Bowling Across America

The recent cold snap has sent BowlingJoe into a downward spiral of the condition known as “cabin fever”. When it snows buckets in the Pacific Northwest it has a tendency to paralyze its unprepared and unfunded communities. It also makes it impossible to get a rear wheel drive Toyota Tacoma pickup truck out of the driveway.

This is not to say I haven’t been out of the house at all since Boeing started its annual winter hiatus a few days ago. We are fortunate enough to have an all-wheel drive vehicle. Still, it’s an adventure out there on the side streets. And there are only so many times that I can watch classic bowling movies such as “Kingpin” and “The Big Lebowski” from the comfort of my imitation La-Z-Boy chair.

A while back, I blogged about a group that I'm a part of and noted that it’s likely that I’m the only league bowler who also belongs to a regularly scheduled book discussion group. This of course debunks the myth that all bowlers are functionally illiterate. Most are. But not all.

With this in mind, I started reading a book that my university archivist friend Mike made me aware of a couple of months back. I ordered it from Amazon, waiting for the right time to dig into it. Well, the time is now.

A regular guy named Mike Walsh wrote a book that was released earlier this year called “Bowling Across America: 50 States in Rented Shoes”. The “rented shoes” part is a pretty good indicator that he’s not a league bowler and does not own his own equipment. And that would be correct. In fact, according to his website, on the trip he averaged between 123 and 154 pins per game depending on the quantity of alcohol he consumed (and if he's telling the truth, he consumed Hunter S. Thompson-esque quantities on his particular quest to find America's pulse). I have a “diminishing returns” theory pertaining to this but that’s another story for another time.

After Walsh’s father passed away a few years ago he quit his nine to five job at an advertising agency in Chicago, borrowed his mother’s car and set out to bowl in all fifty states. You see, his dad loved the sport of handball and had a goal to play the game in every state. He didn’t live long enough to see it through, but with that in mind, Walsh set out to do the same at the nation’s bowling alleys.

Why bowling alleys? He contends that they are microcosms of the communities they reside in, warts and all. And having been in way more of them than I should admit, he’s right. I’ve bowled with bank presidents and the perennially unemployed on the same pair of lanes. On any given day, you can see an elementary school bus and a senior citizen van sitting in the same parking lot in front of the building.

True, there is a lot of bowling-related content in the book, but that’s far from what has made it an entertaining and often insightful read after around 80 pages or so. One gets the sense of what a given community is about as he immerses himself into each bowling center. His stories are often humorous, filled with real people, the likes of which all of us have met on our varied journeys.

I’m now looking forward to reading about what happens to him in Massachusetts and beyond. It’s not rocket science but it’s sure been a lot of fun and a great way to take my mind off the fact that our street is more suited for a game of curling instead of driving on these days.

As for the author, I have no idea what he’s doing for a living these days (aside from book tours anyway) since he has gotten back from his journey. Maybe I’ll ask him.

Mexican Riviera Part Four: Cruising

BowlingJoe starting the cruise properly

As I write this last installment of cruising in Mexico, it’s worth noting that there are ten inches of snow in our yard and it hasn’t been above freezing for days. The other night our mercury recorded a temperature of 5.2 degrees Fahrenheit. As cold as I’ve ever seen it here in the Puget Sound. An encore visit to Mexico would appear to be in order.

Okay…cruising. This was our second cruise. The first was a few years ago and departed from Seattle with stops in Juneau, Ketchikan, and Skagway, Alaska. That was on the Sapphire Princess. Overall we found that Princess Cruises tend to be a cut above Royal Caribbean in pretty much all ways. But then Royal Caribbean’s prices were a bit lower, and would have been even more so had we elected to go the “last minute” cruise route.

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Top deck of the Vision of the Seas
After spending the first night of the trip in Long Beach, CA, we departed from the World Cruise Center (Port of Los Angeles) in San Pedro, CA on a Sunday morning. The only cruise ship we actually saw there was ours, The Vision of the Seas. But there were an incredible amount of cranes, rail cars, and shipping containers. If this isn’t the busiest port in the country then it’s mighty close.

Boarding the ship was uneventful. A good thing when thousands of your closest friends are also trying to get onboard and settled. Our stateroom was less than 100 square feet in area, the smallest and least expensive. For us, having a large space and/or an ocean view wasn’t a priority since that’s what the rest of the ship is for.

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Viviana and Charlie: great dinner companions
At dinner on the first night we were assigned to a table after some initial confusion on the part of the staff. If there is only one or two of you and you’re not traveling with family or friends, you’ll be randomly assigned to a table of four, six or eight. This is a lot like playing the lottery as there's a decent chance that you could be seated at the same table as Gilbert Gottfried. We were offered a table for four, and felt like we won this particular lottery with the couple who joined us every night to swap stories about what we did during the day. Charlie and Viviana are younger than us and opted to do more adventurous shore excursions such as riding zip lines and swimming with dolphins. I’m sure that if they had the chance to spend a half-hour in a shark cage they’d have been up for that, too. They’re from Livermore, CA (near Oakland) and we ended up exchanging e-mail information and promising to show each other around our respective towns should the situation ever come up. Charlie even offered to drop us off in the middle of Oakland at midnight on a Saturday night so that we could see first-hand what the city is really like. What a pal!

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BowlingJoe and BowlingWidow at dinner
When we were out at sea, there were always things to do on the ship, from trivia contests to rock climbing. And if you don’t want to do a damned thing, just find a lounge chair in a secluded area of the boat, bring a book, your favorite beverage and you’re set. Food and drink are everywhere (you do have to pay extra for some things such as alcohol….dang!) and you can eat your way through the day if that’s what you want to do. Good thing there are exercise classes available, too. Speaking of the food, cruising is an ideal time to enjoy meals you don’t necessarily partake on a regular basis at home. Every night there are numerous selections to choose from on the menu. For example, on successive nights I had prime rib, lamb, lobster, and duck. I even got brave and tried some escargot that Charlie had ordered up. Not bad at all. Tastes like mussels.

