My Grandpa was a Professional Bowler

The roommate and I just got back from an excursion to the bowling alley. She was supposed to be meeting some people there, from one of her classes, and invited me along because she needed some sort of back-up. She also mentioned the guy to girl ratio of the class to be about 1 to 15, men to ladies, and that it'd probably be a good experience for me.

I laughed.

As we stepped into the bowling alley, immediately my senses were inundated with the type of stimulus that only bowling alleys can provide. Open spaces, yet there is definite territory, unseen, yet established. Then the noise, the crack of balls on pins, the bad radio music, the talking. And then smoke, and the smell of beer. There's something so strange to me about bowling alleys.

There were many people there, mostly college aged, perhaps some a bit younger. Yet all seemed to possess the air of people who belonged in this bowling alley, found comfort in bowling alleys, their social scenes, where they go to hang out. This is what we do on Wednesday night... I never really found this form of social entertainment very suitable for me. Though I certainly haven't minded the few bowling outings I've gone on. Most happened to coincide with either work parties, or lots of alcohol, and I figure this is a sport I can endorse, one that sort of begets drinking, and smoking, and its a sport.

Still, I was a stranger in a strange land, and I knew this fact. (These people can smell fear!) After a brief walk through of the place, Roommate could not find the group we were to meet up with, so we headed inside the bar to grab a drink, our only defense against the fact we were not in our element.

We sat there with our beers and discussed such things as money, and winning the lottery, and how that would and wouldn't change us if we were lucky to have won. What we would do if suddenly we found ourselves freed from the world of crappy day jobs, the confines of being poor.

She would buy real estate, and probably start a business of some sort, and devote lots of time to art, and photography. I would probably buy a large house, just so friends could come and either live with me, or stop in from time to time. Some place warm year round. Somewhat remote, but near enough to a city. Beyond that, I don't know what I would do. Probably not much more than I do now. Except I'd have lots of toys, expensive crap, a nice tv, but I probably wouldn't enjoy it much. Maybe have it around for company and such.

Around us the regulars hung around the bar. I found myself wondering about all of these people, these people that frequent this bowling alley bar; this is their The Bar, their hang-out, their Cheers... The roommate and I would stop talking in mid sentence at times, entranced by a sudden ongoing narrative that we couldn't help but eavesdrop in on. Stories of tax fraud. Work. An angry drunk man, seemingly just angry, taking it out on people around him. A guy with a mustache talking loudly, laughing at his own jokes...

I wanted then, to know who these people were. To hear their stories, to see what drives them, to know their misery, their reason for laughter and love, what makes them go on in this world...

...

We then vowed to hang out at a bowling alley bar, just to drink at a bowling alley bar, to say we did that. Even though we did do it. The class people we were to meet, had come to the bowling alley, found it full of people, and left for another alley across town. Sorry ladies, no Gaius for you tonight.

This prompted me to remember Chicago, and all the old man Polish bars that scattered the neighborhood where I used to work, the ones I always wanted to go drink at, but never did because I felt like I'd be invading their world for some reason. That it would just be novelty for me.

I really just wanted to meet the old Polish men, get them to tell me a story or something. And to drink beer, of course.

Which reminds me, I never did go drink at Rite Liquors (on my old to-do list I had in Chicago), one of the seediest places I can remember in Chicago. A liquor store with a bar in it! And a pool table. And really cheap tobacco. And very sketchy peoples there.

...

Though I secretly wish we had gone to the other bowling alley.

Not to meet the ladies, but to hang out in that bar. They have karaoke there, and its a very, very, I repeat, very strange mix of regulars that do karaoke there. From what I remember.

And for some reason I just recalled Valentines day from a long time ago, an old girlfriend that I took to the bowling alley for Valentines Day, because I didn't want to have a traditional VD date. We bowled awkwardly, and then attempted Karaoke.

I requested Sweet Caroline, an old fave of mine. The MC came to our table looking all forlorn, and told me that someone else had already picked them song, so I made up a story about how my girlfriend's name was Caroline (it wasn't) and that it was our song (it wasn't), and its Valentine's day, so...

Still, she couldn't say yes to me, and she obviously felt bad, which made me feel bad, and she apologized profusely. I don't like to lie, even if it was meant to impress the girl I was with at the time...

...

So here's to you bowling alleys. Such strange, strange worlds to me.

