I've never been one much for wallflower types.

I had this girlfriend once,
okay, I've had a lot of girlfriends.)
-But this one was, different.
We met at a folk festival.
She was tall, had beautiful green eyes, red hair, and was just pulling in to help out with the staff, when me and my buddies were dragging our sunburned and severely hung over selves back off to Philadelphia.

Susan was exceptional. DeadHead, Math Genius, Science Genius, Computer Designer -had been accepted to Japan to develop next generation AI, was a champion Dressage rider. Great kisser, (okay, we'll leave it at that.)
—Never have forgotten about her, and it's been,,, jeez,-Probably twenty some odd years?
Have no idea what happened to her, we lost touch,
(There is a woman who heads up AirTraffic Security for the Government, I was crusiing some articles one night on the web ran across the name (and thought it might have been her,)
-wasn't …
not even close…
-and when I wrote the woman, (she had an Email address,) I was kind of cryptic, ---said things that only Susan'd know about,,,
and was written back a nice letter. -Then a rather inquiring one, (as it was not far past the WTC attacks.)
Awkward.
(I'm grateful secret service wasn't sent out to talk to me… bad coincidences…)

But Susan had this one odd habit.
She played Rugby. (Loved it.)
Now Rugby is the sort of sport that, well, the players essentially try to kill each other, and have weird rules, then get really drunk and love all over each other in the afterparty, (It's a strange thing...)
But she was great at it.

She called it 'Elegant Violence.' -they had jerseys printed up with the saying.

She was a tough kid.. I mean, to begin with, in Dressage and Fox hunting, it's no sissy who can convince a thousand or soj pound animal to jump over things and go thundering along through underbrush on fox hunts, ---and then get it to prance around like my freakin' little pony at a sunday formal, -but she could do it.
And she was brutal on the rugby grid, lemme tell ya.

She came out, from the Main Line area in Philly, to my Parents wedding, (well, my mom and Step Dad.)
I still have a picture of us somewhere… gorgeous, gorgeous girl.
—You'd never know that she could shred someone to get to a rugby ball…
-even overheated she was a class act.
(Okay, enough there.)

Guys don't often think of girls like that.
Intelligent,
Gorgeous,
skillful,
Nice to talk to,
Elegant.
—but able to tear down a house, while not loosing that feminine wile.

So, today I met some RollerDerby ladies.

Now, look, I know what you're going to say…
'Ivy League girls from a private school who are tops in their class -and play rugby, ---are not the same as someone who is in Roller Derby.'

-Wrong suckah.
A Fierce woman is a fierce woman.
They are to be respected, adored, -not trifled with -ever.

I have to admit, I first heard of Smog City Roller Grrrls, and thought,,,,,
'okay, smoke filled room, fists flying, mouths minus a few teeth, language that could melt metal and make Marines blush.
-and ring after dante's ring of ner-do-wells surrounding the track, just looking for blood and violence, ---all the while combing greased pomps, -and drinking Rock and Rye. (Kind of like that Russian Roullette scene in DeerHunter, but instead of two guys at a table, there'd be people with ponytails in the middle going round and round.)

(Well,,, that might still be the case,
(well, except the missing teeth part, they all had nice teeth, (-and I'm presuming minty fresh breath, but that is an assumption on my part, I'd not put it passed them.)
-But there is a deeper side.

The girls are, well girls, (you know, GIRLS.) They're not bruisers they're hotties.
I know a little about girls, been around a few, (have had girl relatives (one of my parents: a girl, stuff like that.)

My little sister (also a girl,) rides a motorcycle.

(-I'm not wild about it, but she's a grown woman, a nurse, smart, and she knows what she's doing,,, so if she wants to ride a bike,,, that's fine.. (She also laid the damn thing down last fall, ---I didn't hear of it until a month later,,, (she was afraid to tell me.) ---but she's back up, only the fairing is scraped up, ---and she's learning a few things about gravel on turns.
Do I like it???? No. She lives in Jersey, and there are too many idiots who own car keys.
But, I love that she's having fun.
I'd personally like to strangle the guy who was supposed to clean up the roads in her town back east, -she's my little sister, -I'm supposed to beat up whatever means her harm…-even an inanimate object like,,,,, um, sand.

So, women are fierce.
Make no mistake.
-Way smarter then men,
totally more graceful,
beautiful beyond words,
-and they comprise the greatest experience in life, just by being there.
(I'm prejudiced, I happen to love women.)

They can also be lethal,
(-and, not for nothing, but, I'd take on three guys in a fight by myself, before I'd mess with one woman.)-not that I'd ever fight back with a girl, (I've been raised right,)
-but seriously, when they go off?
you got a situation... we're talking WMD, here.
I'm not the brightest bulb on the porch, I can see at least this much, and respect it.

So, like I was saying, I met some of the Smog City Grrrls at Yoshi's.

Absolute Dolls.
Turns out, I happened to write with one on MindHead, (she's direct, to the point, excellent writer,,, eloquent, a real show-stopper. (She recognized my name when I gave a card,)
--the rest of them were smiling away, selling goodies to die for at the booth.
(If they didn't do so well, -it was not for the lack of trying,,, -it was like 800 degrees out there, (I don't know how Blake's Drummer didn't die of heat stroke, (he was in, like, two or three bands consecutively, -no shade whatsoever for the guy.)

