As is well known to one and all, Eamon is a strong supporter of women's roller derby. In his role as head of Rules and Regulations (under the derby name Scorey Feldman) for the Windy City Rollers, he adds, subtracts, confers, fetches, carries, hectors, emails, and accepts phone calls at all hours of the day and night.
And me, my role is that of Derby Widow. I have few compatriots in this role, as the vast majority of people involved in women's roller derby are, well, women, and they tend to not have wives, for some reason. Added to that, I'm not much in way of a sports booster, so my support has been mainly of the moral variety.
But one recent weekend, that changed. During said weekend, I came became a full-fledged athletic supporter.
Eamon, you see, we invited to assist with an invitational derby tournament sponsored by the Philly Roller Girls. In a moment of giddy euphoria, for some reason, I agreed to attend along with him. And then, for some unfathomable reason, I suggested that I volunteer to assist as well.
Friends, this is a strange move for me. I'm not sports friendly, and generally do not enjoy mixing it up with the hu-mans. I prefer quite, homebound weekends, that include only occasional interactions with those very well known to me.
Eamon, however, took me up on my offer, and I soon we were wending our way to the City of Brotherly Love for a weekend of eight-wheeled action.
Here's a sum-up of some of the fun:
-- A sojourn in downtown Philly, where we viewed the Liberty Bell, toured the National Mint, and took many photos of Eamon on various staircases as Rocky
-- Visited a vegetarian-friendly pizzaria that boasted THE BEST VEGAN CAKE EVER CONSUMED. To clarify, I'm not a vegan. I don't like vegan baked goods. Yet this particular item -- a cupcake -- was the best I'd ever tasted. So we (Eamon and his derby compatriots) had the good pizza folk box up 1/2 of a chocolate cake and 1/2 of a vanilla cake, which we took back to the hotel for later snacking. It was the best idea ever.
-- Took a swim in hotel pool, and competed to demonstrate our various underwater ballet skills.
-- Retired to hotel room to watch "Snakes on a Plane" and eat aforesaid cakes. A perfect evening.
That was day 1. The next two days, we spent from sun-up till after hours serving as slaves at the derby fest. Eamon handled scoring. I was typically given the duty of tracking penalties-per-player on a big white board, then running over to team captains to show them how they were faring.
In the last round, this required racing /across/ the track as the skaters whizzed around, all for the greater glory of derby. Heaven help us. Eamon was impressed with my hustle.
Incidentally, I earned a lovely new derby nickname during the tourney. As is well known, Eamon is "Scorey Feldman." I was going by "Mrs. Feldman," just because I couldn't think of anything better, when someone said, "Why don't you be K-Feld?" Why indeed.
So just call me K-Feld from now on.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Crazy Crap Item #109: The part where Jack participates in the circle of life
Recently, I am told, Jack partook for the first time of chicken on the bone. This came by way of chicken wings which he lunched upon at the local Dominicks.
According to his mother Ann, the bone-in nature of this tidbit was confusing to young Jack.
"Is it alive?" he asked.
No, Ann assured him, the chicken that made up his meal was most assuredly dead. It just had bones in it just like when it was alive.
Jack gnawed a bit longer, then asked his mother, "When the farmer comes to kill the chicken, do you know where the graveyard is?"
Ann responded that she did not know.
Jack responded by dropping his jaw and pointing into his mouth.
And the circle of life keeps turning.
According to his mother Ann, the bone-in nature of this tidbit was confusing to young Jack.
"Is it alive?" he asked.
No, Ann assured him, the chicken that made up his meal was most assuredly dead. It just had bones in it just like when it was alive.
Jack gnawed a bit longer, then asked his mother, "When the farmer comes to kill the chicken, do you know where the graveyard is?"
Ann responded that she did not know.
Jack responded by dropping his jaw and pointing into his mouth.
And the circle of life keeps turning.
Crazy Crap Item #108: The part where I am chided by cousin Tom
Yes, I've been negligent. I've not blogged for a long time. And of those many of you who have complained, no one has been more bitter than my cousin Tom (commemorated previously here).
But unlike most the layabouts who complain about my lack of bloggery, Tom actually supplied something to fill in the gap left by my sloth. To wit, a tale of Montana madness:
I have one for you.
