On the way out of the movies recently, my friend Craig turned to me and said, "We need to go bowling." And he was right. We did need to go bowling. I'm not sure that healthy people need to go bowling too often. But we all have an internal bowling clock, which goes off every so often. And when it does, the only thing for it is to strap on those two-tone shoes and hit the lanes.

We were bowling our last game (the same clock that tells you it's time to bowl also tells you it's time to stop), when they announced last game. When they announced this, one of the folks who work at the alley got out a lane-polishing machine - a sort of ten-pin zamboni - and started sending it up the lanes. It cruised out to the end, then switched gears and came back. It was well-trained.

Two younger bowlers were bowling in the lane next to ours. One, I believe, was the son of the manager, and after rolling the ball down the lane once, he fell, a real Buster Keaton move. (I had to explain to Craig who Buster Keaton was.) It was the sort of fall that, when other people find it amusing, you can't be too upset about it. He released the ball, his two-tones shot out to the side, and he tumbled. He wasn't too tall a fellow, so he didn't fall too far, and he came up grinning. Slapstick is like that. Laugh, especially when you are bowling, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and the world will just switch gears and laugh at you. Your choice.