Pat McMahon is the bomb! His morning talk show was my first stop on Thursday morning, and our interview was light and fun.

The drive to the studio, however, was a bit of a stressfest. After inhaling some food from the hotel’s complimentary continental breakfast (Dave: half a waffle; me: granola, whole wheat toast… see photo, titled, “Breakfast in Jail”), we set out with our Mapquest directions into the annoying construction maze around our hotel.

Phoenix is building a light rail system (“You’re not driving through traffic; you’re driving through jobs!”), and it seems that every route D the B and I need to take is turned into a videogame with giant orange cones, heavy machinery, bogs of mud, “No left turn” signs, blowing dust, and murky pools of water. Plus, other drivers seemingly hell-bent on killing us.

I drove. D the B navigated. We both yelled a little and cursed a lot, and we finally arrived at the address in my notes from Simon & Schuster. The building did not look like a TV studio, and D the B said as much. We had two minutes until my official arrival time for the live show, and I was lost in worrying that we’d somehow gone to the wrong place. I was going to ruin Pat McMahon’s show!

Of course, the fretting was for naught. We found the office/studio and the sign out front:

“Melicious!” a female voice squealed from the inner office, then Laura, the producer, appeared. She fussed over me with compliments, gave me water in a AZ-TV mug, and introduced me to the crew. She was all-together lovely and welcoming and I instantly felt better.

Then the front door opened. “Yo, Melicious!” Pat McMahon breezed through the reception office with the casual confidence of anyone going to work in the morning—it’s just that his work is in front of the cameras instead of a computer screen.

Someone turned on the TV in the lobby, and we watched Pat do his opening segment. As the footage of Texas Rollergirls rolled while he did a promo for my appearance, he said, “On the Flat Track, Melicious sometimes flies into the audience, landing on fans. I wonder if they charge extra for that.”

The first guest was a woman wearing a lovely Chinese-inspired silk blouse who was there to talk about tea. She took tea VERY seriously. Pat enjoyed a freshly-brewed cup of green while she explained that the caffeine in tea provides a “sustained lift” rather than the “dramatic jolt” of coffee.

Next up: The president of the Arabian Horse Association to talk about a big Arabian Horse show that’s in town this weekend. In the lobby, he seemed like an uber-grown-up: blow-dried hair and pointy, polished shoes. But on air, he did alright. He was very passionate about the horses, and the B-roll of the Arabians was really beautiful. They pranced and preened, and their coats were so glossy… they are definitely the Rollergirls of the horse world.

After the horse people, there was a flower lady. The flower shop she owns delivered 300 floral arrangements on Valentine’s Day. The deliveries took 12 hours, and she and her staff worked 48 hours straight to prepare. I learned that the reason my fresh flowers always wilt and die very quickly is because I don’t cut their stems and change their water every 2-3 days. Note to self: get a cactus.

While I was watching Pat and his guests, D the B was roaming the streets of Phoenix, almost getting arrested. D the B’s project, while I’m signing books, is to take photos of every cup of coffee he drinks on the tour, along with a picture of the person who servies it to him. The only place for coffee near the AZ-TV studio was a Jack in the Box, so D the B gutted it up and got the fast food coffee, snapping a pic of his server and the coffee-fixin’ area. On his way out the door, a female manager stopped him.

Manager: “Sir, were you just taking photos inside?”

D the B: “Yeah.”

M: “We have a no photos policy. I’m going to have to ask you to delete them.”

D the B: “Um, yeah. I’m not going to do that.”

M: “Well… I’m going to have to call the police, then.”

D: “Ok. But… do you think I’m a terrorist? Do you think I’m a corporate spy?”

M: “No, sir, but we have a policy and I’m going to have to ask you to delete the photos or I’m going to call the police.”

D: “Well… can I talk your picture?”

M: “No! I do not authorize you to take my picture.”

D: “OK. I’m going to go now.”

M: “Sir, I’m going to call the police.”

D the B walked back into the building. No one showed up with handcuffs.

My 8-minute segment with Pat is a blur, but I know it was a fun conversation. Pat asked the usual questions - the difference between banked and flat track, how I got started - but it has such a great sense of humor and timing, it felt fresh. And the ending of the whole shebang was so perfect, it was as if we’d rehearsed it.

Pat: So what’s my Roller Derby name?

