Some people lead interesting lives. Most of us do not. (If you're wondering whether you're part of the 'some people' or part of the 'most of us,' you're part of the 'most of us.' I hate to be the one to break it to you.) Most of us go about our lives in a manner that nobody would consider very interesting. We go to work and try to earn a living. Then we come home and try to enjoy whatever free time we have. Then we go back to work and try to get through one more day along the road to a retirement that is bound to be far less intriguing than we had imagined.
Do you remember Al Bundy? He was the husband/father from the sitcom Married, With Children. Al was the stereotypical suburban douchebag. He hated his job, tolerated his wife, and held onto his memories of past glory (either real or imagined.)
Until tonight, I had never really taken the time to name the psychological phenomenon that I seem to observe among people of my age. (By "people of my age" I usually mean "myself.") Maybe I never really even noticed that this phenomenon existed. It exists though. And, as of tonight, it has a name - The Al Bundy Effect.
Al was always fond of recalling his glory days at Polk High. He was a star football player, as the sitcom story went, and every aspect of his pitiful suburban life was an opportunity to reflect on what he used to be. I can relate.
On the rare occasion that some unfortunate lass might find herself in my bedroom nowadays, I may be reminded of an evening, way back when, that I managed to bed two gorgeous Mexican girls on the same night. Not at the same time, mind you, as that would be truly worth discussing, but on the same night. Back to back homeruns, if you will. And... yeah... that was... almost twenty years ago.
On the occasion that a fella might find himself telling me about his latest recreational softball game, I may be reminded of the one time that I hit a double up the gap off of some guy who later wound up pitching in a few games for the Blue Jays. And... yeah... that was... almost twenty years ago.
On the occasion that someone might feel inclined to discuss a brush with the law or a situation where he made a lot of money without doing a lot of work, I might be reminded of the days when I knew certain people who might later be convicted of tax evasion and so forth. Lots of money to be had all 'round and lots of good times to be enjoyed. And... yeah... that was... almost twenty years ago.
In case you're slow with the reading comprehension, my life once was fairly interesting. But it hasn't been all that interesting since I was a teenager. In fact it has been quite dull. I fall squarely in the 'most of us' camp mentioned above. Hell, to be honest, most of us probably lead far more interesting lives than I do. I plug along though.
After I wrapped up yet another easy work shift tonight, amidst the 'great recovery' that our economy is clearly experiencing, I went to Novi Bowl with my brother. This seems to be our new Sunday tradition. I didn't bowl very well, although I didn't do too badly either. Somewhere in the high 180's was my average, I think.
My brother didn't bowl well at all, although posting a good score was not his objective on this night. He was trying to find a reliable groove. My brother is new to the nuances of bowling and is trying to learn the game. He recently ordered a ball online and expects to take delivery tomorrow. Prior to receiving his new ball and getting it drilled, his (absolutely brilliant) mentor had given him a few things to work on. So that's where his main focus was tonight.
After getting the kid sorted out and screwing around with a few approaches of my own, it was time for the two of us to get down to business and bowl. In light of last weekend's performance we suspected that a high number would be coming for one of us. We were wrong. My high game was 197 and his was much worse. We did drink plenty of beer along the way though. Six bucks for a pitcher is a pretty solid deal.
At some point during the evening, one of the bowling alley employees was walking around and putting away all of the house balls that had been left on the ball returns. He passed by our lane as I was pouring myself a cold one. "Any 290's tonight?" he asked. Of course the answer was no, but for that one moment... just that one moment... I felt the Al Bundy Effect. I was the big shot. However insignificant and common that 290 game last week might have been, I'm not the only one who remembered it. Now, as time goes on, I'll just need to figure out how to embellish the story and make the game sound more impressive than it was. (Any suggestions are welcome.) Then I'll have the Al Bundy approach figured out completely.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
How exactly am I supposed to feel right now?
I got home early last night and found that my brother was chilling on the couch watching television. He asked if I felt like heading out and bowling a few games, but I was planning to hit the gym so I declined. I just wanted to grab a quick bite to eat and then hang around until it was time for my workout.
After kicking back for a while, I suppose the result was inevitable. It was Saturday night. I had just wrapped up a long shift. I was in no mood to lift weights, walk on a treadmill, or do anything else that struck me as utterly boring. So we headed out to bowl a few games.
The bowling alley wasn't busy at all when we arrived, so that was good. We ponied up the rather steep $25 for an hour of bowling and then tried our luck. Neither of us was doing terribly well in the early going, but we were doing okay. 174 and 192 for me in the first couple of games and 138 and 151 for my brother. Pretty standard.
Then things turned a little sour. There are 40 lanes at Novi Bowl. There were maybe six lanes in use as we got started. After we rolled a few frames, the geniuses behind the counter, for whatever reason, decided to assign three young men to the lane right next to us. As in - right fucking next to us. That's nice. And just for good measure, these guys were not bowlers. I don't mean that they weren't good bowlers. Plenty of us aren't good bowlers. I mean that they weren't up to speed on the etiquette of the game. You know the deal, right? When the dude next to you is about to roll, you keep your ass back and wait your turn. These guys didn't know the deal. So our efforts to squeeze in four quick games were derailed by frequent interruptions from our unnecessary neighbors.
