Jeff and I went to Sara's sisters for a cookout of sorts last night. OK, a Hollywood (the neighborhood, not the metaphorical place) cookout--soy hot dogs, grilled portabello mushrooms, and tofu ice cream sandwiches. Not surprisingly, I chose last night to eat a very sparse dinner.

Anyway, the point of this post is that I had a quintessential "guy" moment last night. The plan, after dinner, was to go bowling. At the cookout, I met this friend of many of my friends who I had heard a lot about, and for whatever reason we almost immediately started in with a mock controversy about kicking each other's ass at bowling or something. It was clearly an ironic fake macho thing, but here's the punchline. When I got up there as the last bowler in the 10th frame needing a mark to win, I was actually feeling the pressure. And when I got a strike, it instantly became one of the top ten athletic highlights of my life. And Jesse, I'm pretty sure, was at least a little bit disappointed for real. Guys; go figure.

Just for the record, I bowled a 145, which just goes to show that I can actually bowl OK on the rare occasions where I can find a relatively light ball with big enough and widely enough spaced finger and thumb holes. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen much, and I don't bowl often enough to actually invest in one.