Roller Derby

It’s looking more like Spring here now. The clocks went forward last night, and I’ve been seeing little clumps of primroses by the side of the road for a few days. Today I saw bluebonnets for the first time, and the temperature went up to about 94ºF (about 36ºC). Like everywhere else, winter seems to have been unnecessarily long.

"Coin lady"

Yesterday morning I went to my “coin lady” in Garland to catch up on State Quarters – Nevada (the “Silver State”, which joined the Union in 1864) is the only one that’s been issued this year. They’re supposed to be released at about 10-week intervals, and, since we’re about two thirds of the way through, you’d think they’d have it down to a fine art. But, like almost everything government does, it’s behind schedule. The coin is pretty, though (unlike, say, Vermont’s, that looks like someone peeing behind a tree).

The Financial Times is delivered to my hotel room daily (I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that I don’t have any money), and in it I read a review of “The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada”, which stars, and is directed by, Tommy Lee Jones. Tommy Lee Jones is patchy in his choice of roles, but this movie won Best Actor and Best Screenplay at the Cannes Film Festival. It’s one of those movies with no loud bangs, no special effects, and no gratuitous sex or violence. So, of course, it came and went here before anyone noticed it (though it’s obviously only just been released in England). I tracked it down to the last place in the area it’s still playing – the Angelika Film Center on Mockingbird Lane in Dallas. It’s one of those civilized movie theaters that serves wine and respectable snacks in the attached restaurant (I went to the matinee at 11:15, which is a little early to partake, even for me). It’s great to see the Western movie genre being revived and redefined – most notably, recently, by Brokeback Mountain, and now this. I don’t want to spoil it by revealing any of the (wonderful) storyline, but I would recommend it without reservation. It left me tearful (in a good way) until all the credits had rolled by.

Outside the "skatium" ...

... and inside

This evening, of course, I went to see the Panther City Princess at the roller derby in Arlington. My camera, unfortunately, is not up to taking good shots in large, poorly-lit interiors – or, more likely, it’s just me – so I don’t have any good action pictures. But, in any event, it was interesting. The raffle prizes  included cow-skulls, garden gnomes, and free piercings. I was probably not the oldest person there, but I may well have been the only one without a tattoo or a body-piercing. The marriage of Heavy Metal to Roller Derby works well. The sport is definitely a contact sport – the girls all wear crash-helmets and elbow- and knee-pads, and use gum shields, and are mostly well-padded in other important areas. The outfits are skimpy, but in a seductive, and not nasty, way. Gothic images abound, and “mock” violence – in the names of the teams (Suicide Shifters, Slaughterers) and players (Leather Locklear, Krazy SK88, Ultra Violence, Willow Bliterate) and the between-race skits – is played up. But it’s all intended to be good fun – if a fight breaks out between girls on the track, it is resolved by the “Penalty Mistress”, for example, by having them skate backwards to see who’s the fastest, or donning huge fake boxing gloves to “slug it out”. If I had to choose between an American and a Brit to put on a good show, I’d choose the American every time.

By the way, I have the program that contains the complete rules (such as they are), if anyone is interested. They’re also advertising for participants, but you have to be fit, feisty, and female.

I’d go again, but next time I think I’d have a tattoo first, and take more beer.

Your toes leave small dimples in the sand

That the water takes away

And carries to some foreign shore

Another time, another land.

Your words express my thoughts unspoken

Words that hide inside by day

That lurk behind half-opened doors

And when formed are always broken.

Panther City Princess

I’m still looking for America – it’s just as hard to find as England these days.

The Panther City Princess

Autograph & tickets

In that quest, I heard during the week that Ann Calvello, “queen” of roller derby, most famously with the San Francisco Bay Bombers, died recently at the age of 76 (http://www.latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-calvello17mar17,1,1727199.story?coll=la-news-obituaries). It seems that roller derby is making something of a comeback, and since it is most definitely American, I tracked down a local event. Next Sunday evening, at the Arlington Skatium, the High Seas Hotties take on the Suicide Shifters, and the Slaughterers hope to do just that to the Wrecking Crew. I stopped by the Dallas Cigar Shop yesterday to pick up a ticket, and was served by a young lady who turned out to be the “Panther City Princess” (in team colours, no less), who skates for the Suicide Shifters (Panther City, by the way, is an old nickname for Fort Worth that predates the current Cow Town). It was early morning, and there were no customers, so I asked for her autograph, and also requested that she describe the finer points of the game to me. It rather seems that there are no finer points, but … well, you’ll have to wait until next week when I’ve seen it for myself. If you’re not familiar with roller derby, you can find out something about it at http://dallasderbydevils.com/ (but please don’t go there if you are easily offended, and remember that my exploits are driven only by curiosity).

