Some years ago a very young version of me walked into Mrs. Dooly's 6th grade social studies class. I was small, I was not cool and was not adjusting well to middle school. I sat down next to a funny looking kid with glasses and a jewfro.
Now, I can't remember clearly what happend after that. But I do remember it involved the exchange of precious little balls of joy known to this world as gobstoppers, which will always be my favorite candy simply because of this memory. The kid I sat down next to and I both enjoyed these little wonders, and soon made a pact to share them. I don't remember how the exchange worked, but it worked well until he was moved out of the class and into some other one.
This was sad. For the first time in a while, I had made a friend. Now he was gone.
But this was not the last time we would see each other. Oh no.
Soon enough we were meeting at lunch to play perhaps the most awesome of all card games. "Magic: The Gathering". I'm sure me getting into this game, and subsequently "Dungeons and Dragons" absolutely terrified my mother, who at that time thought playing D&D would lead to ritual sacrifices and other unmentionables. While I eventually lost interest in both games, memories of playing them with my friends are among the most cherished of my pubescent years. One friend in particular will always stick out.
Life went one, some friends came and went. One remained the same. 8th grade rolled around and the short kid with the Jewfro had become one of my best friends. We shared everything, hung out almost every day, did things to torque each other off, but mostly did things to piss other people off. We were "those guys" in junior high. The troublemakers that somehow all the teachers loved. The things we got away with are still unmentionable... because the statute of limitations has not yet run out.
I still remember the only time I've ever been mad enough to not talk to this kid on purpose. The day he and another friend broke into my house and watched my cable tv without permission. Nothing bad really happened, but when mom came home and discovered them without me it was a really big deal. I didn't speak to him for like three days, sat away from him in class, and refused to let him over again.
For about three days.
It's lonely being pissed at your best friend. Forgiveness came eventually, and we went into high school on a high note, ready to take on what we considred to be the world. Still troublemaking, still best friends.
The first couple years of high school were grand. We certainly weren't there for the school, and were basically the ultimate pair ever. People feared and loved us. The unstoppable duo. Damage and Control. Watching movies, wrestling, lighting off ridiculous amounts of fireworks, visiting middleschool, girls, games, everything was grand.
Then, all of a sudden, my best friend was taken from me.
Sent to the wilds of Utah, a dark place filled with people that would "Help" him. Monsters dressed up in suits and ties. Sent there by an unloving and frigid homeland. Hardship, depravation, and bitterness ruled in the wilds of the North.
And I? I was not alone, but deprived of my strong right arm. The young man who helped me make sense of my life, the one I could always turn to when I needed to just get away. My Best Friend.
My Brother.
That year was cold. The winter was harsh. My brother was gone, enduring hardship untold of in the North. It was as if my world had gone slightly grey, and flat.
Spring came. My Brother returned, haggared, but alive. As they say, any fight you can walk away from is a victory.
Light returned to the world. My brother had returned. Again we were a team. Damage Control. Doing what we did best, wrecking shit. Finishing out senior year with a bang, we stepped out into the world.
I will always remember our pilgrimage to Arizona, to that desolate hell of a world to find the Jewel of Paramore, the great and beautiful Goddess Haylee. We worshiped at her alter for a night, and returned, Triumphant. Victorious.
Later we sought the fabled Heron Lake, with it's terrifying bug island. On that trip, we brought others, friends and lovers we'd aquired along the journey called life. Again, the memories will follow me for the rest of my life. Driving through the Great Southwest, admiring the great beauty of our land together, Paddling in the canoe, conquering the island. Sizzling hot wilderness bacon. Campfires.
The very best of memories.
Our last trip before I went off to College, the strange land of fabled knowledge and great boredom, was a phisical challenge greater that we had ever attempted before. A grueling yet beautiful journey across the wilderness to our state capital. As it was in the beginning, so it was again. Just us and the open road.
Hours later, Victorious, we entered a church together, to pay our respects, and observe the beauty we had worked so hard to reach. There I felt such kinship with my brother as I had never felt before.
Then I left.
Again, there is a hole where my right arm should be. My brother, my best friend, here with me. Alas, he left this venture to me, as I knew he would. Time passes, it is the sad fact of life.
No matter what though. This man, nay, this Kinsman and I share a bond unbreakable by distance or time. And when together none stand in our way. NONE. I cannot wait to see him again.
In conclusion. I wish you the happiest of birthdays.
Abe. My brother. I will always. ALWAYS. Have your back. I love you man.
-Doug
"You miss him a lot, don't you?"
Laura
"You haven't even met the real Doug, the real Doug is standing right next to Abe right now, laughing his head off at how much of an idiot I look without my better half. Abe isn't laughing though, Abe is kicking my ass for moping around like some kind of communist dicksuck pussy."
-Me
P.S. I know this is up about an hour early, but who gives a shit?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
WEDDING!!!
Okay kids, since our not too hard attempts to break up the wedding of Margaret (our friend) and Nick (the inconsiderate motherfucker locking our friend away in the bonds of unholy mormon matrimony) from a safe distance have failed we must intervene at the actual wedding.
Now, since we're going as actual guests, we're going to need to look and act like them. this means wedding presents. I propose, since we're all poor, or relatively poor, that instead of buying four shitty gifts that we all combine our money and buy them something they'd actually like and would be useful.
Ideas anyone? also if someone could propose exactly how much money we should throw into this endeavor that would be good too. I'd be willing to chip anywhere from fifty to one hundred.
-Doug
"Have fun stormin the castle!"
-Miracle Max
"You think they'll make it?"
-Valerie
"It'd take a miracle."
-Miracle Max
"Bye Bye!"
-both
-The Princess Bride-
Now, since we're going as actual guests, we're going to need to look and act like them. this means wedding presents. I propose, since we're all poor, or relatively poor, that instead of buying four shitty gifts that we all combine our money and buy them something they'd actually like and would be useful.
Ideas anyone? also if someone could propose exactly how much money we should throw into this endeavor that would be good too. I'd be willing to chip anywhere from fifty to one hundred.
-Doug
"Have fun stormin the castle!"
-Miracle Max
"You think they'll make it?"
-Valerie
"It'd take a miracle."
-Miracle Max
"Bye Bye!"
-both
-The Princess Bride-
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Doug: To distill such a perfect form...
"Yeah, Mountain Warfare's a cool school. It's like taking everything thats is fun about camping and adding guns."
