I know! I owe y’all lots more book tour stories. And I’m going to get to it; I promise.

But now…

In honor of an upcoming Karaoke Apocalypse with The DeadMotleySexMaidens rock show, I present my second installment of “The Author’s Cut” – passages from Rollergirl: Totally True Tales From the Track that were edited from the manuscript by my super kickass Simon & Schuster editor. I agreed with her recommendation to slice these bits from the book – and I’m happy to share them with you now.

For your reading pleasure: stories about some of my favorite musicians in the world—the members of The DeadMotleySexMaidens.

All the Sex, Drugs, and Rock’n’Roll Without the Annoying Rehearsals

It’s only a mild exaggeration to say that everyone in Austin 1) is in a band, 2) wants to be in a band, or 3) used to be in a band. For a long time, I was in the second category. Then I met the DeadMotleySexMaidens.

The SexMaidens’ Karaoke Apocalypse answers the question, “What if you replaced a karaoke machine with a headbangingly good live band?” and their playlist is a collection of the punk rock and heavy metal songs they loved in high school. They were booked to play the Texas Rollergirls Championship in 2004, and the invitation to sing with them included the magic words, “request any song you want.” Just like that, I was signed up to sing one of my all-time favorites: Social Distortion’s “Ball and Chain.”

The resume of my past musical performance experience includes such high-profile and wildly sexy gigs as:

• Soprano in the American Music Abroad Choir (recorded on a double-LP with a photo of us in our navy blue skirts, white blouses, red blazers, and all-American smiles)

• Leisl in “The Sound of Music” at Blue Mountain High School

• Piano accompanist for the Blue Mountain High School Chorus and Vocal Ensemble

• “Maid No. 3” and “Resident of Hooverville” in the Reading Civic Opera production of “Annie”

• President of the Hendricks Chapel Choir and member of the Bell Choir, Syracuse University

When the band graciously offered to rehearse with the Rollergirls who’d signed up to sing with them, I was relieved, excited, and ridiculously nervous. I’d never met any members of the band, and I expected them to be pale, skinny, studded, hipper-than-thou, too-cool-for-school, look-how-ironic-we-are-playing-hair-metal jerks.

But when Chepo, guitarist and heart of the band, opened the door, my anxiety evaporated in an instant. Chepo has a smile brighter than the maag light on your key chain—the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve always been friends. It’s no wonder that whenever I mention his name to someone in Austin, their response, with their own reflexive smile, is usually, “Oh! I’ve known Chepo for years!” He is the most fanatical of Star Wars fans, and as talented as he is sweet-natured. I think he can fake his way through any song after hearing it once.

He introduced me to the rest of the band…

Behind the drum kit was Adam. He was, most likely, wearing a KISS t-shirt that night; he’s almost always wearing a KISS t-shirt. His myspace page features photos of him through the years, wearing the face paint of each member of his favorite band. Steady and solid—in life and behind the drums—he keeps the beat with taut energy. He’s a vegetarian and a personal chef; I know from first-hand experience that he makes killer enchiladas.

The other guitar player is Lisa. She’s listens more than she talks, and when I’ve had too many shots of Jim Beam, I plead with her to teach me how to be a bad ass like her (to which she usually replies, “A good first step would be to stop asking me how to be a bad ass.”) She’s the go-to girl if you need an AC/DC or Metallica solo that shreds, or advice on natural remedies.

On bass: Peter. He’s got the wise-ass charm of Bruce Willis, circa Moonlighting. I’ve been advised to assume he’s always mocking me, just to be on the safe side. He writes songs so catchy, the choruses get stuck in my head for days. He has an SAT-worthy vocabulary, and he’s just as likely to talk about the most recent episode of Jeopardy! as he is about sex—and he talks about sex constantly. His answer to the question, “How’re you doing?” is always “Awesome.”

Practicing with the band that night was exponentially more rockin’ than singing with a chorus—although I’m sure I was the stiffest of the stiffs my first time at the microphone. The music was so loud, I almost couldn’t hear it—but the thud felt great under my solar plexus. The gusto the band brought to the cheesy classic “We’re Not Gonna Take It” (remember the video with Dee Snider?) removed any qualms I had about their potential for post-modern irony.

At the Championship game the next week, singing “Ball and Chain” was almost better than skating. (To the band’s credit, it was months before they told me they hated playing my Social D song.) I have friends who say they can’t sing for people they know, but it was a blast to look into the audience and see my pals Kitty Kitty Bang Bang and Cary and Nathan singing along with me.

