Tag: IT

Munition of the Week

Our MUNITION OF THE WEEK: THE FN HERSTAL P90 SUBMACHINE GUN

20061013-munition.jpgDesigned by the Belgian firearms manufacturer Fabrique Nationale de Herstal, the Project 90 (P90) Submachine gun entered service in 1994 to satisfy NATO document D/296 which called for the creation of a new personal defense weapon (PDW). The P90 weighs 6.6 lbs fully loaded, has a total length of 19.7’’ and a 50 round magazine that loads into the top, parallel to the barrel. It has a maximum range of 220 yards. FN Herstal’s submachine gun bridges an important gap between handguns and rifles. This is because of its ability to accurately deliver a special 5.7 x 28 mm cartridge that is capable of piercing standard Warsaw Pact body armor while remaining small enough to be utilized in close quarter battles. The P90 has been incorporated into several different organizations, including the United States Secret Service, the Peruvian Navy special Forces and the Singaporean Commandos. The P90 has been dubbed the “forerunner� of the PDW concept that has emerged in the last four to five years.

Community Meeting

By Kathryn Leahey

Greetings and salutations, fellow community members! After a two week sabbatical, your source of information on all things community meeting has returned. Yes, you may now collectively exhale. This week’s meeting proved no less engrossing than usual, even involving some controversy over our own beloved editors. First, however, our community engaged in our weekly batch of gratitude and notices. The much-coveted title of Community Member of the Week went to Hassan Rahmanian for his work on both AdCil and the Coretta Scott King Center search committee. Much of this week’s gratefulness was imparted by, to, or among CG. Melody thanked her FWSPies, and Hope thanked Hannah and Jessica for cutting her hair and letting her bitch. Melody was thanked by Antoinette for being the glorious Events Manager that she is. Hope also thanked Melody for taking her to my hometown, Chicago, at some point in the future, for the experience of getting out of Yellow Springs and wandering around her first real big city. Hope, I wish you much Windy City fun – write something on a wall at Gino’s for me. Levi B. thanked his roller coaster incident mates as well as Sarah Buckingham for her work on ComCil. Outside of the Dynamic Three, Meghan Pergrem, who was thanked by Erin Winter for her help with the Art Show, also thanked BAMN. Finally, Jean Gregorek and Jim Malarkey were thanked for organizing the poorly-attended but very moving Guantanamo Bay Teach-In last Thursday.

Next, twenty different town criers announced many things, most of which will have happened by the time this is actually read by anyone. Here’s what you ought to know: I am starting a Latin language and literature group. Likeminded, nerd-identified individuals may contact me via FirstClass. In other news, ComCil and AdCil are currently discussing highly important issues of the RAB and shared governance, respectively. Go to the meetings. Really, go right ahead. Those interested in becoming a CM, Record editor, C-shop manager, or Pennell House coordinator in the near future ought to get his or her application turned in as soon as possible. Speaking of Pennell House, the much-anticipated Art Show, which is taking place at Pennell House, is on Friday beginning at 8pm. Live music, performance pieces, and food will be provided for the more easily distracted of us. Saturday night will see a bonfire and the fire party as well as a late-night bike ride. Various other fire-related events will take place over the next few days, including a meeting entitled “Fire Up Your Crotch�, an examination of alternative menstrual health. On Monday, Anne Shine, a pianist from New York, will be performing a free concert at 8pm. Tuesday is the Black and Tan Dance, for which Melody still needs volunteers, especially anyone who knows how to make an ice luge. On October 19th, a day-long counter recruitment event dubbed the Uprising Tour will be taking place. October 23rd, Christian Smith from the ACLU will be on campus from 7-9 talking about higher education and the War on Drugs.

On a shocking note, everyone wanted money this week. Haruna proposed $200 for Japanese cultural events while Meghan asked for $400 for Pennell House activities. The strangely exact figures of $421 and $722 dollars were requested for a ceramics event and Fire Week, respectively. Seventy dollars is needed to reimburse the person who replaced the swing in front of North Hall, $150 to provide for the SOPP Community Day dinner, and $100 to bring the formerly mentioned ACLU speaker to campus. Melody wants $250 for Black and Tan while three separate people requested sums of $500, $200, and $150 to bring bands to various community functions.

