"Do you act?"

Last night, a bunch of us law students went bowling to celebrate two separate birthdays. If you are anything like me, bowling normally induces painful, interminable boredom and you avoid it at all costs. But not this night. Because, rather than head to the standard neighborhood bowling alley, the birthday duo chose to host their party at the most famous bowling alley in New York City: Bowlmor.

To call this place a bowling alley in the first place is to do it a tremendous disservice. It is much more accurate to describe it thusly: Bowlmor is a snazzy multi-story club that serves expensive drinks (two shots for $21) and, incidentally, has a collection of bowling shoes, bowling balls, pins, and lanes. To my eyes, the bowling component of the whole experience seemed largely ancillary. Most people, including me, just drink and watch the bowling rather than actually participate. Ethan Hawke was there but I'm not sure which one of the two he chose.

After bowling, a majority of the people attending the celebration grabbed cabs to go to a club called Blvd in the Bowery. At this point, the b-day girl was wasted, so Brian and I stayed around for a bit to make sure that she was okay. Lucky for us, she had some friends from out-of-town that were ready and willing to take care of her. Freed from responsibility, we turned to the less difficult task of getting a cab.

While trying to hail a cab, we noticed two guys on the corner from Bowlmor and we asked if they were going to the club as well. They answered in the affirmative, so we all jumped in a cab together. On the way, we discusssed San Francisco because the taller guy was going to be there for a job on NYE. This is when my mind should have put two and two together but it didn't, and I continued to talk with them unaware that we were in a cab with Stretch Armstrong, a famous DJ in NYC who somehow knows the b-day girl.

This fact did eventually come to light when we were trying to gain entry to the club. Stretch simply walked up the bouncers, gave a high five or two, and the velvet rope moved aside instantly, allowing us to circumvent the huge line of people waiting outside. I find it always helps to befriend semi-famous people in these sort of circumstances. Unlike the rest of our posse who had already arrived, we even ended up with two stamps, which may or may not allowed us access to the VIP part of the club. Unfortunately, we will never know because we didn't try it out.

The club was packed to the brim with partying people, but the night turned out to be somewhat uneventful. Nevertheless, one interesting occurrence happened near the night's conclusion. As I was waiting in line to pick up my jacket from the coat check, I noticed two girls staring at me. When I looked over, one of them shook her head negatively, and they both turned away. With a good amount of alcohol in my system, I was more curious than usual so I asked them what they were talking about. In response to my interruption, one of the girls then said, "Do you act?"

Of course, faced with such a preposterous question, I had to make a dumb joke, so I said something like the following: "No, I would but I can't read lines."

(Noticeable lack of even the slightest bit of laughter)

"Oh, because you should. You look like someone famous. Do people tell you that?"

"Sometimes."

Here, as usual, I refuse to give them any ideas, and so they fish around, pulling out random names. One of them, however, did say manage to come up with the perennial favorite.

"You look exactly like Ed Norton."

Why does that happen so often? It is so far from true that it hurts. I guess if people can think that an uber-white guy is half-japanese, half-white (got that once last night), then I shouldn't be surprised that they mistake me for an actor whom I look nothing like.