There was nightly entertainment on the ship as well. The results were mixed. The live orchestra was a nice touch, but as a captive audience it’s easy to see that the Royal Caribbean singers and dancers have their good nights and their bad nights. One of the shows was a musical tribute to the 1970s. I mean, we had to live through K.C. and the Sunshine Band and The Bee Gees the FIRST time for crying out loud. And the comedians? Well, let’s just say that they’re veterans of the cruise circuit and nothing else.

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Fifty-one countries are represented with the ship's crew
Cruising isn’t for everyone. And BowlingWidow and I certainly wouldn’t want to spend every vacation doing it. But it’s a decent choice and relatively inexpensive way to relax and see a lot of cities without a lot of taxis and hotel stays. The optional land excursions usually have something for everyone. Or one can just get off the ship and wander around independently. But be sure you’re back in time for the sailing. They WILL leave without you and one way flights home aren’t cheap.

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Sunset on The Vision of the Seas
Next time we’re thinking that a cruise to Nova Scotia would be alright. I’m sure it’s far balmier in Nova Scotia than it is in Seattle now.

Mexican Riviera Part Three: Puerto Vallarta

Puerto Vallarta: lots of cranes and construction
Our final stop on the cruise was Puerto Vallarta. A town of 144,000 in the state of Jalisco, it was once a busy little village of industries such as mining and fishing. That all changed in the early 1960s when the film crew and cast of “Night of the Iguana” showed up. Then everybody started arriving to the point where more than 50% of this place exists entirely because of tourism. Puerto Vallarta was the only place we visited where there was a lot of obvious building of high rises going on.

As in Mazatlan the day before, we opted for a tour of old town Puerto Vallarta. Only this tour would end with a bonus, as we would head to a tequila factory outside of town to learn how the lethal concoction is made and to try a few samples.

As the bus was leaving “new” Puerto Vallarta bound for the older boardwalk area we noticed that there was a Wal-Mart and a Home Depot. Just when you think you’ve gotten away from it, there it is. The first thing we noticed about the boardwalk along the beach is that it was lined with beautiful al fresco sculptures called the Malecon.

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One of the many beautiful sculptures in old P.V.

Further down the beach we were able to watch a ritualistic event performed by an Indian group called Danza de los Voladores de Papantla (Dance of Papantla's flyers). It takes place atop a very high pole and you would not catch BowlingJoe up there without a harness, a parachute and a very large trampoline below.

After a tour through the main cathedral and plaza of the town (Our Lady of Guadalupe in El Centro, with a fairly new construction completion date of 1951) it was time to head out to the country, specifically to a hacienda, where we would be greeting by the friendly employees of the Dona Engracia tequila factory.

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Papantla's Flyers of Puerto Vallarta
The state of Jalisco is a hotbed of tequila makers. We were told there are 81 in the state, far more than the rest of Mexico combined. Most are small operations, often with a taco stand and cantina also on the grounds, such as this one.

Tequila is made from blue agave plants. The leaves are useless and it’s the pineapple-like (in shape and texture but not flavor) sweet root that resides under the ground that’s coveted. The agave is crushed, cooked and placed in fermentation tanks for the distilling process along with the closely guarded yeast recipe. After that point it becomes blanco (white) tequila, which is essentially unaged, bottled and sold. Other types of tequila are those that are aged in oak barrels exactly as distilleries in the United States do. This is what gives the product its golden-brown color. Tequilas aged in barrels from three months to a year are called reposado (rested), while those stored for over a year are known as anejo (vintage). There are lots of other variations; too many to get into now.

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Part of the process of creating tequila
After the tour we settled down for a fantastic taco lunch featuring tortillas that were made in front of us and left the place with two bottles of the finest tequila in all of Jalisco: one blanco and one anejo. We’re not true tequila drinkers so we figure it’ll last us through two years or so of special occasions.

The trip back to the ship allowed us some time to catch a glimpse of rural Mexico. As one might imagine, these are people who are literally just scraping by. I’m not sure to what extent the Mexican government assists, but nearly every place we drove past on the country road had a sign out in an effort to sell food, jewelry, produce….whatever. They live a much different life than most of us back in the states, but that’s all most of them have ever known. And at the end of the day, like us, they simply want to provide for their families as best they can.

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A typical street in rural Jalisco

This wraps up the ports o’ call. Next is the final chapter on the overall cruising experience to Mexico on The Vision of the Seas.

Mexican Riviera Part Two: Mazatlan

View of Mazatlan from the pier

After a quick trip across the Sea of Cortez, we arrived at Mazatlan. A city of around 400,000 people in the state of Sinaloa (home of the world's finest drug traffickers), Mazatlan is Aztecan for "place of the deer". Apparently there were a lot of them roaming around at one time,and the local Mexican League baseball team honors this by having the nickname “venados” (deer). For you fans of the beers of the world, the brand Pacifico is brewed in downtown Mazatlan just a stones throw away from the dock. A final fun fact? Mazatlan and Seattle, WA are "sister cities".

Mazatlan cliff diver in action
In cruising literature, Mazatlan is divided into two parts. One is called the Golden Zone. This is where the pitchmen on the ship encouraged us to go and buy diamonds, sit on the beach and buy expensive drinks and the like. I'm sure the financial arrangement between those businesses and Royal Caribbean works very well for both of them but we weren't interested in playing. We wanted to see what Mazatlan is like and not what the Ramada Corporation thinks it ought to be like.

So we signed on to a city walking tour of the "other part" of Mazatlan....Old Mazatlan. After a whirlwind bus ride through parts of Mazatlan that looked darned interesting (but wouldn't want to walk alone in) we arrived at the waterfront. We immediately started to learn about the history of Mazatlan from Jesus himself....um....that was our tour guide's name actually. He pointed out a cave in the side of a mountain that ice was once stored in. We saw beautiful sculptures on the beach, as well as cliff divers carefully guessing wind speed and direction before they made their accurate plunges.

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The Cathedral of Immaculate Conception

We turned inland toward the city, and visited a bakery that has been there for nearly 100 years. It was unmarked on the outside. You just have to know that that's where the bakery is. We peered inside the Melville Suites. The author of "Moby Dick" lived in Mazatlan for a bit in the mid-1800s.