But the roller girls,,,
They were kind of intermingled everywhere, (I think it was there event,,, they were sort of around every corner or just helping out and there, like an ancient legend of the house of 30 beautiful Yoshi daughters or something…)
You could tell by the uniforms. they were glad to meet you, show you their book of teammates, ---and really just build support for their group, (kind of of like: Goth GirlScouts or Professional Wrestling Nuns or Field hospital Nurses/Dancers/Bouncers or something.)
Each one was prettier than the other, far more elegant than the weather conditions allowed, (guys were all walking around like animated dead cats,,, I mean, it was hotter-n-blazes, but the Smog City ladies were Donna Reed with little skulls and bows on their tights.
(...This sport alone could keep Hot Topic in the blue for another ten years.)

Then, as the hades quality afternoon wore ,,, a few of them donned their skates, and just began to roll around the street next to Yoshi's…

Swans, SWANS, I tell ya.
There is something inherently beautiful about a woman in motion to begin with.
-but a woman on skates, is just one of those things that you never get over your whole life,

I have no idea who she was, but one of them was on roller blades out on the street, doing eights and reverse turns that would rival an ice dancer,,, ----and she sailed past motorcycles, and oil dripping old ford pickups, out on the blazing macadam, like an ice cube sliding across formica in August.

Like I said, I'm not one much for 'hot house,' flowers, or controlled situations.
Sorry,
-I tend to see beauty in adversity.
I find the contrast of elegance, shining lips, dust, and diesel to be quite fetching.

They circled the street a couple at a time, --poised and focused, each gliding along, vision and wings, solemn looks sometimes, as they were feeling the road, -and quietly riding currents and moving like zephyrs in the heat. Sometimes Goth Black Fishnets, Black knee pads, and Rock-a-Betty can be quite peaceful. It was like a church thing, -only different.

Sure,
I know they battle.
I am sure things get rough.
Heck, I bet you that's part of the fun of it.

(It's like, back in the day, slam dancing….
It was the ones who just sat there and did not bounce back, that got hurt.
The rest of us just careened off of each other like charged atoms…
soaked with sweat, heated, stomping, arms raised,, we'd carom and finally embrace in a slow song, when one came on… soaked, full of the scent of each other, swaying, and looking into eyes that were at once exhausted and longing.)
Everybody had fun.

But it was giving it all you had that was the secret, to struggle, exertion,
and,
I'll let you in on a little something,
-Sweat doesn't stink, (you're doubting me..)
But a someone soaked from working is just wet and dripping from the movement and passion of it.
-Down South they say 'girls don't perspire, -they glisten.'
Like gorgeous sea creatures that are due back into the ocean, -where they will keep moving to live…. Constantly in motion, beautiful, shining, and lithe.

That's Roller Derby.

-Ok, it's violent.
It's dangerous.
It's not for everybody.
(I'm an old down hill speedboarder, (clay wheels, steel wheels, NO helmet, lotsa roadrash,) -but these ladies could make short work of me, (being German, I'd probably enjoy it way too much…)

But it's passion and fury,
It's ballet without the dudes in faggy tights.
It's swans and mermaids.
—who duke it out, and fight like peregrines
They rip around, like madera supermodifieds,
---only there's no car, just them.
And guys watch, -as we always will, welded to their every move.

When I used to watch Susan play rugby, I was amazed at the poured out feeling and focus, as only girls can do with each other.
I've played them in soccer, and, believe me, guys can't cope with this stuff -it's too intense..)

How can something so beautiful, elegant, so ladylike,
How can this magnificent transcendant being
-with charms that could get a hound dog off of a meat truck, or rival sunset on the water
-be this fierce, resilient, and this damn mean…
(It's a question as old as time.)
We'll never figure it out.
-We just know, girls are tougher than we are, command respect,
-and we hope they can bring things down to earth, without tearing the walls out of the place,
(-because we sure ain't gonna stop em, nope, I am NOT getting in the middle of that, uhn-uh.)

So there it is.
'Elegant Violence,'

Slapping a motorcycle around, gunning a horse around barrels, -or dancing the streets heatwaves, or a board track, latent with fury, looking like winged victory on the nose of a Rolls Royce.
-I'm realizing that the dulcet lass in front of me, could probably fold my six foot frame into a pretzel and single handedly clear half a biker-bar, -while I was still sizing up the bouncer.

-Right now, I just see beautiful faces,
smiling, selling cookies.
-a sweetheart on a hundred degree day, a portrait in 'ladylike,' surrounded by baked goods, (and clothes, lamps, a beastie boys poster, and a LOT of shoes...
-god do these women have shoes...)
-somebody's sister,
-a professional in her field,
-loved granddaughter who helps get groceries,
-a Mommy,
-to curl up with on a cold rainey afternoon, who smells pretty,
-and is absolute-total-hell-to-pay on a pair of skates.

I'm smitten.

They let me know that they're due to have Tshirts printed up, (Their Logo is hysterical, -totally awesome.)
-invited me to watch practice up at Madera, -the same way that I'd be invited to dinner or a party by a neighbor, cousin, or dormmate.

Ladies, it was a pleasure meeting you.
-Be careful, try not to mangle anybody, too bad.

-and those cinnamon sugar cookies? ----Killer.

Sincerely,
-your newest fan.

(PS. ----the girls seriously do need sponsors... If you got money put up for a good cause... -I tell ya, this is going to be big.)