Dear Reader,
No, this post does not refer to the fact that It's been quite some time since I've managed to get a woman in bed. Nor have I finally scored with said nonexistant woman. No, today's post, like most posts, is about the Marines. Get Some.
I'm currently sitting down in my closet of a dorm room, dressed in quite possibly my favorite thing to wear, ever. That's right, I'm in camoflauge. I <3 camoflauge. Wearing camoflauge is just the kind of thing that makes me think that I'm Mad Fuckin' Dangerous. This is a fact that intellectually, I always know, but it's nice to have the outside mirror the in.
We, meaning the UW Marine options, have just completed the combat fitness test. The CFT was desingned to test Marines fitness level in simulated combat environment. Now, saying this, I know you're all expecting me to start talking about a screaming DI yelling at us, with fake rifle rounds going off above our heads and having to dodge through barbed wire fences, all while flashbangs are going off.
I wish.
No, the CFT consists of a half mile run, after which you do a 2 minute max repetitions 30 pound ammo can deadlift from your shoulders. After that is the movement to combat.
Everything before the movement to combat is pretty standard physical standards assessment bullshit, but the movement to combat is something pretty unique. It starts off with a thirty yard sprint, after which you j hook around a cone, drop the deck and high crawl another 20 yeards. after that you bear crawl another 20. After that you run in a snaking pattern through some cones, where you reach a simulated casualty. you must drag the casualty through the snake cones, then pick him up and carry him back to the start.
But wait, there's more.
At the start you must then pick up a pair of 30 pound ammo cans, run back through the whole course, throw a grenade where you actually have to hit the target, (no, the grenades don't explode, once again, I wish)do three push ups, then pick up the ammo cans and run back.
Then you're done.
I'll give you a hint: if you're not exhausted after this little game, you're either a god, like SSGT Martinez, who got the best score and still had the energy to ream someone out for forgetting his cover, or you did it wrong.
I scored well. The only people that beat my movement to combat were the hardened Marines in the unit, the prior enlisted guys. You know what? That's okay with me, these guys have actually seen combat, so I'm all right with that. My run score was average, and my deadlift score was okay too.
The moral of this story is though, I eat this shit up. I can't wait to be an actual Marine, I have the best job in the world.
-Doug
"We aren't worthy to watch him PT."
Donte Larry, On watching Staff Seargent do the Movement to Combat course.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
That guy: has something to say.
One more post about music and I’m going to shoot myself.
Even with Sarah’s desperate plea for us (or more specifically me) to write, I find myself lost in a sea of work and dull drudgery. In the few and far between moments when something writeable strikes me, I’m consumed by other things. I mull it over, compose in my head, and by the time I can sit down, uninterrupted, to carve my thoughts, it looses oomph, and drifts into the realm of mediocrity and nonexistence. I have at least half a dozen posts partially finished floating around on my computer, and in my email. And they will never be posted, because once I lose it, it’s really gone. It annoys me, but I think it helps me improve what I do write, as little as that may be. That being said, onwards.
As you all know, I go through infatuations with music. I hear something, and listen to it nonstop until the next thing comes along. The newest one is the song ‘The Devil Cried’ by Black Sabbath. The bonecrushing riffs blew me away the first time I heard it. I’m a huge Sabbath fan, but haven’t really heard any of their new stuff. (TDC is from 2007). Now, I’ve been humming the melody for the past few days, and decided that I need to own the CD, so I can play it in my car, because I have the internet in my room and at work, which is where I spend most of my time anyways. With the addition of this CD, I can listen to it on the go. This is where the story starts to get interesting.
I decided after hearing it on the radio, and listening to it on the Internet for the rest of the evening, that I should go get it after work. This was the first opportunity I’ve had in a while. What you guys might not know is this.
I’ve recently become involved with an organization called Threadspace. Being who I am, and knowing whom I know, which is EVERYONE (even still), I’ve actually known most of these people for a while. I’ve even known the building where we meet. It’s right next to my dentist, and for the longest time, I’ve always wondered what that building was used for.
