Today was my friend’s birthday and she really wanted to celebrate by taking all of her friends bowling. I love going to the bowling alley. Each trip to the alley is like taking a trip back in time. Bowling itself is mysterious. Throwing 14 pounds of glazed pottery at a bunch of overturned clubs is endlessly entertaining. Truthfully, I started out the day with a 14 pound ball and worked my way down the weight scale. Pretty soon I was lobbing a softball at the pins. Kids are fun to watch at the bowling alley. A 35 pound kid sliding down the lane because he can’t dislodge his fingers from the 6 pound ball dragging him along is a little frightening. Then there is the ever-present need to remind teenagers to get their faces out of the ball return.
Patience, Grasshopper. Though you set it free, the bowling ball will always return to you.
One of the time warp aspects of going bowling is the fact that nothing has changed since the Reagan administration. I was in my bowling groove today, starting to at least pick up spares when the music switched from Bush I era Vogue-ing to Girls Just Wanna Have Fu(uh-un). Girls do just want to have fun, but crabby, middle-aged men just need to bowl. I love watching good bowlers. A woman on the next lane threw a turkey like it was nothing. She had this arc on the ball that launched it several feet over the lane. One of the great things about bowling with the onscreen scoring set up by the staff is that they don’t have the proper letters to make up the names of each player. Today I was “Wanda.” Not bad. Last time I played as “Frieda.” The bowling alley also offers mixed drink selections, which I’d hope are not intended for little kids with bowling balls stuck to their hands. The special this time was called a “Dirty Librarian.” We had a librarian in elementary school who never showered. I’ll drink to her, but please let me mix the libations myself.