Karaoke Apocalypse gave our Texas Rollergirls fans a chance to see another side of their favorite skaters. Who knew that Pixie Tourette could do a dead-on impersonation of the Dead Kennedys’ Jello Biafra? (Only she could pull off a sexy performance of a song that compares California’s governor to a Nazi.) Derringer .44 on “Bad Reputation.” Hot Wheels on “Paranoid.” Whiskey L’Amour on “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.” White Lightnin on “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” They showed our audience that they really are rock stars.

I was thrilled when Chepo asked me to be the hostess for the band. It’s my job to sign up people from the audience to sing—and to make sure that once they hit the stage, they keep it together enough to follow the lyric sheets I give them. Before the gigs, when the rest of the band is loading in cases and amps, looking coolly blasé, I arrive with office supplies: an accordion folder of lyrics and a clipboard. Most of the time, I drink only water, all the better to deflect drunken audience groping and to catch the music stand, the microphone, and other flying objects launched by overzealous singers.

At our first gig together—on the outdoor patio of Club DeVille—it rained in the middle of the show, then Chepo got frustrated and smashed his amp, and the whole band got drunk on Jaegermaister shots bought for us by an appreciative audience member. By 1:00 a.m., Rollergirls—Sparkle Plenty, Pixie Tourette, Buckshot Betsy, Dagger Deb, and a few others—were dancing, strutting, skipping, and gyrating on the catwalk in front of the stage, stealing drinks from innocent bystanders and each other. During our last song, they shoved Chepo into the broken husk of his amplifier and pulled him down the catwalk, like Caesar in a chariot. Chepo never stopped strumming his guitar, not even when Anna Mosity leapt into the amp case with him, alternately pummeling him with her fists and smooching his smiling face.

Another time at Club DeVille, we were joined on stage for the encore by a mariachi band: “Enter Sandman” with horn and accordion accompaniment.

The show where the rock‘n’roll train derailed with the most violence and glory was the pep rally before our season opener in 2005. The plan was a good one: all four teams would show up in uniform at the Longbranch Inn—the bar that sponsors the Honky Tonk Heartbreakers—to play team-themed games with our fans. There’d be competitive Dance Dance Revolution, carnival games, trivia… good, clean fun as an excuse to give away tickets to the bout and get people excited about the upcoming season. Then we’d all rock out with Karaoke Apocalypse.

But everyone forgot an essential Texas Rollergirls equation:

7:00 p.m. ‘til 2:00 a.m. + alcohol + Texas Rollergirls + competition = danger

From the photos in our online scrapbook, it looks like the first two fan-versus-Rollergirl competitions (with the Hustlers and the Honky Tonk Heartbreakers) went smoothly. There’s Curvette on the DDR pad, and Trouble—laughing and alert—posing with a Heartbreakers poster. A sweet shot of Rosie Cheeks shooting a pyramid of beer cups with a water gun. Oh! And there I am with my clipboard.

Then the photos take a decidedly tipsy turn.

If I squint, wrinkle up my nose, and think really hard, I can retrieve a vague recollection of all of us deciding to abandon the remaining team-themed games because the hostess and most of the participants had slowly, steadily, inexorably become alcohol-impaired.

So the DeadMotleySexMaidens took the stage. Duos were a big hit that night. Kitty Kitty Bang Bang and her beau Nathan Black did their rendition of the Misfits’ “Last Caress,” which inspired a mosh pit of shirtless, sweaty, first-pumping Rollergirl widowers, led by the owner of the Longbranch. Pixie Tourette and Anna Mosity sang together like old chums, then ended their duet with a full-on catfight at Chepo’s feet, replete with hair-pulling, biting, and a kiss-and-make-up finale.

Later, in a stunning but ill-fated display of versatility, Adam came out from behind the drums to sing a Misfits song while Chepo parked himself on the stool behind the skins. Just as Adam hit the oh-oh-ohs of the chorus, Chepo vanished. One second he was drumming, and in a blink, he was gone. He’d tumbled backward off his stool and through the curtain behind him, into the beer storage area that doubles as the backstage. But Chepo’s a pro. He was back on the stool and on the beat before half the drunks had even noticed he was gone, ignoring the blood that ran down his arm from the busted beer bottle that broke his fall.