It’s an organization of artists. They put on shows, play music, do their various forms of art, and have a good time. I was invited to attend a show, but had a prior commitment, so I didn’t make it until late. I ended up staying till 1:30 in the morning discussing plans for the next show, and the future of Threadspace. I’m essentially management now. Because of where I work, I get access to lots of machines that make designing, printing, and creating flyers and posters very easy. I created the flyer for our upcoming event, and doing that, I spent the last few nights out till the wee hours of the morning. Like I said, tonight was the first free night I’ve had.
So I was driving, and decided that instead of Borders, because they charge you more than an executive prostitute, I would go to Hastings. I walked in, and noticed that they had a Rock Band 2 demo set up. Although I prefer the ACTUAL guitar, those games are still pretty fun, and I’m decent enough to have a good time playing without smashing your TV in a fury of plastic and anger. I made a mental note to go back and play after I accomplished my mission, for which nothing would distract me. I charged to the CD section, and after being dismayed that they had rearranged the store AGAIN (seriously, more changes that Michael Jackson’s appearance), I found where I was going. It took a moment to find it, but the Black Sabbath section was littered with goodies. And then the thing I liked about Hastings most came back to me. They mix the used CD’s in with the new. You can compare prices without moving to a new section. And I found what I was looking for. Used. For waaaaaaaay cheaper then I was expecting. It rocked. I did a little dance, right there. In between rock/pop and whatever else was there. Michael Fucking Flatley Pfeffer. And I meandered back towards Rock Band. I waited as two retarded, useless cholos failed miserably, and after they left, plastic guitar in hand, I rocked. A few songs later, realizing that I was pushing plastic buttons on the middle of a sales floor, I wandered off to see if I couldn’t find a cheap movie as well.
Sidetrack time.
The World of Warcraft expansion comes out tomorrow. Fanboys have been preparing for days, hoarding Mountain Dew, Cheetos, and spare pairs of underwear, so that when they shit themselves at how fucking awesome the game is, they can do something about it. I hate WOW. It has caused Blizzard to ruin an absolutely outstanding franchise, and do their best to help mess up the other 2 that made them the company they are.
I was watching a video from an author I really like, and in the corner of his website, because he writes about video games, was a countdown for WOW. It was at zero days and some number of hours and minutes. I was like, ‘Wait…………………….how can it be zero days till it comes out?’ and realized that in all my wisdom and glory……………… I’m an idiot. Coming out on 11/13/08 means that it doesn’t come out on 11/12/08. Duh.
Anyways, I let it slip my mind, because fuck WOW.
This is how I came across my inspiration. Close your eyes, and imagine, if you will, Tommy Lister, from one of my previous posts. But change his name to Mr. Inspiration. Now, give him a bat the size of a zanbatou, and name it The Subject. And finally, send yourself down a dark alley, and get the ever loving fuck smashed out of you by The Subject of Inspiration. This happened to me.
How?
I was browsing the sale racks for a movie to watch before bed, and had just squatted down to read the back of a zombie collection when I heard the familiar crackle of someone about to speak on an overhead PA system. In order for this to work, imagine the voice coming out of the loudspeaker as the voice of God speaking to you. Seriously. It helps.
“Attention Hastings customers. It is now 10:00.”
Fuck, I thought. They’re closing, and I need to not find a movie, and go check out. Damnit.
“Due to the midnight release party of World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King……..”
FUCK YOU, I don’t wanna get kicked out of the store so that ¼ of a fat tub of shit can fit in here.
“We are doing a two hour sale. Everything used, including CD’s, books, and movies is going to be 30% off until midnight.”
FUCK OF…………………….. wait, what? Seriously? Hold on a second…….. the CD I’m getting is used! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
This scene involves me shooting my hands up in the air so hard that the CD actually launched upwards in my glee. I managed to catch it on the way down.
This blew my mind. My originally only $8.49 CD was now even more only $6.64. And………… oh shit…………. They said movies too…………. I’m trying to find a movie…………………
For the second time that night, in a public place, in the middle of display shelves, I was the Lord of the Fucking Dance.
Needless to say, I found a few movies to tack on.
The moral of the story? Don’t ever set a guideline on what can inspire you.
Are all the easily offended people and parents gone? Good. Enough of that sappy crap.