I nod eagerly. That does sound really cool. I want to skip CORTRAMID and go straight to Mountain Warfare. Come to think of it, I want to skip College and go straight to the Marine Corps. But I don't voice that opinion. Everyone here thinks that. School is for people with free time. ROTC affords none.
Staff Sergeant Pederson and I take our leave of each other at the intersection. I heading towards breakfast, him to somewhere else.
I glance upon the ground at the scattered blossoms that have scattered and fallen from the storm.
Perfection leaps up from the ground and demands my attention. I cannot move. I cannot think. I am blow away by what i have seen. I am frozen, staring at the thing that has enraptured me.
For the past month my grey and windy city has been blooming into a sanctuary of various types of beautiful plants. Cherry Blossoms in the quad have people from other countries coming to look at them. Flower gardens all over campus literally punch you in the face with incredible displays of color. Tulips, daisies, roses, all sway in the slight, ever present breeze.
Humanity has invaded the quad, soaking up the sun and natural beauty. It is impossible to move more than a foot and not trip over someone. The bright sunlight seems an impossible gift after the blustery misery of the winter. I can still almost feel the cold in my bones.
Not right now.
Captured, enthralled, enraptured, compelled, I reach down to the thing at my feet.
It has flaws, slightly uneven petals, a little dirty from being on the ground. It's a little wilted around the edges.
But the core. The core is PERFECT. I am almost abashed by my observing it.
Heisenberg's uncertainty principle states that observing anything changes it from it's previous state.
I am convinced by observing this perfect flower I have somehow made it less than it was before. The thought nearly breaks my heart. The slightly wilted edges indicate where interaction with this world has already accomplished what I feared. The world has damaged this perfect gift.
Wait. Something tells me I'm wrong.
Without my observation, I would have never known this thing's beauty. Without it dropping to the ground, making it slightly less clean, I would have never had the privilege to discover this. A thousand tiny things, seemingly making it less than what it could have been have all combined to place this seemingly impossible thing in my hands. A thousand, A million, A trillion choices, factors, accidents and decisions have led me to this exact place at this exact time. And suddenly I know.
They aren't flaws.
This Blossom is perfect, though it isn't clean, isn't all perfect at the edges. It still is perfect.
In my unworthy hand, I hold Divinity.
Then I look around. The ground is cluttered with them.
"Oh... Wow..."
-Doug
"I found God, on the corner of First and Amistad.
Where the West, Was all but won...
All alone, smokin his last cigarette,
I said 'Where you been?'
He said 'Ask anything.'"
The Fray, "You Found Me."
I nod eagerly. That does sound really cool. I want to skip CORTRAMID and go straight to Mountain Warfare. Come to think of it, I want to skip College and go straight to the Marine Corps. But I don't voice that opinion. Everyone here thinks that. School is for people with free time. ROTC affords none.
Staff Sergeant Pederson and I take our leave of each other at the intersection. I heading towards breakfast, him to somewhere else.
I glance upon the ground at the scattered blossoms that have scattered and fallen from the storm.
Perfection leaps up from the ground and demands my attention. I cannot move. I cannot think. I am blow away by what i have seen. I am frozen, staring at the thing that has enraptured me.
For the past month my grey and windy city has been blooming into a sanctuary of various types of beautiful plants. Cherry Blossoms in the quad have people from other countries coming to look at them. Flower gardens all over campus literally punch you in the face with incredible displays of color. Tulips, daisies, roses, all sway in the slight, ever present breeze.
Humanity has invaded the quad, soaking up the sun and natural beauty. It is impossible to move more than a foot and not trip over someone. The bright sunlight seems an impossible gift after the blustery misery of the winter. I can still almost feel the cold in my bones.
Not right now.
Captured, enthralled, enraptured, compelled, I reach down to the thing at my feet.
It has flaws, slightly uneven petals, a little dirty from being on the ground. It's a little wilted around the edges.
But the core. The core is PERFECT. I am almost abashed by my observing it.
Heisenberg's uncertainty principle states that observing anything changes it from it's previous state.
I am convinced by observing this perfect flower I have somehow made it less than it was before. The thought nearly breaks my heart. The slightly wilted edges indicate where interaction with this world has already accomplished what I feared. The world has damaged this perfect gift.
Wait. Something tells me I'm wrong.
Without my observation, I would have never known this thing's beauty. Without it dropping to the ground, making it slightly less clean, I would have never had the privilege to discover this. A thousand tiny things, seemingly making it less than what it could have been have all combined to place this seemingly impossible thing in my hands. A thousand, A million, A trillion choices, factors, accidents and decisions have led me to this exact place at this exact time. And suddenly I know.
They aren't flaws.
This Blossom is perfect, though it isn't clean, isn't all perfect at the edges. It still is perfect.
In my unworthy hand, I hold Divinity.
Then I look around. The ground is cluttered with them.
"Oh... Wow..."
-Doug
"I found God, on the corner of First and Amistad.
Where the West, Was all but won...
All alone, smokin his last cigarette,
I said 'Where you been?'
He said 'Ask anything.'"
The Fray, "You Found Me."
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
That guy: Breath
The windows are down. Simple speed forces air through the car. I wasn't even aware speakers could go so loud without busting. Expecially with techno. The bass is blowing other cars subwoofers.
And I realize something.
It's really nice outside.
And I realize something.
It's really nice outside.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Jasmine: That Night
I completely added to the chaos, what was it, saturday night, the 26th. It was a good night. Very much worth it, but now the potential chaos has expanded, and now more people know. Let me see. There's me, Meghan, Doug, Abe, Sarah, Margaret, Lars, and Mario. If eight people know is it a secret anymore? Does it matter as long as the two people who woudl blow it all to pieces don't know? All I know is that I've enjoyed myself and I am going to continue enjoying myself at their expense or not.
Doug: A Christening.
An empty house. It holds the promise of new life in it's echoing empty halls. One day, children will laugh up and down these, families will quarrel, bond. Doors will slam, lovers will meet. There will be a television there, a computer there. The love seat there. The couch keeps moving around. The house matron can't decide where exactly it belongs...
Life will inhabit this place. But not now.
Now it is empty.
Warm, comfortable temperature, fully carpeted, painted, complete but for the furniture and people.
But still empty.
Well, Almost.
Two heartbeats.
They're tucked away, deep inside a master bedroom, inside a bathroom, inside a closet, inside another closet inside that closet. As deep in the bowls of the house as they can go. It's almost completely dark in there. The boy can tell because his night vision is excellent, and in here it's almost worthless.