Meanwhile, in the back of the bar, Bettie Rage and Electra Blu wrassled and rolled between the tables, squabbling over some real or imagined slight. There’s a photo of the Kodak moment that nicely juxtaposes Bettie Rage’s sweetly innocent mary jane pumps with the cocked fist she’s got aimed at Electra Blu’s nose. While the two of them scrabbled for the upper hand, a circle of jeering, frothing fans egged them on as Pixie, with a furtive glance around to make sure no one was going to stop her, poured an entire beer onto Bettie Rage’s head. Later that night, Pixie’s pink and black fuck-me pumps went MIA. They materialized at the Playland bout two days later, perched atop a 6-foot-tall speaker that only a select few of our league members could possibly reach. I have suspicions about the identity of the kidnapper.

That night—that infamous, Karaoke Apocalypse night—even I, Miss I’ve-Never-Been-In-A-Fight, got into a rumble of my own. In my defense: I take my tambourine playing very, very seriously. Cheap Trixie should know better than to fuck with my tambourine.

At 2:15, the now-clothed Longbranch owner turned on the overhead lights and ordered us to get the hell out. I’ve heard rumors that the party continued at a gentlemen’s club.

I took my clipboard and headed home.

Dear lawyers and other grown-ups at the Minneapolis Star Tribune,

Please do not come after me with your briefcases and sensible shoes and striped ties and serious expressions. I have no choice but to post the text of your review of my book because you only keep articles archived on your web site for 14 days, and I can’t link my readers directly to you.

The First Amendment rocks!
Melicious

When she straps on her skates and shoves in her mouth guard, Melissa Joulwan morphs into Melicious—and the whirlwind on wheels begins.

Review by Andrea Hoag, Special to the Star Tribune

The old brawl game is back. The roller-derby craze that swept the nation in the ‘50s and ‘60s has muscled its way back into public view with a vengeance, only this time it’s fueled by a hyper-feminist shot of girl power.

In a memoir that reads like a thriller, freelance-writer-turned-rollergirl Melissa (Melicious) Joulwan exposes the sheer sports perfection that can occur when a group of derby-obsessed women bring their A-game to the fast and furious flat track.

In 2001 Joulwan was new to Austin, Texas, struggling to make new friends and find her niche when she stumbled across a flier for the roller derby. In one velocity-filled evening, the author was speeding toward a brand-new life and a new family of friends. Often wistful for childhood Saturdays at her hometown roller rink, Joulwan jumped at the chance to practice with the women flying past her at lightning speed. Well, part of her jumped at the chance.

“Opening the door to walk into the rink that night, my stomach did the Twist and my palms were slick. My feet propelled me forward, but I felt like the rest of me was flying backward through a tunnel.”

After conquering her initial insecurities – including a bad case of poor body-image – Joulwan’s alter ego emerged, and soon “Melicious” was elbowing her way into the heart of Texas fans, ultimately capturing the title of Miss Texas Rollergirl and Fan Favorite.

All is not rosy in the rough-and-tumble world of the derby, however, and Joulwan does some of her best writing when she reveals the hardships, mean-girl rivalries and horrifying injuries that can be a part of the game. Readers’ hearts will go out to Whiskey L’Amour, a rookie for the Rhinestone Cowgirls, whose debut bout proved how dangerous the sport can be. Pirouetting to the cheers of the audience one minute, “in less than a blink, she was a crumple on the concrete floor. ... Her foot seemed to be detached from the rest of her leg. Her skate dangled at a sickening angle, held in place only by her sock.”

Whiskey suffered a clean break of both her tibia and fibula, and when league officials failed to offer her any substantial help with mushrooming medical expenses, Joulwan’s mounting frustrations with the organization finally boiled over. She and her friends broke away from their original Austin league to form the Texas Rollergirls.

With a mixture of pride and dismay, the women soon saw successful leagues popping up nationwide—in Kansas City, Chicago, and, yes, Minneapolis.

Joulwan tells of the fearless Donnelly sisters (Head Trauma, Rolls Wilder and Flogging Molly), who rounded up recruits and formed the Minnesota RollerGirls league in 2004. More than 1,500 fans came out on a black January night to meet the Atomic Bombshells, Dagger Dolls, Garda Belts and Rockits, who eventually jammed their way to fame in the 4,500-seat Roy Wilkins Auditorium during the 2004 NHL strike.

As the author’s research expanded, so did her appreciation for a gate-crashing sport that allows for so much female self-expression.