The real moral of the story is that even if you’re staying out till 3:26 in the morning drinking Red Bull and eating pancakes with smokin’ bitches, you can always find heavy metal to corrupt you further. No matter how far gone the world thinks you are, the Satanic forces known as rock and roll will always, always make you want to punch small babies and push elderly ladies over when they’re crossing the street.
This is where you need to picture Gene Simmons doing the tongue thing, and throwing up his horns.
-/m/
Like that.
P.S. Here’s a link for the poster.
http://s94.photobucket.com/albums/l103/cheesecows666/?action=view¤t=mallratsflyer2copy.jpg
Love you all.
Even with Sarah’s desperate plea for us (or more specifically me) to write, I find myself lost in a sea of work and dull drudgery. In the few and far between moments when something writeable strikes me, I’m consumed by other things. I mull it over, compose in my head, and by the time I can sit down, uninterrupted, to carve my thoughts, it looses oomph, and drifts into the realm of mediocrity and nonexistence. I have at least half a dozen posts partially finished floating around on my computer, and in my email. And they will never be posted, because once I lose it, it’s really gone. It annoys me, but I think it helps me improve what I do write, as little as that may be. That being said, onwards.
As you all know, I go through infatuations with music. I hear something, and listen to it nonstop until the next thing comes along. The newest one is the song ‘The Devil Cried’ by Black Sabbath. The bonecrushing riffs blew me away the first time I heard it. I’m a huge Sabbath fan, but haven’t really heard any of their new stuff. (TDC is from 2007). Now, I’ve been humming the melody for the past few days, and decided that I need to own the CD, so I can play it in my car, because I have the internet in my room and at work, which is where I spend most of my time anyways. With the addition of this CD, I can listen to it on the go. This is where the story starts to get interesting.
I decided after hearing it on the radio, and listening to it on the Internet for the rest of the evening, that I should go get it after work. This was the first opportunity I’ve had in a while. What you guys might not know is this.
I’ve recently become involved with an organization called Threadspace. Being who I am, and knowing whom I know, which is EVERYONE (even still), I’ve actually known most of these people for a while. I’ve even known the building where we meet. It’s right next to my dentist, and for the longest time, I’ve always wondered what that building was used for.
It’s an organization of artists. They put on shows, play music, do their various forms of art, and have a good time. I was invited to attend a show, but had a prior commitment, so I didn’t make it until late. I ended up staying till 1:30 in the morning discussing plans for the next show, and the future of Threadspace. I’m essentially management now. Because of where I work, I get access to lots of machines that make designing, printing, and creating flyers and posters very easy. I created the flyer for our upcoming event, and doing that, I spent the last few nights out till the wee hours of the morning. Like I said, tonight was the first free night I’ve had.
So I was driving, and decided that instead of Borders, because they charge you more than an executive prostitute, I would go to Hastings. I walked in, and noticed that they had a Rock Band 2 demo set up. Although I prefer the ACTUAL guitar, those games are still pretty fun, and I’m decent enough to have a good time playing without smashing your TV in a fury of plastic and anger. I made a mental note to go back and play after I accomplished my mission, for which nothing would distract me. I charged to the CD section, and after being dismayed that they had rearranged the store AGAIN (seriously, more changes that Michael Jackson’s appearance), I found where I was going. It took a moment to find it, but the Black Sabbath section was littered with goodies. And then the thing I liked about Hastings most came back to me. They mix the used CD’s in with the new. You can compare prices without moving to a new section. And I found what I was looking for. Used. For waaaaaaaay cheaper then I was expecting. It rocked. I did a little dance, right there. In between rock/pop and whatever else was there. Michael Fucking Flatley Pfeffer. And I meandered back towards Rock Band. I waited as two retarded, useless cholos failed miserably, and after they left, plastic guitar in hand, I rocked. A few songs later, realizing that I was pushing plastic buttons on the middle of a sales floor, I wandered off to see if I couldn’t find a cheap movie as well.
Sidetrack time.