Today, I went to my usual flea market in Fort Worth. While examining some black flower vases, the vendor explained to me that some were black amethyst, while some were simply black. When I asked what the difference was, he explained that, if you hold black amethyst up to the light, you can see a purplish tinge. When I told him I was colour-blind, he laughed and told me that everything was black amethyst! We struck a deal on one of each.

Cool

There was a dog show opposite at the Will Rogers Center, but I’m not paying $6 to look at dogs – so I headed west on I-20, passing through “Cool” (which, I have to say again, doesn’t qualify as a city to me).

I have no idea if Cool is actually cool, and, given the small population, there wasn’t exactly anybody around to ask. But I might consider joining the local church – that would be cool!

A cool church ...

At Mineral Wells, after stopping at Braum’s for a hamburger and milkshake (I know these are not good for me, but almost anything is ok in moderation, and Braum’s are renowned for their milkshakes and ice cream), I turned around and headed back along virtually the same route. Too late for me to stop (I was in the centre lane), I passed a hitchhiker on the highway. He was walking along the shoulder with a huge back pack, and it was only as I passed that I could tell from the shape and colour of the hand, thumb extended, that hung loosely at his side as he walked, obviously not expecting anyone to stop, that he was Mexican. I don’t know why these images haunt me – I couldn’t have stopped, I didn’t know anything about him, and there are too many in need of help anyway. Somehow the reasons just sound more like excuses.

A newly completed church

By way of update, a few weeks ago I included a picture of a church under construction in Fort Worth. Here’s a picture of the same church, now completed. Whether something constructed with such urgency will stand the test of time as did the churches and cathedrals of old – well, only time will tell. I imagine the same construction skills go into raising new Walmart’s, and Target’s, and MacDonald’s – and the sooner they fall down, the better.

Carls Corner

Interstate 35 gets confused in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex area. About 30 miles south of the Metroplex, it splits into two legs – one leg goes through Fort Worth, and the other through Dallas (which are about 35 miles apart). Then, about 30 miles north, they coalesce. In between, they are known as 35E and 35W. If you’re from out of town, this can be confusing, because both of them run north-south – it’s just that one of them is left (West) of the other (East).

I only mention this because I started out this morning from Fort Worth towards Carl’s Corner. Why would I go there? Because I’ve heard it mentioned recently from two independent sources: friends in Connecticut, and Julian Pettifer in BBC Radio 4’s “Crossing Continents” (I’ll get back to that in a minute).

Up in Smoke

Starting from Fort Worth, you head south on 35W, whereas Carl’s Corner is on 35E. Fortunately, about the time you need to make a u-turn to come back towards Dallas on 35E, you hit one of my favorite BBQ truck stops. The menu is pretty basic: plates of beef, ham, sausage, hot links or turkey for $6.79 – a plate includes two sides (typically beans, potato salad, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn, …); ribs for $9.99; po’boy (yes, good question – I don’t know) for $4.59; Texas trash (frito pie Texas style – again, I don’t know) for $6.25. Desserts: cobbler or pie for $2.50. To drink: coffee, iced tea or coke – large or small, but nobody (except me) orders small (and that’s only because I know that “large” means I’ll most likely need a friend to help me carry it).

"Bio Willie"

Delicious. So what’s the deal with Carl’s Corner (http://www.wnbiodiesel.com/locations-TX-Carls%20Corner.html)? It’s just a truck stop, but the owner is a friend of Willie Nelson. When Willie heard that Carl was closing down and retiring, he called him and persuaded him to stay open selling “bio-diesel”, which is made from natural products. Willie Nelson isn’t on my list of favourite singers, and he’s had a few legal problems, but he is to the American farmer what Bob Geldof is to starving Africans, and I admire him for that. So Carl stayed open, and, as he says, “the truckers did the rest”. It’s cheaper, it gets more miles per gallon, and the engine runs cooler. While I was there, a 30-wheeler pulled in to fill up – I’m used to 18-wheelers, but this was a monster, and so was the guy who climbed down from the cab. Loose fitting pants and t-shirt, with a beer-gut that hung down almost to his knees!

