2005-04-11 - 8:08 p.m.

In an embarrassing development, I seem to have developed some kind of bowling-related injury. Ten pin, that is, not crown green, which would have been even more shameful considering it�s for men who served in both wars. Given that bowling seems to be one of the few �sports� where corpulent deviants excel (as in pool, darts, and the diplomatic service), it doesn�t bode well for my physical state. After just a few frames early Sunday morning, my legs feel like they�ve recently undergone keyhole surgery and my wrist hasn�t ached this much since early adolescence. Still, it remains one of the few things I, or my peers, could conceivably become world champion at � as opposed to, say, coxless fours rowing or that skiing event in the Olympics where you have to shoot things with a gun at the same time.

I performed miserably, of course, and have a technique more akin to flailing, though the loud activities of the nearby infants may have affected the integrity of my performance, I think.

Plus, I was coming off what verged on a very alcoholic night with Erin, Christopher and Kathleen, and a definitely very alcoholic night with Sarah and Jennifer and Jenny that involved my singing This Charming Man in a small, smokey room after the requisite 6 hours in the pub and shots of tequila gold.

Anyway, the post-bowling afternoon was spent at the Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, which I assume is a bit like Sundance but with more shorts involving fisting. Bruce and I watched a documentary about Latino Morrissey fans, which promised to be interesting but fell short. I thought it would look at the big, macho Latino Morrissey fans whose fondness for Mozzer was a contradiction in their personalities, but instead it was just the foppy, fey Latinos who OF COURSE were Morrissey fans and just happened to be blessed with the perfect hair for this, not that I was jealous AT ALL.

The quiff count in the audience was surprisingly low. I thought everyone bar the front row would have their views blocked by overgrown pompadours. But I guess the people who were original Smiths fans are fighting pattern baldness by now. Welcome to my world, friends.