Then we got another little surprise. We had started bowling at 11:30pm. Apparently, at midnight on Saturday, it's time for Glow Bowling. Woo hoo! Lights off, pins illuminated by black light, shitty music on the PA system. Woo freaking hoo. That sucked. I don't even remember what I scored over the final game and a half.
So we fast forward to Sunday. I started work at noon and had a fairly easy four-stop run. Three stores in the Flint area, one in Frankenmuth, and then back home. Whenever I'm home early on Sundays, my brother and I tend to go bowling at Novi Bowl. There was a bit of a bad taste left from the prior evening, but Sunday nights are more of a familiar commodity. None of that bullshit from Saturday night has ever happened to us on a Sunday, so we headed out to roll a few more games.
We arrived shortly after 9pm and ponied up the rather affordable $25 for three hours of bowling. Game 1 wasn't pretty (142), so I wasn't too optimistic regarding the rest of the night. My first game tends to be my best game. Then various body parts start to hurt, my skills degrade, and my scores get worse.
Right on cue, my arm started to hurt after the second game (a more respectable 186). I tore ligaments in my elbow many years ago and it has never been quite the same since then. I can usually manage the pain as I go about my rather mundane life. Bowling on consecutive nights, however, proved to be difficult to manage.
Halfway through the third game (eventually a 167), things were getting pretty bad. In addition to the unnatural strain that bowling places on one's throwing elbow, the game also puts extra pressure on the opposite knee. That hurts after a while. And, in the case that you happen to be fat and out of shape, a little pain in the hip comes along for the ride. Something had to be done. I keep pain medication and medicated topical patches in the clipboard that I carry at work, on account of that nagging spinal situation that hasn't gone away since back in the day. I keep that clipboard in my car when I'm not working. So I headed out to the car and raided the clipboard. A few pills, a topical patch, and a few pitchers of beer... let's give it a shot.
After slogging through a few more painful frames and taking a little extra time to rest, the medication(s) started to help a little and I started to feel like I might be able to get my money's worth out of the night after all. The following game (221) seemed to validate this line of thinking. I was still in pain but the pain was dulled. I was able to put my normal torque on the ball and propel it with a decent amount of velocity. That was nice.
So we decided to go ahead and roll at least one more game. And here's the part that we storytellers like to call 'the big reveal.' You'll recall last week when I took the opportunity to boast here about a couple of nice shots that I managed to pull off. Two shots among many bad ones - not really all that special. Twelve strikes in a row [edit to clarify: I made the first strike in the following game to bring the consecutive number to twelve. There were, of course, only eleven strikes in the 290 game itself.], on the other hand... just look at it. No, seriously, take a minute and... just look.
(Of course this post was just another thinly-veiled attempt to boast about my bowling, but you read the whole thing, didn't you?)
In all seriousness though, how am I supposed to feel right now? Thrilled that I just bowled the best game of my life? To a certain extent, yep, I'm feeling that. Pissed that I drilled the pocket in that first frame and drove the ball right past the 8 pin? Yep, that one has surely crossed my mind more than once. One fucking pin away... Son of a...
Or, given that I tend to be more of a big-picture guy, am I supposed to face the reality that I will probably bowl another thousand games in my life and never come close to this level of performance again?
I don't know man. It was fun though. I know that much.
(We got one more game in before midnight. 180, for those who might have been wondering. Lots of spares but only a few strikes.)
After kicking back for a while, I suppose the result was inevitable. It was Saturday night. I had just wrapped up a long shift. I was in no mood to lift weights, walk on a treadmill, or do anything else that struck me as utterly boring. So we headed out to bowl a few games.
The bowling alley wasn't busy at all when we arrived, so that was good. We ponied up the rather steep $25 for an hour of bowling and then tried our luck. Neither of us was doing terribly well in the early going, but we were doing okay. 174 and 192 for me in the first couple of games and 138 and 151 for my brother. Pretty standard.
Then things turned a little sour. There are 40 lanes at Novi Bowl. There were maybe six lanes in use as we got started. After we rolled a few frames, the geniuses behind the counter, for whatever reason, decided to assign three young men to the lane right next to us. As in - right fucking next to us. That's nice. And just for good measure, these guys were not bowlers. I don't mean that they weren't good bowlers. Plenty of us aren't good bowlers. I mean that they weren't up to speed on the etiquette of the game. You know the deal, right? When the dude next to you is about to roll, you keep your ass back and wait your turn. These guys didn't know the deal. So our efforts to squeeze in four quick games were derailed by frequent interruptions from our unnecessary neighbors.
Then we got another little surprise. We had started bowling at 11:30pm. Apparently, at midnight on Saturday, it's time for Glow Bowling. Woo hoo! Lights off, pins illuminated by black light, shitty music on the PA system. Woo freaking hoo. That sucked. I don't even remember what I scored over the final game and a half.
