b Papa Dog's Blog: Bowling (but not for Columbine) and Such Things

Papa Dog's Blog

A Thing Wherein I Infrequently Write Some Stuff

Saturday, August 14, 2004

Bowling (but not for Columbine) and Such Things

So, yeah: Only a little over a week into the Faversham and I am forced to admit that the "So, yeah" thing is making even me meshugga. And, in the immortal words of Hrundi V. Bakshi, "I am not your sugar!"

The Sport Where You Can Be Morbidly Obese and Still Considered an Athlete: Last night we went bowling. I know, I was surprised too. The occasion was a birthday party for a friend who, I don't know, maybe likes bowling or something. Last time I bowled was in 1991 at a drunken office party for a photo lab in Banff. The first round was supposed to be on the company's tab, but due to some miscommunication with the alley staff, they kept running the same tab all night. I got good and drunk for free and didn't even work for the photo lab in question. I feel a twinge of guilt thinking about it now, but back then I was still young(ish) and irresponsible and figured that in one way or another I was sticking it to the Man. Like, maybe I was theoretically supplementing the income of my friend who did work for the lab by drinking the drinks he would have bought me himself if only his stinking photo lab salary weren't so meagre. Or something like that. Before that, I think you'd have to go back to 1980 or so for my previous bowling experience. Factoring in my creaky old man's back, my expectations for bowling prowess were fairly low. As it happened, I won the "most erratic award." I bowled two strikes but also two zeroes, ending up with a score in the mid-70s and a solid fourth place finish (out of five). Yay me.

I think my avoidance of bowling, aside from the fact that it's technically a sport, can be summed up in two words: rented shoes. While bowling, I managed not to think about the generations of other feet that had gone before in my curiously stiff size tens. When I turned them in, though, I had to fight down a little arrhythmia when I saw the alley's stringent sanitary procedures: a little aerosol spritz in the heel area then back on the shelf. I think it'll be another 13 years or so before I try it again.

Treasure in the Crap Room: My major project in the basement continues apace, and on Friday my virtue was rewarded. While shifting boxes from two moves ago off a filing cabinet, I came across a money order for $17 sent to me by a friend in New Orleans in 1998. I don't know why she sent me the money, and I have even less idea why I never cashed the thing, but the Post Office says it's still perfectly cashable, so woo hoo, free money! I choose to think of this as my wages for cleaning up the Crap Room, though I think when I calculate my hourly rate I'll be forced to consider unionizing.

Still Reading: I finished Part 1 of Fifth Business. Slowed down with the newspapers. Only made it up to the Bay Area section for July 31. We go out of town Wednesday. Need some more hours in the day. How did I ever get anything done when I was going to a job? Maybe I didn't.


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