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.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Gift of Danzig
My buddy Ji gave me a little Danzig a few days ago, and I feel compelled to share the wealth.
Happy Holidays! And now Phoenix, ho! I'll be sure to drive past the Danzig estate on my way outta town.
Happy Holidays! And now Phoenix, ho! I'll be sure to drive past the Danzig estate on my way outta town.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Strawberry Jam
I got back from yoga Sunday afternoon and had a meltdown because there was no sign of Shannon. The boxes and suitcases were gone from her bedroom. Her toiletries were MIA. I started to cry because I didn't have a chance to say a proper goodbye. I opened the refrigerator and took an inventory of the food she left behind: shredded vegan cheese I will never eat; her homemade pesto that I definitely will.
Shannon's LAPL contract is over and she's moving back east. Thanks to a series recording that she programmed, the DVR is amassing episodes of The Jersey Shore. I watched for the first time yesterday to get a sense of the world to which Shannon is returning. Not only did this show fill me with existential anxiety, but as I watched Snooki get punched in the face, I worried for Shannon's safety.
No more Shanny asleep on the sofa; no more happy nipples to greet me when I walk through the door. Other things she left behind: the amazing bike rack she bought for my birthday (with the help of some friends); a cabinet full of tea; the tinfoil star that she made for our Christmas tree; the construction paper happy birthday banner that's still strung across our living room all these weeks later. Neither of us had the heart to take it down.
A few weeks ago, while we were both at work, she wrote me an email that said, "Meghan! I got you a present today and I don't think I can wait until Christmas to give it to you because I am excited!"
The gift, it turned out, was something I'd already purchased and devoured a few months prior: Lorrie Moore's latest novel, A Gate at the Stairs. The copy Shannon gave me was better though because it was signed by Moore, my favorite writer.
"Tell you what," I told Shannon. "I want you to have the one I bought for myself. It will be your Christmas present."
It was good to see her curled up with that book on our sofa these last few weeks.
I was sitting on the same sofa Sunday afternoon, staring at the tinfoil star, cursing myself for not getting back from yoga in time to say goodbye, when Shannon came running through the front door, breathless.
"You didn't leave!" I jumped up. "I thought I missed my chance to say goodbye!"
"I forgot my jam in the fridge." A few nights ago, Shannon made jam to give out as Christmas presents. I'd had some on toast that morning. This moment marked the end of homemade jam.
"Are you crying?" she asked when she saw my face. "I'll be back next month!"
It was true. She'd be back in mid-January to finish up the last few weeks of her work contract.
"Yeah, but that's not the same. You won't be living here!"
So we hugged and kissed and I got the closure I thought I needed. She ran back out the door, her arms now laden with strawberry jam, and I thought about the first time we met: on the street in New York, 2005. I was on vacation, and we were standing outside a club on the Lower East Side with a group of our mutual friends. Olivian had mentioned that Shannon was applying to UCLA's library program. It was summer and all of us were shining with sweat. My hair was frizzy from the humidity and the subway ride. Shannon had been riding her bike, and wore impossibly short shorts that I would see her wear again, years later, prancing around our apartment. She looked like my kind of girl, someone I could be friends with. She told me that she liked my dress, which was red and I thought maybe too flashy considering that all we did that night was stand around on the street, never setting foot inside that club. But I thanked her for the compliment. I wouldn't see her again until a year later when she showed up in my Los Angeles apartment with her boxes and lavender-scented cleaning supplies.
The apartment felt so empty Sunday night that I rode my bike to the Sunset 5 and watched a movie in a theater full of strangers so as not to be alone.
Shannon's LAPL contract is over and she's moving back east. Thanks to a series recording that she programmed, the DVR is amassing episodes of The Jersey Shore. I watched for the first time yesterday to get a sense of the world to which Shannon is returning. Not only did this show fill me with existential anxiety, but as I watched Snooki get punched in the face, I worried for Shannon's safety.
No more Shanny asleep on the sofa; no more happy nipples to greet me when I walk through the door. Other things she left behind: the amazing bike rack she bought for my birthday (with the help of some friends); a cabinet full of tea; the tinfoil star that she made for our Christmas tree; the construction paper happy birthday banner that's still strung across our living room all these weeks later. Neither of us had the heart to take it down.
A few weeks ago, while we were both at work, she wrote me an email that said, "Meghan! I got you a present today and I don't think I can wait until Christmas to give it to you because I am excited!"
The gift, it turned out, was something I'd already purchased and devoured a few months prior: Lorrie Moore's latest novel, A Gate at the Stairs. The copy Shannon gave me was better though because it was signed by Moore, my favorite writer.
"Tell you what," I told Shannon. "I want you to have the one I bought for myself. It will be your Christmas present."
It was good to see her curled up with that book on our sofa these last few weeks.
I was sitting on the same sofa Sunday afternoon, staring at the tinfoil star, cursing myself for not getting back from yoga in time to say goodbye, when Shannon came running through the front door, breathless.