“It was startling at first to see how Rollergirls really did seem to be the same everywhere. We’re women who grew up and found that working forty-plus hours a week … can be drudgery. That no one worth knowing is going to discriminate against us if we have tattoos or piercing or funny-colored hair. That we can have kids if we want to, but the get-married-have-children rule doesn’t necessarily need to apply. After eschewing sports as either a childhood battleground or the domain of over-achieving, testosterone-drunk lunkheads, we’ve learned that building muscle and working up a sweat feels really, really great.”

Like the derby itself, Joulwan’s book is pure, free-wheeling entertainment. Lace ‘em up, ladies!

Andrea Hoag also reviews for the Kansas City Star and other newspapers. She lives in Lawrence, Kan.

[http://www.startribune.com/384/story/1005435.html]

Clearly, I’m not going to reach my goal of posting every day… mostly ‘cause I stubbornly refuse to pay for Internet access when WIFI can be found for free. I’ve been compiling stories for a few days. Here’s the first installment. More soon!

Love & bruises from Cincinnati, Melicious

Holy cow! It’s been a week since my book signing at BookPeople in awesome Austin.

I have to give props to the BookPeople staff who dubbed themselves “Team Success” (except for one rabble-rouser who, like a true Rollergirl, wore a “Success Team t-shirt instead) and sported their Derby names on the back of their shirts: Hermione Danger, Blackhole Joel, and B-Dawg.

I was ridiculously nervous about doing my reading for an audience of Texas Rollergirls, our fans, and my best pals in the world. It’s surreal reading my book aloud to strangers, and the idea of exposing myself that way to my near-and-dear was more intimidating than facing down Slim Kickins on the track. But, just as D the B predicted, it was really, really, really fun. Some of my favorite faces in the world were in the audience: bandmates, Texas Rollergirls, Derby fans, kickass TXRG crew, my neighbors… it was like a family reunion. And Rice Rocket – still tired from the exertion of the Dust Devil – and RadioActive – one of our kickass new Hotrod Honeys and host of “Now Playing Austin” on KOOP – gamely skated around the second floor of the store and demonstrated some Derby basics—without knocking over bookshelves or breaking any glass display cases.

The 60 or so hours between signing the last copy of Rollergirl at BookPeople and boarding the American Airlines flight to Chicago was a mad scramble of last-minute planning, cleaning up work details, frantic shopping, and hastily-typed emails. And despite plans to watch Jane Eyre on the flight, I slept from take-off to touch-down.

Chicago was just as blustery and cold as I’d hoped. I loved the wind stinging my face as D the B and I loaded our gear into the rental car— it was a welcome change from the humid 80-degrees we left behind in Austin. My enthusiasm for winter weather would come back to haunt me soon, but the first few hours in Chicagoland were all potential, and I was very wound up.

Our first official stop on ROLLERGIRL: THE MIDWEST BOOK TOUR was the Five Star Bar with the Windy City Rollers - and to get there, we had to take the subway. I know it’s a weird thing to like, but I love love love riding subways. I like watching the people and making up stories about who they are and where they’re going - and living my own music video in my head by making up stories about who I might be and where I might be going. Other people are merely riding the train to work, but I know we’re actually rocketing behind enemy lines to intercept a secret communique. So, yeah, I enjoyed my ride from Chinatown to the Five Star Bar. And when we got to the bar… Rollergirls! Broken Cherry and Annie Maim and Dayglo Dego and Dina Discipline and Riley Coyote and Sixteen Scandals and Honey Badger and Ada Hatelace and Sister Sledgehammer and Belle Diablo… and their fans and friends.

Broken Cherry is a badass!

Just inside the front door, a table was stacked with copies of Rollergirl and was hosted by reps from Barbara’s Books: my new BFFs Carla and Shannon, who turned out to be the coolest booksellers ever. We had cocktails, ate guacamole and chips, talked about manga and anime… and when Dina Discipline started spanking spectators for a mere $2 donation, Shannon was first in line (a man after my heart, for sure!) I eventually succumbed to the peer pressure and climbed up on the bar for my turn with Dina’s paddle.

Wow! I’d watched her on the wind-up but didn’t realize how much that swat was going to hurt. It was shocking. Shocking! Then my right cheek stung… for, like, 20 minutes. Then the stinging morphed into a slow burn that eventually felt like I was standing in front of a radiator. That Dina, she sure knows how to dish out the discipline! On the up side, according to her, that swat absolved me of any number of past indiscretions. Sweet!