The World of Warcraft expansion comes out tomorrow. Fanboys have been preparing for days, hoarding Mountain Dew, Cheetos, and spare pairs of underwear, so that when they shit themselves at how fucking awesome the game is, they can do something about it. I hate WOW. It has caused Blizzard to ruin an absolutely outstanding franchise, and do their best to help mess up the other 2 that made them the company they are.
I was watching a video from an author I really like, and in the corner of his website, because he writes about video games, was a countdown for WOW. It was at zero days and some number of hours and minutes. I was like, ‘Wait…………………….how can it be zero days till it comes out?’ and realized that in all my wisdom and glory……………… I’m an idiot. Coming out on 11/13/08 means that it doesn’t come out on 11/12/08. Duh.
Anyways, I let it slip my mind, because fuck WOW.
This is how I came across my inspiration. Close your eyes, and imagine, if you will, Tommy Lister, from one of my previous posts. But change his name to Mr. Inspiration. Now, give him a bat the size of a zanbatou, and name it The Subject. And finally, send yourself down a dark alley, and get the ever loving fuck smashed out of you by The Subject of Inspiration. This happened to me.
How?
I was browsing the sale racks for a movie to watch before bed, and had just squatted down to read the back of a zombie collection when I heard the familiar crackle of someone about to speak on an overhead PA system. In order for this to work, imagine the voice coming out of the loudspeaker as the voice of God speaking to you. Seriously. It helps.
“Attention Hastings customers. It is now 10:00.”
Fuck, I thought. They’re closing, and I need to not find a movie, and go check out. Damnit.
“Due to the midnight release party of World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King……..”
FUCK YOU, I don’t wanna get kicked out of the store so that ¼ of a fat tub of shit can fit in here.
“We are doing a two hour sale. Everything used, including CD’s, books, and movies is going to be 30% off until midnight.”
FUCK OF…………………….. wait, what? Seriously? Hold on a second…….. the CD I’m getting is used! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
This scene involves me shooting my hands up in the air so hard that the CD actually launched upwards in my glee. I managed to catch it on the way down.
This blew my mind. My originally only $8.49 CD was now even more only $6.64. And………… oh shit…………. They said movies too…………. I’m trying to find a movie…………………
For the second time that night, in a public place, in the middle of display shelves, I was the Lord of the Fucking Dance.
Needless to say, I found a few movies to tack on.
The moral of the story? Don’t ever set a guideline on what can inspire you.
Are all the easily offended people and parents gone? Good. Enough of that sappy crap.
The real moral of the story is that even if you’re staying out till 3:26 in the morning drinking Red Bull and eating pancakes with smokin’ bitches, you can always find heavy metal to corrupt you further. No matter how far gone the world thinks you are, the Satanic forces known as rock and roll will always, always make you want to punch small babies and push elderly ladies over when they’re crossing the street.
This is where you need to picture Gene Simmons doing the tongue thing, and throwing up his horns.
-/m/
Like that.
P.S. Here’s a link for the poster.
http://s94.photobucket.com/albums/l103/cheesecows666/?action=view¤t=mallratsflyer2copy.jpg
Love you all.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Meghan: What to do?
I miss you, I need you.
Music blasts into her ears, funneled into her brain from electric blue earbuds
Sweat is pouring down her back, her neck, her face; dripping and flicking onto the mats
Mirrors, mirrors every where
Shadows, shadows flicker
One light burns in the doorway; lighting the way should anyone stumble upon her refuge
The windows are blocked with shutters. No one can see
No one should see
Leaning her forehead against leather, crazy smiles, laughing, crying
What is she doing?
Drawing her fist back she slams it into the punching bag, again
And again
And again
out of breath, gasping, hair sticking out in crazy direction, she swipes a hand across her forehead and leans with an arm around the object of her punishing.
In this little slice of heaven she can do what she wants, act as she wants, be who she wants. In the dark no one can see her; judge her.
Only, perfect is not so perfect
There seems to always be something missing
In this blissful solitude she can be who she wants but the people she loves are not here
What to do, what to do?
