A Nice Sunday

Sunday was a nice day. Sarah and I went to an airshow, which was enjoyable but not quite as amazing as I remember them being when my parents took me to airshows as a child. Then again perhaps I'm just remembering the shows from my childhood to be a lot better than they really were. Maybe they were actually over-greased and kinda soggy (metaphorically speaking), like those Chili's chicken fingers that 10-year-old Justin thought were the best on earth, even though they were over-greased and kinda soggy (literally speaking) the entire time.

Or maybe it was because the Festa al Cel didn't feature any Blue Angels¹ or Angeles Azules or Angels Blaus². However there were some stunt planes, a big commercial jet that did some cool stuff, and some squirrel suitters who we missed until they had deployed their parachutes. That was OK because I'm a squirrel suit snob who only likes them when they do extreme base jumping, not pussy-ass jumps out of a plane.

Once the airshow ended, we met up with our friends Axel and Gabby to join them for a ride to the top of Montjuic³, to watch Gabby practice archery.

Gabby is good enough at archery that there's a chance she might qualify for the 2016 Olympic team for her home country of Paraguay. This would obviously be incredible for her and just as incredible for me, as I could brag about personally knowing an Olympian, which corresponds nicely with my 2016 goal to have more friends interested in Paraguayan archers.

Watching Gabby practice was more enthralling than I anticipated. I was wowed by the sharp wooshing sound of every shot and the quick thud noise of each arrow hitting the target. I was also pleased that my first archery viewing experience was happening on the grounds of a mountain-top 17th century castle, allowing me to feel like royalty despite the fact that I watched from a cracked plastic lawn chair.

After Gabby finished practicing, she let Sarah and I hold the bow (sans arrow so we wouldn't maim anyone).  Pretend shooting was a lot harder than I imagined. I barely possessed the strength to hold the bow out fully extended and the string was much harder to pull back than on any bow I had won from Peter Piper Pizza. Even though my form was god awful, I made pitch-perfect wooshing and thud sounds (albeit with my mouth). After five imaginary arrows my back was already getting sore and I didn't want to push myself too hard on the first day. Because of that work ethic (and a myriad of other reasons), I probably won't be making the Paraguayan Olympic archery team.

Just a little archery humor, you guys.

Imaginary bullseye.

Imaginary arrows.

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(1) Ninny told me that he writes down preposterous "special requests" whenever he takes reservations for the restaurant he works at. He told me his best was a note reading, "Guest wants a Blue Angels flyover between the appetizer and main course."

(2) Note to any high-ranking Catalan government officials reading this: If you ever do get independence from Spain, your first order of business better developing some kind of Blue Angels or Angels Blaugranes stunt team — other wise what was the point of fighting for independence in the first place?

(3) That's medieval Catalan for "Jew Hill," an underrated fact about Barcelona in my opinion.