Speaking of sweet… I finally met my myspace pal Chauncey (I call ‘im chocolate)! It was weird-familiar… his conversation sounded just like his writing, and there he was… in person! Just like his photos only 3-D and interactive. And later, some of the skaters from Ft. Wayne Roller Derby showed up to have a beer with the “enemy” before their bout on Saturday night. I met another contender for Derby crush: Minx, a smart, beautiful, sassy, charming Ft. Wayne skater.

Eventually, all takers had been spanked, the remaining copies of Rollergirl had been packed up, and I’d reached my self-imposed 2-beer drink limit. The subway and I had our first lovers’ quarrel on the ride home. Only one track was in use at 12:15 a.m., and my train left me sitting on the tracks – cold, tired, unmoving – for 30 minutes, then switched my train from a local to an express before unceremoniously dumping me at the station for a 40-minute wait for the next train south. But all was forgiven when the train finally showed up and whisked me safely back to Chinatown.

When I woke up at 8:00 Saturday morning to feed the meter, it was markedly colder and the forecast was looking grim. It was predicted that at 5:00 p.m., snow and sleet would fall from the sky over Chicago. Our carefully-calibrated schedule required us to leave Chicago after the bout that night. At 10:00 p.m., we had to be on the road to Davenport, Iowa, if we had a prayer of making it to Kansas City, Missouri, in time for my 7:00 p.m. signing with the Kansas City Roller Warriors.

But in the 12 hours before we hit the interstate, there was a visit to the Museum of Science and Industry, a magazine interview, a Roller Derby bout, and a quest for one of the famous “Sandwiches You Will Like” sammies: an Italian beef from Al’s #1.

[The skinny on the delicious sandwiches; the Museum of Science and Industry; the Windy City vs. Ft. Wayne bout; the snowstorm; the Hyatt at Union Station in St. Louis; Molly, the coolest 11-year-old in the world; and my adventures with the Arch Rival Rollergirls coming soon… must get some beauty sleep before our drive to Cleveland tomorrow. My parents are coming in from Pennsylvania for the signing!]

If y’all have seen the news – or live in the midwest – you know there was a nasty snow-ice-sleet storm yesterday and last night… MSNBC is, of course, calling it a MONSTER STORM.

After having a blast at the Windy City Rollers/Ft. Wayne Derby Girls bout last night (more on that later), D the B and I were prepared to gut it up and drive our kickass rented Jeep Laredo through the night to Davenport, Iowa, so we could get up this morning and drive the rest of the way to my rendezvous with the awesome Kansas City Roller Warriors.

Sign #1 That We Were, Perhaps, Not Driving to Davenport last night:
We were cruising along 290 West, snug on our deep-tread tires, when a car one car-length ahead of us did a 360-spin and ended up with its trunk butted against the center concrete divide. Be glad you weren’t in the car to hear the shrieking sound that flew from my throat. I think D the B is still traumatized.

Sign #2 That We Were, Perhaps, Not Driving to Davenport last night:
The temperature gauge on the dashboard dropped from 33 to 32 to 31 to 30 to 29… and with each degree, the crunching sound of the ice under the tires got louder.

Sign #3 That We Were, Perhaps, Not Driving to Davenport last night:
I saw lightning – lighting, people! – as we circled and re-circled the frontage road to find our way to the Holiday Inn that is now my favorite hotel.

As we pulled into the parking lot, the talk radio host providing a blow-by-blow of the weather said, “It’s a sheet of ice out there on just about every roadway you can name or imagine.”

The sweetest words I heard yesterday – and I heard a lot of sweet words from beautiful, tough, kickass Rollergirls – were, “Yes, we have a vacancy.” from the really nice lady behind the check-in counter.

So I got a great night’s sleep, worked out in the hotel gym, and we’re ready to hit the road to St. Louis. I’m sorry to miss you, Kansas City… I was really looking forward to singing the song “Kansas City Here I Come” with Big Joe Turner as we pulled into town.

More on Chicago later. Those Windy City girls took great care of us.

It’s a strange feeling to sit here in Austin in my leopard print pajamas and slippers, knowing tonight, I’ll be raising a glass with the fabulous Windy City Rollers at Happy Hour. F*ck, yeah!

