Day 1: I treated myself to a lovely breakfast at a local eatery, one Bernardo Cafe, before texting R to find out where we were supposed to meet up for today's adventure. He texted back the following:
"Yolo Sportsmen's Association"
Okay, you're all with me on this thing, right? YOLO is, for the mercifully uninformed, internet speak for "You Only Live Once". Teenagers are convinced that they have invented the concept, and use it to excuse any foolish, reckless, potentially-suicidal behavior they come up with, and also to justify, to themselves and to their anguished parents, their decisions regarding hairstyles. It's infecting facebook like a hooker on sailor's day in NYC. Give it up, teenagers: the choices you have made vis-a-vis your hair will only, and always, make you look stupid, as you'll come to understand, and be ashamed of, later in life.
Realizing that we each have but one life, and that every day is a gift, is a precious and wonderful instant in your development, and I commend you on celebrating it, but "I shaved my cat today because YOLO!! LOL!!" is NOT an example of embracing the concept.
And how, exactly, is a Sportsmen's Association an example of a You Only Live Once idea? I mean, I understand that not everyone shoots firearms recreationally, but that's hardly...
What's that?
Yolo County, California, you say?
Ah.
Well.
Ahem.
...I'm new, okay?
So I drive out to a spot just past the Yolo County Airport and discover the Yolo Sportsmen's Association. It's very, very loud. Because people are firing guns, and gunpowder explodes in a noisy way (million dollar idea: silent gunpowder! Apple could make it happen!).
After a bit, my peeps show up, and M gives me some instruction and a bit of a warmup shooting from the "lower house" of the skeet range. After about ten shots, I'm feeling pretty good, and we move over to the trap range.
Trap, for those that don't know, involves shooting a "round" of 25 shots, firing off five rounds from five different positions. You're shooting at bright orange clay pigeons who are moving away from you, but, unlike skeet, the trajectory of the pigeon is random. So, regardless of your position, you could have a target pop up squarely in your sights, or wildly to your right or left, and you have a short window to render that (hypothetically) infected, venomous, death-dealing pigeon a lethal dose of bird-shot. If you fail to shatter the little clay lovely, well, then, the zombie apocalypse be on your head. I badly did not want the zombie apocalypse to be on my head, so I killed the hell out of them.
My very first trap shooting session, I brought down 16 of 25 targets. People mentioned that this was really pretty good for a first-timer, and I felt pretty satisfied with the result, and will DEFINITELY be doing this again!! Still have no interest in harming actual, you know, pigeons and whatnot, but I will kill the stupid orange clay things IN THE FACE.
Then we adjourned to have lunch at Murder Burger. Yes, you read that correctly, if you had dyslexia for only the first word. It actually USED to be called Murder Burger, but is now called Redrum Burger. I was disappointed to learn (from the ever-reliable internet) that this is mostly because of a dispute between the previous and current owners, rather than because it was discovered that the meat was actually the result of delicious Murder. These burgers were HUGE, and awesome, and if, gentle reader, you should find yourself in or near Davis, CA, I would heartily recommend a stop to enjoy a 1/3 pound burger with garlic mayonnaise, pastrami, and a side of seasoned fries. Heaven!
In the evening, R and I journeyed to visit with C and L, and a few of our other fine and delightful friends. We enjoyed a fine home-cooked tri-tip steak fajita, graciously prepared by Mr. C himself, while we watched Star Wars. And we all spent a lot of time trying to say the lines just before the actors; a game at which, frankly, C excelled.
And for those who are playing our game at home and thinking, "Star Wars? Which episode?", I will remind you that THERE WAS ONLY ONE THAT WAS CALLED STAR WARS.
Ahem. I am using the power of the Force to calm myself. And midichlorians do not exist, as my spell-checker has just confirmed.
Finally, we watched the fireworks; of the six of us, only myself and L have ONLY American passports. It was an awesome little multi-cultural moment when we realized it.
God bless America.
For all of it's flaws, it remains a land wherein I can:
- gorge on chorizo
- shoot a bunch of defenseless clay disks
- gorge on a stupidly huge hamburger
- hang out with my Canadian, British, Israeli, Nigerian, and (yes) American friends
- fall in love with Princess Leia for the millionth time
- gorge on tri-tip steak
- and then watch fireworks
IN ONE DAY.
