A friend and I were leaving a party at Espace the other night when we spotted a gigantic, glitzy bowling place across the street (on the corner of 42nd Street and 12th Avenue) called Lucky Strike. I immediately started wetting myself, remembering all my childhood days spent tossing giant orbs at a bunch of pins and pretending they were space aliens. I love bowling! It actually bonded me with my father and also provided me with a substantial ego boost whenever I topped a score of 100, with only a handful of gutter balls thrown in. (Though I’ve been in the gutter a lot since then, lol.)
Well, the joint’s charming head of security, Ray Van Cott, was at the door and remembered me from when he worked at a whole other high-tech recreational hangout–you know, Splash. Ray ushered us in, set us up with shoes (though I kept on my flip flops with three pairs of socks), sodas, and a lane, and we were off and rolling. And it was super fun–from the twinkly lights on the lanes to the wonderful assortment of balls on display, as it were. And there’s a reasonably priced food menu too for those who like to grow while they bowl. I could really get into this shit. Bowling is a lovely distraction from panic and a fantastic way to stick your fingers in three holes.