Issue #05/60, March 10 - 24, 1999  

If you're tiring of trying to find fun in the empty world of nightclubs and bars, then do what my girlfriend Amy and I do and try your hand at the newest Moscow sport craze, bowling. Bowling's meteoric rise is truly astonishing, indeed.

Amy and I try to fit bowling into our schedules at least once or twice a month. And one of our favorite places is that the rising star of Moscow's burgeoning bowling scene: Cosmik Bowling. Located about ten minutes from Park Kultury metro and Guriya restaurant (one of Amy's favorites), Cosmik is massive by emerging bowling markets' standards. It features sixteen full lanes, half of which are of the "cosmic" variety, and half of which are fully (normally) lit.

Here I should explain to the reader a brief history of bowling in Moscow. It has only recently hit Moscow, and therefore, it is not exactly what you'd expect in the West. For one thing, some alleys feature shortened lanes (Tsentr, Kegly, Bi-Ba-Bow), which is to say, kegly (please forgive my spelling if I'm wrong here), while others feature black-lit lanes with pulsing techno music--what is otherwise known as "cosmic bowling." My sources tell me that this great Russian innovation was first introduced at the Dinamo bowling alley.

Another important tidbit is that Russians have no manners in bowling. They bowl as poorly as they play billiards, holding the ball high above their heads, dropping it like a hot potato, and sliding into your lane. Amy complained once to a certain flathead type about not sliding into her lane while she was preparing to roll, and I was nearly beaten to a pulp on her behalf. She and I had a long discussion about that incident afterwards, needless to say.

I guess that's why we like Cosmik: you have plenty of choice here. The lanes are full-sized, the shoes come with, and it even features state-of-the-art computer graphics that keeps score, gives you tips and puts on a little song and dance for you if you hit a strike or spare.

Now for the downside. The lanes are almost always full. The only way around this is to make reservations. But you can't do that unless you're a club-card holder. How do you get a club card? Easy. For the low-low price of $300 dollars. Amy and I were downright flabbergasted at the thought of paying so much money during the crisis. It's not the money so much--we could afford that--but it's the principle.

I still have to tend to nightlife, whether I like it or not, and this issue I'll take you to where the beer is REALLY cheap. Let's take a drive to Drive, the reincarnated Ne Bei Kopytom, located way the heck out on Prospekt Vernadskogo. Drive is located in a pretty typical Soviet Dom Kultury/movie house. Walk into the DK, up the worn out palatial staircase, and you'll enter a pretty typical, if decent, rock venue. In the first hall you've got a bar packed with plastic lawn furniture. The cheap design pays off in the form of ultra-cheap drinks. Half-liter beers went for a mere 15 rubles, something that even Amy still talks approvingly of.

The main hall is a typical live music hall with room for a few hundred people. The only downside is that the sound system is really primitive. The PA consists of terribly dated speakers with huge exposed horns that bleat out a pretty tinny sound, although maybe that's the kind of raw thing they're going for.

At one point, when Amy was off at the bathroom, I found myself talking to a group of girls in the eleventh class, who told me that Drive was their favorite new hangout. They were kind of aggressive towards me, as they had been drinking. One kept rubbing my beard and telling me how sexy she thought it was. She handed me a phone number just as Amy returned from the bathroom, and I wound up sleeping on the couch for two nights after going to Drive. I guess that's what being an eXile writer is all about.