After visits to a museum, a restored opera house (Teatro Angela Peralta) and the cathedral (Cathedral of Immaculate Conception, built in 1875) it was time to get a bite to eat before we broke from the tour group to explore the Central Market on our own. Our tour guide suggested a place called Panama’s. They served up a nice plate of chicken enchiladas while BowlingWidow opted for the some kind of a corn cake topped with chicken and cheese. Can’t remember what it was called but she really liked it.

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Mazatlan butcher: waste not, want not

Mazatlan’s Central Market is a hodge-podge of a lot of different kinds of family run businesses under one roof. Kind of like Seattle’s Pike Place Market only far older and without money for improvements. It was actually designed by Gustave Eiffel. Yes, the Eiffel Tower guy. There were several butcher shops and fish markets, all of which served as a reminder that the locals will let no part of an animal go to waste. Not always what I’m looking for as a taco filling but its nice knowing I could.

After going through some produce stands and tiny grocery areas (where we purchased some pure vanilla) it was time to sample some real food from a real hole-in-the wall taco stand. First, we made sure there were some actual customers eating there and that it wasn’t a popular place among the insect community. Good on both counts. I ordered a carne asada taco, delightfully simply prepared with a small layer of whole beans at the bottom and the seasoned meat coming next with a bit of fresh cilantro sprinkled on top. I asked in fractured Spanish which of the salsas was the spiciest and was kindly rewarded. As for BowlingWidow, well, she was content just to watch the action.

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The street outside of the Central Market

We moved on to the leather and purses section where we skillfully negotiated the purchase of a small purse for our son’s girlfriend back at home. We didn’t move them down a whole lot of pesos but were satisfied with a $2 or so reduction from the original asking price. As Americans, bartering just didn’t come naturally.

Some of the images of the streets of old downtown Mazatlan will remain with us both for better and for worse. The city seemed to be a bustling place with people going about their business. Even festive in parts. But then there was the blind man sitting on a corner begging. He controlled a small bucket that was suspended by ropes looped on either side of it. I hesitate to say he held it, because he had no hands. The ropes were set on at the end of his arms, at the wrists. As we learned in Los Cabos, Mexico is a country of contrasts.

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Market scene: love that Mexican wrestling poster

With a couple of hours left before the ship was scheduled to leave, we decided to play it safe and get a taxi back to the pier. The driver of the large golf-cart-like vehicle was maniacal as he crazily sped through intersections offering a simple honk of the horn a split second before he got to them. Everything you probably believe to be true about Mexican cab drivers is accurate.

Next up: Puerto Vallarta.

Mexico: Reportus Interruptus

I'm currently in the midst of the cyberspace equivalent of a rain delay. Our home computer, after nearly six years of valiant service, has recently "bought the farm" and will be on its way to electronic heaven in a few days.

A replacement should be service-ready by this coming weekend, at which time I'll resume with part two, in which BowlingWidow and I bribe prison guards, federal police and taxi drivers to make it back to our cruise ship, leaping on board from the gangplank just as it pulls out to sea.

BowlingJoe

Mexican Riviera Part One: Cabo San Lucas

This will be the first of a four-part series that recaps a Mexican Riviera cruise that BowlingWidow and I recently returned from. Today will be about Cabo San Lucas with blogs to follow for Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta and, finally, the overall cruising experience.

The Baja Peninsula, approaching Cabo San Lucas
After a day and a half at sea that began in San Pedro, CA, the Royal Caribbean ship Vision of the Seas set anchor just off the tip of the Baja Peninsula. The cliffs, rock formations and beaches we noticed as we were arriving were simply beautiful. We were taken by tender from the ship into Cabo San Lucas (or Los Cabos as it’s commonly called). Los Cabos is a fairly small town population-wise (around 55,000) that has surged in popularity, particularly among young partiers on spring break, over the last several years.

.........................................................A beach near Cabo San Lucas....................
We had a couple of hours before we were scheduled to leave for the Mexican cooking class that we had signed up for so we set out to explore the town on foot, as most every part of the town is within walking distance.

There were two clear things we noticed upon disembarking from the tender boat at the harbor. First, there were a few heavily armed Federal police roaming around, presumably to protect visitors from the bad guys and generally “boot evil” as my friend Captain ILL would aptly put it. This was a theme that showed up at every port we visited.

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Los Federales son mas macho de todos
Second, literally every 10 feet we walked there was somebody aggressively trying to sell us a glass bottom boat tour, jewelry, hats, have our picture taken with an iguana, and so on and so forth. It was like the opening credits scene in the film Airplane! in which the main character, Ted Striker, was hurrying through the airport terminal being accosted by everyone from the Hare Krishnas through Jews for Jesus. And, sadly, even when we went to a place with a deck to get a refreshment, several kids (some as young as around five years old) were making the rounds trying to get patrons to buy necklaces and other little items. It was heartbreaking that they were doing that instead of going to school, learning and playing with their friends (this was on a Tuesday morning). But that’s reality, and that’s much of Mexico. The country is correctly described as one of contrasts with the very well off and the dirt poor often living side by side.

Our cooking class took place at a local restaurant called Desperados. We started by learning the proper way to make a Margarita (and of course drank the results). We then moved to the salsa area and made some incredible fresh salsa using a molcajete, a mortar and pestle tool made of volcanic rock that smashes the ingredients. Gotta get me one of those for Christmas! For the main course, it was Pescado Marinado Envuelto en Hoja de Platano. Translated, this was sea bass marinated in an achiote based mixture, wrapped in a banana leaf, and fried 6-8 minutes on each side. Again, with the help of our instructors and another Margarita we were able to cook up an amazing dish.

Culinary genius or just following instructions?
Finally for dessert, and using the same pan, the class of eight amateur chefs created some crepes with egg, flour, vanilla, butter, milk and sugar. It was then topped with goat caramel milk called cajeta.

When it was all said and done, we were well fed and needed the sightseeing walk to the tender boat that would take us back to our floating hotel.

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The tasty results of our labor
Aside from the culinary experience, which we both agreed was a top-notch land excursion, we felt a bit out of place in Cabo. I’m sure there’s good night life and that it’s earned every bit of its reputation as a party town. Rock and Roller Sammy Hagar even has a restaurant and night club here. But we tend to go to bed at around 10pm and get up early, even on vacation. And no doubt the beaches are some of the best in the world. But we ain’t beach people. And then there was the matter of having a target on our backs for the hundreds of street vendors that are everywhere you go in Los Cabos.