They're resting now. If we'd been in here an hour ago we'd have come upon a rather hormonal scene. He finally worked up the courage to kiss her, and to hell with the consequences. She responded in the most enthusiastic of manners. He'd about driven her mad with the wait.
There were probably a whole thirty seconds in the past three hours where they weren't kissing.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Now they're resting. He knows he has to take her home in a bit. His fault, not hers. But he's going to stretch this as long as he can. In case it doesn't happen again.
This is a strictly friends thing.
Sure.
-Doug
"How I wish you could see the potential
The potential of you and me.
It's like a book elegantly bound
But in a language that you can't read."
-Death Cab For Cutie
"I will Possess Your Heart"
Friday, April 24, 2009
Jasmine: Roxanne... sort of
His eyes upon your face. My imagination is a terrible mad thing. It’s a horrible inconsiderate bane of my existence. It sees me here walking by myself and it takes the opportunity to play tricks on me. Evil creative demon. Pictures flit through my mind, his hand upon your hand. Cruel hateful parasite. It lives inside me, it has to. Otherwise it wouldn’t have access to my deepest fears, his lips caress your skin. Why would it do something like this to its own host? Shouldn’t it show me good things to keep me happy, satisfied? Unless…
It's more than I can stand. Where are you? You should have been back by now. You should have come home hours ago. And all I can think about is you in someone else’s arms. It doesn’t matter what you said. It doesn’t matter what you promised. Because the truth is I don’t trust you.
Why does my heart cry? How can I love you if I don’t trust you? Too many feelings I can't fight, but would if I could. If I could stop loving you life would be easier, wouldn’t it? Or is that just my self-cruelty sabotaging everything I could have. Let me tell you this, if you ever want to you're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me. I love you. But if you don’t love me… let me know and let me go. It will hurt. I have no delusions about this. It will hurt to lose you, and please believe me when I say I love you, but sometimes the best thing to do is to let the people you love go.
It's more than I can stand. Where are you? You should have been back by now. You should have come home hours ago. And all I can think about is you in someone else’s arms. It doesn’t matter what you said. It doesn’t matter what you promised. Because the truth is I don’t trust you.
Why does my heart cry? How can I love you if I don’t trust you? Too many feelings I can't fight, but would if I could. If I could stop loving you life would be easier, wouldn’t it? Or is that just my self-cruelty sabotaging everything I could have. Let me tell you this, if you ever want to you're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me. I love you. But if you don’t love me… let me know and let me go. It will hurt. I have no delusions about this. It will hurt to lose you, and please believe me when I say I love you, but sometimes the best thing to do is to let the people you love go.
Jasmine: it's random and it doesn't actually flow
Okay this month we are terrible at posting blogs. That’s okay. Finals tests illness. They suck our lives. Vampire finals. Khhh. Hate.
I’m writing this because if I write this I don’t have to pay attention to the fact that I’m leaving in twenty minutes or so to go take a math test that’s going to eat my ass on a plate. I am a terrible student. I get good grades. But I hate most of my classes and don’t go to enough of them. not sure how I’m passing. But I am. This is kind of weird. But I refuse to poke at it too much. After this test I have nothing but my film project until finals. Woot.
And then summer
Wait no Margaret gets married. Then finals. Then summer!
And then somewhere half way through summer Doug comes. And then leaves and then comes again. He has issues staying in once place for a while.
I’m freaking out and don’t want to take this test. Thus the random uselessness of the last 175 words. By the time you read this and try to wish me luck the test will be over and your luck a little or a lot too late. But eh. Bye.
I’m writing this because if I write this I don’t have to pay attention to the fact that I’m leaving in twenty minutes or so to go take a math test that’s going to eat my ass on a plate. I am a terrible student. I get good grades. But I hate most of my classes and don’t go to enough of them. not sure how I’m passing. But I am. This is kind of weird. But I refuse to poke at it too much. After this test I have nothing but my film project until finals. Woot.
And then summer
Wait no Margaret gets married. Then finals. Then summer!
And then somewhere half way through summer Doug comes. And then leaves and then comes again. He has issues staying in once place for a while.
I’m freaking out and don’t want to take this test. Thus the random uselessness of the last 175 words. By the time you read this and try to wish me luck the test will be over and your luck a little or a lot too late. But eh. Bye.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Meghan: Eat me
I hummed aimlessly as I gazed out of the porthole, chin resting on a hand. The water was murky but it was still pretty, seaweed and fish flitting by. Maybe this school trip wouldn’t be such a waste after all. I pressed my nose against the glass and tried to see everything, not able to shake the feeling that there was something there I was missing. Something dark swiped past the small, round window, but crane as I might I couldn’t quite see it. Hmmm…
“Everyone on deck!” I heard the professor-in-charge calling from above. Shrugging in irritation I ran up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. The Professor, a tiny bald slip of a man with huge glasses and tweed coat, had rented the thing for our ‘sea exploration’ trip. So far it had been a success, but as I had watched him shakily try to command his students and get tangled in ropes and steering equipment he hadn’t built up my confidence much. Currently he was clinging to one of the many ropes on board and looking at the water as if it was something nasty. But then again, so were a lot of the students. Curious, I stepped to the side and looked over.
The water was writhing. Like a cup of ground meat with maggots roiling in its flesh, the water churned. Its semi-blue green coloring was gone; it had turned a muddy, murky brown. What the…
The other students aboard were equally confused, pointing and shouting questions to one another. One of them leaned too far over the edge to look and fell into the shifting water. The entire class drew a collective breathe, waiting for him to come up but knowing that he wouldn’t. The water grew more frenzied. Red seeped up from the depths to stain the surface and everyone quieted. People started backing towards the center of the boat but I stayed, digging my fingers into the wood. What the hell was going on?
Scraping sounds came from the sides of the boat, like something trying to crawl its way through from the outside. People started screaming and I narrowed my eyes, never looking away from the water, I could almost….There.
“Teeth.” I said quietly.
“What!? What did you say?!” someone screamed frantically in my ear. Oops, hadn’t meant to say that out loud, mass panic would be bad…
“Beef.” I said smiling, “I’m just dying for a hamburger.”
“You sick fu—“ But then the boat started rocking and the rest of her sentence was lost in the screaming.
And then we could see them.
