Everything happens for a reason, right? We've all heard it.
Is it true?
Maybe, because why in the world would there be a meaning behind
my obsession for a little Mexican toy.
Here's a link to the post I wrote a while ago about the
Balero.
My involvement with the Balero lead me to discover a few
things I would have never known about had I not
taken freaky to another level.
I learned that Wild Bill was better than I could ever be.
I learned that there was such thing as a Balero Association,
and I learned that a Balero can bring joy
to a room full of winos.
I also learned that many other countries have a similar toy.
One of these countries is Japan, home of the Kendama.
Here's where I find reason.
On Valentines Day the Dish and I attended the L.A. Times Travel Show
at the L.A. Convention Center.
There were booths galore, people from all over the world vying for anyone's attention.
There were raffles and e-mail lists, a zip line and a lady enveloped in fake, colorful feathers.
Huell Howser was there. The kid that sailed the world solo was there.
He was there, she was there, they were there and it was there.
The Kendama was there.
When I saw it I stopped firmly in my tracks, which was difficult
considering how many people were tailgating.
If you weren't paying attention you could have had a
face full of strange hair at any moment.
This place was packed, like the hallway of a movie
theatre when the credits roll.
The Japanese man playing with the Kendama
noticed my interest and handed one to me.
He said if I get the ball onto the cup three
times in a row I would win.
Win what? I didn't know. I didn't care.
I was stuck in my mind thinking that everything made sense.
I remembered that day in Mexico.
I remembered how the Balero seemed so difficult.
I remembered thinking how I needed to practice
before my friend Jeremy became a master.
I practiced everyday. I made strange, lonely videos.
I worked on tricks like it was a skateboard and I was fifteen.
The clarifying moment had arrived, and I noticed it.
All the practice, all those nights showing off and
drinking wine, it was for this moment.
The red ball dangled near my knees. I pulled up.
The ball landed on the cup, but not smoothly.
I had to convince it to stay, like I had done so many times before.
I quickly countered the erratic movement
and forced the ball to stay on the cup.
The guy was amazed. He said so, but it sounded more like a gasp.
He removed the ball and said, "Two more times."
The final two attempts were far from dramatic. I had locked on.
I knew this toy better than most of the folks
pacing the enormous room.
The man almost looked grateful when he said I could keep the Kendama, my prize.
His smile stretched from ear to ear.
His colleagues too, they seemed impressed that
an American could walk up,
take hold of a foreign toy and kick its ass.
I could have explained my story, but why ruin the mystery?
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