Come out and play with us tonight! We’ll be whooping it up – and I’ll be selling & signing books – at Five Star Bar (1424 W. Chicago Ave) from 6:30-9:30 p.m. It’s a warm-up to the inter-league action tomorrow night…

... when the Windy City Rollers take on Ft. Wayne Derby Girls Bomb Squad. The bout is at The Stadium (1909 S. Laramie, Cicero) and doors open at 6:00 p.m./game at 7:00. Get your tickets here. I’ll be there signing my book and cheering for the Rollergirls; you should be, too!

I’ve got two neato radio interviews lined up for Wednesday, February 21, and you can listen to both online…

First, bright and early, I’m hangin’ out with the Radio Ritas! Whoop!

Wednesday morning, grab a cuppa joe and listen to me talk Derby with Maureen and Cory, the hosts of Radio Ritas, “best friends who bring mornings alive with lifestyle news, amazing views, and riveting interviews.”

My interview is at 7:00 a.m. Central (6:00 a.m. Pacific/8:00 a.m. Eastern)... but the show seems fun, so tune in and listen to the whole shebang!

You can learn more about the show at the official web site... and listen online here.

Then at 1:00 Central (noon Pacific/2:00 Eastern), I’ll be on Think with Krys Boyd, along with Assassination City skater Gata Killya.

Click here to listen online—looks like it should be a nice long interview, and with a Roller-sister joining me, you never know what might happen!

I wish I could dig deep and find eloquent, inspiring words to adequately describe just how amazing it was to be at the Dust Devil.

I can’t.

I’m too tired…

from hugging so many awesome Rollergirls, and cheering until I lost my voice, and jumping up and down on a chair in either frustration (penalties!) or glee (superstar skating!).

My pledge to you: when I’m driving through the frozen Midwest, I’ll process it all and give you a real story about my three days at the Dust Devil, along with photos of my view from the back of Bladeworld.

For now, here are some links to interviews and reviews of Rollergirl that have hit the ‘Net recently:

Interview (and really kickass article about Flat Track Derby) in the Arizona Daily Star: “You go, (roller derby) girls!” by Kevin Smith

Review in the Austinist

Review in “Crash Zone” blog

Review in “Bombadee’s Garden” blog

Podcast interview on “Blog Business World” w/ Wayne Hurlbert

[As I write this, I’m actively fighting to avoid eating a donut with bright pink frosting and mini chocolate chips sprinkled on the top at the continental breakfast here at our hotel in Tucson. I’m pretty sure the damn thing just whispered my name.]

Things I learned on the seemingly endless drive from Phoenix to Tucson:

1. The students at Arizona State University are total squares and have apparently never before seen a girl with pink hair and tattoos.

2. Cap’n Crunch Peanut Butter cereal topped with sliced banana and a little bit of chocolate sauce is really, really, really good, but it might make your head buzz.

3. Twenty boxes of Rollergirl will indeed fit in the trunk of a Ford Taurus, but it really messes with the feel of the brakes.

4. As an employee of the Arizona State Department of Corrections, you could earn a starting annual salary of $38,742, plus benefits. I garnered this new bit of knowledge off the back of a Corrections Department bus, traveling east on I-10. I saw an orange jumpsuit through the window.

5. Despite valiant attempts, I cannot write postcards while riding in the car. The possibility of typing while riding has yet to be explored.

6. The entrance to a time-stretching portal can be found on I-10 East.

7. Uncle Kracker is underrated as a songwriter and singer.

8. A 20-oz. cup of gas station coffee becomes perfection when doctored with 4 creamers, a dash of French Vanilla creamer, and 3 Sweet & Low packets. It also makes me really want to tap things with a pen.

9. The Rush song “Tom Sawyer”is more awesome than you remember. (Unless you’re Erin.)

The first person I saw when I pulled into the Bladeword parking lot was the fantastic Lucille Brawl.. then Belle Starr, Ivanna S. Pankin, my buddy Brandon, Tomcat… I could go on and on. It’s like a family reunion.

I’d intended to sell books during the breaks between the bouts, but from 3:30 p.m. until the middle of the last game at 9:30 p.m., I never sat down or put down my Sharpie. I met so many kickass Rollergirls ( Val Capone is my new Derby crush), enjoyed being smushed in Rollergirl hugs, and heard - but didn’t see - a record-breaking 19-point jam.

I am clearly not going to be a good chronicler of the Dust Devil this year. But there are great online resources to get the scoop, and I recommend you check them out to get the play-by-play:

All Bout Derby on myspace

LeadJammer.com