“What the fuck are those!?” Practically everyone was screaming it, and when I saw them trying to claw their way up the side of the boat, I really, really had to restrain myself in order not to laugh.
Their black, blank eyes
Peeling flesh
Rotting limbs
“They’re alligators.” I said, well screamed in order to be heard.
“Those aren’t alligators, I know alligators.” This was the Professor, wild eyed and sparse hair flying
I grinned at him, “That’s because they’re zombies.”
His mouth sort of sagged as he tried to process what I’d just said.
“Zombie alligators,” I said patiently, “Night of the living dead, rotting corpses, coming back to life, shoot em in the head—“
“Stop! Stop.” He said, panting slightly, “Okay, okay, something is attacking the ship; we have to get to land, somewhere safe.”
With that he sprinted off, hopefully to steer us to safety. I leaned out over the edge and watched the beasts try to bite and claw their way up the ship. Luckily they weren’t having much success. The screaming increased in volume behind me and I turned my head to find the source. The student who had fallen over the edge had crawled over the side, seaweed dangling from his ears and mud running from him to pool on the deck. His eyes were vacant and red rimmed and he was struggling to pull himself over with his remaining arm. Grimacing I grabbed a mop that was lying abandoned on the deck and ran across to him. Some of the other students were edging towards him, making soothing noises and offering open hands. Gaaaah, idiots.
“Move!” I screamed. They did just as I swung the mop. It hit him neatly under the jaw and knocked him flying back over the side. Hmm…That wasn’t too hard, I can keep one under control until we get to shore. I looked optimistically to my fellow students only to find to my horror that many of them were falling into the deadly water. What the hell? Had their centers of gravity just suddenly disappeared? Now one small problem was much much bigger. Luckily the remaining sane humans took up stations along the deck, armed with buckets, wood, and other blunt objects. We beat off the attacking hoards and cheered as we saw the ship approaching a port.
The ship didn’t even stop; it just plowed through the small wooden dock. I understood why when I felt a slimy hand on my shoulder and turned to beat in the head of our undead Professor. Afterwards, of course, I thanked him for leading the class to safety.
We climbed and crawled over rocks and the ruined boards on the beach, running for the only building we could see; a lighthouse. The townspeople had already gathered there and let us in. Apparently the zombie alligators were a regular occurrence and whenever they saw a ship coming in, they hid. We were taken to an antechamber and checked for disease and then armed with a variety of pointy objects. A few students went to guard the top of the tower and a few stayed in the antechamber to check incoming parties. I tapped a scythe in my palm impatiently as I waited in the antechamber. People sometimes left the safety of the lighthouse to go find their loved ones, it was important to have people here to help them come back unscathed. I checked the eyes of all who passed, looking for the telltale washed out blackness. The tower moaned as the dead outside tried to uproot it, but we remained. How long would we stay? Until I woke up.
-Meghan
“Everyone on deck!” I heard the professor-in-charge calling from above. Shrugging in irritation I ran up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. The Professor, a tiny bald slip of a man with huge glasses and tweed coat, had rented the thing for our ‘sea exploration’ trip. So far it had been a success, but as I had watched him shakily try to command his students and get tangled in ropes and steering equipment he hadn’t built up my confidence much. Currently he was clinging to one of the many ropes on board and looking at the water as if it was something nasty. But then again, so were a lot of the students. Curious, I stepped to the side and looked over.
The water was writhing. Like a cup of ground meat with maggots roiling in its flesh, the water churned. Its semi-blue green coloring was gone; it had turned a muddy, murky brown. What the…
The other students aboard were equally confused, pointing and shouting questions to one another. One of them leaned too far over the edge to look and fell into the shifting water. The entire class drew a collective breathe, waiting for him to come up but knowing that he wouldn’t. The water grew more frenzied. Red seeped up from the depths to stain the surface and everyone quieted. People started backing towards the center of the boat but I stayed, digging my fingers into the wood. What the hell was going on?
Scraping sounds came from the sides of the boat, like something trying to crawl its way through from the outside. People started screaming and I narrowed my eyes, never looking away from the water, I could almost….There.
“Teeth.” I said quietly.
“What!? What did you say?!” someone screamed frantically in my ear. Oops, hadn’t meant to say that out loud, mass panic would be bad…
“Beef.” I said smiling, “I’m just dying for a hamburger.”
“You sick fu—“ But then the boat started rocking and the rest of her sentence was lost in the screaming.
And then we could see them.
“What the fuck are those!?” Practically everyone was screaming it, and when I saw them trying to claw their way up the side of the boat, I really, really had to restrain myself in order not to laugh.
Their black, blank eyes
Peeling flesh
Rotting limbs
“They’re alligators.” I said, well screamed in order to be heard.
“Those aren’t alligators, I know alligators.” This was the Professor, wild eyed and sparse hair flying
I grinned at him, “That’s because they’re zombies.”
His mouth sort of sagged as he tried to process what I’d just said.
“Zombie alligators,” I said patiently, “Night of the living dead, rotting corpses, coming back to life, shoot em in the head—“
“Stop! Stop.” He said, panting slightly, “Okay, okay, something is attacking the ship; we have to get to land, somewhere safe.”
With that he sprinted off, hopefully to steer us to safety. I leaned out over the edge and watched the beasts try to bite and claw their way up the ship. Luckily they weren’t having much success. The screaming increased in volume behind me and I turned my head to find the source. The student who had fallen over the edge had crawled over the side, seaweed dangling from his ears and mud running from him to pool on the deck. His eyes were vacant and red rimmed and he was struggling to pull himself over with his remaining arm. Grimacing I grabbed a mop that was lying abandoned on the deck and ran across to him. Some of the other students were edging towards him, making soothing noises and offering open hands. Gaaaah, idiots.
“Move!” I screamed. They did just as I swung the mop. It hit him neatly under the jaw and knocked him flying back over the side. Hmm…That wasn’t too hard, I can keep one under control until we get to shore. I looked optimistically to my fellow students only to find to my horror that many of them were falling into the deadly water. What the hell? Had their centers of gravity just suddenly disappeared? Now one small problem was much much bigger. Luckily the remaining sane humans took up stations along the deck, armed with buckets, wood, and other blunt objects. We beat off the attacking hoards and cheered as we saw the ship approaching a port.
The ship didn’t even stop; it just plowed through the small wooden dock. I understood why when I felt a slimy hand on my shoulder and turned to beat in the head of our undead Professor. Afterwards, of course, I thanked him for leading the class to safety.
