Robin Hood: Prince of Weasles
Piggybacking my way into first place at an archery competition
There’s a point when I’m looking down the shaft of the arrow, aiming at the large target 20 feet away, when I have this exact thought: I fucking rule.
The string digs into my fingers. I feel fletchings against my cheek. The instructor had told us to pull the arrow back “to the corner of your smile.” I’m not sure why, but the fact that she uses the word “smile” stirs something deep inside me, and I imagine the dangerous, malicious glee that some maniac could have with one of these things.
But then I realize that’s me. I’m the maniac because I realize I’m smililing, and I’m smiling because I fucking rule at this.
The target is a big yellow pupil, glaring. I breathe deep, count to two, and release.
Thwap. I don’t know if a better sound exists in nature. It’s less of a sound and more of a physiological phenomenon. A headrush that runs through the entirety of my body. Awooga. Humina humina humina. Ungf.
I lower the bow. My arrow is nowhere near the bullseye; it has plunged deep into the blue ring— the third ring from the center. Maybe I don’t rule as hard as I thought.
I look to Ian, one of the people with whom I’m sharing a target. I’ve asked him to record this moment because surely the internet needs proof of my raw, undiluted coolness. Ian hands my phone back. “I got a few pictures and videos,” he says.
“Cool, cool, thank you.”
I watch the footage while Ian’s partner, Jen, steps up to the target. In the video, I lift the bow to aim, and the bottom half of my sweatshirt lifts up, exposing my belly. It’s the complete opposite of badass. Ugh. My dreams of being the next Robin Hood or Katniss Everdeen are dashed with the appearance of my gut. More like not-so-hungry games, amirite?
Now our instructor, Tara Folz—a former competitive archer with two National titles under her belt—looks like an archer. This could just be because she’s wearing a visor to accommodate her ponytail. In my mind, visors = athletes. After retiring from competitive shooting, she started coaching beginners through her company, Archery House. I make a mental note to wear a visor next time I take a class from Folz.
Throughout my life, I’ve always imagined myself to be a talented archer. I don’t know when this notion entered my head, but I’m guessing it was around the time my mom first slid Robin Hood Prince of Thieves in our VCR. Looking back, it’s a strange movie for a six year old boy to be obsessed with. I couldn’t get enough of the kinetic cinematography, Alan Rickman’s garish portrayal of the Sheriff of Nottingham (to this day, I still think about his “cut his heart out with a spoon” line), and Bryan Adams’ lovely ballad “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You”.
But it was Robin’s bow skills that affected me the most. He hit the bullseye, ripped fletchings out with his teeth, split other arrows in half. Dear lord, he fired flaming arrows in ultra slow-motion! My brother and I were so obsessed with these scenes that we’d recreate them with our Nerf bow and arrows, and let me tell you: it’s truly haunting to think that I’d lick the fletchings of a foam arrow before loading it up. But that was how Robin did it, and for all intents and purposes, I was Robin Hood.
After a few rounds of shooting, Folz sets up a little shooting competition between the seven teams. There are four rounds, each featuring an increasingly difficult target. Folz tapes a balloon to the target, which gets me super excited. Nothing stokes the old lizard brain like shooting sharp objects at balloons. Pretty sure this is the reason god invented inflatable rubber.
I step on the platform and draw an arrow from my quiver (btw, I would totally carry a quiver of arrows everywhere I went if it didn’t make me look like an absolute psycho). I take three shots, each missing by a hair. In fact, my last arrow hits so close that it nudges the balloon.
Jen shoots next, and nails the balloon with her second arrow. It explodes with gusto, and it’s as satisfying as I could’ve imagined. Die, fucker, I think at the limp, deflated balloon.
For the next round, we shoot arrows at a zombie printed out on a sheet of paper. Jen hits it twice.
Next, Folz hangs a CD in front of the bullseye. The shimmering disk spins in the breeze, suspended from a yarn tied to an arrow.
“It should be a Creed CD” I say. That would motivate me to hit it.”
“Or a Nickleback CD” says a burly guy the next team over. We all have a good laugh. The burly guy and I step up to shoot at the same time, and he starts singing a few bars of Creed. I don’t even come close to hitting the spinning CD.
Jen strikes the CD on her turn, exploding it into metallic confetti. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
It slowly dawns on me that my chances to be the next Robin Hood are highly unlikely. I don’t fucking rule at at this, not at all. But when Folz announces that the next and final round will determine the winning team, I get a little sad. I could shoot dangerous projectiles all day long.
We nominate Jen to take the final shot. She’s single-handedly carried our team, so it makes sense. She launches an arrow, and it strikes the middle, inches away from an exact bullseye. The entire class ooohs, and then cheers when Folz declares our team the winner.