It was a great day, but in all honesty our first port stop in Mexico goes into the books as our least favorite.

On to Mazatlan!

Gene Jonas: Hall of Famer

As I contemplate writing about our recent venture to Mexico, I was alerted of some breaking news that needs to be acknowledged.

A few blogs ago, I wrote about my personal bowling history and mentioned that a childhood friend and neighbor of mine, Kent, and his family took me bowling for the first time when I was around four years old. I didn't go into specifics as to who exactly organized the trip and actually taught me what needed to be done to get the ball down the lane and topple those hated pins.

But I will now. It was Kent's older brother, Gene Jonas, whose passion for bowling was the catalyst that got me hooked.

I just received word that Gene was recently inducted into the Lewis County (Washington) Bowling Association Hall of Fame. It's a pretty exclusive club, with only five members in all. Gene is from Port Angeles but has been a fixture in the Centralia/Chehalis bowling scene for nearly 40 years. He's currently the manager of Fairway Lanes and has no sign of slowing down at age 62.

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Gene Jonas (right) goes into the Hall of Fame

What about his bowling career? Not bad. He has 3 career 300 games to his credit and averaged a sizzling 222 during peak years. These days he's still competitive hanging around the 200 mark.

For me personally, there are four things I'll always remember about Gene in addition to that inaugural bowling trip. First, he and his brother-in-law Mike "The Kid" Nelson used to tease us younger kids and tag us out mercilessly in baseball "pickle" games in Kent's front yard. Second, he has an enormous capacity to eat the worst junk food in the world and not gain any weight. Third, I've never seen the man with a hair out of place. He makes Duke basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski look like a caveman.

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Fourth, and most dear to me, while he was managing a bowling center in Port Angeles, he acknowledged my only 300 game by noting it on the reader board next to the main highway in the town I grew up in. This was despite that fact that I bowled that game in Everett, 80 miles and a ferry boat ride away.

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The P.A. Lanes sign: thanks, Gene

Thanks for that, Gene. And congrats to you. Bowling may not be what it used to be thirty years ago, but the business of bowling and the sport itself is richer for having people like you involved in it.

The newspaper account of Gene's entry into the Hall can be found here.

Off to Mexico

Our ship has nearly arrived. There it is in fact, The Vision of the Seas. We're off to Long Beach, CA later today and depart tomorrow for the Mexican Riviera (Cabo San Lucas, Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta) for a week. We hope to come back with lots of cheaply made items to impress our family and friends with as holiday gifts. And we also hope to have lots of good experiences and stories to tell. None of which will involve a Mexican jail.

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Bon Voyage,

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BowlingJoe and Bowlingwidow

What An Election Night

I didn’t think that I’d live to see this day. The people have spoken and we’ve elected our first African-American (as well as Caucasian-American) president. All parents in this country can now look their kids in the eye, tell them they could grow up to be President, and actually mean it.

There is a lot to be done though. Fixing an economy that’s stressed and in shambles. Creating avenues so that everyone will be able to afford health care. Fixing an education system that has grown increasingly ineffective. Getting out of a directionless war that has gone on longer than World War Two. Repairing relationships and credibility that need to be restored in a global community that gets smaller every day.

But instead of this all seeming hopeless, I’m starting to get the feeling that there’s a sense of possibility on the horizon. I’ve never seen the optimism and enthusiasm that I’m seeing with our young population. The apathetic and disenfranchised have woken up, much to the dislike of a large but diminishing population who liked it better when they were down.

After eight years of failed, self-serving myopic policies and a clueless president who will be gone in 75 days (not that I’m counting or anything) it’s time to move on. I’m not sure what the next four years will bring but have no doubt that it’ll be a whole lot better than the last eight.

Yep, I haven’t felt this good since I bowled my 300 game five years ago.

Skate America: Epilogue

We made it. Skate America 2008 is now in the books and it was, by most accounts, a success. I understand that it set a record for tickets sold although there did appear to be a lot of people disguised as empty seats. Never would have happened if we were talking about "Bowl America", believe me. Bowling fans would flock to Comcast Arena by the thousands from around the country to take in 3 days of pin pounding action. Well, maybe not. Figure skating is pretty darned popular.

Japanese TV (left) and NBC TV crews hard at work
After a great breakfast at Kate's Greek / American restaurant in North Everett (you've gotta try this place if you get a chance and get one of the dishes with feta cheese) we hit the arena at around 10:30am in plenty of time for the pairs dance long program. I can't remember who won but seem to think that they were from France. Or somewhere close to France.

During the intermission BowlingWidow (does this mean I'm now SkatingWidower?) and I took a lap around the concourse of the arena. It was an amazing logjam of humanity, largely due to the fact that the lineups of women waiting to get into the many restrooms were incredibly long. And clearly, the patience of these full-bladdered ladies was wearing quite thin as they inched toward the promised porcelain land. I can only hope and pray that any incidents were minimal and that they all made it back to their seats on time to enjoy the ladies long free skate program.

Kim Yu-Na puts the finishing touches on gold
While the pairs dance competition was artistic, the ladies free skate was full of daring maneuvers and a lot of risk taking. Some of the skaters, after a challenging jump, ended up back on the ice in a horizontal and not-so-good way. Bad for them but entertaining for a figure skating novice observer such as myself.

When the dust settled, it was South Korean Kim Yu-Na who turned in a brilliant performance to win easily. The next two were Japanese skaters with Americans taking fourth and fifth.

And Tonya Harding was nowhere to be found.

Skate America Comes to Everett!

BowlingWidow has always been a big figure skating fan and months ago I got us tickets for Skate America for this coming Sunday. Skate America is an annual national event and it's actually pretty cool that it's going to be in Everett at The Comcast Arena. NBC is even televising the thing nationwide on Sunday. BowlingJoe has been a fan of skating for a while as well. Only when I go it usually involves hockey sticks, a puck, and the occasional violent episode.

Since this is kind of a departure for me, I've developed a strategy on how I'm going to get through five hours of figure skating. Just in case another male bowler with an unsophisticated approach to life finds himself in a similar situation, I'd like to share a few "Do's and Don'ts" that I intend to adhere to this weekend:

Do's:

First thing: locate the nearest concession stand that sells beer. Visit early and often.