We climbed and crawled over rocks and the ruined boards on the beach, running for the only building we could see; a lighthouse. The townspeople had already gathered there and let us in. Apparently the zombie alligators were a regular occurrence and whenever they saw a ship coming in, they hid. We were taken to an antechamber and checked for disease and then armed with a variety of pointy objects. A few students went to guard the top of the tower and a few stayed in the antechamber to check incoming parties. I tapped a scythe in my palm impatiently as I waited in the antechamber. People sometimes left the safety of the lighthouse to go find their loved ones, it was important to have people here to help them come back unscathed. I checked the eyes of all who passed, looking for the telltale washed out blackness. The tower moaned as the dead outside tried to uproot it, but we remained. How long would we stay? Until I woke up.
-Meghan
Friday, April 17, 2009
Jasmine: Qualifiers
Today was qualifiers.
It was the last possible qualifier before nationals. For reference since there seem to be many… many national karate competitions, this is the United States Karate Alliance Nationals Competition. In order to compete at nationals you have to qualify at any number of competitions around the year. This was the last one. And the only one since I joined Karate Club.
Now for the information of the masses. I did not want to compete at nationals. I’ve been doing Karate for three months. One of those months I didn’t go to as many classes as I would have liked. There were lots of tests involved in that absence. And Doug. Stupid Doug. Keeping me from my karate brethren. Yes. He is a terrible human being. But because of that, I didn’t and still don’t feel ready. I feel weak. Unprepared. I don’t want my ass to be humiliated in the name of a sport I actually like. But my sensei, Soke, said I was competing. And so I am. Because Soke is god. Or at least one of the more powerful ones out there.
So I’m already freaking out over it, and I end up missing Wednesday practice because I’m oozing bodily fluids, saving lives really, so I can pay for the damn thing. And I was stupid and went too late in the day. And there were lines involved. It was just a bad thing. Anyways I wound up not being able to go to Wednesday practice which I really needed. It would have made me feel much more confident than I was and may have fixed some of my technique issues. Whatever those were.
The three of us were competing: Caroline, a tall, very strong girl who has kicked me in the face in the past. Luanne a medium height girl who has punched me in the mouth in the past, I like them both very much. And me.
We drove to the competition together. Me singing random old songs from the radio at the top of my lungs trying to stay pumped, them mumbling the parts they knew and looking somewhat frightened at me. I ignored them. My brethren need to be subjected to my singing as often as they can. It toughens the body and the mind for nationals.
Got there, registered, paid literally blood money, warmed up and took our seats.
The competition is ordered by age division. Tiny people go first. The dragon something or other group. They were all seven and under and absolutely adorable. My children will do karate if only so I can coo at how cute they look standing there looking terrified at the judge as their belt comes undone. Though watching the parents slam the sparring head gear onto their kids heads makes me wonder how many of the kids want to do it for themselves or if they’re just there because their parents want them there. Not judging. My daughters will take martial arts. I will also burn any barbies that come into my house. Even if they belong to the neighbors. We’ll do it in some ritualistic sacrificial way so as to be educational. Yep. It’ll be fun. You’re all invited to the barbeque.
The wee ones finished, then the slightly older, still mostly uncoordinated ones, then the mostly coordinated ones that can actually do damage to each other, did kata and fought. And then it was our turn. The three of us spent the time we weren’t staring creepily at the children of over protective parents, wondering who else was in our division. And whether it would be belt based or age based. Were we the only three? Would we be competing against only each other? This was good right? This meant that we would qualify no matter what right?
The rules state that in order to qualify you have to place top four at one of the qualifying competitions. In the case of our division it turned out to be white belts through yellow belts women. Men are far too different to spar with their different parts and over aggr… I don’t know they just separate us. There were four of us competing for the four top spots. Needless to say I qualified. Not exactly happy with qualifiers, but I qualified.
First mistake: they called my name first. I wasn’t ready. We lined up and I was second in line, but then they called my name. and I was all shit… and I went up. Stated my name, style, and kata. Jasmine Travis (dur), Koryu-ryu, Shoshin Shodan. Then I started. That was my second mistake. I should have backed up a couple of paces before starting. Because my kata is very long in the forwards direction. So when I got to the point where I was starting to run into the tape I freaked out. And had to do some creative dancing with my feet to not fall out. Very saddening. And a mistake I wouldn’t have made had I not gone first. Fail. Suck. Hate.
Things that went well. Other than that fault and being a little hesitant early on. They liked my kata. One of the women came up to me afterwards and told me so. The whole time she talked to me Soke just stared. Apparently we look alike enough for him to stare. She’s blonde and my height. Other than that I see no resemblance. But men… oh well.
We didn’t spar. You only had to qualify in one of the events. We all qualified in kata, no reason to spar. I wanted to spar. I’m a much better at sparring than I am at kata. But it was better not to chance injury. Blah.
I took fourth out of four. I’m pissed. I’ll practice. I’ll do better. But I’m still pissed.
It was the last possible qualifier before nationals. For reference since there seem to be many… many national karate competitions, this is the United States Karate Alliance Nationals Competition. In order to compete at nationals you have to qualify at any number of competitions around the year. This was the last one. And the only one since I joined Karate Club.
Now for the information of the masses. I did not want to compete at nationals. I’ve been doing Karate for three months. One of those months I didn’t go to as many classes as I would have liked. There were lots of tests involved in that absence. And Doug. Stupid Doug. Keeping me from my karate brethren. Yes. He is a terrible human being. But because of that, I didn’t and still don’t feel ready. I feel weak. Unprepared. I don’t want my ass to be humiliated in the name of a sport I actually like. But my sensei, Soke, said I was competing. And so I am. Because Soke is god. Or at least one of the more powerful ones out there.
So I’m already freaking out over it, and I end up missing Wednesday practice because I’m oozing bodily fluids, saving lives really, so I can pay for the damn thing. And I was stupid and went too late in the day. And there were lines involved. It was just a bad thing. Anyways I wound up not being able to go to Wednesday practice which I really needed. It would have made me feel much more confident than I was and may have fixed some of my technique issues. Whatever those were.
The three of us were competing: Caroline, a tall, very strong girl who has kicked me in the face in the past. Luanne a medium height girl who has punched me in the mouth in the past, I like them both very much. And me.
We drove to the competition together. Me singing random old songs from the radio at the top of my lungs trying to stay pumped, them mumbling the parts they knew and looking somewhat frightened at me. I ignored them. My brethren need to be subjected to my singing as often as they can. It toughens the body and the mind for nationals.