She pushes the bag like a pendulum
Back and forth it swings
And again she hits
-Meghan
Music blasts into her ears, funneled into her brain from electric blue earbuds
Sweat is pouring down her back, her neck, her face; dripping and flicking onto the mats
Mirrors, mirrors every where
Shadows, shadows flicker
One light burns in the doorway; lighting the way should anyone stumble upon her refuge
The windows are blocked with shutters. No one can see
No one should see
Leaning her forehead against leather, crazy smiles, laughing, crying
What is she doing?
Drawing her fist back she slams it into the punching bag, again
And again
And again
out of breath, gasping, hair sticking out in crazy direction, she swipes a hand across her forehead and leans with an arm around the object of her punishing.
In this little slice of heaven she can do what she wants, act as she wants, be who she wants. In the dark no one can see her; judge her.
Only, perfect is not so perfect
There seems to always be something missing
In this blissful solitude she can be who she wants but the people she loves are not here
What to do, what to do?
She pushes the bag like a pendulum
Back and forth it swings
And again she hits
-Meghan
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Doug: A small request.
"Obama! Obama! Obama! Obama!"
I am standing on the balcony of my dorm cluster. Below me is a crowd of hundreds, all of them cheering. Cheering. Chanting his name.
At just past 8 pm last night, CNN called it for Obama. The room I was in, a common room for all the floors of my dorm building, consequently erupted in cheers. Slaps on the back were exchanged, people cried. People Cried.
My roomates are with me on the balcony. They're all wearing grins, not mad grins, not insane or relieved grins, but genuine, honest smiles. Two of them are holding up signs, shouting back at the crowd.
"Obama! Obama! Obama! Obama!"
I have never seen such a thing as this. My history books taught me about riots. About the dangers of massed groups of people. How people demonstrate against war, abortion, gay marraige. People cheering in the streets is something you hear in a fairy tale. Old legends about when the world was young, when men were men and gals were gals mention scenes like this. This doesn't happen in the real world.
The tune of the chant changes.
"YES WE CAN! YES WE CAN! YES WE CAN!"
Your vote doesn't matter.
How many times have we heard this? For whatever reason, we as a people had come to believe that our vote, our voice, what our soldiers fight, bleed, kill and most of all die for, doesn't matter. We, Americans, had been beaten into this belief that we had no voice. Our shouts against the dark night mean nothing.
Well, all these people, this crowd before me, belives their voice matters. And they're the cynics, or they were. College students. Half these people can't make it to class on time, but they turned out to vote. They believe.
And they believe in one man. Or maybe it's not the man they belive in, maybe it's the words coming out of his mouth.
Senator Obama tells us that we matter. That we can change the world. That we can grow up to be whatever we want to be. That our voice is his pillar. His strength.
Without us, he says, He is nothing.
Does anyone comprehend how powerful that is? Without us, this man, this one man who promisies us the world, says he means nothing. The words coming out of his mouth make even the most skeptical person believe in himself, that he has the power, his voice can change the world.
E Pluribus Unum.
From many, one.
He told these people outside my dorm that our individual votes will raise him up. And that once he is there he will fight for them, and for this country they all used to belive in. He tells them they can be better than themselves, that the United States, as a country, can be better than itself. That somehow, they are greater than the sum of their parts. That they are powerful, they are mighty.
All these people outside are not rioting, they are not protesting, they are not angry. They're overjoyed. Who would have thought it? Bitter, hopeless American youth, overjoyed.
All because this one man, told them they were mighty, and then asked them to show it.
They belive in him, or at the very least what he stands for. For the first time they're hearing a message of Hope. That they matter, that their will is indomitable, and if they believe, just belive, they can be better than ourselves.
Well Mr. Obama, they belive in you. I'm watching this crowd of people, grin on my face as well, and they believe. They belive enough to cheer your name in the streets until well past midnight. Some of them have tests tomorrow. Some have to be up in mere hours to go work hard. All belive.
I have a small request for you sir. Don't let them down. They've done it, they've used their power to make you their hope. They belive in something bigger than themselves.
And I belive too, you've made me belive.
Ball's in your court sir. Do the impossible.
-Doug
"We've done the impossible, and that makes us mighty."
-Mal, Firefly.
I am standing on the balcony of my dorm cluster. Below me is a crowd of hundreds, all of them cheering. Cheering. Chanting his name.