I didn’t go inside – if you’re not a trucker or a biker, I think the place might fall silent as you walk in, but I’m probably being unfair.

And why would Julian Pettifer be even remotely interested? Because, apparently, even though the American administration appears to be denying all knowledge of global warming, and refusing to be a party to the Tokyo Accord, there is a grass roots movement with indications to the contrary. Individual states are instituting mechanisms for reducing corporate emissions, and ways to trade “coupons” between states that are particularly efficient with those that are not. And an Evangelical church splinter group is breaking ranks by recognizing that we were given stewardship of the earth and its resources, and should accept the responsibility for taking care of it (there is a strong “creationist” versus “evolutionist” debate here, which means that many evangelicals automatically reject anything that “scientists” might have to contribute). And so Julian Pettifer not only visited Carl’s Corner, but also the town of McCamey, Texas – the “wind energy capital of Texas”  (http://www.mccameycity.com/windmills.htm). That’s quite a few hundred miles west of here, and, much as I’d like to visit, it’s a little too far to drive.

So don’t believe everything you read. Sometimes the people can make a difference. And, at the moment, George W. Bush is following, not leading.

Nothing to Write Home About

It’s not supposed to be this cold in Texas, y’all! The temperature dropped 50ºF from 80ºF one day to below freezing the next. And here, snow is unusual – more often, we get “freezing rain”, which is a euphemism for the major highways acquiring a surface like glass, and being littered with cars that have spun off onto the grassy verge, and the flashing lights of Emergency Services vehicles slowing down the traffic to almost a complete standstill.

The fountain outside the hotel, though still trying valiantly to maintain its credibility, is essentially frozen – and the picture was taken around noon!

Meanwhile, back in Eggesford, the winter landscape continues to look stunningly beautiful – the picture is of our local church (in the foreground), and Eggesford House, of which I know nothing more than the name (in the background).

So there’s literally “nothing to write home about” – and I had such great plans for this weekend. I’m sure that within a week the unusual cold spell will be over, but for now, I can do no better than include a small vignette that I wrote some time ago – if for any reason my memory fails me, and you’ve seen this before, I think you’ll just have to grin and bear it!

Panhandling is illegal in Dallas. Every now and then they have a crackdown, and it disappears for a while. But it always comes back.

While waiting at a red light, a young black man with a feckless smile stood by the side of the road, baseball cap in hand, held out expectantly. He waved cheerfully at the occupants of cars as they drew up. He didn’t look hungry or drunk or drugged – merely forlorn. His clothes, though old and ragged, were clean, and he wasn’t the usual panhandler that you’d cross the street to avoid.

I stared resolutely ahead. The light took forever to change, and that gave me time to think. Why did I refuse to make eye contact? Presumably because, in the inner recesses of my mind, I could pretend that I hadn’t seen him, or that he didn’t exist. If he’d been wounded, or fainting from thirst, would I have helped? I think so. So why not help with some loose change (which I dump into a jar when I get back to the hotel and then donate to Children In Need in those little envelopes they give you on the plane anyway)?

Maybe it helps if you have a rule – you know: “I never give money to beggars”, or “I donate to charity through my church”. But I don’t think it would help. Somehow the thought that I completely ignored a fellow human being that was in need of help, and worse, that I tried to convince myself that he wasn’t even there, weighs on my mind. I know you can’t give money to everyone who asks for it; I know he’d “probably only go and buy beer”; I know that “he ought to get himself a job like everyone else”. But I also know that not everyone in similar circumstances has deliberately thrown themselves under the wheels of life.

The trouble is, how do you tell the difference? And what do you do about it? In my case, the answer is, sadly, nothing.

In my defence, I have to say that, now, I invariably give money to people that look as though they need it. The most recent said something like: “Hey, thanks man – now I can buy some soap and get cleaned up.” Whether I, or you, believe that is inconsequential. I felt better. I really hope he did, too.