft, all you can normally hear is your own labored breathing, the sound your bike makes as it moves, but when you stop, the normal sounds of the road take over. When we stopped in the cloud, nothing seemed to move, there was dead silence, and Abe and I took a few moments to savor it.
We biked about fifteen miles before we began to see the light at the end of the cloud. In a twenty minute period, which seems like a second while biking, we broke through the last murky vestiges to brilliant morning sunlight. We realized once again that it was no later than 8 in the morning, biking in the cloud we had entered a sort of twilight land, where time had no meaning whatsoever, and the universe had seemingly stopped itself on our will.
Now we were facing a series of rolling hills, and these were not willing to submit like our previous dirt piles. At this point, we were flagging, we made it up several of these hills, but, like all great warriors, met with our greatest challenge at the last one. We toiled up it, making it to top winded, but unscathed.
I'm lying, that hill kicked our asses up one side, but we beat it down on the other. At the top we were greeted by a startling view of the valley below us. It seemed as though the whole world was stretched out before us, going on forever and ever until it grew hazy with the distance. Though we didn't know it, it was almost all downhill from here.
We stopped for brunch in Madrid, a tiny town that was originally intended for mining. Now it serves as a smaller, and far more intimate version of Santa Fe itself. Small shops sell jewelry and art, and the town was just coming alive as we entered it.
We ate at Jezebel's, a tiny cafe near town center. A small card located on our table gave us a brief, but fascinating history of Jezebel, the queen the cafe was named for.
Jezebel was a pagan ambassador to Ahab, King of the Israelites. She was princess of the Pagan nation of Phoenicia, and the two countries were at war. During peace negotiations she and Ahab fell in love, and she converted him to the pagan religion. This resulted in civil war, and naturally, since the winners write the history books, she was subsequently demonized. Although there is no evidence she was ever an adulteress, the name Jezebel has come to be synonymous with whore, or slut. Too bad, it's a pretty name.
After a tasty lunch we were on the road again. Our host at Jezebel's had informed us that it was mostly downhill to the outskirts of Santa Fe from here, and we enjoyed smooth sailing. We encountered an abandoned Chevy Bel Air (2 actually) in front of a trading post. A tiny kids version of a Corvette lay just two hundred meters down the road. This is all on the downhill slope on the other side of the hills we just rose above, leading down into rolling plains.
We hit the plains and it was smooth sailing from there, we covered well over twenty miles at an easy pace, riding side by side, chatting and looking at the scenery. New Mexico is one of the most beautiful lands I have ever had the privilege of seeing, my continued time spent outdoors has underscored that in the most magnificent way possible.
At last, after about an hour and a half of plains riding, we reached the intersection of I-25 and Highway 14. This is a mere twenty minutes outside of the Santa Fe city limits. Those twenty minutes seemed like seconds.
It was odd coming back to the city after riding in the wilderness for so long. Cars roared around us, and inside the city proper, it was difficult to get around, almost to the point of frustration. Due to poor planning and neglect, the city's sidewalks are almost impassible by bike, forcing us to walk the 6 miles into the city proper in just over two hours, stopping for a smoothie on the way to our final destination, a church in Santa Fe old town. After making almost twenty miles an hour on the highway, this was more than frustrating, it was infuriating.
Finally, we made our way to the church and were greeted by our ladies, Sarah and Jasmine, who we'd asked to pick us up in Sarah's truck.
There is nothing quite like being reunited with someone who cares about you after an adventure, I enveloped Jasmine in a bear hug as Sarah rushed to embrace Abe. We'd done something we hadn't known for sure that we could do, and these two were here to support us. That means something, something more than just your average friendship.
I had picked the church as the final destination for two reasons. First, it was a landmark that is not only easily recognized and not particularly hard to find, but also well known to me. The second reason is personal and has to do with a ritual I have established on previous trips to Santa Fe. After reuniting with the girls, we made our way into the church, paid our respects, and left.
As we left the city of Santa Fe I pondered the meaning of adventure. To go on an adventure is to set forth with a destination in mind, and to reach that destination. It is often said in regards to adventure that it is not the destination that matters, but rather the journey.
I hold with the thought that perhaps there is a middle ground. Perhaps the journey is only part of the story. Perhaps, at journey's close lies not another ending, but the beginning of another adventure. This journey ended at a church, with friends and loved ones close, and, despite reaching the end of this one, I feel that in doing so I may have discovered the beginning of another.
I am nineteen now. Many friends of mine have rather jokingly called me old. I know that seems like a joke to adults, if a nineteen year old is old then what is a 45 or 50 year old? Exipirienced is what they'd like to hear me say. Still, this age brought to mind questions I didn't think I'd be asking myself a year ago. I feel that things mean more as you get older. Learning isn't quite so much an effort as a habbit. I feel older, not old, just older. It occurs to me that all of this is a rather grand journey, many adventures, with many destinations in between.
So, Dear Reader, good friends, lovers, family, to the journey, and the destination, may it be all we hoped, and far, far more than we bargained for.
-Doug
"My pants are sticky... I'll give you one guess as to why."
Rayne, Least I Could Do
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