Memorial Day and the End of the World

Not really.

(Not the end of the world, I mean.)

For the marching band, Memorial Day means a parade. It's one of those days when everything feels like the essence of a small town- people lining the streets, a slow, amiable feel to the atmosphere. We headed out this morning, slightly disorganized but in good spirits. It's only been a year for me, but it's the last time I'll march with everyone. Sad, but true. You people are awesome.

The (academic) year is winding down. Actually, it's probably already ended for most people, but we're still plugging along. We're down to four more days of classes. I'm graduating with honors. There's a good school waiting in the fall. Things are looking pretty decent. I'm still swamped with work and deadlines and obligations and other stressful things like that, but all in all, not bad. 

It is also, by the way, Towel Day. (For those who have no idea what that means, kindly read Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.) 

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (such a mind-boggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

And remember. When in doubt, don't panic.