I’m an Archer Goddamnit…
I’m sort of unemployed and lately, I’ve been thinking about the skills I
possess. For my resume and all. You know… revvin’ up my engine,
listenin’ to her howlin’ roar and ridin’ into the um… Danger Zone?
Err…I just broke out into a Kenny Loggins number.
And I haven’t even seen Top Gun in years.
I gave Tom Cruise up for lent. Or for *Xenu. But I can’t talk
about Xenu or the Scientologists will find me and hurt me.
Or have an alien probe me.
Anyhow, I found myself taking a stroll down memory lane.
Although, the lane was really more of a cul-de-sac. And I
only know this because I caught myself doing doughnuts
around it. But it got me to thinking about the days
of yesteryear… of the days come and gone.
More specifically, my time spent at summer camp
many moons ago.
I ask you this… Who was the braniac was who thought
archery would be an investment in a child’s future?
Let’s ask ourselves what one could possibly do with a
bow and arrow in this day and age? I mean, had I known ‘Lost’
was going to cast a crazy french woman who shoots poisonous arrows
at random, I would have brushed up on my skills and
auditioned to be her stunt double. “I have a career as an archer,”
I would boast. Obviously, that opportunity came and went and the most
devastating part is that I was none the wiser. No one called and said,
“Hey…I feel like you might look great with a bow and arrow!”
Note to self: Send submission tape to ABC casting.
Then, of course, there’s the art of candle-making.
We (we=me and my fellow campers) spent nearly 60 minutes
a day dipping long strands of yarn into basins of hot colored wax.
I know– it sounds very sexy. But it wasn’t. Really. Candle wax,
not so sexy when you’re 8. And now what? I’m supposed to make
candle-making my ‘hobby’? I’m sure that’d read brilliantly on my
Match.com profile. I mean who wouldn’t want to date me?
Note to self: Set up profile on Match.com.
And who can forget the lanyards? I made many a pot holder for
my mother who wasn’t even sweet enough to pretend to use them
since they weren’t a product of Crate & Barrel. “Oh, this is…um…
such a lovely sock, sweetheart. Oh I’m sorry, what? It’s a potholder?
Oh, of course it is.”
What the fuck is a laynard anyway? And what on earth could this
possibly do for me now aside from being an additional entry under the
“special skills” section on my resume? I could make everyone pot
holders and gift them this season, if I had a job and could afford the fabric.
Note to self: Get employment.
Maybe “Color Me Mine” will hire me. I might not be the best pottery
color-er candidate this side of the DesPlaines River, but I could expand
their superstores to include sock-making.
*In Scientology doctrine, Xenu was an alien galactic ruler. (Right. Sure he was.)
Photo of my summer camp group, although I am not pictured. I must have been out on a beer run.