Next, like ice in a blender, our community was Pulsed. Going into the proverbial smoothie of conversation this week were the topics of the now-infamous “Cowboys and ‘Indians’ Party� and the new look of the Record’s most popular item, the Declassifieds, a tasty combination that, no less, gave me a headache. When the party was first brought up, the notion immediately sparked a dialogue about the perceived division between upper- and underclasspersons here at Antioch. Our community members pitched such ideas for the remediation of the problem as chem-free socials for first and fourth years, interest groups, attendance of Thursday night karaoke bashes by all involved, a “Big Brother/Big Sister� program of sorts, and upperclassperson attendance of first-year Core Communities to aid in the understanding between classes. Dennie Eagelson simply asked third- and fourth-years to “assume that [firstyears] have some thoughtfulness before you jump their ass,� a sentiment surely echoed by many of my fellow freshies The only idea proposed that was criticized was the notion of the two groups actually talking to each other during meals. The notable lack of mealtime communication can be attributed to a disorder known as “Caf Anxiety� combined with general social awkwardness so prevalent here at our beloved school. After much conversation on the topic, CG thanked all involved for a productive and respectful conversation.

After many left, we then moved on to a topic that did not prove so productive and was not conducted quite as respectfully. Several community members expressed great concern over the reformatting of the Declassifieds section of the Record. Some accused the editors of shaming the community with their previous Letters to the Community, saying that they were taking their frustrations out on the wrong people. Foster countered the claim by telling those present that the section is simply “not bringing out the best in us� and that reactionary Declassifieds make the paper accountable for things that the writer would have otherwise been too intimidated to state publicly. He admitted that he realizes that the letters may have offended some, for which he apologized, but that he felt valid points were made. He also said that the current haiku policy may change soon if he and Luke find it ineffective. When asked why the haiku format was chosen, Foster replied that haikus are fun, short, and made people think about what they are writing a little more before it is published. Those who have a problem with the policy or anything else about the paper can bring it to RAB, a board that meets on Friday at noon in the Antioch Inn. When the letters and haiku were discussed at the last meeting of RAB, little problem was found with either. Until next week, Antiochians, Pulse among yourselves.

No Sex In The City

by Marjorie Jensen

A personal tragedy has overshadowed my ongoing deconstruction of privilege. There are wars overseas I could be discussing. “Community Government� is an AdCil agenda item. But I have to speak about the dead. I hope my prose-form elegy will move you, dear reader, to feel some empathy (or sympathy, as the case may be).

I mourn the loss of a loved one. It is an unfamiliar death. Last Saturday, at the penultimate moment of passion, my vibrator died. I have had to revive my most constant and loyal lover with the occasional battery or two, but death was never this permanent before. No matter how much I shook with tears in my eyes, I could not bring life back.

Now, you have to understand how long we have been together. I spotted this pink, sparkly piece of ecstasy over six years ago. Others have tempted me, but I usually couldn’t afford them anyway. Mine was uncomplicated, somewhat realistic, the perfect size. Reliable, you know. It never changed between us. Things were never awkward.

I never expected my most steadfast lover to abandon me in the city, to leave me alone so suddenly in a cold (and windy) metropolis. I have fretful dreams. Nights seem longer. I am uncomforted, frustrated. The loss of something without life leaves me mystified. How do I cope with this unexpected loss? Does everyone grieve differently?

I suppose I should think of it as an opportunity to buy something I’ve really wanted, something special and new. But the obsession with the familiar is unshakable. I crave the one I know and have loved. How do I find another exactly like the one that has died? I live with wanting and waiting. I hesitate to replace, to dismiss.

I have to escape somehow, forget my loss, and begin to love again. I live under the cruel, Petrarchan hand of the subject of my research- Elizabeth Regina. She speaks of a perfect courtier that pursues her with no intent to capture. I see her everywhere. She permeates my textsher gendered rhetoric correlating Twelfth Night to The Maid’s Tragedy. In all their women I see her words reflected. “To think of making love by sentiments!� Sterne speaks to me from the reading for class tomorrow, mocking not only the conventions of travel literature. I’ve been trying to seduce with words Gloriana of Spenser’s imagination; the ultimately unattainable woman outside my text. She is a signature under my hand, a poem written in Latin. I have only remnants.

While this Renaissance Queen has captured my days, my nights still beg to be filled. I work late hours on the weekend, playing hacky-sack, in Jimmy John’s apron and all, to fill the quiet before the storm hits at about 2am. My co-workers make me forget in my laughter. We make enough in our tip jar to go out for breakfast. We close the store as the morning crew unlocks the door behind us.

I mindlessly enter data in my comfortable cube in the Development office at the Newberry after events. Before bed, I try yoga, familiar movies, drinks with kids from JJ’s. Nothing eases me into sleep. I lie awake and remember years together, unfailing, perfect, effortless. I know I have to find another to make this cycle of half-living end.

Coming to the end of this conceit, I find I have no more euphemisms to shroud my loss. I’ll invoke New-Age magic to heal me. Hitachi’s wand awaits me online. I’m sure my quest will have a happy ending.