Bruce Springsteen played in seattle last night. Seattle is on the 47th
parallel. Springsteen is 47 years old.
In some random movie about a woman who gets pregnant via artificial
insemination and then wants to find the father...she gets pregnant by
sperm sample number 1247.
In Living Color had a skit with a guy playing an old blues guitarist who
said, "The last time I played this song was back in 1947"
Rock Band #47 is the name of an LA trio. Portland residents will get a
chance to see them this weekend at the NXNW music convention. Send in any
I was recently waxing nostalgic about my Pomona days and about my trips out
to Joshua Tree National Monument. I pulled out a map to show a friend where
it is, and it was then that I noticed that the road running through the
monument (connecting the town of 29 Palms to Interstate 10) is exactly 47
A few more sightings...
Stanford had a power outage last week; consequently, the clock in our main
chemistry lecture hall is stuck at 7:47.
On the way to chem today I passed a truck that advertised a company
founded in 1947...
And on the way back I passed another truck that was marked #11047 (one of
a fleet, I suppose).
I am seriously thinking that I should begin taking a camera with me
everywhere I go, and take pictures of every 47 I meet. A day in the life
of 47, perhaps?
in Ghostbusters...Dan Akroyd refers to a case of superparanormal activity
that occured in 1947.
Wendover Airbase in Utah became the home for the training program for the
first atomic bombing missions, later carried out on Hiroshima and
Nagasaki. The remains of the assembly and modification areas associated
with this top program, code-named "Project 47" can be seen less than a
mile south of the flightline of the Wendover Airport.
In the psychedelic sixties, a band called The Woolies had a hit song named
"Who Do You Love?" in which the very first line is...
"Well, I want 47 miles of barbed wire..."
How very groovy...
[ed. note: the esteemed schlock has returned with these words.]
Greetings to all...I have returned from a long, e-mail-less summer with
many stories of 47 to share.
On the drive back to school alone I encountered 47 in license plates,
billboards, street signs at least eight or nine times. (It's only about
two and a half hours to get back to school from where I live.)
Fans of the band They Might Be Giants should already know that on their
new album "Factory Showroom," the first verse of track 2, "Until My Head
Falls Off," goes like this:
"There were eighty-seven Advil in the bottle, now there's thirty left;
I ate forty-seven so what happened to the other ten..."
One of my profs used the number in a lecture about communication and
mental processes to point out how a person doesn't process internal
thoughts by specifically considering the cells and chemicals involved:
"it's not like you think 'oh, neuron C-47 has just fired...'"
Someone in our dorm received a package via Priority Mail; the box stayed
in the hallway for a few days. On the side of the box in big black
letters was the number 14747 (presumably a mail code).
I've also discovered a lot of TV-related 47s that have nothing to do with
Trek; for those of you who haven't visited the Land of Schlock lately,
there are a lot of sound clips and screen shots of various 47s on a new
page I set up this summer:
This page includes selections from The Simpsons, Ren and Stimpy, The
Critic, Homicide: Life on the Street, and the movie Dave, as well as
screen shots and sound clips of select Trek 47s. Check it out, but beware
of inline images (don't say I didn't warn you...)
Until later, then,
On April 7th, 1947, Henry Ford died.
Also on 4/7/47 millions of people were left without telephone service due
to a 23-day strike.
William Shakespeare's "King Henry The Fourth, Part One"
Act II, Scene iv, Lines 189-195
FALSTAFF: These four came all afront and mainly thrustSubmitted: E. F.
at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven
points in my target, thus.
PRINCE: Seven? Why, there were but four even now?
FLASTAFF: In buckram?
PIONS: Ay, four, in buckram suits.
FALSTAFF: Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Vince Guiraldi - famed Jazz pianist (as well as the guy who wrote all of
those great Peanuts tunes) died at age 47.
In a *New York Times* story by Dinitia Smith which appeared October 3,
1996 and was slugged "The Irish Are Hot in the U.S. Again," one finds
"In almost every realm of culture there is a resurgence of
interest in things Irish. At the Frankfurt Book Fair under
way in Germany, the theme is 'Ireland and Its Diaspora,' with
47 Irish and Irish-American writers scheduled to travel across
the country in a train to promote Irish letters."
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