Last night hubby and I watched the movie "The Big Lebowski" from 1998 with Jeff Bridges and John Goodman.
I know that this kind of movie isn't on the top 10 list of most of you enlightened readers. It's sophomoric movie about a bum (The Dude) who seeks restitution for a ruined rug, and his super weird bowling buddies who help get it. It's full of swearing, smoking dope, mistaken identities, and super weird characters.
It was one of my son's favorites.
Yesterday was my late son's birthday, and we spent the evening honoring him in as many ways we could. Watching crazy movies from the end of the 20th century was one way to do it.
But the purpose of this blog was to note how this movie rang some bells of my own.
A lot of the movie takes place in a bowling alley. An early 90s bowling alley.
I met my husband at a bowling alley in an early 80s.
Those were the days.
Sparkling bowling balls and orange and beige half-round seats that could hold 8 bowlers comfortably. Some weird dude behind the counter spraying disinfectant into bowling shoes that you could rent along with abandoned bowling balls you could use for free. Trying to remember the difference between an X and a / and adding numbers in your head for the score sheet. The sounds of bowling pins constantly falling over, people laughing and drinking and trying to keep a 15 pound ball rolling straight down the middle of a narrow lane.
True love by strikes and spares.
It made me wonder how young people meet and fall in love these days. If it's not during high school or college or it work or fix-ups through friends, how do they do it? No smelly bowling alleys, dusty softball fields, or out-of-control beer house parties. No eyeing each other from separate blankets at outdoor rock concerts. No immediate or chance eye contact that explodes into that zing-a-ling feeling. No guessing about the other's family or job or hobbies or habits, for today you can pick up a Google trail on just about anybody.
Alas, I would hate to think dating apps and Zoom and Snap Chat are their only choices, for nothing says romance like the smell of a well-oiled bowling alley lane and the stinky shoes that go with it.
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