Unto Death

Forty-two.

For fans of Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, it is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything.  Unfortunately we don't know the question.

For the more pious among us, from Psalm 42: "Why my soul, are you so downcast?  Why are you so disturbed within me?"

There are forty-two US gallons in a barrel of oil.

42 is the only jersey number retired by all major league baseball teams to honor Jackie Robinson.  I'm not much of a baseball fan, but even I know the significance of/behind this.

In Japanese culture, the number 42 is considered unlucky because the numerals, when pronounced separately: shi ni, (four two), sound like the phrase, "unto death".  (I have to confess to having had a hearty, if somewhat fey chuckle upon reading this, the reason for which will become apparent momentarily.)

Ultimately, as of today, I am forty-two years old.  Not really a milestone and I am not one to lend much credence to numbers, symbols or the concept of acting my age anyways, but I suppose at least some notice must be paid to the passing of years, lest they pile up like damp circulars on the stoop of an abandoned house until the porch collapses in a rotted heap.  Therefore if the Japanese are correct, and it is now "unto death" you can bet your ass I am headed there top speed, helmet on, visor down and grinning like a fucking madman.  

AMA Hall of Famer, Steve Morehead #42 "The Findlay Flyer"