blocking

I keep telling people that this is going to be my last season. When they ask why, my responses vary, but they're usually along the lines of, "I keep getting older and bitches keep getting younger" or "I've been doing this way too long" or "I've been neglecting my other hobbies for the past six years" or "I need to focus on my career" or "I'm broken" or "My scrabble game needs work" or "I should get out of L.A. and buy a house somewhere" or "I'm tired" or "I'm moving to Tucson." I'm not sure which of these things remain true outside of the moment it was uttered. When I see them in print like this, I'm skeptical (Wait, what? A house? Tucson?!).

Many of these sentiments felt true during the holidays, when the league was on break and I had so much time to myself. Another season of derby seemed far away and like a lot of work. Then I put my skates back on a few weeks ago, and lo, the fire under my ass was reignited. Oh yeah, I love doing this shit. I still think this will be my final season, but the plan is to go out in a blaze.

Saturday night was the 2010 season opener, the Sirens vs. the Varsity Brawlers, and I was working the Paso Creek bar with Krissy Krash, pouring wine to raise money for the league's travel teams. The Dolls' biggest blocker, Krash has nearly a foot on me. I stood on a crate behind the bar so as not to be dwarfed. She was all overgrown Girl Scout in her Tough Cookie uniform, and me, midget to her left, was all layers and a scarf because the Doll Factory is a meat locker in January. Even on a game night.

Bong Jovi, the league's Head of Events, breezed by our table on his rounds.

"You should block more," he told me.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I like your style. It's been a while."

"I don't know. I can obstruct, but my hits aren't very powerful."

"No, blog."

"Block?"

My hearing isn't so great, but Jovi eventually got his point across, so here I am blogging. I have a lot of things I could write about -- the most recent wedding I attended or my new roommate, Lei (who's really my old roommate), or the fun stuff the Beer Committee's been up to, or my yoga breakthroughs, or health care, or FUCKING HAITI, but I think I'll just tell you about my bad reading habits for now.

In my experience, when you read too many things at once, you manage to read very little. I have book club obligations, a tower of New Yorkers to conquer, books gifted to me, the stuff I want to read for pleasure and the stuff I should read for pain. I did finish The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which is as good as everyone says, and I listened to Zeitoun as an audio book on my drive to and from Phoenix, which I've been recommending to everyone.

Since December, I have been reading the Collected Stories of Lydia Davis the way I imagine people read the bible. Her stories are short, quick, arresting. They feel like fables. The collection is heavy at 600+ pages, but some stories are only a few sentences. So, I open the pink volume to a random page and read a story or two, sometimes when I wake up in the morning or before I go to bed at night.

Tomorrow I might blog about that wedding.