At just past 8 pm last night, CNN called it for Obama. The room I was in, a common room for all the floors of my dorm building, consequently erupted in cheers. Slaps on the back were exchanged, people cried. People Cried.
My roomates are with me on the balcony. They're all wearing grins, not mad grins, not insane or relieved grins, but genuine, honest smiles. Two of them are holding up signs, shouting back at the crowd.
"Obama! Obama! Obama! Obama!"
I have never seen such a thing as this. My history books taught me about riots. About the dangers of massed groups of people. How people demonstrate against war, abortion, gay marraige. People cheering in the streets is something you hear in a fairy tale. Old legends about when the world was young, when men were men and gals were gals mention scenes like this. This doesn't happen in the real world.
The tune of the chant changes.
"YES WE CAN! YES WE CAN! YES WE CAN!"
Your vote doesn't matter.
How many times have we heard this? For whatever reason, we as a people had come to believe that our vote, our voice, what our soldiers fight, bleed, kill and most of all die for, doesn't matter. We, Americans, had been beaten into this belief that we had no voice. Our shouts against the dark night mean nothing.
Well, all these people, this crowd before me, belives their voice matters. And they're the cynics, or they were. College students. Half these people can't make it to class on time, but they turned out to vote. They believe.
And they believe in one man. Or maybe it's not the man they belive in, maybe it's the words coming out of his mouth.
Senator Obama tells us that we matter. That we can change the world. That we can grow up to be whatever we want to be. That our voice is his pillar. His strength.
Without us, he says, He is nothing.
Does anyone comprehend how powerful that is? Without us, this man, this one man who promisies us the world, says he means nothing. The words coming out of his mouth make even the most skeptical person believe in himself, that he has the power, his voice can change the world.
E Pluribus Unum.
From many, one.
He told these people outside my dorm that our individual votes will raise him up. And that once he is there he will fight for them, and for this country they all used to belive in. He tells them they can be better than themselves, that the United States, as a country, can be better than itself. That somehow, they are greater than the sum of their parts. That they are powerful, they are mighty.
All these people outside are not rioting, they are not protesting, they are not angry. They're overjoyed. Who would have thought it? Bitter, hopeless American youth, overjoyed.
All because this one man, told them they were mighty, and then asked them to show it.
They belive in him, or at the very least what he stands for. For the first time they're hearing a message of Hope. That they matter, that their will is indomitable, and if they believe, just belive, they can be better than ourselves.
Well Mr. Obama, they belive in you. I'm watching this crowd of people, grin on my face as well, and they believe. They belive enough to cheer your name in the streets until well past midnight. Some of them have tests tomorrow. Some have to be up in mere hours to go work hard. All belive.
I have a small request for you sir. Don't let them down. They've done it, they've used their power to make you their hope. They belive in something bigger than themselves.
And I belive too, you've made me belive.
Ball's in your court sir. Do the impossible.
-Doug
"We've done the impossible, and that makes us mighty."
-Mal, Firefly.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Doug: Vote Che
Dear Readers,
Today, if I finish this today, which I hope I do, is election day.
oooh.
About an hour and a half ago I was biking through a sick mix of rain and hail to cast my ballot at St. Benidict's Church. My voting site. It was coming down hard, and the first place I found wasn't the right area. I walked in, soaking wet, and handed my voter's registration card to a guy who looked like he was older than Methuselah. His buddy eyeballed me like he considered spitting me on a stick and roasting me over his cigarette.
"You're in the wrong place son." John Wayne's accent assaulted me from across the table. "You need to be about five blocks down the street."
I muttered under my breath and his buddy's look changed from irritated to reassuring. "You can vote here if you like, but your ballot won't be counted until last."
"Nah, I'll head down there." I thanked them and turned around, heading for the exit.
"Do you know what's wonderful about this country?" I paused momentarily, looking around. But the speaker wasn't addressing me, he was talking to his two children, who looked to be below age five.
"What daddy?" The more articulate kid asked, big eyed, looking up.
"I'm going to use some big words, so just ask me if I say something you don't know."
"Okay."
"We're a Democracy. Do you know what that means?"