Leave your cowbell at home and save it for Everett Silvertip hockey games. "More cowbell" will not cure anyone's fever during an ice skating competition.

Throw a stuffed teddy bear out on the ice after a particularly good performance. It would be quite touching, and is also traditional and appropriate.

Make points with your wife/girlfriend by learning the difference between a triple axel and a toe loop jump.

Don'ts:

Scream out the word, "FIGHT" during the national anthem when "through the perilous fight" is sung. Again, save it for the hockey game.

Laugh and call a skater a "stumbly-wumbly" when he or she falls.

Point it out to the entire section when a contestant's skirt flies up.

Prior to the end of a female competitor's skate, tell your wife/girlfriend, "She's hot. I'm giving her a 10".


As a man of the people, BowlingJoe is always here to help.

Obama and The Bradley Effect

I was at my book group gathering last weekend and we were talking about the Presidential election. The topic of the Bradley Effect came up. It refers to discrepancies between what samples of people say they will do in polls (or in the case of exit polls what they have done) and the actual outcome of an election. In the 1982 California gubernatorial race, Tom Bradley (an African-American) was the projected winner based upon both pre-election and exit polling. But the newspapers had to stop the presses when George Deukmejian was ultimately declared the winner.

There have been other examples of the effect over the years in various mayoral and Senate races but this is the first time it’ll be put to the test on the level of the highest office in the land. As I write this, the Obama ticket has a composite of around a 5.1 point lead over McCain-Palin.

Will the Bradley Effect eat into this margin (assuming it holds) and make it a closer race than what many expect? Or are there valid counterarguments to Bradley, such as the notion that pollsters are predominately asking questions of people who have only land line phones and ignoring those with only cell phones (assuming that those cell-phoners would be younger voters and more apt to vote for Obama)?

I’m not sure what the answer to that is, but there’s no doubt in my mind that there’s enough covert racism in this country to make things interesting. I keep going back to a conversation I had with a family member a few weeks ago. This individual stated that some voters might say one thing in a poll but when it came time to actually cast a ballot “they won’t vote for a ni**er”.

Although I’ve grown to despise that particular word with the asterisks in the middle, I think that this person raised a valid (albeit sad) point, as we still have a long way to go in this country in so many respects.

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Any thoughts?

It's Bowling Season, Folks!

You know, this BowlingJoe blog has been going on for months now and it occurred to me that I’ve never really done a piece on bowling. This has to change and change right now, as we’re a good 4 weeks into our league’s 2008-2009 season and a mere three or so weeks from the start of the Professional Bowlers Association (PBA) season, with each of the tournament finals being aired on ESPN every Sunday morning through April. People just shake their head at BowlingJoe when he tells them he has a standing weekly appointment in front of his flat screen television to watch the greatest hardwood warriors in the world punishing the pins to support their families. But then I remind myself that some of these guys are the same folks who will watch technologically enhanced stock cars drive around an oval track 200 times and yell “git ‘r done” at the television.

My first memories of bowling go back to around age four, actually. My Port Angeles neighbor and longtime friend Kent and his family were avid bowlers and they brought me along one day. Picking up an 8 pound ball proved to be too taxing so I simply squatted down and rolled the ball with both hands right from the floor. Because those were the days before anyone thought about those wretched bumpers, I’m sure most of my shots went straight to the gutter, but after a few times in which the pins actually toppled I was hooked for life.

Kent and Shawn: my friends and bowling buddies for life

I joined a Saturday morning league, and had my neighborhood friends Kent, Rick, Shawn and Mark as teammates. All of them still pick up the ball from time to time except for Mark who is currently in the middle of a twenty year sentence for a triple felony. (Let this be a cautionary tale about how easy it is to slip into a life of crime when you give up bowling completely!). Later on I took some lessons, went to an all-week bowling camp in Issaquah, and actually got to the point where I could control the darned ball. This all went on until college where I averaged around 180-185 (naturally I thought I was better that I really was). Enter reality: marriage, the car, the house, the kid. Disposable income? What’s that? I hung up the bowling shoes from 1983-1997.

My bowling addiction resurfaced in ’97 when my friend John (we coached our kids in soccer and baseball for several years in Marysville) invited me to be on his Wednesday night team at Strawberry Lanes. I’d forgotten how much I missed being out on the hardwoods despite the fact that it was during the pre-smoking ban days and I’d go home smelling like the Marlboro Man.

I left Marysville for a Thursday afternoon league in Everett at Evergreen Lanes a couple of years later that was a better fit with my work schedule. Here's an active link to our stats and standings. It’s a nice little league. Eight three-person teams, scratch bowling (no handicap is used; teams and individuals go head to head). It’s competitive but we all know each other and have a pretty good time during the ten-frame combat. I’ve even had a brief moment of glory at Evergreen in a different Spring League, as I shot my one and only (so far) perfect 300 game in May of 2003. Bowlingwidow (in a very rare league bowling appearance) was even on my team and there to see it.

In the early stages of this season, our team is doing fairly well, sitting in third place out of eight. I’ve clawed my way up to an average of 210 after a not-so-good start. Pretty good, but there are people even in our little league who average in the upper 2-teens and even beyond 220. Of course, the dirty little secret to averaging that high “like a professional” lies in where and how much conditioner (or lane oil) the house puts on the lane. The patterns that the PBA uses are far more difficult and lower-scoring than the conditions we bowl on every week. None of us are quitting our day jobs and heading out on the PBA tour anytime soon.

The great cathedral of bowling in Reno, Nevada
In recent years, with Muffinhead-edboy off in college, I’ve hooked up with Brian and his gaggle of bowlers from the South Sound and tried my chances in the USBC (United States Bowling Congress) National Tournament to compete with 60,000 of my closest friends from around the country. Last year it was in Albuquerque, NM so Bowlingwidow and I made a long road trip out of it. Next year it’ll be a quick trip to Las Vegas, and the year after its back to Reno. I’ve never done well enough to have earned my entry fee back but it’s all about competing and participating in a sport that you really like with people who feel the same way. Not to mention a great regular excuse to take a little vacation.
Brothers Scott (left) and Brian (right) mentally prepare for the big event backstage in Reno

Wholly Matrimony in Port Angeles!

