Sunday, January 27, 2008

jumping off a cliff

It’s gone out of fashion – telling your kid “and if your friend jumped off a cliff, would you follow?” – in response to the standard kid plea of “but my friend does it!”, whatever the “it” may be. [In my case, it was biking the streets of New York (“no!”).]

It seems that following the herd is dumb, but ignoring cues from where the herd is grazing is even dumber.

So if my commenters tell me I should bowl, and I should wear a special bowling shirt and I should drink beer while bowling, who am I to ignore the green fertile lands of commenter experience?

Ed and I went bowling this Sunday morning. So full of hope…

012 copy

050 copy

Light ball. I need a light ball. I have weak wrists and weaker than weak thumbs.

A glance, to the left, a glance to the right. Oh, I see that there are others looking for light balls.

002 copy

But the little guys get help!

034 copy

And still, there are the gutter balls. And tears.

005 copy

I so understand!

Ed and I start out with placing our balls straight in the gutters. Secretly, I am pleased. I am well matched!

But within four rolls, Ed gets a grip. The man is powerful. I am surprised that when he hits his pins, all pins in all lanes do not fall.

051 copy

And he becomes accurate. Strike. Split. Shit. I mean, darn. Me, I’m getting weaker. He’s getting stronger.

My pickle shirt isn’t working. Hey, commenters, you told me to wear a shirt! Ed explained that you meant one with words. I have a pickle shirt. I'm wearing it! So what happened??

Oh! The beer. I forgot about the beer.

Do you sell beer before noon?
Of course!
What do you have on tap? (This is one bad question to ask in my home state: there’s too much choice.)
Blue Moon? That sounds cool. What’s it like?
Great! Like having Sunday brunch with a mimosa. Fruity!
(I have never in my entire life had a beer before noon. But, if this is what it takes…)

At first, my game (we’re on the second one now) falters. My wrists are protesting.

But soon, I get out of the gutter. And by the third game, I end with my best: 59!

On the phone with a close one later on, I say: guess what, I got more than half! Fifty nine!
Really? Just that? Hmm.
Wait, this is good, no? I mean, you told me you’re not so hot at this either.
Fifty nine, eh?