Got there, registered, paid literally blood money, warmed up and took our seats.
The competition is ordered by age division. Tiny people go first. The dragon something or other group. They were all seven and under and absolutely adorable. My children will do karate if only so I can coo at how cute they look standing there looking terrified at the judge as their belt comes undone. Though watching the parents slam the sparring head gear onto their kids heads makes me wonder how many of the kids want to do it for themselves or if they’re just there because their parents want them there. Not judging. My daughters will take martial arts. I will also burn any barbies that come into my house. Even if they belong to the neighbors. We’ll do it in some ritualistic sacrificial way so as to be educational. Yep. It’ll be fun. You’re all invited to the barbeque.
The wee ones finished, then the slightly older, still mostly uncoordinated ones, then the mostly coordinated ones that can actually do damage to each other, did kata and fought. And then it was our turn. The three of us spent the time we weren’t staring creepily at the children of over protective parents, wondering who else was in our division. And whether it would be belt based or age based. Were we the only three? Would we be competing against only each other? This was good right? This meant that we would qualify no matter what right?
The rules state that in order to qualify you have to place top four at one of the qualifying competitions. In the case of our division it turned out to be white belts through yellow belts women. Men are far too different to spar with their different parts and over aggr… I don’t know they just separate us. There were four of us competing for the four top spots. Needless to say I qualified. Not exactly happy with qualifiers, but I qualified.
First mistake: they called my name first. I wasn’t ready. We lined up and I was second in line, but then they called my name. and I was all shit… and I went up. Stated my name, style, and kata. Jasmine Travis (dur), Koryu-ryu, Shoshin Shodan. Then I started. That was my second mistake. I should have backed up a couple of paces before starting. Because my kata is very long in the forwards direction. So when I got to the point where I was starting to run into the tape I freaked out. And had to do some creative dancing with my feet to not fall out. Very saddening. And a mistake I wouldn’t have made had I not gone first. Fail. Suck. Hate.
Things that went well. Other than that fault and being a little hesitant early on. They liked my kata. One of the women came up to me afterwards and told me so. The whole time she talked to me Soke just stared. Apparently we look alike enough for him to stare. She’s blonde and my height. Other than that I see no resemblance. But men… oh well.
We didn’t spar. You only had to qualify in one of the events. We all qualified in kata, no reason to spar. I wanted to spar. I’m a much better at sparring than I am at kata. But it was better not to chance injury. Blah.
I took fourth out of four. I’m pissed. I’ll practice. I’ll do better. But I’m still pissed.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Doug: Brain Damage
Why did you do that?
"I don't know." Miserable, I hang my head between my knees. You can tell it's bad when you start talking to your angel out loud. Right now I could care less about looking weird. There's no one up here who's opinion I'm even remotely interested in.
Starting fights. I remember when you did that... before.
"Shut up." My skull hurts, as to my knuckles. I remember punching a wall. Bad habit, that. "You're not saying I haven't already thought of."
Prick. The presence faded. A bitter smile comes to my lips. Never before had I been such an asshole that even She'd left me.
Alone in my head. There's a thought. No prodding in any particular direction. Gods help us. Free will.
All things happen according to God's plan.
"Weren't you gone?" I almost shouted. A skinny Asian glances at me, slightly alarmed. I bare my teeth at him.
No. She sounded very frustrated about that. I can't leave! I tried! She sounds just like her, it makes me want to beat my skull against the wall and reach out to love and touch at the same time.
"Sure you can! Get out!" Fighting again. Asshole.
I'm telling you... I CAN'T. I tried. I would if I could. Asshole.
She doesn't lie. Or at least I'd never heard her do it. "Well shit."
Shit is right. I don't want to be in this cesspit you call a brain. I deliberately thought of the most vulgar thing I could think of. You filthy pervert! How dare you!
Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around. Finally I could think.
And then realized that I was exhausted. "We're going to sleep this anger off." I muttered.
Great. Now I get to see your dreams.
"Yeah. If I had them."
"I don't know." Miserable, I hang my head between my knees. You can tell it's bad when you start talking to your angel out loud. Right now I could care less about looking weird. There's no one up here who's opinion I'm even remotely interested in.
Starting fights. I remember when you did that... before.
"Shut up." My skull hurts, as to my knuckles. I remember punching a wall. Bad habit, that. "You're not saying I haven't already thought of."
Prick. The presence faded. A bitter smile comes to my lips. Never before had I been such an asshole that even She'd left me.
Alone in my head. There's a thought. No prodding in any particular direction. Gods help us. Free will.
All things happen according to God's plan.
"Weren't you gone?" I almost shouted. A skinny Asian glances at me, slightly alarmed. I bare my teeth at him.
No. She sounded very frustrated about that. I can't leave! I tried! She sounds just like her, it makes me want to beat my skull against the wall and reach out to love and touch at the same time.
"Sure you can! Get out!" Fighting again. Asshole.
I'm telling you... I CAN'T. I tried. I would if I could. Asshole.
She doesn't lie. Or at least I'd never heard her do it. "Well shit."
Shit is right. I don't want to be in this cesspit you call a brain. I deliberately thought of the most vulgar thing I could think of. You filthy pervert! How dare you!
Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around. Finally I could think.
And then realized that I was exhausted. "We're going to sleep this anger off." I muttered.
Great. Now I get to see your dreams.
"Yeah. If I had them."
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Meghan: migraine
Glitter sparkles on the edge of my vision. My breathe catches in my throat.
Please, not again.
I press my fingers to the bathroom mirror and try to stare at the parts of my face that I can’t see.
Squeeze my eyes shut and count
Breathe
Hands pressed to my heart, calm down, calm down
Wait for the rapid beat to slow before I chance another glance
But it’s still there
Great shifting streaks clawed across my vision
With a chaser of dark and pain
But it’s only knives now
Later the real pain will start
My dark room, where I watch the world pass by
Blankets draped over the windows, jammed under the door
Light would jam needles into my eyes
Added to the lava already boiling in my skull
Curled under blankets I stare straight ahead
It’s not like I haven’t been here a thousand times before
I count to a thousand
I count to a thousand in Spanish
I think
Of everything I could be doing if I weren’t here
In this bed, in this room
Imagination swells, it has to doesn’t it?
Books, music, people, I can’t
So I think
Anything, everything
But this.