So we fast forward to Sunday. I started work at noon and had a fairly easy four-stop run. Three stores in the Flint area, one in Frankenmuth, and then back home. Whenever I'm home early on Sundays, my brother and I tend to go bowling at Novi Bowl. There was a bit of a bad taste left from the prior evening, but Sunday nights are more of a familiar commodity. None of that bullshit from Saturday night has ever happened to us on a Sunday, so we headed out to roll a few more games.
We arrived shortly after 9pm and ponied up the rather affordable $25 for three hours of bowling. Game 1 wasn't pretty (142), so I wasn't too optimistic regarding the rest of the night. My first game tends to be my best game. Then various body parts start to hurt, my skills degrade, and my scores get worse.
Right on cue, my arm started to hurt after the second game (a more respectable 186). I tore ligaments in my elbow many years ago and it has never been quite the same since then. I can usually manage the pain as I go about my rather mundane life. Bowling on consecutive nights, however, proved to be difficult to manage.
Halfway through the third game (eventually a 167), things were getting pretty bad. In addition to the unnatural strain that bowling places on one's throwing elbow, the game also puts extra pressure on the opposite knee. That hurts after a while. And, in the case that you happen to be fat and out of shape, a little pain in the hip comes along for the ride. Something had to be done. I keep pain medication and medicated topical patches in the clipboard that I carry at work, on account of that nagging spinal situation that hasn't gone away since back in the day. I keep that clipboard in my car when I'm not working. So I headed out to the car and raided the clipboard. A few pills, a topical patch, and a few pitchers of beer... let's give it a shot.
After slogging through a few more painful frames and taking a little extra time to rest, the medication(s) started to help a little and I started to feel like I might be able to get my money's worth out of the night after all. The following game (221) seemed to validate this line of thinking. I was still in pain but the pain was dulled. I was able to put my normal torque on the ball and propel it with a decent amount of velocity. That was nice.
So we decided to go ahead and roll at least one more game. And here's the part that we storytellers like to call 'the big reveal.' You'll recall last week when I took the opportunity to boast here about a couple of nice shots that I managed to pull off. Two shots among many bad ones - not really all that special. Twelve strikes in a row [edit to clarify: I made the first strike in the following game to bring the consecutive number to twelve. There were, of course, only eleven strikes in the 290 game itself.], on the other hand... just look at it. No, seriously, take a minute and... just look.
In all seriousness though, how am I supposed to feel right now? Thrilled that I just bowled the best game of my life? To a certain extent, yep, I'm feeling that. Pissed that I drilled the pocket in that first frame and drove the ball right past the 8 pin? Yep, that one has surely crossed my mind more than once. One fucking pin away... Son of a...
Or, given that I tend to be more of a big-picture guy, am I supposed to face the reality that I will probably bowl another thousand games in my life and never come close to this level of performance again?
I don't know man. It was fun though. I know that much.
(We got one more game in before midnight. 180, for those who might have been wondering. Lots of spares but only a few strikes.)
Friday, February 24, 2012
Watch it twice.
The first time, mute the volume and pay attention to the broad over Tapper's left shoulder. I don't know what her story is, but that shit's pretty funny on its own.
The second time, listen to the words and... well... draw your own conclusion. I know what I think about it, but this pretty much squares with what I already thought. Maybe you see things differently. Maybe you don't.
Heh. Most transparent administration evah!
Heh.
The second time, listen to the words and... well... draw your own conclusion. I know what I think about it, but this pretty much squares with what I already thought. Maybe you see things differently. Maybe you don't.
Heh. Most transparent administration evah!
Heh.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Two things you need to know.
1) I converted a 4-5 split in the third game tonight. Beautiful slider right down the middle.
2) I converted a 4-7-10 in the seventh game tonight. Lucky shot, but fuck it, I meant to do that.
Unlimited bowling in Novi for $25 after 9pm on Sundays + Dead business for Kroger stores amidst the 'Great recovery of 2012' = Early finish for your don tonight.
Beauty.
Regarding #1, I won a 50 cent bet from my brother. Regarding #2, I won a rousing ovation from some random strangers who happened to observe the beauty of that 4-7-10. (And it was beautiful.)
Nevermind the shitty overall performance of this evening. That was an anomaly... or whatever. Those two balls (heh, I said "two balls") were beautiful. That's what counts.
2) I converted a 4-7-10 in the seventh game tonight. Lucky shot, but fuck it, I meant to do that.
Unlimited bowling in Novi for $25 after 9pm on Sundays + Dead business for Kroger stores amidst the 'Great recovery of 2012' = Early finish for your don tonight.
Beauty.
Regarding #1, I won a 50 cent bet from my brother. Regarding #2, I won a rousing ovation from some random strangers who happened to observe the beauty of that 4-7-10. (And it was beautiful.)
Nevermind the shitty overall performance of this evening. That was an anomaly... or whatever. Those two balls (heh, I said "two balls") were beautiful. That's what counts.
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