"Nooo." The kid is speaking in the cutest of voices, the kind that makes you want children, even if you know better. I stand stock still, fascinated by the exchange.
"A Democracy is a country that gets to vote for their leader. Have you heard about Kings?" Apparently this guy doesn't read his kid bedtime stories.
"Yeah..." The cute kid voice is starting to get to me. I try and remember that I'm an emotionless robot, but it's making me want to cry with the cute.
"Kings don't get elected, they just say they're the King. So bad people sometimes become Kings, or at least people the King rules don't like the King."
"Okay..." Seriously kid, cut that out, or I'll have to light you on fire.
"But here in America we get to pick our leader. And that's what makes this country wonderful."
"Yay!"
Spell broken, I move quickly to the outside, a drop of moisture running down my cheek. I just watched a guy explain to his kids America's democracy. In the most dumbed down possible way, but still. I feel like I've been an intruder on a most intimate moment between child and parent.
It starts to hail as I bike up to the place I'm supposed vote. A lady walks up to me and I clamber off my bike. "Do you know where to vote?"
"This isn't it?"
"No!"
I mutter four letter words and hope the nice lady I'm talking to can's hear me.
"Let's ask her!" I point to a woman just turning the corner. Pieces of hail run down my back, freezing me.
She doesn't bother to talk to us, she just points in the direction of a lighted doorway. The hail makes it impossible to hear anyway. I feel like Alice, about to enter wonderland.
A warm blast of air hits my face, warming my frozen body. I can't find a place to lock up my bike, but at this point if anyone argues with me about it I'll pull their damn spine out through their skullcap.
The guy directing us all takes a look at my bike, Looks at my face, and smiles warmly. "You can put it in this room." he says.
I almost hug him.
The tempest outside lashes like some angry God, but inside this voting precinct, all is quiet, all is warm, I actually feel comfortable.
I've got a choice here, like a lot of other Americans. I'm not going to comment on who I think you should have voted for. According to CNN it doesn't matter. The polls are closing in about ten seconds. But if you didn't vote, if you didn't make a choice, well, I think you should have.
A wizened old lady hands me my ballot, and I move to the polls.
-Doug
"His whole life was a million to one shot."
-Rocky
Today, if I finish this today, which I hope I do, is election day.
oooh.
About an hour and a half ago I was biking through a sick mix of rain and hail to cast my ballot at St. Benidict's Church. My voting site. It was coming down hard, and the first place I found wasn't the right area. I walked in, soaking wet, and handed my voter's registration card to a guy who looked like he was older than Methuselah. His buddy eyeballed me like he considered spitting me on a stick and roasting me over his cigarette.
"You're in the wrong place son." John Wayne's accent assaulted me from across the table. "You need to be about five blocks down the street."
I muttered under my breath and his buddy's look changed from irritated to reassuring. "You can vote here if you like, but your ballot won't be counted until last."
"Nah, I'll head down there." I thanked them and turned around, heading for the exit.
"Do you know what's wonderful about this country?" I paused momentarily, looking around. But the speaker wasn't addressing me, he was talking to his two children, who looked to be below age five.
"What daddy?" The more articulate kid asked, big eyed, looking up.
"I'm going to use some big words, so just ask me if I say something you don't know."
"Okay."
"We're a Democracy. Do you know what that means?"
"Nooo." The kid is speaking in the cutest of voices, the kind that makes you want children, even if you know better. I stand stock still, fascinated by the exchange.
"A Democracy is a country that gets to vote for their leader. Have you heard about Kings?" Apparently this guy doesn't read his kid bedtime stories.
"Yeah..." The cute kid voice is starting to get to me. I try and remember that I'm an emotionless robot, but it's making me want to cry with the cute.
"Kings don't get elected, they just say they're the King. So bad people sometimes become Kings, or at least people the King rules don't like the King."
"Okay..." Seriously kid, cut that out, or I'll have to light you on fire.
"But here in America we get to pick our leader. And that's what makes this country wonderful."
"Yay!"
Spell broken, I move quickly to the outside, a drop of moisture running down my cheek. I just watched a guy explain to his kids America's democracy. In the most dumbed down possible way, but still. I feel like I've been an intruder on a most intimate moment between child and parent.
