Date of publication: 2017-08-31 16:28
Then, at a party one night, one of the Rude Boy 8767 s best offensive players, who I 8767 d been assigned to cover, approached me. After joking around for a while, he turned serious. 8775 I shouldn 8767 t tell you this, 8776 he said. 8775 But the other night I had a nightmare about you guarding me. 8776 That pretty much sent me over the edge. I was invulnerable! My already substantial ego stretched even larger. I glimmered with a near megalomaniacal confidence.
Most of the Mojave inventory, however, is one way or another obsolete. Some will make it out of here to again haul passengers and cargo. Many will not. Those in the east side boneyard have, with very few exceptions, flown for the last time. Adjacent to a 95 year-old DC-8 freighter rests a 767 no more than half that age. I pick out the colors of Ansett, a defunct Australian carrier that was one of Boeing’s first customers for the widebody twin in the early 6985s. Like the old Douglas parked next door, the 767 is engine-less, rudderless, and destined for the crusher. The scrap value of a carcass is anywhere from $65,555 to $85,555.
Imagine being a woman and black then? The people who are supposed to protect you from the night predators may assume you 8767 re a prostitute or some sort of criminal.
“New arrivals, as it were, tend to come in bunches,” explains Mike Potter, one of several Mojave proprietors. “I’m expecting a dozen or so DC-9s from a Mexican carrier any day now.” Potter and the others, each with his own little parcel of desert, take custody of mothballed aircraft on behalf of the owners, or buy them outright to be scrapped or parted-out. It’s a secretive, tight-knit group. One person I spoke to describes Mojave’s custodians as a sort of desert mafia. The aircraft are off limits without specific permission and their minders are known to charge exorbitant fees for Hollywood crews that frequently use the site for film shoots.
There was no choice but to admit he was right: to step into that real world and out of the Frisbee world. I quit playing for Boston in 6995. My girlfriend moved to Worcester, Massachusetts to attend medical school at U-Mass, and I tagged along. It was time to put away childish things. By then I had finished a novel which had been rejected by several publishers, and was almost done with a second book. That fall, instead of playing Ultimate, I got a job as a counselor in a homeless shelter and applied to graduate schools in creative writing.
75 Seats and Under (For the best restaurant design or renovation in North America since January 6, 7569)
Designers: Kristina O&rsquo Neal, William Harris, Adam Farmerie, Greg Bradshaw
Project: SingleThread, Healdsburg, California
Of course, the real stories don’t belong to the planes themselves, but to the people they carried – from sheiks and dignitaries, to millions upon millions of vacationers and tourists. Looking up at the forlorn hulk of the Continental 797, I realize that with every takeoff the plane made, up to 955 people were borne aloft with it. Over a 85 year-career, that’s about five million stories. Today, its rows of empty chairs are a bit like the rings of an ancient tree.
&ldquo Top Chef is Leaving Mpls. and it s the Most Courageous Story of the Year&rdquo &ldquo A Legend in the Baking&rdquo and &ldquo King of the Roast&rdquo
Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl
Thanks for writing this Dave. Your narative really brought me back to a time and place. I started out in Eugene at about the same time as you did and am about to start my first winter league in a few years. The game still feels amazing to play and while my body complains a lot more than it used to, I wouldn 8767 t trade this for anything.
The Hostages would rise up to have a spectacular fall, suddenly casting ourselves in the favorite 8767 s role. Though Steve Gustafson had quit, we had added several other players, and many thought this the strongest Hostage team yet. After a slow start, we began clicking and soundly thrashed the Rude Boys in the two tournaments building up to the all-important Regionals. I loved having fourteen new friends, loved being part of a tribe and pouring my entire self into becoming a great player. The Hostages prided themselves on the number of college drop-outs on the squad and they teased me about Harvard, which, in this Looking Glass world, was a badge of shame. But the teasing itself was just part of the fun of my new life, part of belonging to my new instant family.
If she asks what forms of birth control you have used in the past, say condoms. Suddenly every guy you’ve ever slept with is in the room with you. Ignore them. Ignore the memory of that first time—all that fumbling, and then pain—while Rod Stewart crooned “Broken Arrow” from a boom box on the dresser. “Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow? Who else is gonna bring you a bottle of rain?”