Kentucky Worst Episode Ever! Among my own kind at the Big Lebowski What Have You Fest Simpsons fans will recognize the above headline as the catchphrase of the overweight, overcritical, over-obsessive-about-pop-culture comic book store proprietor. He’s a great character, largely because we all know a guy who’s a lot like him: has a full set of original Star Wars action figures, a library of mint-condition comic books and drawers full of vintage kitsch t-shirts emblazoned with “Atari” or “Bazooka Joe” logos. He speaks largely in movie quotes, able to work a Wrath of Kahn line into any conversation. He is smug in his vast knowledge of all things fringe, and has contempt for the general public; he finds soul mates only in those who appreciate his talents. It was, I suspected, someone very much like this who emailed me about a party he felt I should attend. A tribute to the film The Big Lebowski and billed as the “First Annual Big Lebowski What Have You Fest,” the party was taking place at a bowling alley in Louisville, KY on a night I had scheduled to be in Philadelphia, PA. As I dug further, I learned that one of the party’s hosts owned a t-shirt & novelty shop (not unlike a comic book store…) and that the Web site for the fest was riddled with layer upon layer of movie quotes and references. The event had been written about in the Louisville paper, and RSVPs had come from as far away as Buffalo, NY and Tucson, AZ. This was shaping up to be a serious geek fest, a convention of people trying to one-up each other on trivia and beat each other to movie quotes. As a practicing geek myself, I cancelled Philly and made like Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit (the first one, mind you, before the film’s integrity was cast so nonchalantly aside for the commercial reward of sequels) for Kentucky. At the border, as always, a Kentucky State Trooper stopped me and ridded Mom’s Honda of all contraband: books, shoes and writing instruments, all of which are outlawed in the Bluegrass State. (It’s an old joke, but one I feel compelled to tell, as an Ohioan. Kentuckians tell the same one on their way north. Those who own the shoes required to travel north, that is.) Fellowship among the sharks Fellowship Lanes, where the Lebowski Fest was being held, is located in a part of Louisville called Shively; “Lively Shively” to the locals. It’s lively all right. Everyone I knew from Louisville expressed grave concern over the location; locals I knew refused to accompany me there (“I’ve got a family to think about…”) and on my way out the door, my host worried aloud that my going there could well bring further tragedy for my mother, who’d already lost her husband within the last 20 months. I assured him that Fellowship is actually a Baptist-run bowling center, and therefore wouldn’t even have alcohol…so it had to be safe. He didn’t seem too convinced as I walked out the door; I soon understood why. Shively is a strip club Mecca. Neon screams of “nude women” and “XXX shows” left and right. Establishments with names like “The Pleasure Inn,” “Club Xtreme” and “Foxy Lady’s” pepper the landscape. Knowing that there was no bar at Fellowship, I was looking for a liquor store where I could pick up some Kentucky bourbon to smuggle in with me. There was no shortage of liquor stores, but the darkness of the streets and my host’s voice in my mind (“think of your mother…”) convinced me that I should probably do without on this night. I went straight to the Fellowship, an island of puritan (well, Baptist, anyway) values in a sea of neon sin. Upon my entrance, Will, one of the fest’s hosts, greets me. “Hey, bowling road trip guy.” This is the first time I’ve ever been “recognized” from my Web site (likely to be the only time) and I immediately let it go to my head, acting like it happens all the time and looking around for the flock of screaming girls. Will is dressed convincingly as Walter, John Goodman’s character in the movie (one element of the party is a costume contest), and he introduces me to a handful of people. Scott, the other party organizer actually announces over a microphone that “the bowling road trip guy is here,” spawning a sporadic smattering of applause that does something much smaller than “erupt” from the lanes. On the wall near the entrance are signs proclaiming things that can’t be done at Fellowship Lanes, and below these signs is a sign directing the reader to read the signs above it. These are surely the only such signs in Lively Shively. Strangely, considering what goes on in the rest of the neighborhood, there isn’t a sign prohibiting topless dancing. “What does that sign say?” “No bare feet…” (That’s a movie quote, for the non-geeks reading this.) Now that I’ve bashed the sort of people who go to these things (and myself implicitly, since I cancelled other plans to attend), and the place in which it occurred, allow me to celebrate the entire event. Never before have I seen such community among total strangers (some of whom were dressed as “The Stranger,” Sam Elliot’s character from the movie) or such fun (since college, anyway) without alcohol in the mix. By the time I arrived, all of the lanes were full, but people were freely sharing their bowling space with newcomers, and I was welcomed warmly by a father and son duo who had come from Oxford, Ohio for the event. Matt, a 15-year-old who had introduced his father to the R-rated, f-word filled movie, actually skipped his high school homecoming dance for the event. Any of us who can remember our own high school homecomings sophomore year might wish we had done the same. Bravo, Matt. Will and Scott, the hosts, thought of the party idea while bored senseless at a tattoo convention where they were selling t-shirts. Deservingly, they were thrilled with the turnout and the party’s success. “For the first two hours,” Scott said, “I just walked around smiling. I couldn’t help it.” Will and Scott, pied pipers of the What Have You Fest. Bias in standardized tests? I think not. In one of my favorite moments of the night, a group is gathered for the second round of the trivia contest (there were three rounds, all written). This takes place in a backroom with a meeting table and some desks around; the test takers are seated every-other-chair as Will and Scott distribute the tests, face down and, just like real teachers and with no hint of irony, remind the group, “Don’t forget to put your name on your paper.” Note the guy in front, still wearing his bowling wristguard for the test. I'd check it for a cheat sheet... All faiths welcomed, unless you’re going to make out... In yet another odd juxtaposition, a group of friends who referred to themselves collectively as “The Jew Crew” due to their religious heritage was gathered here in this Baptist bowling center. (One of the signs at the entrance explains that the center was open to all denominations for “the sport of bowling and Christian fellowship.”) I think they were here more for the bowling. Well, that’s not entirely true. They were also there for the public displays of affection, which began as a joke and then turned into an awkward silence for me as couples paired off, giving Eskimo kisses and generally making me feel uneasy. I hereby share some of my pain with you, the viewing public. How was that for you? Co-winners of the “furthest traveled” award went to this group, most of whom came from Buffalo, NY and some of whom skipped a day of high school under the guise of “visiting colleges for next year.” Fantastic. Amid the Atari and Bazooka Joe t-shirts was this shirt, ever so subtly announcing its wearer’s stance on a divisive issue. No, really. Where do you stand on abortion? Seriously, don’t hold back. The Dude abides... At the party’s end, just like at the movie’s end, there is a sense of calm, resolution and continuation; an acknowledgement that all is basically balanced, if not quite right, with the world. In The Dude’s (Jeff Bridges’ character) own words, “strikes and gutters, ups and downs…” Will, Scott, some of their close friends and the crew from Buffalo are convened at the check-in table by the front door to Fellowship Lanes. It’s that end-of-the-night moment when the people who had the best time are the only ones left, and there’s an unspoken, collective desire to not let it end, to hold on a little longer. Everyone knows it but no one acknowledges it. Every awkward silence is broken by a movie quote just before it can take over and end the night. Plans for next year are already being discussed: there will definitely be alcohol (though all agreed that the Fellowship was the perfect venue for the first event), there will be better prizes and perhaps even a screening of the film. A group of people who hadn’t known each other until tonight will reunite, and perhaps hundreds more will have this same experience for the first time. In the words of The Stranger: ”I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that.” Six down, 44 to go.