Bowling Alley

The name of this blog comes from a sign I saw at a bowling alley once.

Right now I'm reading "Don't Kill The Freshman" by Zoe Trope. It's a memoir by a then 15-year-old high school freshman. Oh my god. The bicurious angst is just dripping off the page. The part where she starts reading Bukowski in the hallway is enough to make you pee your pants. It's crazy. Shit, I still have my old high school diaries...anyone want to give me a six figure book advance for them? Still, I can't look away. We were all there once. She's just lucky to make some money off her teen alienation.

(Best line from Heathers: "My teen angst bullshit has a body count.")

I'm almost done with Andrea Dworkin's memoir "Heartbreak: Political Memoir of a Feminist Militant." Man, if that doesn't get the guys at the coffee shop running my way I don't know what will...actually, who cares if they run. I'm engaged.

There's something really awesome about the way an engagement ring just deflects guys. The last time I was drinking alone at Rudz this gross old drunk started hitting on me, offering to buy me a drink...then he spotted the ring. "You married?" (Or rather....youuussh marriedsfgfdfd?")

"I'm engaged," I told him...and he backed off. If I hadn't been engaged I would have had to tell him to scram, leave me alone, I want to read and drink in peace.

Nothing better in the world sometimes than a book, a drink, a pub grub meal and being all alone.

Oh, and I got the new Sleater Kinney album today, The Woods. It's kinda Led Zeppleny in this really unexpected way. The songs are like 5 minutes long with guitar solos and everything. But the girls of SK are still rocking hard, and that's what matters to me. The minute they get all vagina music on me is the day I stop listening.

Okay enough for now, I'm going to bed.