"You didn't leave!" I jumped up. "I thought I missed my chance to say goodbye!"
"I forgot my jam in the fridge." A few nights ago, Shannon made jam to give out as Christmas presents. I'd had some on toast that morning. This moment marked the end of homemade jam.
"Are you crying?" she asked when she saw my face. "I'll be back next month!"
It was true. She'd be back in mid-January to finish up the last few weeks of her work contract.
"Yeah, but that's not the same. You won't be living here!"
So we hugged and kissed and I got the closure I thought I needed. She ran back out the door, her arms now laden with strawberry jam, and I thought about the first time we met: on the street in New York, 2005. I was on vacation, and we were standing outside a club on the Lower East Side with a group of our mutual friends. Olivian had mentioned that Shannon was applying to UCLA's library program. It was summer and all of us were shining with sweat. My hair was frizzy from the humidity and the subway ride. Shannon had been riding her bike, and wore impossibly short shorts that I would see her wear again, years later, prancing around our apartment. She looked like my kind of girl, someone I could be friends with. She told me that she liked my dress, which was red and I thought maybe too flashy considering that all we did that night was stand around on the street, never setting foot inside that club. But I thanked her for the compliment. I wouldn't see her again until a year later when she showed up in my Los Angeles apartment with her boxes and lavender-scented cleaning supplies.
The apartment felt so empty Sunday night that I rode my bike to the Sunset 5 and watched a movie in a theater full of strangers so as not to be alone.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Hooray for Haolewoods
Photo by Jason Ziemlak.
The ladies of Hawaii Pacific Roller Derby were gracious winners and unparalleled hostesess. Photo by Jason Ziemlak.
Our beach in Waimanalo. A few of us had a beautiful house to ourselves courtesy of one of the skaters.
Morning calisthenics on the beach.
Hanauma Bay. We snorkeled here. Did you know they make optical snorkel masks for the bespectacled? Now you do!
Winning wasn't the point. Hawaii was the point. And every time my ass hit the concrete, I looked up and saw the most amazing mountain, Diamond Head, which loomed large and lush over the outdoor roller hockey court. LADD has it good for sure -- a banked track, our own space, an incredible production crew -- but I was completely thrilled to have my ass handed to me in front of such a spectacular backdrop.
More photos here.
How about a video too? OK.
Roller Girl Down & Derby: HPRD Hulagans vs. L.A. Derby Dolls from Mike Orbito on Vimeo.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Going Haole Wood
In 2000, before roller derby was born again in Austin, TX, I dressed up as a derby skater for Halloween. I went light on the protective gear (such a rube!), but there was a helmet, sparkly shorts and spandex involved. Not to mention roller skates. I drunkenly shot the duck on sidewalks in front of several Tempe house parties that night. It's a move that has no practical application in the world of roller derby, but who cares? The costume was a big hit.
It's hard to top an awesome costume. I wanted to be a roller derby skater every Halloween until I actually went and joined the derby four years later. I'm afraid that's how I'll feel about my costume from this past Halloween.
Me as Flying Ace WWI Snoopy accompanied by J.D. as Charlie Brown from the It's the Great Pumpkin. Big props to J.D. who labored for hours on my doghouse.
Snoopy digs bananas!
In other news, I'll be piloting my doghouse to Honolulu on Friday for a flat track track game. I'm captain of a rogue team called the Haole Woods, and we're taking on Hawaii Pacific Derby in an exhibition match during Girl Fest Hawaii. Post-bout, I'll be sticking around the north shore of Oahu for a few extra days with some members of the Beer Committee. Former Fight Crew skater Jihad came out of retirement to skate this game, and I look forward to some grabbing sun, surf and Hawaiian brews with her and the rest of the BC.
I really hope my new glasses are ready tomorrow (thanks to the fine selection and excellent costumer service at Gogosha Optique). Though it may seem counter-intuitive, I don't want to vacation sans specs -- even if I am hitting the beach. I loathe wearing contacts.
And finally, I was kind of on Oprah yesterday. Watch Ali's Dare Devils take on the L.A. Derby Dolls here. The episode was all about "stepping outside your box," and I think we gave these ladies a shove in the right direction.
It's hard to top an awesome costume. I wanted to be a roller derby skater every Halloween until I actually went and joined the derby four years later. I'm afraid that's how I'll feel about my costume from this past Halloween.
Me as Flying Ace WWI Snoopy accompanied by J.D. as Charlie Brown from the It's the Great Pumpkin. Big props to J.D. who labored for hours on my doghouse.
Snoopy digs bananas!In other news, I'll be piloting my doghouse to Honolulu on Friday for a flat track track game. I'm captain of a rogue team called the Haole Woods, and we're taking on Hawaii Pacific Derby in an exhibition match during Girl Fest Hawaii. Post-bout, I'll be sticking around the north shore of Oahu for a few extra days with some members of the Beer Committee. Former Fight Crew skater Jihad came out of retirement to skate this game, and I look forward to some grabbing sun, surf and Hawaiian brews with her and the rest of the BC.
