Heartbreak in (not quite) ten frames.

I went bowling on Sunday.

Of course, whenever anyone announces that they went bowling, the next thing out of their mouth is how much they suck at bowling. Sorry to be predictable, but I do too. Suck at bowling. Oh, I'm not the most hideous of hideous, as my downstairs housemate proved with her valiant attempt at staying in the single digits. But the last time she bowled was over a decade ago. In Bali. And who knows what kind of bowling rules they kept in Bali at the turn of the '90s. Me? I was last bowling three or four years ago. In Iowa. Where the rules are the same. Except for this automatic foul bullshit if you accidentally slide the teeniest fraction of a centimeter past the line. (I fouled three times my first game. No fukkin' mercy, I tell ya.)

Maybe I don't suck hard. But I am on the low end of mediocre. My all-time high score is somewhere in the 160s. But that was high school; I was at my athletic peak. Now I'm ecstatic to break three digits. Which I promptly did not do on Sunday. I missed the first game because I'm the sort of asshole that shows up late to birthday parties. That counts as a zero. The second game started with a spare and it was all denouement from there, though I managed to sneak in at the mid-50s, a marked improvement.

And as Olivia Newton-John crooned "Xanadu" [note: The video screen for the Rock n' Cosmic Crazy Times Look At The Pretty Colors Bowl was directly above our lane. Not only did I have the toothy maw at the end of the lane to contend with, but also the likes of Prince, Michael Jackson, and Madonna traipsing two feet above the straight line I was trying to telekinese my ball onto. No, Ricky, neither me nor my fourteen pound friend are in the proper headspace to live la vida loca. And put those hips away.], I burst into the final game balls a-blazin'. It was an erratic battle, but I started to pull it together towards the last. And as I got up to bowl my tenth frame, a mere three pins from the mythical 100, I was informed by the bowling computer gods (I think En Vogue had a hand in it as well) that our pre-paid allotted time had expired. Everything shut down: the scorekeeper, the ball return, the pin sweeper, my soul...

And here I am, stuck at 85 going into a ninth frame strike.

Thank god for Don Hall. He graced me with a Five Strengths meme today. It's a feel good meme, and Madonna's not allowed. Here's the scoop:

"Make a list of five strengths that you possess as a writer/artist. It's not really bragging, it's an honest assessment (forced upon you by this darn meme). Please resist the urge to enumerate your weaknesses, or even mention them in contrast to each strong point you list. Tag four other writers or artists whom you'd like to see share their strengths."

1. I don't often 'fess up to it, but I'm really fucking intelligent. The way I am able to analyze and process on my feet is almost abnormal.

2. I have a knack for seeing a different way to do things. I also have the bullheadedness to insist on doing it.

3. I am Fonz-cool and relaxed when in the early discovery stages of a production and single-track focused and decisive when crunch time hits and shit needs get done. It's a good balance.

4. I am able to recognize talents greater than mine (and that they are legion), and learn from them without defaulting to them.

5. I have a fuse like no other. You have to be actively going out of your way to destroy my being in order to get me to fly off the handle. And even then your chances are only 50-50.

Your turn! I pick Bil, Dan, Rob, and Mac. Go!

P.Rekk
2007