I Want to be a Time Lord

Hey gang. Let me introduce you to the month of February, my least favorite one, the one we like to call, "the Deal Breaker."

February is home to many great events and holidays, such as the ever popular President's day (my personal fave is CC, that's Calvin Coolidge to you, sucka!), and that other Hallmark nationally sponsored day of disgust, Valentine's Day, in which according to this culture, one must either:

A. Utterly bemoan one's fate and endlessly stress over the fact they are currently not in a relationship, feel sorry for one's self, wear all black, etc. Or,

B. Utterly bemoan one's fate and endlessly stress over what to do for the person they are currently in a relationship with, usually resulting in some sort of flashy display that the person's significant other will then gush over and compare with their friend's over whose mate had the best gift, gesture of love, etc, which basically all boils down to how much money someone spent on someone else.

We here are not bitter one bit. Nope. Never cared for VD much to begin with, in or out of a relationship, and especially not now. In the last few days I've actually been feeling quite splendid about being single. To me, it shall be just another day.

Besides, why set aside one day of the year to celebrate one's mate. Me thinks if you're truly in love with someone, that it should be celebrated pretty much every day. That goes for the sexin' up part of things to.

But I digress.

...

February is also known to possess the most wonderful of weather patterns, fully showing the grace and beauty of Mother Nature's Winter season. If by "wonderful" you mean "Oh my god it is so dark and gray I would like to kill myself now," and "weather patterns" to mean "endless, very short days of endless, overcast cloud cover, and sleet, snow storms and ice, and maybe if we're lucky we'll see the sun for about ten seconds one day towards the end of the month, if I make it that far..."

Especially if one resides in Michigan. We are currently in the midst of our fourth (?) major snow storm, getting around 6-8 inches of snow. All this after the coldest night ever that happened a couple nights ago, where the temperature fell below zero, and with wind chill, hovered like death around the -25 degree mark. That night happening after the amazing rain, sleet, ice, finally snow storm the day before that, rendering all roads completely screwed, and reportedly the fine city I reside in has officially run out of salt to dump on the roads.

There are times when I'm glad I do not possess a vehicle.

...

Luckily February is also the shortest month of the year. Sorry Black History Month, you guys get the shaft once again.

Except for Leap Year! Leap Year totally rocks! Where we pull an extra day from out of a hat and throw it on the end of the shittiest month. Here's one more day of hell for you!

Actually I'm well aware of the odd little quirks about our calendar, and am actually glad for it, because thanks to Leap year, somehow this month of dread turned out to be a three paycheck month. Cha-Ching! In your face February! That and people born on February 29th, if they happen to be 28, they are legally, technically, in fact only seven years old.

Hooray for February! I only want to know why we spell February with an "r" after the "b," when no one actually pronounces it.

...

Well, despite the weather, I'm feeling ok for once. My friend told me of a super awesome website that will probably be shut down at some point soon, where you can watch movies and tv shows for free. I've been on said website pretty much all of my free time, currently watching the entire Dr Who series (the newish one), which is fantastical and supremely rad (and British!), and also making this guy extremely happy almost to the point of tears, that show is so good.

Though I did manage to pull myself away for a couple nights out to the bar to drink entirely way too much til way too late in the morning, celebrating the leaving of yet another awesome citizen of this town, who shall be missed greatly.

I almost bought her car, the implications of which astounded me greatly, like, that I'd even consider buying a car, almost entirely on a whim. Sadly, the vehicle was not in the best shape, and is a manual (I can't drive stick. Hardly at all.) and is prone to stall out for no reason while on the road. Price wise a good choice, but overall not the best choice for me, considering I've never owned a car. Though she did convince me this vehicle would get me to Texas, but probably not much further.

Other things I've almost accomplished in the last week: Almost had band practice tonight, but everyone is feeling crappy, so no. Almost cleaned my room. Almost took a shower. Almost updated this blog. Almost attended the "Dirty Show" in Detroit, a festival of crazy people and their creative acts of sex, or sexual related something or other, which if I had gone, I almost would have seen lots of live boobies. Sigh. And almost flirted with a girl at the bar. She's either sending me signals I cannot interpret, or not sending signals at all and just being her friendly self. I can never figure it out. Usually they have to beat me over the head with it.

Anyway, if any one needs me, I'll be in the Tardis, with my sonic screwdriver, running away from the Daleks.

Um, that's nerd speak for watching more Dr. Who.