Happy Victoria Day

It's supposed to be the 24 weekend, as the kids say these days, but Victoria Day is one of those strange holidays that falls on a particular day rather than a date, which is odd when you consider that it's supposed to be commemorating Queen Victoria's birthday. Accordingly, you would imagine that she knew very well the definite date that her birthday fell on; but no, Victoria Day is like the third Monday of May, go figure. Yes, in other words it's actually gone and past as of last Monday the 21st. It is not unlike Labour Day in that regard, but at least they're both an excuse to blow some sh#t up, by which I mean fireworks. The fireworks magically appear from the extradimensional warehouse they've been sitting in all year, then come Tuesday they're all illegal again and poof! they're gone to the same place Christmas CDs go until next year. So I had a really long weekend, which for me is really saying something. As in, a four day weekend as opposed to three...at some point, that will become the week rather than the weekend...four days is more than half the week, after all. I didn't do too much, mostly relaxed (maybe a little too much, such a waste of time sleeping) and while on the one hand it's a nice break, it's also time I am not working and therefore not making money. That is not so good. Ah well, c'est la vie...

May your arrows always fly true and strike their mark...

You can't see my arrow in this photo, but trust me, nothing but bullseye...actually, it split another arrow that was already there...yeah, okay no it didn't. It did hit the target though, I swear. Actually, accuracy wasn't as important in a massed formation of longbowmen as sheer volume of fire was. There really wasn't anywhere to run from a mass volley of bodkin arrows raining down from the sky, "blotting out the sun" as it were. Actually, for ease of access you'd just stick your spare arrows into the ground at your feet. Now the soil of the average medieval European field is probably not the most hygienic of substances, seeing as how they fertilized with manure, but while you were waiting you'd probably need to pee. Where better to do so than right at your feet? So if you were unfortunate enough to be struck by an arrow, you were probably looking at some septicemia at the very least. That's just insult to injury, getting shot with an arrow soaked in pee and excrement...yum. Also, a real longbow is taller than I am so yeah I'm really just pretending with this target bow here. I don't think I could even draw a real bow properly, much less fire it with any degree of skill or accuracy. This is why we invented these newfangled compound bows. The nifty pulleys help shoulder some of the burden of a two hundred pound pull.

It's no webline, but it'll do...

Well, after this experience I think I have some small approximation of what Spider-Man must feel like every day swinging around Manhattan. With great power must come great responsibility, after all...although I'm more of the "crush your enemies, drive them before you, and hear the lamentations of their women" school of thought these days...although I must admit the world does look awful pretty from up there. How deceiving that is...

Michael Bay, eat your heart out...

Here I am going all tactical, fast-roping out of an ominously hovering Blackhawk, tightly gripping my Heckler & Koch MP5A3, filthy brown tangos centred in my reflex sights...gotta teach 'em freedom isn't free (cue thrashing guitar riff)...

Customer service...

Today, I received a rather unusual reference request. This particular girl was looking for a couple of textbooks (which is a whole other story, trust me) which she needed right away and here were the titles (which turned out to be nothing like the actual titles, not even close) etc. yadda yadda yadda. That in and of itself is nothing new. Ah, but here's the kicker: could I possibly mail them to her house...well, alright honey, I'll get right on that just as soon as I've detailed your car, shampooed your carpets, alphabetized your wardrobe and pleasured you orally. Because, you know, that's the level of dedicated customer service I'm committed to giving after all...sheesh, some people. Based on our exchange, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume some sort of language/communication barrier, but I'm fairly sure no society on earth (with the possible exception of private libraries for extremely rich and/or powerful people) has libraries that do any of that. There is still some measure of resolve on your part to roll off your couch and at least come in to pick your stuff up. Well, actually I guess the Queen of England could possibly have her library books hand delivered to Buckingham or Windsor, she's got people for that.

An object lesson in assumptions...

The other day at work I innocently assumed that we were keeping the exact same hours as we had during exam week. Now, had it occurred to me to actually check and verify the schedule, this would not have been such an issue. However, my assumptions were incorrect. We had in fact gone back to normal banker's hours, so to speak. Any change of this sort affects me a great deal as I close up in the evenings or afternoons, as the case may be. My contractual stipulations dictate a very tight leash on those hours, so when I come in and when I leave is more or less predetermined, I'm not getting any more than I am for showing up early. And this is indeed what my assumptions led me to do. I showed up two hours early to a lot of blank stares and puzzled looks. It was like one of those dreams where you show up to work or class naked. All the furrowed brows immediately tipped off my razor sharp mind that something (ominous music cue) was amiss!!! So yes folks, what your mother told you about assumptions is true. I felt like more than enough of an ass for you and me combined, especially since it was not that hard to check. Hmm, come to think of it, I should do so again this morning just to be sure...much as I love napping in the lounge, I'd probably be better served doing some more or less productive things, such as making blog entries. I think enough of interest does go on every day that I could have some thoughts on a daily basis. It's just a question of mustering up the will and the motivation. If nothing else, it will pass the time adequately, not that I don't have enough to handily occupy myself with for months, notwithstanding human contact at all. One of the worst developments of recent times is television on DVD. Now I can view an entire season of whatever comes to mind as an unbroken, seamless narrative. In most cases, that's a LOT of TV. But I feel compelled to go on for some reason...

The bullseye

Yesterday was one of our periodic team building days at work. What that pretty much entails is closing down the library for the entirety of the morning and running out back to the day camp to roast marshmallows, climb trees, etc. This year we came to the rather interesting group consensus of the group swing and archery. I must admit that upon first seeing the group swing I was a little unnerved as it is high...around 35 feet high at it maximum apex. See, it requires other people to hoist you up to whatever height you desire (to that maximum of course) at which point you take a deep breath, nervously eye the carabiners and ropes and trust in their reputed strength (a couple of school buses I am told), and then pull the catch and release yourself (as the final insult in case you do die, I suppose). What happens next is a very interactive physics lesson as you swing around like a horrified pendulum and the earth rushes towards you. Centripetal force takes over at some point and you start spinning in a circle with the rhythm of the earth, and it's actually quite soothing. I suppose I liked it, although I don't think it's something I feel the need to repeat on, say, a daily basis. At least I threw my hat in the ring, as not everyone actually tried this experience.
Next came some archery. Now, I would like to take a moment to express my respect for various famous archers of the past, both real and fictitious: William Tell, Robin Hood, Green Arrow, Hawkeye, all English/Welsh longbowmen circa Hundred Years' War period, and every single one of the Khan's (Genghis, Kublai, Ogadai, it's all good) Mongol horse archers. I have a deep and newfound respect for what they all do (or did) naturally on a daily basis as effortlessly as breathing. I am, alas, not as skilled as they are/were. This is understandable as a properly trained archer practiced daily for hours...from a very young age...with progressively larger bows as they matured. On the occasion that we happen to unearth their remains their skeletons have markedly more developed bones in their drawing arms, that is the measure of their resolve. They worked that side out to the extent that one arm was noticeably larger than the other. Think about that. Now that having been said, I am nowhere near that good, obviously. But I never missed or overshot the target, fortunately, although I didn't pop any balloons...oh well. I cannot fathom the amount of dedication required to hit such targets whilst moving, much less on rapidly galloping horseback. So I salute them.