That's a pretty impressive land.
Happy Independence Day, my dear and wonderful friends. :)
"Yolo Sportsmen's Association"
Okay, you're all with me on this thing, right? YOLO is, for the mercifully uninformed, internet speak for "You Only Live Once". Teenagers are convinced that they have invented the concept, and use it to excuse any foolish, reckless, potentially-suicidal behavior they come up with, and also to justify, to themselves and to their anguished parents, their decisions regarding hairstyles. It's infecting facebook like a hooker on sailor's day in NYC. Give it up, teenagers: the choices you have made vis-a-vis your hair will only, and always, make you look stupid, as you'll come to understand, and be ashamed of, later in life.
Realizing that we each have but one life, and that every day is a gift, is a precious and wonderful instant in your development, and I commend you on celebrating it, but "I shaved my cat today because YOLO!! LOL!!" is NOT an example of embracing the concept.
And how, exactly, is a Sportsmen's Association an example of a You Only Live Once idea? I mean, I understand that not everyone shoots firearms recreationally, but that's hardly...
What's that?
Yolo County, California, you say?
Ah.
Well.
Ahem.
...I'm new, okay?
So I drive out to a spot just past the Yolo County Airport and discover the Yolo Sportsmen's Association. It's very, very loud. Because people are firing guns, and gunpowder explodes in a noisy way (million dollar idea: silent gunpowder! Apple could make it happen!).
After a bit, my peeps show up, and M gives me some instruction and a bit of a warmup shooting from the "lower house" of the skeet range. After about ten shots, I'm feeling pretty good, and we move over to the trap range.
Trap, for those that don't know, involves shooting a "round" of 25 shots, firing off five rounds from five different positions. You're shooting at bright orange clay pigeons who are moving away from you, but, unlike skeet, the trajectory of the pigeon is random. So, regardless of your position, you could have a target pop up squarely in your sights, or wildly to your right or left, and you have a short window to render that (hypothetically) infected, venomous, death-dealing pigeon a lethal dose of bird-shot. If you fail to shatter the little clay lovely, well, then, the zombie apocalypse be on your head. I badly did not want the zombie apocalypse to be on my head, so I killed the hell out of them.
My very first trap shooting session, I brought down 16 of 25 targets. People mentioned that this was really pretty good for a first-timer, and I felt pretty satisfied with the result, and will DEFINITELY be doing this again!! Still have no interest in harming actual, you know, pigeons and whatnot, but I will kill the stupid orange clay things IN THE FACE.
Then we adjourned to have lunch at Murder Burger. Yes, you read that correctly, if you had dyslexia for only the first word. It actually USED to be called Murder Burger, but is now called Redrum Burger. I was disappointed to learn (from the ever-reliable internet) that this is mostly because of a dispute between the previous and current owners, rather than because it was discovered that the meat was actually the result of delicious Murder. These burgers were HUGE, and awesome, and if, gentle reader, you should find yourself in or near Davis, CA, I would heartily recommend a stop to enjoy a 1/3 pound burger with garlic mayonnaise, pastrami, and a side of seasoned fries. Heaven!
In the evening, R and I journeyed to visit with C and L, and a few of our other fine and delightful friends. We enjoyed a fine home-cooked tri-tip steak fajita, graciously prepared by Mr. C himself, while we watched Star Wars. And we all spent a lot of time trying to say the lines just before the actors; a game at which, frankly, C excelled.
And for those who are playing our game at home and thinking, "Star Wars? Which episode?", I will remind you that THERE WAS ONLY ONE THAT WAS CALLED STAR WARS.
Ahem. I am using the power of the Force to calm myself. And midichlorians do not exist, as my spell-checker has just confirmed.
Finally, we watched the fireworks; of the six of us, only myself and L have ONLY American passports. It was an awesome little multi-cultural moment when we realized it.
God bless America.
For all of it's flaws, it remains a land wherein I can:
- gorge on chorizo
- shoot a bunch of defenseless clay disks
- gorge on a stupidly huge hamburger
- hang out with my Canadian, British, Israeli, Nigerian, and (yes) American friends
- fall in love with Princess Leia for the millionth time
- gorge on tri-tip steak
- and then watch fireworks
IN ONE DAY.
That's a pretty impressive land.
Happy Independence Day, my dear and wonderful friends. :)
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