Whit Arnold

WhitArnold

HOW TO: Build Your Own Skateboard


Supplies
• 2/4 or 3/4 piece of wood
• Saw (electric or hand saw)
• Sandpaper (a sander if possible)
• Power drill
• 8 bolts and 8 nuts
• Screwdriver
• Pliers
• Any pair of roller skates
• Grip tape

Warning: Some of the necessary tools can be considered dangerous if not used with caution.

Board Design
1. Sketch your desired shape onto the wood.
Note: You can choose a number of different shapes, see examples on page 2, or design your own.
2. Use saw to cut out your sketched shape from wood.
3. Take sandpaper or sander to smooth all edges around cut out.

Wheels and Trucks
1. Remove trucks from roller skate with a screwdriver.
Note: The wheels will remain attached to the trucks.
2. Align trucks in an appropriate location on the bottom of your board.
Note: Remember to keep them balanced and centered.
3. Mark the holes locations for screw holes with a pencil.
4. Use drill to install eight holes.
5. Place trucks back on the board.
6. Secure trucks with your 8 bolts and 8 nuts using screwdriver and pliers.
Note: If you aren’t comfortable because they are too loose or tight adjust with the same tools.
7. Apply grip tape on the top of your new board.
Note: To customize your deck, create your own design with grip tape.
8. Now go skate with your homemade skateboard.
Note: With another piece of wood you can make another board for a friend with the trucks from the extra roller skate.

Ariele Chapman

Kristina Vance

Ode to Pumpkin Bread Pudding

Oh, how your sponge-like texture caresses
And bounces off my taste buds
with each salivating smack of my overeager lips.

Your caramel sauce drips
From your mushy crevasses
As is slithers past
Each irregular piece of your bready goodness.

My eyes are larger than my stomach
As I pass spoonful after heaping spoonful
of your irresistible, just right sweetness,
into my yearning mouth.

My spoon screams
As it scrapes the last skid-marked bits
of amber colored goo off the now lonesome plate.

I revel in ecstasy
As I feverishly gulp milk
From the small, ceramic mug –
washing down all the pumpkin taste,
leaving little hints of cinnamon
clinging fast to the top of my palette.

Oh, how you come along but once a year,
always leaving me wanting more.

Samuel Jagoda

SamJagoda

Claire Khoury

I was running for my life. Thickets and thorns were scratching at my tired thighs and aching calves, painfully reminding me of what had just happened.
Whizzing by park benches and lamp posts I couldn't stop no matter how badly my lungs were shrinking. My heart was racing as fast as my feet.
Focus on breathing, in and out. In and out. I sounded like a donkey, hee hawing but my mind was what I wanted to stop.
I remember a dim lit candle and the spanish guitarist plucking away parts of his soul through the somber melodies and erratic fingering. Sitting in that dusty bar thinking this was a good idea for a while. I was too confident in that black dress, teasing my hair with my fingertips and trying not to look like I didn't belong in there.

The glass on the bar looked dewy and I remember I liked it. Slinking my fingers across the drops of condensation felt familiar tracing back to when I was a child and would sit at the windowsill of my families bungalow, drawing pictures on the window when it would rain. I felt alive when it rained and yet miraculously restless as my father droned on playing keys on the piano as he often did during the storms.

The guitarist took a break and the cliche, background bar music began to play. He was twenty minutes late and the cigarettes I had were too few now to continue waiting.

I am not a patient person and unless I have a cigarette to fill the time I become antsy and bothered. I was bothered all right and twenty minutes is too long to wait, especially for a guy.

"A woman should always be the late one. The man waits on you, not the other way around. If you get there before him, leave," my mother used to say to me as she would brush my curly hair out, trying to make it straight. She bought me my first hair straightener and told me to treat it as another appendage.

My unruly curly hair would make men nervous. Meditterranean and Arabic women with their wild hair made her fearful. They looked untamable, and I was supposed to be tamed.

I got up and left after thirty minutes of my legs falling asleep and my backside becoming numb. I was livid.

As I walked out of the bar and down the street, I was going to go home and watch another old movie again. I would have probably mixed it up a bit and watched something other than Casablanca this time.
Like a whiplash, my body was stopped and pulled around like some sort of jitterbug dance move, nearly dislocating my arm.

-"Give me your money." He was tall, rotund and hispanic, showcasing a toothy mouth topped off with a sparse "stache."
-"Please, let go of me and I'll give you what's in my purse. I don't have any cash but I can give you my credit cards."
He hesitated to let me out of his firm grip and I rubbed the skin on my arm where he had touched me. It felt rough like after an indian sunburn.

You should run for it, Claire. He's not armed and he's too big to keep up with you.
I didn't have much time to think, but my cleverness reminded me of Pseudolus and for a moment, just for an spec of time, I felt cunning and alive.

Throwing down an Old Navy Debit Card I kicked my black stilettos off and I ran through the alley all along the dirty pavement, nearly skinning off my callouses. I heard him yell something as though he planned to cut me off, but I was too fast for him and knew these streets all too well. My brothers and I used to map out this neighborhood when we would shoot our documentaries back when we were younger. I'm still young and I shouldn't have been in a place like that on this night. I realized I had all the time in the world to be old. You're only young for so long, and it's so hard to keep the memories. I cherished the ones I still had.

Running through the alleys and streets, passing lamp post after lamp post, trash bin after recycling bin, I couldn't stop until I got home.
My arm was throbbing and my shoulder kept clicking. After a mile or so I decided it was safe to stop. I called a cab to take me home. The ride back felt longer and I wasn't in the mood for small talk.
Exiting the cab and walking up to my house, I felt a wave of relief.

I sat on the steps and continued to catch my breath. I noticed my hair start to frizz and looked up at the cloudy night sky as I sniffed in the smell of the air. It was going to rain. It was going to rain right now.

As the drops fell from the sky, I lifted my face to catch the sweet dewy beads. I was getting cleansed by the rain. As I stood up to walk inside, I noticed my reflection in the window. My hair, now wet, was becoming curly again. I liked it better that way for once.

For once, I felt I was who I truly was. Untamed, unmarked and naturally curly

ART AND FIST LOGO by Matt Cox

Scott VanArsdale

Kristina Vance

Dylan Patten

Happiness is all there is, in her
Smiles ablaze
Heart of fire

A fire so bright it blinds
But I don't need vision to see
Beauty is not limited to sight
I'll look on

Maybe I'll wear this on my sleeve
Ha, maybe

I slap it on my sleeve
Like a name tag
"Hello, my name is : Great Intentions"

Entering the battle field
Instantly seared by embers
Embracing the boils and scars

Vanquishing my fears
I confront her

"Hello, my name is : Fraught With Disappointment"

My sleeve smolders and I persevere.

Samuel Jagoda

www.ingruo.net