Two Memes

[lenora_rose]

These seemed to get lost in Christmas. That or nobody thinks they can lie about me. I figured it was better to separate them out, anyhow.

Meme #1

Stolen from cicadabug and jenwrites.

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often) please post a comment with a completely made up and fictional memory of you and me.

It can be anything you want - good or bad - but it has to be fake.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people don't actually remember about you.

Meme #2

Some time ago, I saw this on jenwrites's journal, and I thought it was cute:

There's a group who observed that the single most common thing on the "Interests" lists is "music".

To follow the meme, just add "Falsifying statistics" to your Interests list. (Even if there's nothing else in it!) The aspiration is to get that to the top of the list.

Comments

Here you go:

[senekal.livejournal.com]

"You're going to get killed you know."

"What makes you think that? It's steep, sure, but not fatal-steep."

The sun spangled through the early fall leaves, painting in bright light drops across the floor of the forested ravine. The leaves still on the trees had become God's own stained glass cathedral ceiling, a riot of red, yellow and brown. Warm to contrast the cooling air.

L. looked as he mounted the bike. It was a dark metallic blue, worn in spots, with a stupidly wide white banana seat and 'monkey hanger' handle bars which swooped from low to high and then curved downward to end in battered white rubber grips.

"It's more than a forty five degree slope!"

"Yep. But you can see where other bikes have taken it. And I'm going to. Right now."

M. kicked off and started by coasting down the steep dirt track into the ravine. He picked up speed and added to it by peddling furiously. Shaking her head, she mounted her own bike and coasted behind him, sensibly braking to keep a rational speed. Even so the wind whipped through her hair and the excitement of the dash was like the first drop on a roller coaster.

Hitting the flat at the bottom, he continued to pedal, aiming right at a battered half buried log at the edge of the stream. "Don't!" she yelled, but it was too late - he caught a lot of air, soaring into the air over the murky green storm pond.

He hung there - for a moment she thought - no.

The splash was terrific as he hit. L. barely braked and skidded sideways to a stop at the edge of the water mouth open in shock.

He came up, spluttering, laughing. And she laughed too.

"Well," he said, understating as he often did, "guess I'm all wet now aren't I?"