Please,
Make it stop?
-Meghan
Friday, April 10, 2009
Jasmine: Night Sky
I’m tired. I’m physically and emotionally drained. I need something to take my mind off the world.
The sun is bright against the horizon. The sight of it burns my eyes but I can’t make myself look away. There’s something about it, something captivating. The way it lights up the sky bringing life and death with it on its path from one point on earth around to the same point. It’s no wonder the ancients worshiped it, calling on what they saw as a powerful being to lend them strength in the coming harvests and wars.
Almost every culture has a sun god of some kind. And all of those same cultures have a moon goddess. The pale reflected sister of Apollo.
Last night, Wednesday night, was the full moon. Late last night I walked home riding high on endorphins after karate. I looked up into the sky as I walked away from a dozen different sparring partners, eighty percent of which can easily kick my orange little ass. I looked up at that round heavy moon and I bayed. I howled to Diana, goddess of the night sky and the wicked path of the hunt. I howled my hunger for more battle and fewer nights spent quiet and alone. I cried out to her to bring some sense of reason into this lazy world.
And then I walked back to my dorm room, back to reality, and I forgot that there was a time and a place where the blood of the people beat in time to the phases of the moons hunt. When people traveled across lands following the path of Apollo’s chariot. I forgot and I slept well.
The sun is bright against the horizon. The sight of it burns my eyes but I can’t make myself look away. There’s something about it, something captivating. The way it lights up the sky bringing life and death with it on its path from one point on earth around to the same point. It’s no wonder the ancients worshiped it, calling on what they saw as a powerful being to lend them strength in the coming harvests and wars.
Almost every culture has a sun god of some kind. And all of those same cultures have a moon goddess. The pale reflected sister of Apollo.
Last night, Wednesday night, was the full moon. Late last night I walked home riding high on endorphins after karate. I looked up into the sky as I walked away from a dozen different sparring partners, eighty percent of which can easily kick my orange little ass. I looked up at that round heavy moon and I bayed. I howled to Diana, goddess of the night sky and the wicked path of the hunt. I howled my hunger for more battle and fewer nights spent quiet and alone. I cried out to her to bring some sense of reason into this lazy world.
And then I walked back to my dorm room, back to reality, and I forgot that there was a time and a place where the blood of the people beat in time to the phases of the moons hunt. When people traveled across lands following the path of Apollo’s chariot. I forgot and I slept well.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Doug: Fire Team Tactics.
I can’t think. My head is a fog of exhaustion and used up endorphins. The last tickles of adrenaline keep me awake, but barely.
Music blares from a speaker somewhere.
“So I keep in mind/ when I’m on my own/ somewhere far from home/ in the danger zone…”
Random muscles cramp; sending fiery lances up and down my body, competing with the soreness that can only come from the kind of physical rumble that includes throwing yourself to the deck to avoid enemy fire, real or imaginary.
My eyeballs hurt, a new experience for me.
Somewhere in the fog things begin to come back.
“Form a hasty 180!”
“Contact front!”
Hit the deck, cover your field of fire, return fire.
“Enemy covered at 50 yards!”
Wall, probably light concrete, 5.56 will go right through that. Assault’s coming next, tense your core, get ready to move. Fifty yards is a long way to rush over open ground. We’re going to lose someone.
“Prep for assault! Buddy rushes on my command!”
How many rounds have I fired? Where are my spare mags? A 203 Mike Mike would be perfect for this. Hopefully the SAW guy can keep the Enemy pinned down while we rush.
Rush!”
Up and moving, I can’t see the bullets but I can sure as Hell hear the gunfire reports. Move five yards and dive for the deck firing all the way.
“I’m up… taking fire!” pause while diving for deck, no time to catch breath. “I’m down!”
I’m down is the signal for my buddy to move up and advance past me, leapfrog style. He runs five yards past me, and hits the deck, still firing.
“I’m up! Taking fire! Down!”
Shove myself off the deck, run forward, still firing. I can hear the ‘diemotherfuckerdie’ chatter of the SAW somewhere off to my right.
“Up! Taking fire! Down!”
Hit the dirt hard, lucky it’s soft mud, I can feel the ice cold water shrink my balls up to the size of rasins. Weird how things pop out at you while doing this.
“UpTakingfireDown!”
Intervals are getting shorter, we’re bunching up again. A lucky grenade could kill everyone in Fire Team Bravo. In the periphery of my vision I see Larry hit the deck hard and not get back up.
“Uptakingdown!”
Winslow’s yelling something, but my brain’s been bounced around too much to understand very well. He repeats it louder.
“Enemy Down! Consolidated 360!”
The point man, me, makes a run for the northern position, covering any further threats from that direction. Down on the deck again hard; don’t want to be a target. Kneeling guys make great pink mist videos.
“You’ve got 9-3!” a hand slaps me on the ass, letting me know I was the one he was talking to. Tighten grip, look up and over the sights, avoid tunneling, everything moving is a potential threat.
I hear Winslow assign Bergman’s area, 3-9 on the flip side, two guys covering 360 degrees. Not enough. No word on Larry, Winslow’s still doing ACT Eval.
“Report.”
My voice is hoarse from yelling. “Four mags. No personal injuries, Three enemy probables.” At least that’s how many I thought I put down.
Winslow doesn’t verbally acknowledge my report. He just slaps my shoulder and I keep focusing on that menacing vegetation. I don’t relax until…
“Good afternoon Staff Sergeant, MIDN 2/C Winslow reports enemy eliminated, misson objective secure. 14 total mags, 1 KIA, and 7 Enemy combatants killed.”
“Very well. Stand at ease. Exercise is concluded.” SSGT Poaster’s friendly voice belies his profession: death, destruction, mayhem.
I relax just as Bergman yells, “You hear that Larry? You’re dead!”
“Fuck you.” I can hear Larry mutter as he pulls himself out of the mud puddle he fell into after he was “killed”. “It’s not my fault SSGT Poaster keeps wanting to kill the gunner’s assist.”
Poaster’s grin is evil. It is the third time in four exercises that Larry has “died”.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. But the fog comes back. I wake up, dirty, wet, uniform soaking my sheets. My feet feel like they’ve been beaten with bamboo canes. I try and wiggle my toes, but can’t. I look down.
I didn’t even have the energy to take off my boots.
My head hits the pillow again and I’m out.
-Doug
“What do you call this position again?”
“Death grip.”
“That’s not ominous at all.”