It’s not very often that an event will cause BowlingJoe to not be in attendance at an Al Stewart concert in the Seattle area, but here’s one that even trumped ol’ Al. Last Saturday, our family plus a couple of more crammed into the Toyota Matrix and headed off to the greater Port Angeles area for a wedding. My niece Alysa (daughter of my brother, SteelheadScot) was getting married to Derek from Minnesota. They met some time ago at a Bible School in Oregon called Ecola. And to think that all this time I thought that Ecola was something you get from eating bacteria-tainted spinach.

The crowd settles in for the outdoor wedding

We showed up a little bit after noon. I received a classic Olympic Peninsula greeting when my brother gave me a hug and doused me with some ritualistic beer from the bottle in his right hand as he was doing so. He has such a way of making me feel at home.

SteelheadScot and his lady Sheryl did a stellar job for weeks in preparation of this outdoor, footwear optional event. It all came together, including a glorious 75-degree sunny day. Tents, chairs and tables were in place. The caterers from Bushwacker Restaurant arrived on time and were busy preparing salmon, kabobs and lots of other stuff. Wheelbarrows full of ice, beer and soda started to show up. The hay bales were in place for us to sit down on during the ceremony.

The wedding official, BowlingJoe's dad and

BowlingJoe's stepmom: something that is not likely

to be seen in the same field of vision ever again.

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It was nice to mill around and visit with some family and friends we haven’t seen in a long time, as well as to meet some new people. And what a diverse crowd it was. The variety of folk ranged from the spiked hair/body pierced/tattooed set all the way to Latter Day Saint and everything in between. I was thinking and laughing to myself that this is the only occasion this particular assembly of humanity will appear together on the same piece of property.

After some official photos, it was time for the wedding to start at around 2:15pm. In lieu of providing a running commentary, I’ll simply say that it was a beautiful occasion and things went off without a hitch as far as I could tell. Despite the fact that I’m credited with officiating two weddings (yes, I’m the “Accidental Reverend”) what happens or doesn’t happen during a wedding ceremony still confuses the daylights out of me.

SteelheadScot walks Alysa down the aisle
In the end, however, the only important thing is that it was the day that Alysa and Derek were looking for. I have it on good word that indeed it was. So here’s to a long and happy marriage for you two. But please don’t be in too big of a hurry to start a family. The thought of calling my little brother a grandfather at this juncture of my life is really unsettling.

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Alysa reading vows to Derek: the deal is sealed!

The Failed Jocks Football League

For the last decade, the first week of September has meant two things: the opening of bowling season (which I’ll get to in one of these future blogs) and the Fantasy Football Draft. Except for a year’s hiatus, BowlingJoe has been making the annual late summer trek to Canyon’s in Bothell to try and outsmart a league full of other self-proclaimed football geniuses and win tens of dollars in valuable prize money.

The league is aptly called The Failed Jocks Football League, or FJFL, a name which Bowlingwidow invented for me when I was league commissioner. However, now that I think about it, a few of our teams are “owned” by the high school aged kids of our original members. I’ll let them have a free pass for now. I figure that by the year 2016 they too will reach the status of fully vested Failed Jocks.

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The Failed Jocks Football League: hard at work at the annual draft

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For the last few years, I’ve had a partner in this fantasy mayhem. He’s a loyal Washington State Cougar graduate and fan (and even remains so after last week’s savage beating at the hands of U-Cal) so we’re known as The Wazzahulas. And being a Central Washington grad myself, I figure that being tied to the only Pac-10 team east of the mountains is appropriate.

Everyone arrived at the draft on or before the designated time and most of us had our required supplies directly in front of us: beer, soda, appetizers. Oh, yeah, and the lists of available players with rankings that only football geniuses like us could develop.

In this league we get to keep two players from last year if we choose to. We kept running backs Frank Gore (SF) and Steven Jackson (St. Louis). Both were disappointments last year but are expected to be productive and have comeback years. Yeah…..that’s what I was thinking a couple of days ago when I saw a highlight of Steven Jackson taking a big hit for a loss and watched his helmet come off and fly across the field.

We’ll all be shooting to knock off last year’s regular season champion E. Chelsea (inexplicably, this league is loaded with guys who actually enjoy watching, playing, and coaching soccer). And in our “try and win your entry fee back” playoffs last year it was one of the kids and the Friday Night Lights team that prevailed.

Add Boyz Club, Boom and Nut, Who Dat?, Loose in the Palouse, The Bottom Line, Not Them Again, and On the Boards, and there’s our ten team league. Speaking of team names, BowlingJoe is really glad that we’ve managed to take the high road and keep the monikers clean. A long time ago in a league far, far away some schmuck decided to name his team Full Chub. A manly but nonetheless tasteless label.

The season is now officially underway, and our underachieving Wazzahulas are officially 0-1 after a ten-point loss to E. Chelsea. Next week we’ll send our squad back out to the pretend gridiron and take on the Boyz Club. The owner of the Boyz Club is a successful high school girls' soccer coach who is just starting his season and has a lot on his mind. Hmmm…..maybe if I can get him talking about his school team he’ll forget about submitting his FJFL lineup and we’ll default our way to the win column.

Let the strategy and dirty tricks begin!

Ring of Fire

BowlingJoe has been a fan of spicy foods and hot sauces since the early 1970s when the only thing that could be found in Port Angeles that was hotter than tomato sauce was Tabasco. (The original of course. The rest of the product line was 30 years away from being invented).

From an genetically acquired taste standpoint this makes absolutely no sense to me. My grandparents were of French-Canadian, Swedish, and English descent. Yet when I eat at Thai Restaurants, even 5-star dishes barely make me break a sweat. Jalapeno peppers go down like a dill pickle. Crushed red peppers on pizza? Always. And, although I draw the line at habaneros, I can’t get enough of the evil fire.

This all got me to thinking. Am I an addict? And is my stomach looking like a perforated PVC pipe in a drain field?

