Why, I have not made a post in a while. How droll of me. How droll indeed.
Friday night I went bowling. To be perfectly honest, I despise bowling. Bowling is what I did was when I was 15 years old and had no car and no booze and thus was one of the few things me and my friends could end up doing on a Friday night. However My friend S and a couple of her friends were nice enough to invite me out last Friday, and I had nothing better to do and decided to tag along. At the time I thought they were going to be bowling and then perhaps go downtown afterwards, so on the way there I stopped at a 7-11 and picked up one of those '5 hour screaming energy' things. That mixed with the big rum and cokes I was sucking down left me wide awake and a bit frazzed. I ended up hurting my pinky on the ball-o-shine machine that greedily ate my quarters and then stubbornly refused to shine my ball.
I find it curious they go through great pains to sanitize the shoes, but do nothing whatsoever to the bowling balls. Also, bowling shoes are only good for one thing: Doing the moon walk.
Bowling alleys are all the same. They all have wood paneling somewhere in the building and always have a mixture of old people, young people like myself a couple of decades ago, and those serious bowling freaks who don all sorts of Velcro-enhanced bowling gear as if they were going out to do battle with Robocop. Even though smoking was banned in the bowling alley, the ghost of years of drifting nicotine still haunts the rooms. The lounge was like bowling alley lounges everywhere, the abode of bleach blonde dragon ladies and men with pock-marked faces and bad facial hair.
I still had fun; S's friends were nice to me even though I was the drunken idiot no one knew. I in turn amused myself by people watching. When everyone went home I was still wide-awake due to that energy crap. I thought about going downtown and being one of those freaks who walks around clubs by themselves, but I decided I probably should not be drinking any more while I was driving and ended up going home and watching cartoons.
Saturday I went to the Habitat for Humanity thrift store that is run be a couple of mean old ladies. I have no clue why they are so mean, they just are. When you buy something they peer at you suspiciously and then distastefully ring up your purchase. You would think they were giving a homeless person a sponge bath. Also, they have a very strict definition of what 'furniture' is. I went there in hopes of finding a cheap vanity for my bathroom. Much to my surprise I did indeed find one. It was cheap quality, but serviceable and only 30 dollars. There was a sign there that said 'all furniture 30 percent off' however the mean old ladies declared that a vanity is in fact NOT furniture. I briefly argued with them and then gave up. You cannot argue with mean old ladies.
I also bought a twelve dollar stereo. They had a big pile of stereos, all still in the original box. They must have been some sort of factory rejects or returns, because every stereo had a CD player that did not work. However, I still bought one because it had an AUX input, and I had wanted some sort of stereo amp for my computer so I can play some Soma FM. It's a good stereo for the kitchen.
Alan was with me at the time and he spied out some record in the record section entitled 'Tomita: The Bermuda Triangle.' After peering at the bright orange record that lay within and the names of the songs inside, I knew I had to snag it. It is some sort of instrumental album, and all the instruments listed within are Moog's and Korg's. The album boasts such tempting songs such as: A spaceship lands emitting silvery light Electromagnet Waves Descend A world of different Dimensions The giant pyramid and it's ancient people
And so on. The inside of the album boasts: Each side of this record contains coded data in the form of a certain sound effect. The message can be recovered if the electromagnetic signal from the record is interfaced with the input of a micro computer programmed in the TARBEL system.
I eagerly put the record on my battered old record player; however much to my disappointment my record player chose that moment in time to die. So someone needs to let me come over so I can listen to this record on his or her system.
Sunday night Alan and I walked over to the west end pub so I could get a beer. Much to my annoyance they no longer have the supertanker. True, the beer was only two dollars a pint, however it was Bud Light. The most dreaded and foul of beers. But I was already there so I had a few. The thing I hate about Bud Light is that it fills up my stomach long before I catch a buzz. I swear I can drink that stuff all day and then simply end up with a mildly sour stomach without the pleasant drunken cheer. However, the guy who runs the place is pretty cool, and he had a few drinking games for the patrons. He hustled me over to one; there was a line of people with plastic cups filled with beer. You had to gulp down the beer and when you were done 'flip' the cup so that it ended up upside down, and then the next person in line started their beer. The line that finished first 'won'.
Now, it's been a while since I chugged a beer. Sure I can drink them fast but I prefer to be a little civilized about it. My days of drinking until I spew is over. However, I am a big guy and I assumed I could easily down my beer long before my chunky female opponent across from me could. Much to my surprise she seemed to simply pour the beer down her gullet without even swallowing. That's some redneck skillz for you. Once the game was over I was subjected to a number of high-fives. I hate high fives, but I did them to be polite. I then walked home with hardly a buzz but with an intense pressure on my bladder as my body wanted to reject the fountain of cheap beer I had indulged in.
Tomorrow is a memorial day 'parade' in Sanford. I might walk down and watch it. Everyone loves a parade. Maybe I'll wait behind the very last float and followmit down so people think I am in the parade.
2026 Update
I'm hauling the machine back 19 years to watch Ed drink two-dollar Bud Light and fight thrift-store ladies.
Ah, 2007. Bowling alleys still had wood paneling, quarter-hungry ball-shine machines, and the ghost of every cigarette ever smoked. Now they sell flatbreads and call themselves 'entertainment complexes,' and the only thing your quarters buy is a locker for shoes you'll never touch because you're wearing your own 'performance footwear.' Thrift stores have traded mean old ladies for hungry resellers with phones; that 30-dollar vanity would be sanded, styled, and listed online as 'rustic farmhouse statement piece' for an asking price that makes me cackle. Your twelve-dollar stereo with the broken CD player and sacred AUX input? Aux is now the audio equivalent of a rotary phone; any modern speaker assumes you'll beam music at it via witchcraft. And the two-dollar Bud Light pint? Dead. Even dives charge like they're pouring unicorn tears, and the flip cup line is probably sponsored by a seltzer brand. But the Tomita record that your player chose to die on? That's now a collector's 'grail,' and you'd need a second mortgage to hold it.
“2007 Ed, after your flip-cup opponent apparently poured her beer down without swallowing, did you rethink your 'big guy' assumption, or were the high-fives the real humiliation?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, you hit right on the sore spot. Yeah, I rethought the big guy thing. You'd think being six-foot-something and built like a friendly refrigerator would count for something, but that woman was a machine. I watched her chug that Bud Light like it was a glass of water on a hot day, no swallow, no pause, no pity. I felt my whole theory of physics crumble. But honestly, the high-fives were worse. Nothing makes you feel more like a trained seal than slapping palms with strangers after getting trounced at a drinking game. I did them, because I'm polite, but inside I was screaming. Next time I'll just stay home with my cats and my dead record player, where the only competition is who gets the last bite of tuna.