I really hope my new glasses are ready tomorrow (thanks to the fine selection and excellent costumer service at Gogosha Optique). Though it may seem counter-intuitive, I don't want to vacation sans specs -- even if I am hitting the beach. I loathe wearing contacts.
And finally, I was kind of on Oprah yesterday. Watch Ali's Dare Devils take on the L.A. Derby Dolls here. The episode was all about "stepping outside your box," and I think we gave these ladies a shove in the right direction.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
better late
Bad News First:
I snapped my glasses in half last night. I was stupidly squeezing the frames, trying to make them fit my face more snugly, and they cracked apart in my hand. I guess I don't know my own strength. And it's probably ill-advised to squeeze your glasses anyway.
Chrome Hearts frames, 2006-2009, R.I.P.
I began a hunt for new glasses a few months ago, which I sort of abandoned when I lost patience trying to find the perfect pair. Looks like the hunt is back on.
I am wearing contacts today and I feel naked.
Good News Second:
Photo by Charlie Chu/Shutterthug.
Fight Crew won the game on Saturday, 101-88, which is an incredible way to end the season. We were 12 or 13 points ahead when Haught Wheels went to the line for the final jam of the night, and it would've been miracle for the Sirens to score enough points in that jam to tie or win the game. As Haughty plowed through the pack, I watched from the infield with a smile so big I thought my face might crack. She didn't stop skating until the game clock hit zero, and the moment it did, she brought her hands to her hips and the expression on her face said: "Fucking finally." This was our first regular season win since 2007, and I think breaking our losing streak will be a huge psychological boon to the team going into 2010. I'm really grateful that Haughty joined our team as co-captain this season, and though it took three games for the Crew to finally get its shit together, I think her leadership and focus has been instrumental in our turnaround.
Here is a bout recap from a guy who had some nice things to say about this girl.
And here is a great photo montage from LADD photographer Stalkerazzi:
I snapped my glasses in half last night. I was stupidly squeezing the frames, trying to make them fit my face more snugly, and they cracked apart in my hand. I guess I don't know my own strength. And it's probably ill-advised to squeeze your glasses anyway.
Chrome Hearts frames, 2006-2009, R.I.P.
I began a hunt for new glasses a few months ago, which I sort of abandoned when I lost patience trying to find the perfect pair. Looks like the hunt is back on.
I am wearing contacts today and I feel naked.
Good News Second:
Photo by Charlie Chu/Shutterthug.Fight Crew won the game on Saturday, 101-88, which is an incredible way to end the season. We were 12 or 13 points ahead when Haught Wheels went to the line for the final jam of the night, and it would've been miracle for the Sirens to score enough points in that jam to tie or win the game. As Haughty plowed through the pack, I watched from the infield with a smile so big I thought my face might crack. She didn't stop skating until the game clock hit zero, and the moment it did, she brought her hands to her hips and the expression on her face said: "Fucking finally." This was our first regular season win since 2007, and I think breaking our losing streak will be a huge psychological boon to the team going into 2010. I'm really grateful that Haughty joined our team as co-captain this season, and though it took three games for the Crew to finally get its shit together, I think her leadership and focus has been instrumental in our turnaround.
Here is a bout recap from a guy who had some nice things to say about this girl.
And here is a great photo montage from LADD photographer Stalkerazzi:
Friday, October 23, 2009
bad at this, again
I accepted some freelance work about a month ago that has hindered my blogging productivity. I'm also skating for two travel teams (went to Tucson last weekend and I'm flying to Hawaii on Nov. 7th). Oh, and my team is playing its last game of the season tomorrow night and you should come!
But yeah, I've been kind of busy.
Here's the press release I wrote this morning (distributed internally to members of the Beer Committee):
Witness the epic Battle of the Brewsers! Fight Crew's BEO, Lägeraison, & Beerbrarian face off against the Sirens' Brewologist. It's our last game of the season and the Brewologist's LAST BOUT EVER. The Beer Committee's very own Pilsnerd will greet you at the door with a self-adhesive wristband. The neon hue of said wristband connotes VIP or general admission.
Post game festivities will feature BEER.
I can't decide if it's to Fight Crew's advantage or detriment that our roster is so BC-heavy.
But yeah, I've been kind of busy.Here's the press release I wrote this morning (distributed internally to members of the Beer Committee):
Witness the epic Battle of the Brewsers! Fight Crew's BEO, Lägeraison, & Beerbrarian face off against the Sirens' Brewologist. It's our last game of the season and the Brewologist's LAST BOUT EVER. The Beer Committee's very own Pilsnerd will greet you at the door with a self-adhesive wristband. The neon hue of said wristband connotes VIP or general admission.
Post game festivities will feature BEER.
I can't decide if it's to Fight Crew's advantage or detriment that our roster is so BC-heavy.
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