According to some research, when capsaicin, the chemical in spicy foods and peppers that makes them so hot, hits your tongue, your body registers the sensation as pain. This in turn triggers the release of endorphins, otherwise known as “happy” chemicals that give you an instant head-to-toe feeling of pleasure. While using spicy foods to feel pleasure may seem a bit similar to drug addiction, experts say there’s no harm in enjoying the burn and the ensuing rush of bliss.

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Just be careful you don’t get too used to the heat, otherwise other plain foods in your repertoire will start to taste bland and boring. That probably explains why I have a tendency to put Louisiana hot cajun sauce on my macaroni and cheese.

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An aisle at Double D Meats in Mountlake Terrace

And remember, if you bite into something fiery and find the pain unforgiving, capsaicin is a fat-soluble molecule. To calm the burn, don’t drink water, it'll only move the heat around to other parts of your mouth. Instead, drink whole milk or have a bite of ice cream for instant relief.

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Locally, if you're looking for a store that's the Taj Majal of heat, check out Double D Meats in Mountlake Terrace. Sure it's an award winning old fashioned butcher shop, but it also has aisles and aisles of hot sauce, barbecue sauces, peppers, and marinades. There's even a section behind a curtain for those naughty X-rated labels.

I'll end this tribute to the spices with an original salsa recipe that seems to be very popular. At least that's what they tell me at work when I bring it in. How bout it? Any other Chile-heads out there?

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BowlingJoe's Red Salsa

2 lbs. vine ripened tomatoes (blanched)

2 anaheim chile peppers (seeded)

4 jalapeno peppers (seeded to desired hotness)

1 medium yellow onion

3 scallions

4 garlic cloves

1 small bunch cilantro

juice from 1 lime

Lightly chop ingredients, process in salsa maker or food processor (be careful not to "over process" them). Chill in refrigerator. Serve with tortilla chips.

BoatingJoe?

Muffinheadedboy has a nice summer job this year at a Marine and Kayak Center called Popeye's at the Everett Marina. Most of it is retail sales and rentals, but one of his tasks is to assist the certified kayak instructor during weekly Thursday lessons. Back in June, during a weak moment, BowlingJoe said he'd show for a lesson sometime during the summer.

Last week, I took a few days off to resurface a deck, trim a couple of hedges, and some other things that people shouldn't be burning up precious vacation days to do. On Thursday it was time to switch gears and put up or shut up with a 2-hour kayak lesson. I headed straight to the wild waters of Silver Lake in Everett, an urban oasis in the shadows of Costco, after a quick pre-season bowling practice session at Evergreen Lanes.

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Muffinheadedboy gets the kayaks ready for action

When I arrived at the scene on a wickedly hot late afternoon, Muffin- headedboy and lead instructor Xon (pronounced "Zawn") Baker were setting out the 8 kayaks and paddles to be used. After some quick verbal instructions in which we were told how to paddle the things around, we were ready to hit the shores.

The first thing I noticed is that it just might present a challenge to install my body in the fairly small opening in the middle of the kayak which (like an airplane) is known as the "cockpit". I looked around for a tub of grease and a very large shoehorn to make the operation easier but there were none to be found.

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After a couple of false starts, we had success. The next challenge was to move the boat using the paddle while remaining above the surface of the water. I hadn't used a paddle quite like this before. They're like giant Q-Tips but with paddles on the two extremities instead of cotton swabs. Rule number one: you're less apt to tip over when you're relaxed. Rebuttal to rule number one: YOU try to relax when the boat starts to violently twist from left to right and right to left in less than 2 seconds.

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BowlingJoe somehow managing to stay afloat

("Is that a LEAD life vest he gave me, by the way?")

Eventually it did become apparent, however, that there would be no disastrous plunge into the lake if I just stayed focused and didn't try and do things such as watch the helicopter fly over the lake while paddling. Oh, and staying out of the way of the Hawaiian canoe and their seriously fast crew is a good idea as well.

When it came time for the optional mock rescue part of the program, BowlingJoe opted to stay dry. Several in the class, those potentially "serious" kayakers, did opt to take the Nestea Plunge only to have our heroes, Xon and Muffinheadeboy, come to the rescue. The accepted term for this exercise is a wet exit.

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After a bit more paddling around the lake it was time to head in and bring the equipment back to the staging area. Yep, kayaking was really a lot of fun and offers some great scenery and exercise. I may even try it again if the circumstances are right. But it'll be a cold day in hell before BowlingJoe feels more comfortable in the cockpit of a kayak than he does staring down ten pins and readying himself for battle on the hardwood approaches with his 15-pound weapon of choice.

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Mission Accomplished: Muffinheadedboy, BowlingJoe, Xon

"We're With The Band"

That’s what Dave Nachmanoff told us to say if any official looking people at the concert venue hassled us.

The adventure started this past Saturday morning, as Plummeting Tortoises Tim, Robert, and BowlingJoe hit the road from Marysville,WA in a 2005 Toyota Matrix. I’ll first say that many thanks go out to Bowlingwidow for somehow agreeing that it was an acceptable idea to loan her precious vehicle to a bunch of 40 and 50-something males of questionable maturity for an entire weekend. I owe you big time, dear.

Our destination was Moses Lake, Washington where our friend Dave would meet up with Al Stewart for a Saturday night show. Dave (featured in a June BowlingJoe blog that can be found in the archives) has been Al’s accompanying lead guitarist for several years now, in addition to recording and performing his own material, writing songs for others, and doing just about everything else that involves music.

BowlingJoe has been an Al Stewart fan (and darned near a completist) since 1977 on the day that I heard the first song, on vinyl naturally, on his signature “Year of the Cat” album. Tim had bought it and played it for me. The song was called “Lord Grenville” and it sent me scurrying to the library to learn about Sir Richard Grenville, a 16th century Elizabethan era sailor and explorer. His music was and continues to be relevant enough to inspire me to keep going back to the *virtual* library. It is 2008 after all. From the 1973 ballad “Old Admirals” (Admiral Lord Jackie Fisher, who resigned as First Sea Lord in 1915 after a dispute with Winston Churchill) through “Like William McKinley” on his new CD “Sparks of Ancient Light”, which won’t be released until September of this year, it’s always been about an entertaining paper chase for BowlingJoe.

