So I wonder how warranted it would be for me to wax philospohical concerning the necessity of having A Good Day every now and then. Or even the genesis thereof; is it just a matter of pent-up morosity and exhaustion building up and building up until it finally reaches the point where you can't take any more and some neuron buried deep in your subconscious twigs and decides that you will have a Good Day today (whether you like it or not, damnit)? Or perhaps it's more a matter of a thousand and one insignificant things going right -- each one unnoticeable in and of itself, but combining and building off of each other to create an indomitable wellspring of exhilaration and happiness?
I think that in the case of today, it was a little from column A and a little from column B.
I got up early this morning and the first thing I did was spend some time programming for SENG.
Which normally would be the farthest thing from a necessary ingredient to a good day. But ya' know what? There's something about sitting down and writing 850 lines of code, completely untested; then going to run it and finding that it works absolutely flawlessly the very first time. You read that right. 850 lines, and not a single bug anywhere. I spent half an hour throwing all kinds of stupid test cases at it and it worked like a charm. This is somethinng of which I was especially happy as it was rather convoluted code, and I wasn't relishing the prospect of debugging it. But as it turned out, I didn't have to.
So awesome. That's gotta be one of the best feelings in the entire world -- there's precious little that comes close, at any rate.
Thus encouraged, I got on my bike and went to head off to my first class at 9:30. But it turned out to be an unvelievably gorgeous day -- the mercury hit 25 degrees this afternoon (the first time it's so much as broken 20 this year). So I basically flipped class the bird, and instead of attending my first two classes, headed up to Nose Hill Park to ramble around a bunch on the bike.
Nose Hill Park is basically a big ol' 2600-acre patch of natural prairie about a mile North of where I live. As the name implies, it encompasses a large-ish hill (actually, several of them, the largest of which is Nose Hill). I'd never been up there before, and so decided to check it out, now that the weather was nice enough to encourage this type of activity. The prospect of trudging through the snow was sufficiently unattractive as to dissuade me from making the trip during the Winter.
The park was pretty interesting; although the best aspect (and the primary reason I went up) were some stunning panoramic views of the city (a poor example). I have resolved to go up there again with a camera to take some pictures which I'll put on my website. Few sights have so inspired me.
After tooling around up there for a couple hours, I wanted to do a spot of shopping so went over to Market Mall. Bought a couple phone cards (yawn), a new pair of shoes and got some pictures taken for my new passport.
Now since I got my last passport, the Canadian government has decided that you are not allowed to smile or apparently, display any emotion whatsoever, in your passport photos. So my photos are officially the worst photos of me ever taken. And that's a rather impressive feat, since there are some pretty horrible ones of me out there. I'd actually scan them in, if I didn't expect they'd have an effect rather like the mythical gaze of Medusa upon most of my loyal readership. Not safe for small children or other animals, folks. I feel more than a little chagrined to have paid 15 bucks for two terrible, horrible, no good, very bad photographs. But whatever. I suppose the troglodytes at the Passport Office will be happy. And even this wasn't enough to dampen my spirits today, nosir.
At this point, armed with photos and phone cards and, uh, footed with new shoes, I headed up to school to attend my afternoon lecture. Although I could just as easily have missed it as my earlier ones, I was feeling the onset of a slight boredom, and besides, there were a few people on campus that I wanted to talk to.
Even sitting through a patented Walpole lecture (Think: digressions from digressions from digressions from the actual lecture material. Think: less than 25% of the class time used to discuss anything remotely useful, or even vaguely pertaining to material on the syllabus) was a tolerable activity on this most excellent of days.
This duty dispensed of, I rode my bike downtown, had my fill of Mexican Food and Corona at Eau Claire, and went to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Somewhat disappointing as a movie, I thought, but just about perfect as an experience to cap off the day. Especially when in that pleasantly drunk state as I was. Although it did have one of the longest pre-title sequences I can ever remember seeing. Well, except for Apocalypse Now, but that's something of a special case. The movie actually wasn't that bad -- I think I was just expecting it to be, hm, weirder than it actually was, and somewhat less cloyingly obvious. Also, I found it rather scatterbrained in parts, throwing in all kinds of subplots that really didn't add much to the movie (unless I'm completely dense and misunderstood the point entirely) and could have been left on the cutting-room floor without much adverse effect. If it had been cut down a bit, focused a lot more and less afflicted with Attention Deficit Disorder, it could have been a pretty good movie.
Finally, I came home, phoned my brother to wish him a happy popping-out-of-the-womb-day, sat down to do a little bit of LiveJournalification, and then went to bed, most content.
Hmm. Wait a second. I don't think that last bit has actually happened yet. A spot of timelag, I think. Time travelling will do that to you on occasion. Don't mind me.
I'm not sure if it was just the day, but I find I can take my brother a lot better when supplied in small doses. A 10-minute phone call today -- after not having seen him since January -- was just about right. No overwhelming urges to strangle small dogs. And that's a Good Thing, as Martha would say. Although in light of current circumstances, one tends to wonder just how good a judge Martha is of what is and is not a Good Thing.
I'm heading off to bed now. I'm reminded of the movie Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray -- trapped in the Hell of having to repeat what he believes to be the Worst Day of His Life -- reminisces about a day he spent on vacation once, lying on the beach, eating lobster, sipping Piña Coladas and "mak[ing] love like sea otters." "That was a pretty good day," he says, "Why couldn't I get that day over and over and over...?"
Well, if I had to choose a day that I wanted to relive again and again, today wouldn't be a bad candidate. Not a bad candidate at all.
"My, what a big head you have!"