Sun Sets On Sunset Bowl
There was little real reason to expect anything different during Sunset Bowl's last night of operation. We read histrionic predictions somewhere that hipsters would swarm the place; this never materialized. There were perhaps a few more people--though that place was always packed whenever we went--and some may have stuck around later, but by and large the clientèle consisted of the same combination of loud, scruffy, tattooed, pierced, well-groomed, young, old, middle-aged, beefy, wiry, scrawny, trashy, nerdy, slightly-off-kilter, and unironic miscreants that one normally found there. In short, the place was filled with bowlers, drinkers, and karaoke singers.
It was a lot like Prairie Home Companion, the film: the cast went on like they've done for decades and put on a good show despite the impending gloom of the final curtain. Everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. Last call and the final frame at Sunset came a bit later than the scheduled one a.m. closing time. It wasn't until the very end that some emotion overcame some of the patrons. Two people stood outside and smoked, both fighting back watery eyes. One woman walked down the lane, stole a pin, and gave it to her friend. A staff member came by and tossed the pin back down the lane. Meanwhile, a group of bowlers begged and demanded that they be allowed to finish their game. After a few minutes of surreal drama, they were set to play out their tenth frame.
Most people, though, just had a good time. They toasted the Sunset and they took group pictures. The dingy bar was packed for karaoke; they were running low on liquor. Sunset, as usual, was filling the role that few other places in the surrounding area can. Unfortunately, the Sundowner was already closed. No more delicious chicken-fried steak dinners for us. And the old ladies will have to go elsewhere for their breakfast meetings. Outside one of the other doors, a staff member was speaking of another bowling alley to some patrons: "That's where my leagues have moved".
Suddenly, with that comment and with the place closed, it was no longer Prairie Home Companion; rather, it was the final scenes of Fiddler on the Roof. Like the Jews of Anatevka, hard-core bowlers merely packed up their belongings and their heavy hearts and moved on down the road. Unfortunately for us, we're casual and gloriously bad bowlers who didn't go to Sunset as often as we would have liked to because of the sheer number of league bowlers occupying the lanes. Will we bowl even less now that we can't bus or walk as easily? But that doesn't matter; it was never about us. Every time we took a late night run to Ballard Market, we were happy that Sunset was open. By the look of their parking lot, we knew others were enjoying the place and that made us happy. For this reason, Ballard has became a little deader and shallower. The diversity of places to hang out that aren't bars or chi-chi restaurants keeps decreasing toward a critical ratio of excremental proportions.
Now, we're not ones to pin all the blame on soulless, upwardly mobile professionals who have no concept of neighborhood or community. Nor are we ones to pin all the blame on the absentee developers who callously ravage neighborhoods and refuse to understand communities. In our recent documentations, thinkings, and investigations of Ballard, we've come to realize that a little bit of gentrification ("re-investment") is a good thing. On the one hand, we're happy about the new Trader Joe's. On the other hand, we're going to have to suffer the fools who patronize 24 Hour Fitness. On the one hand, the numbers of women-owned businesses, the renovation of historic properties, and an appropriate increase in density aren't bad. On the other hand, there is never just a little gentrification. When it comes to functioning neighborhoods, developers don't seem to understand balance--only speculation, free-market zealotry, competition to build first. Unfortunately, this last phenomenon often leads to neighborhoods that are smoldering shells of their former selves before balance is restored.
So, on the one hand, we say we welcome our new condo overlords in that sincere, good-natured-ribbing sort of way in which one razzes the n00bs. On the other hand, we also lash out condo bitches go back to Bellevue. Some days, we are stoic Garrison Keillor and go about our lives; other days we are reactionary Tevye yelling No! there is no other hand!
We're willing to roll with the changes in Ballard, both good and bad. People and neighborhoods are remarkably resilient and adaptable. But we're also sick and fucking tired of writing requiems for places that had a lot of life in them when they were killed. Fuck with the Ballard Market, for example, and there will be blood.
