Moneyslice

April 1, 2008

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No one really remembers when Moneyslice wandered into Homeslice. Some claim she’s been around for years, stalking The Commander and sleeping under the Big Butt. Stealing his Tasty Bites and climbing onto the Tower in those calm hours of the night while everyone was at the clubs…singing Irish lullabies in hopes of enchanting The Commander under her absinthe hued spell.

Others think she was brought in during the double rainbow of 2007, having actualize in the menacing dust storm which prefaced that amazing color spectacular.

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With her scarlet hair and emerald eyes, she claims to be part Irish. But those that pour Guinness at the Paddy Mirage argue that in fact she is not Irish, but part Leprechaun. With her affinity for rainbows and ever-annoying search for gold…the veracity of this statement must be contemplated.

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If you are one of the rare souls lucky enough to meet her under the shade structure during the morning calm, she might tell you seemingly tall tales about being a dominatrix in the sex clubs of Amsterdam. But just as one is about to fall under the spell of her spiral-illusion breast plate, she tosses her Midori velvet cape to her chest, smiles sweetly and asks casually “where do you think Dicky is now?”.

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She won’t go out to the clubs with other Slicers, but if you look closely you will see her dancing in the dust, dressed as a she-devil.

She wears a monocle so she can count the Homeslice cash while simultaneously gazing out across the playa for potential threats to the tribe’s riches. She carries no weapon for she is trained in the martial arts and has killed for the tribe before. It goes without saying that despite her petite stature and cool smile, she is a bitch…squeezing every last penny from the family Slice…the equivalent to our own Tony Soprano, demanding family loyalty above all else.

While her moniker may have been shared by other Slicers before, Moneyslice is making 2008 her year to come out. And come out she must…she wants your cash, your gold, your Benjamin’s…but if you carry the luck of the Irish with you…you just might get to keep your soul!


I want to be a Smog City Roller Girl

April 1, 2008

According to the often questionably referenced Wikipedia, the term roller derby dates back to a Chicago Tribune article from 1922. But I have to admit, the first time I ever experienced the power of the roller derby was in a 1970s Laverne and Shirley episode.

Until last year, I had managed to live some thirty-odd years thinking this shining example of feminism had gone the way of the equal rights amendment (yeah ERA!).

But last year I stumbled into Valdez Hall in downtown Fresno to experience the Smog City Roller Girls in their last match of the 2007 season. It was a mix of family night at the local Skate-town and Fight Club…that is if Brad Pitt was a smokin’ chick and wore hot pink rock-a-billy attire complete with face paint and fishnets.

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It goes without saying that these chicks are hardcore women who know how to maneuver around a flat track course on four-wheeled skates (no in-line pussy skates allowed) while fighting off a menacing pack of rivals.

If you pull up the the official Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFTDA) website and download the 21 page rule-book, you will find it filled with such ominous statements such as “the head may not be used in blocking”, “skaters may not trip or intentionally fall in front of another skater”, and “protective gear should include at a minimum wrist guards, elbow pads, knee pads, mouth guards and helmets”. The blood sport reality of Roller Derby is deceptive, as in many way this is family entertainment at its best.

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This last Saturday night I again ventured down to the 2008 Smog City Roller Girls season opener against the Wine Country Homewreckers. While SCRG gotten taken to the proverbial woodshed with a painful loss to the Sonoma County crew, the crowd at Valdez Hall for the event was bigger and more enthusiastic.

People brought signs emblazoned with the name of their favorite skater, there was plenty of beer to go around, tons of really young kids…the five and under set…were up on their feet shaking literal and figurative pink and black pompons. There was the downtown vagabond crowd, the Tower rat folks, the Clovis cowboy types and even the north Fresno SUV set…it was like a cross-section of the Fresno demographic…all yelling for these chicks as they beat the daylights out of each other. It was awesome!

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I purchased several beers, enjoyed a hotdog and some nachos straight outta 1987, and wished I was hardcore enough to be a roller girl. Now I consider myself fairly fearless.  I am not really a make-up and hairspray type of girl…more of a wilderness, Burning Man and coconut rum gal. But I have to admit, these girls scare me. They shove and punch and trash-talk and elbow each other…all while traveling as fast as possible on skates. And they manage to employ strategy and skill into what is a fairly technical sport…all while looking uber sexy.

Yeah, I wanna be a roller girl. But before I go show up at their weekly Tuesday “new girls” practice session, I better go make sure my health insurance covers bad decisions.