Last Saturday I had a bonfire party, burning up a small portion of the plethora of dead wood decorating my property. As my neighbor Chris ( as in Christine) lugged a 4 foot log toward the fire to add to its warmth, she slipped on an icy bit and went down hard, landing with a thump. Her comment, "SHIT! I landed on a knot and I think I broke a rib". She waved her arms around and you could here sort of a clicking noise. We had another beer and discussed if she should go to the emergency room or not, her point being that with a broken rib all they can do is to take it easy for a while. Eventually that clicking noise (which she insisted on exhibiting between glugs) convinced her husband to take her to the hospital. So, off they went to the local Marcus Daly Hospital (known locally as Carcass Daily) (no offence). When they got there the doors to the emergency entrance were locked. They beat on the glass for a while until a couple people showed up, apparently torn away from some really good TV show, but they didn't know how to open the doors. After much pantomime through the glass, my friends indicated they were sorry for the disturbance and that they would make the hour drive to hospital in Missoula. The doors were open in Missoula, X-rays and such, yes, the #10 rib is broken, can't really do much but tell you to take it easy, let pain be your guide, take some pain killers, here is a prescription. Too bad Chris's husband left his wallet at home and and she had no cash. After a combined pocket scrape and car search, with the surprise discovery of forgotten money, they came up with $41. The subscription (at the only all-night drugstore in Missoula) was $40 and change. The allergic reaction began about the time they got home, which is to say much vomiting - a lovely thing with a broken rib. Chris is a hardy Montana woman and she gutted it out until Monday after work, when she and her husband dropped by the local medical clinic to see if they could get her a pain killer that didn't make her barf. While there, she happened to mention that she was having some trouble breathing and she was sort of "puffy" from her waist to her neck. The doctor pulled her husband aside and said he had two choices - either call an ambulance, or take her directly ("and don't stop anywhere along the way") back to the hospital. Yes, indeed, all that vomiting in reaction to the pain killers had caused her broken rib to puncture her lung. As this is written, almost a week later, she has a suction tube in her sucking out liquid. Ah, the wonders of modern medicine. We should have had another beer and passed on the hospital. After all, all they can do is tell you to take it easy.
That is crazy crap Montana style.
Mountain Man Tom
But unlike most the layabouts who complain about my lack of bloggery, Tom actually supplied something to fill in the gap left by my sloth. To wit, a tale of Montana madness:
I have one for you.
Last Saturday I had a bonfire party, burning up a small portion of the plethora of dead wood decorating my property. As my neighbor Chris ( as in Christine) lugged a 4 foot log toward the fire to add to its warmth, she slipped on an icy bit and went down hard, landing with a thump. Her comment, "SHIT! I landed on a knot and I think I broke a rib". She waved her arms around and you could here sort of a clicking noise. We had another beer and discussed if she should go to the emergency room or not, her point being that with a broken rib all they can do is to take it easy for a while. Eventually that clicking noise (which she insisted on exhibiting between glugs) convinced her husband to take her to the hospital. So, off they went to the local Marcus Daly Hospital (known locally as Carcass Daily) (no offence). When they got there the doors to the emergency entrance were locked. They beat on the glass for a while until a couple people showed up, apparently torn away from some really good TV show, but they didn't know how to open the doors. After much pantomime through the glass, my friends indicated they were sorry for the disturbance and that they would make the hour drive to hospital in Missoula. The doors were open in Missoula, X-rays and such, yes, the #10 rib is broken, can't really do much but tell you to take it easy, let pain be your guide, take some pain killers, here is a prescription. Too bad Chris's husband left his wallet at home and and she had no cash. After a combined pocket scrape and car search, with the surprise discovery of forgotten money, they came up with $41. The subscription (at the only all-night drugstore in Missoula) was $40 and change. The allergic reaction began about the time they got home, which is to say much vomiting - a lovely thing with a broken rib. Chris is a hardy Montana woman and she gutted it out until Monday after work, when she and her husband dropped by the local medical clinic to see if they could get her a pain killer that didn't make her barf. While there, she happened to mention that she was having some trouble breathing and she was sort of "puffy" from her waist to her neck. The doctor pulled her husband aside and said he had two choices - either call an ambulance, or take her directly ("and don't stop anywhere along the way") back to the hospital. Yes, indeed, all that vomiting in reaction to the pain killers had caused her broken rib to puncture her lung. As this is written, almost a week later, she has a suction tube in her sucking out liquid. Ah, the wonders of modern medicine. We should have had another beer and passed on the hospital. After all, all they can do is tell you to take it easy.
That is crazy crap Montana style.
Mountain Man Tom
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