As far as surrealists go, I live a pretty good life. My situation is neither so intense nor so horrible that it warrants an explicitly political revolution. Instead, I work toward undermining the boring and banal. And happily I often find myself surrounded by others with exactly the same intent.
A good friend of mine, Tommy Bang Bang, lives in Portland and came into town this week. In order to celebrate her visit, a large group of us decided to go bowling. Since no one seemed confident about their ball hurling, pin crashing skills the object of the game was changed. Tommy decided to introduce us all to Bowling for Style. Now, a few of us did not fully appreciate what this would entail. We obliged the concept with colorful eye makeup, panty hose, and earrings. I wore two sets of leg warmers on my arms but did not take it much further than that. While a vaguely eccentric group of us waited on a porch, enjoying the new Spring weather and waiting for our friends, we saw a neon colored blob appear on the horizon. Our friend from Portland was coming down the street in the most horrendously bright pair of snow pants that this world has ever seen.
To add to the absurdity of the occasion, our bowling alley of choice was in the basement of the Polish Falcon, a bar and community center for old polish people. This is the kind of place that only accepts cash, has a grand total of six lanes, and don’t even think about computerized scoring. Which was probably better since we weren’t scoring based on the number of pins you struck down. Points were awarded based on the overall absurdity of one’s appearance, as well as the gregariousness (and sometimes the lewdness) of the ball throw.
Did I mention there was a family with three young boys on the other side of the room? Needless to say I think we all forgot about them as we screamed vulgarities and exhibited a great deal of intoxicated behavior. To my credit, I only had one beer.
Props were definitely a great asset to those who brought them. A cabbage patch doll, rainbow feather boa, a straw hat, and a catcher’s mitt were all used to assist in the throw. At one point the cabbage patch doll made it halfway down the lane as well.
Needless to say the scrawny old man behind the counter had to come over and begrudgingly dislodge a neon pink ball from our gutter, complaining loudly about our “fooling around” but we never did get kicked out. Still, with 10 people playing, the place closed just as we finished frame 9. I tied for fourth place with Leo Long, who wore a tuxedo coat with tails and added a lot of drama to her throws. Tommy won, of course, since she was probably the most inspired (inebriated) of the bunch.