MIDN’s Wood and Larry, discussing proper grenade throwing technique.
Music blares from a speaker somewhere.
“So I keep in mind/ when I’m on my own/ somewhere far from home/ in the danger zone…”
Random muscles cramp; sending fiery lances up and down my body, competing with the soreness that can only come from the kind of physical rumble that includes throwing yourself to the deck to avoid enemy fire, real or imaginary.
My eyeballs hurt, a new experience for me.
Somewhere in the fog things begin to come back.
“Form a hasty 180!”
“Contact front!”
Hit the deck, cover your field of fire, return fire.
“Enemy covered at 50 yards!”
Wall, probably light concrete, 5.56 will go right through that. Assault’s coming next, tense your core, get ready to move. Fifty yards is a long way to rush over open ground. We’re going to lose someone.
“Prep for assault! Buddy rushes on my command!”
How many rounds have I fired? Where are my spare mags? A 203 Mike Mike would be perfect for this. Hopefully the SAW guy can keep the Enemy pinned down while we rush.
Rush!”
Up and moving, I can’t see the bullets but I can sure as Hell hear the gunfire reports. Move five yards and dive for the deck firing all the way.
“I’m up… taking fire!” pause while diving for deck, no time to catch breath. “I’m down!”
I’m down is the signal for my buddy to move up and advance past me, leapfrog style. He runs five yards past me, and hits the deck, still firing.
“I’m up! Taking fire! Down!”
Shove myself off the deck, run forward, still firing. I can hear the ‘diemotherfuckerdie’ chatter of the SAW somewhere off to my right.
“Up! Taking fire! Down!”
Hit the dirt hard, lucky it’s soft mud, I can feel the ice cold water shrink my balls up to the size of rasins. Weird how things pop out at you while doing this.
“UpTakingfireDown!”
Intervals are getting shorter, we’re bunching up again. A lucky grenade could kill everyone in Fire Team Bravo. In the periphery of my vision I see Larry hit the deck hard and not get back up.
“Uptakingdown!”
Winslow’s yelling something, but my brain’s been bounced around too much to understand very well. He repeats it louder.
“Enemy Down! Consolidated 360!”
The point man, me, makes a run for the northern position, covering any further threats from that direction. Down on the deck again hard; don’t want to be a target. Kneeling guys make great pink mist videos.
“You’ve got 9-3!” a hand slaps me on the ass, letting me know I was the one he was talking to. Tighten grip, look up and over the sights, avoid tunneling, everything moving is a potential threat.
I hear Winslow assign Bergman’s area, 3-9 on the flip side, two guys covering 360 degrees. Not enough. No word on Larry, Winslow’s still doing ACT Eval.
“Report.”
My voice is hoarse from yelling. “Four mags. No personal injuries, Three enemy probables.” At least that’s how many I thought I put down.
Winslow doesn’t verbally acknowledge my report. He just slaps my shoulder and I keep focusing on that menacing vegetation. I don’t relax until…
“Good afternoon Staff Sergeant, MIDN 2/C Winslow reports enemy eliminated, misson objective secure. 14 total mags, 1 KIA, and 7 Enemy combatants killed.”
“Very well. Stand at ease. Exercise is concluded.” SSGT Poaster’s friendly voice belies his profession: death, destruction, mayhem.
I relax just as Bergman yells, “You hear that Larry? You’re dead!”
“Fuck you.” I can hear Larry mutter as he pulls himself out of the mud puddle he fell into after he was “killed”. “It’s not my fault SSGT Poaster keeps wanting to kill the gunner’s assist.”
Poaster’s grin is evil. It is the third time in four exercises that Larry has “died”.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. But the fog comes back. I wake up, dirty, wet, uniform soaking my sheets. My feet feel like they’ve been beaten with bamboo canes. I try and wiggle my toes, but can’t. I look down.
I didn’t even have the energy to take off my boots.
My head hits the pillow again and I’m out.
-Doug
“What do you call this position again?”
“Death grip.”
“That’s not ominous at all.”
MIDN’s Wood and Larry, discussing proper grenade throwing technique.
Friday, April 3, 2009
That guy: Life, the universe, and everthing
Douglas Adams once wrote the meaning of life, the universe and everything is the number 42. Don’t believe him? Maybe some of these will change your mind.
Elvis Presley died at 42.
The angle at which light reflects off water to create a rainbow is 42 degrees.
The city of Jerusalem covers an area of 42 square miles.
The Torah (jew-bible) is broken into columns, each of which always has exactly 42 lines.
Fox Mulder (X-Files) lives in apartment 42.
There are 42 decks on the Enterprise NCC1701-D.
A Wonderbra consists of 42 individual parts.
There are 42 Oreo’s in a 1 pound package.
In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet sleeps for 42 hours.
The right arm of the Statue of Liberty is 42 feet long.
Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Garcia were born in 1942.
The number of dot on a pair of dice is 42.
Dogs have a total of 42 teeth over their lifetime.
In The Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caufield lies and says he’s 42.
The world-record jump by a kangaroo is 42 feet.
The natural vibration frequency of white mouse DNA is 42.
The natural vibration frequency of human DNA is 42.
There were 42 generations from Abraham to Jesus Christ.
And last,
“The beast was given a mouth uttering proud boasts and blasphemies, and it was given authority to act for 42 months.” –Revelations 13:5
Enjoy.
Elvis Presley died at 42.
The angle at which light reflects off water to create a rainbow is 42 degrees.
The city of Jerusalem covers an area of 42 square miles.
The Torah (jew-bible) is broken into columns, each of which always has exactly 42 lines.
Fox Mulder (X-Files) lives in apartment 42.
There are 42 decks on the Enterprise NCC1701-D.
A Wonderbra consists of 42 individual parts.
There are 42 Oreo’s in a 1 pound package.
In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet sleeps for 42 hours.
The right arm of the Statue of Liberty is 42 feet long.
Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Garcia were born in 1942.
The number of dot on a pair of dice is 42.
Dogs have a total of 42 teeth over their lifetime.
In The Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caufield lies and says he’s 42.
The world-record jump by a kangaroo is 42 feet.
The natural vibration frequency of white mouse DNA is 42.
The natural vibration frequency of human DNA is 42.
There were 42 generations from Abraham to Jesus Christ.
And last,
“The beast was given a mouth uttering proud boasts and blasphemies, and it was given authority to act for 42 months.” –Revelations 13:5
Enjoy.
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