It starts to hail as I bike up to the place I'm supposed vote. A lady walks up to me and I clamber off my bike. "Do you know where to vote?"
"This isn't it?"
"No!"
I mutter four letter words and hope the nice lady I'm talking to can's hear me.
"Let's ask her!" I point to a woman just turning the corner. Pieces of hail run down my back, freezing me.
She doesn't bother to talk to us, she just points in the direction of a lighted doorway. The hail makes it impossible to hear anyway. I feel like Alice, about to enter wonderland.
A warm blast of air hits my face, warming my frozen body. I can't find a place to lock up my bike, but at this point if anyone argues with me about it I'll pull their damn spine out through their skullcap.
The guy directing us all takes a look at my bike, Looks at my face, and smiles warmly. "You can put it in this room." he says.
I almost hug him.
The tempest outside lashes like some angry God, but inside this voting precinct, all is quiet, all is warm, I actually feel comfortable.
I've got a choice here, like a lot of other Americans. I'm not going to comment on who I think you should have voted for. According to CNN it doesn't matter. The polls are closing in about ten seconds. But if you didn't vote, if you didn't make a choice, well, I think you should have.
A wizened old lady hands me my ballot, and I move to the polls.
-Doug
"His whole life was a million to one shot."
-Rocky
Meghan: Rain, rain, don't go away
The sky is falling
The angels are crying
The girl is laughing, blow wind blow.
My hair is in ringlets from the humidity and it clings to my forehead in a sweat left over from the gym. Later I’ll have to dunk my head in a bucket of water to calm it down, but now I just let it form its gold whirlwind. The world smells like wet cement and drenched earth, and all of the colors seem too intense, too bright. I’m drinking with my eyes while butter yellow leaves twirl down with the buckets of rain. Is it overwhelming? Oh, yes. But would I drown in it? Never, not in this richness. If I meet the eyes of other people while I’m wandering I probably look like some half-crazy fiend spinning through the rain. But they don’t matter, not when I’m searching, looking at everything. I don’t know what I’m looking for and I don’t care, I’m just looking; experiencing. And I love it.
-Meghan
The angels are crying
The girl is laughing, blow wind blow.
My hair is in ringlets from the humidity and it clings to my forehead in a sweat left over from the gym. Later I’ll have to dunk my head in a bucket of water to calm it down, but now I just let it form its gold whirlwind. The world smells like wet cement and drenched earth, and all of the colors seem too intense, too bright. I’m drinking with my eyes while butter yellow leaves twirl down with the buckets of rain. Is it overwhelming? Oh, yes. But would I drown in it? Never, not in this richness. If I meet the eyes of other people while I’m wandering I probably look like some half-crazy fiend spinning through the rain. But they don’t matter, not when I’m searching, looking at everything. I don’t know what I’m looking for and I don’t care, I’m just looking; experiencing. And I love it.
-Meghan
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Meghan: pride
Hey there hey
Got a light?
Get out of my face
Unless you want to die
I’ll rip your heart and drink your blood
Ha ha
Hey now hey,
Calm down little girl
Think now think
Whatcha gonna do to me?
What do you want old man?
What do you want little boy?
Leering, sneering, snarled thing
Reaping suffering, sewing hate
Stop, just stop
Out, get out
Won’t, child, won’t
Can’t, child, can’t
You keep me
You hold me
You tie me to you
No, no
Yes, yes
Out, out
In, in
I will kill you
You will love me
I will die
Ha, ha
Hey now hey,
Who cares?
-Meghan
Got a light?
Get out of my face
Unless you want to die
I’ll rip your heart and drink your blood
Ha ha
Hey now hey,
Calm down little girl
Think now think
Whatcha gonna do to me?
What do you want old man?
What do you want little boy?
Leering, sneering, snarled thing
Reaping suffering, sewing hate
Stop, just stop
Out, get out
Won’t, child, won’t
Can’t, child, can’t
You keep me
You hold me
You tie me to you
No, no
Yes, yes
Out, out
In, in
I will kill you
You will love me
I will die
Ha, ha
Hey now hey,
Who cares?
-Meghan
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