Bowling, now and then
Just got in from a night spent bowling in Hollywood. Bowling is not what it was when I was a kid: filthy lanes with middle-aged guys in NRA hats chain-smoking and chugging Schlitz, getting served greasy snacks by a washed-up bottle blonde at a grimy window into a dank kitchen area. Now it’s video screens, club music and a deejay, Asian wraps, a serious dress code, and the hipster Hollywood contingent. At least that’s what we found at The Lucky Strike in Hollywood, on the corner of Hollywood and Highland (our town’s new epicenter).
The lane next to us was taken up by six playboy bunnies and their photographer and videographer. How did we know they’re bunnies? One of our crowd asked the girls, “Why are all of you blonde?” and one answered, “Because we’re Playboy bunnies.” That, plus when they were checking in, they announced at the shoe counter, “We’re the Playboy party.”
The eight of us in our lane bowled two games and I lost both of them. (Well, the second time I tied for last place, so see, I was getting better.) Somehow or other I bowled a gutter almost every time. Not that the Playboy bunnies were a distraction. I don’t know what it used to cost, but tonight bowling for eight for two hours with drinks and snacks ran three hundred bucks. And it seemed like a bargain.