She hands us each a yellow first place ribbon and an arrow-through-the-head toy (“Classic Comedy” according to the box). Everyone claps. It’s then that I realize I am sort of like Robin Hood: stealing the glory for myself.
RIP my computer
This past week, I went to turn on my computer and halfway into booting up, it shut down again. After several attempts of trying this and getting the same result, I realized that the old boy had had enough. It was dead. Kaputt. This machine has helped me through thousands of hours of time wasted on the internet, countless Photoshops, three unpublished novels, and this trailer for books.
RIP, my dear friend. I’ve had this machine for almost nine years, so I can’t say its death is that unexpected, but it’s still sad and a pain in the ass. If you’re feeling extra generous and gift-y this holiday season, please consider donating to the Ryan Bradford Xmas Computer Fund, I accept Venmo (Ryan-Bradford-2), Zelle and Paypal (both avclub.bradford@gmail.com). Thank you.
AWKSD GUEST LIST SHOWS - Available to ALL subscribers through December!
The Guest List gives AWKSD subscribers the opportunity to see live music for free. Previously, this was reserved for paying subscribers, but ‘tis the season and all that! So, if you’re getting this email and want to go to any of shows listed below, just reply to this email with what concert you want to see, and I’ll hook you and a friend up. First come, served.
Thursday, Dec. 9
Nikki Hill @ Til-Two Club: How about some retro soul mixed with a little bit of rock and a dash of punk? It’s impossible to sit still while listening to Nikki Hill, and I’m certain condensation will be dripping from the walls of TIl-Two once this show is over.
Thursday, Dec. 9
Golf Alpha Bravo, Chorduroy, The Inflorescence @ The Casbah. Remember when I profiled San DIego teen sensations The Inflorescence a few months back (then called The Fluorescents)? Since then, they’ve officially been signed to Kill Rock Stars— the label that made bands like Bikini Kill, Sleater-Kinney, Xiu Xiu and Deerhoof indie-rock royalty. Catch this band now so you can say “I saw them before they got huge later.”
Friday, Dec. 10
Night Swims, Leavers, and The Martens @ Til-Two Club: Nothing like a night of moody rock to shake the week’s stress off. Night Swims is a newish psyche-rock band, but I’m an instant fan of Leavers, which gives me heavy Jesus & Mary Chain vibes. This’ll be a good night to sit at the bar, sip a High Life, and reflect on the ways you’re better than everyone else.
Friday, Dec. 10
Bury Your Dead @ Soda Bar: Holy shit. Remember in the ‘90s when everyone in commercials was yelling “Extreeeeme!” ? Bury Your Dead is that, but times a million. The metalcore band will certainly melt some faces.
Saturday, Dec. 11
Glass Spells, Glume, Mothermary, Carrie Feller @ The Casbah: Ooh baby, it’s cold outside. Also, it’s cold in here, and by here, I mean my soul. A night of haunting electro-pop is the perfect way for a synth goth to spend a chilly December night. Don’t fret if the dance floor heats up (and it will), we all know your heart will remain icy forever.
Saturday, Dec. 11
Amalgamated and The Tighten Ups @ Til-Two Club: It would definitely be rude of you to not go to this old-school ska show, so please pickitup pickitup pickitup and head on over to Til-Two tonight (sorry, I only have two ska jokes and I’m going to use them every chance I get).
THE WEEKLY GOODS
Read this
A few weeks ago, I went to Selfie Social—the new selfie bar up in Kearny Mesa— because it just seemed like the place that screamed “awkward!” and it probably would’ve been illegal for me not to go. I expected an easy target, something I could spend a thousand words bashing, but what I found was a little more profound. I don’t expect to make selfie bars my thing anytime soon, but it was nice to know that I can still surprise myself. Read about my experience over at PACIFIC Magazine.
Go to this
Last summer, Verbatim Books put together the North Park Book Fair, and it was such a success that they’re doing it again. From 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. this Saturday, rub elbows with local authors, artists, zine makers, and creatives at this outdoor market for brainiacs. Although AWKSD won’t have a table this year, plenty of friends will be there. I request— nay, demand!—that you go and buy a lot of books. NO, BUY EVERY BOOK! BOOKS RULE. ALL HAIL BOOKS. All the action will be going down on the corner of 30th Street and North Park Way.
Got a tip or wanna say hi? Email me at ryancraigbradford@gmail.com, or follow me on Twitter @theryanbradford. And if you like what you’ve just read, please hit that little heart icon at the end of the post.
Julia Dixon Evans edited this post. Thanks, Julia. Go follow her on Twitter.