We headed down I-5 and our first stop was to pick Dave up in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle where he played a house concert the night before. Having hosted Dave for a house show last year, it sounded like a fine night and I wish I could have attended. We dodged what looked like some sort of impromptu Seafair parade and were heading east on I-90 at 70mph before we knew it. The three of us and Dave exchanged greetings and told a few stories before we came up with a rough plan. We were clearly aware that, as Dave’s personal handlers, Al Stewart and hundreds of fans literally depended upon us to get him to the venue safely and functioning like a well-oiled machine when we did. I was to take the lead on gathering information on possible dinner ideas for Al. Tim and I would staff the merchandise table while Robert would be in the audience with a video camera filming some of the concert for Dave.

Tim, BowlingJoe, Dave, Robert at the Roslyn mural

Our first and only leg-stretching stop was in the small town of Roslyn, near the not-much-bigger town of Cle Elum in Central Washington. Roslyn was founded in 1886 as a coal mining town. But what it’s really know for is the fact that from 1990–1995, the television series "Northern Exposure" was filmed there. Many citizens of Roslyn appeared as extras in the show that was set in the fictional town of Cicely, Alaska. We took a few pictures, some video and moved on.

Some of you may want to know if we had any drugs for this crazy folk-rock road trip. Well, I’m happy to report that indeed we did. We had an incredible array: Metamucil, Imodium, prescription blood pressure medications, and even some Breathe Right nose strips to curtail the snoring during the anticipated wild evening at the motel.

We arrived at Moses Lake at around 3:15pm and checked into the Ameri-Stay Motel, none the worse for wear. Tim, Robert and I took over the “Al Stewart Suite”, as it turned out that Al and Ron Scott, one of his promoters, would be staying in Spokane that night. Being in a town of less than 18,000 in the middle of the Eastern Washington wilderness is….well….not exactly Al’s thing.

Dave headed to his room to do some ironing and catch his breath for a bit before the sound check that was rapidly approaching at 5:30. He had a pretty big breakfast that his house concert hosts prepared but the rest of us were looking for a little bit of inexpensive grub. We did that, making a very rare appearance at McDonalds, and checked out the only sushi restaurant in Moses Lake in case Al, a big fan of seaweed and raw fish, wanted us to pick something up for him for after the show. Like most restaurants in town, they closed early so delivery would have been the only option. As it turned out, he balked at the idea of less-than-fresh sushi (I can’t say that I blame him) and eventually opted for deli sandwiches that he and Ron went out and procured for after the show.

Al and Dave during the sound check

After a quick, “I thought YOU knew where the venue was” session between Robert and me that likely made Dave wonder if we were too incompetent to find the damn place, we saw a sign that said “Amphitheater”. We took that left turn thinking that there’s probably only one of those in Moses Lake. Of course we were right.

We parked near the stage at McCosh Park, unloaded Dave’s stuff and immediately set up to go to work. Well, it wasn’t all work. The three “roadies” were fortunate enough to be able to chat with Al for around 10 minutes outside of his temporary Winnebago headquarters. At first he didn’t really know what to make of us, but then seemed delighted that we knew such things as the fact that Tori Amos did vocals on his album “Last Days of the Century” and that he co-wrote an obscure and unreleased song called “No Sign of Rain” with Michelle Shocked. Nope. We weren’t hired hands from Moses Lake after all. We talked about Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello. And Al’s new CD of course. Life is a series of moments and this was one of them.

Tim in control at the merchandise table
The show started promptly at 8:00 with Dave performing an excellent three song set (“Square Peg Blues”, “Lucky”, and “Grateful”). The crowd responded well and this was confirmed later with a worthy response at the merchandise table.

Al then took the stage with Dave and started with “House of Clocks” as they often do and then progressed into other things including some songs from the not-yet-released disc. For many in the audience the highlight of the show was a brilliant 9-minute version of the epic song “Roads to Moscow” based on the life of Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Little did any of us in the Moses Lake venue know that Solzhenitsyn would die less than 24 hours later in Moscow at age 89.

Al and Dave giving the Moses Lake crowd what they want

When it was all said and done, Al Stewart turned in yet another outstanding performance with Dave Nachmanoff doing it all on lead guitar. We said goodbye to the Spokane-bound Ron and Al and headed back to the motel while Dave changed back into Levis and a comfortable t-shirt.

The only non-fast food place that was open for food at 11:30 pm in Moses Lake on a Saturday night is a sports bar and casino called Papa’s. And the only food they served at that time was pizza. It was across the parking lot from the motel and since beggars can’t be choosers, the four of us were all over it. The joint is connected to The Lake Bowl bowling center, which would normally make me very happy. But at that time of night it’s all about teenagers, strobe lights, thumping music and disco balls. If BowlingJoe dared to hit the approaches with his 15 pound orb, he’d be more apt to have a seizure than to toss a strike.

We made our way into Papa’s and occupied a booth overlooking the small but very noisy and active casino. Unlike Dave, the three of us tend to (out of necessity) take the “early to bed and early to rise” approach. It seemed odd to us that (a) there are colonies of people who hit their strides after midnight and (b) they all like to gamble.

We ordered a large combo pizza and some hefeweizen to wash it down as we listened to Dave tell some hilarious stories about being on the road and the interesting (often strange) people he’s met and worked with. Before we knew it, it was 1:00am and time to head back across the parking log to get some sleep prior to our 9:15am (a bit on the early side for Dave) gathering in the lobby to prepare for the road back to Seattle.

More laughs ensued on the seemingly fast trip back to “civilization” across the Columbia River and over the Cascade Range at Snoqualmie Pass. We needed music so we slid a Fountains of Wayne CD into the player and bobbed our heads to the great sounds and clever lyrics, following it up with a little bit of Martin Simpson folk flavoring that Tim had brought to finish up the trip. Dave was delivered safely to Sea-Tac airport at one o’ clock in plenty of time for his short flight to Sacramento, followed by a quick ride to Davis, where his family would greet him and celebrate the fact the he, like Al, survived the sojourn into the belly of the Eastern Washington wasteland and emerged unscathed.

We pointed the Matrix north and set it on autopilot. Mission accomplished. We looked at each other and just smiled. No need for words. We have the memory of a fine little weekend and nobody can take it away.

The last men standing: Tim, Dave Nachmanoff, Robert, Al Stewart, BowlingJoe