Me: Either the Prime Minister or… the Party Machine.

Pat: I can’t be the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister is British; I’m Irish. So… Party Machine it is. [brilliant smile at the camera]

Next on my schedule was an interview with Skatie Couric at the NPR station in Albany, New York. According to the notes from secret Rollergirl HQ in the basement of the Simon & Schuster building in NYC, the show The Round Table is heard on more than 500 NPR affiliates. I tried not to think about that while I talked to Skatie Couric about why Flat Track has taken off, what it brings to the lives of the girls who skate, and how other girls can give it a whirl.

Then I was starving.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, does restaurant research as well as D the B. I’m great at finding the best dishes on a menu once I’m at the restaurant, and he’s a freakin’ pro at discovering the best spots. We’re the Dynamic Dining Duo… or something silly like that.

He chose Fattoush, a hole-in-the-wall Middle Eastern restaurant with food that was every bit as yummy as my dad makes from my great-grandmother’s recipes. We had a feast: stuffed grape leaves, lentil soup, chopped salad, hummus, babaganouj, pita bread, chicken kebab, kafta kebab, and a mysterious garlic sauce that was so good, I wanted to smear it on everything. Most of the conversation consisted of “mmmmm, this is so good,” and we brought leftovers home to eat before the book signing. On the way out, we got a piece of baklava and when I joked that I wished I could scrape the pan with a fork to get all the buttery bits of phyllo dough stuck to the bottom, the sweet waiter did just that, tucking the phyllo leaves around the glistening diamond-shaped piece of baklava. Heaven.

We made a brief stop at Target and Office Max, splitting up to save time, and I got lost in the parking lot. Which nondescript, sort-of-silver car with Arizona license plates is ours? I walked up and down every aisle, unable to call D the B ‘cause I’d left my phone in the pocket of my jacket… in the trunk of the car.

Is it this one? Nope. That one has a flowered lei hanging from the rear view mirror.

Is it this one? Uh-uh. That one has a baby seat in the back.

Is it this one? Wrong. That one has a rip in the passenger side seat.

Oh! It’s this one, next to the van of annoying people who don’t seem to notice that their vehicle is ding-ding-dinging – quite loudly – because the key is in the ignition and all the doors are standing wide open. Door ajar! Door ajar!

Back to the hotel to watch Wonder Woman on the iPod, i.e., nap with headphones on.

D the B has carefully constructed a binder that holds the secrets to all of our travels over the next few weeks. There are pages with an hour-by-hour breakdown for each day, print-outs of maps and directions to each destination, and notes from the secret Rollergirl HQ at Simon & Schuster. We decided that even though we’d planned just about everything down to the minute, we really did need a handler.

We chose Justin Timberlake. As D the B said, “He’s bringing scheduling back.”

Justin’s earnest, blue-eyed face covers the front of the binder, and we consult him whenever we need to know where we’re going and when.

Justin said that the drive to Tempe was a mere 16 minutes. But a quick phone call to Cindy, the awesome events manager at Changing Hands Books, revealed that in weekday traffic, the 12-mile drive might take more than an hour. I cut my nap short, and – appropriately primped in pink eyeshadow, fishnets and knee socks, and freshly-flat ironed hair – we joined the thousands of other cars inching to the east like some kind of mechanical lemming run.

And we, of course, arrived blessedly, relaxingly early. The first thing I saw when I walked in? My boook!

Changing Hands is the kind of place where I could easily kill an entire Saturday, browsing through books, imagining all the new thoughts I’d think and new ideas I’d learn if I took them home with me. I wanted to look and linger, but then I’d remember I was doing a reading in a few minutes, and feel a little flutter of jitters in my chest. The little flutter turned to big bat wings at 7:00, my start time—there were only about 3 people in the chairs in front of the little stage. But we all agreed that yes, the attendees were probably on Rollergirl time, and by 7:15, there were about 25-30 people there, many of them from the badass Arizona Roller Derby and Renegade Rollergirls. (Thank you, roller family!)

But there were also some civilians in the audience: a lovely young woman who said the book signing was her treat to herself to take a break from school (we agreed that inline skates are inferior to quad skates and the Midsomer Murders is awesome), and an older couple (in their seventies?) who sat quietly near the back.

We watched some video footage, and I explained how Flat Track Derby is played, then the terrifying part started: I read passages from my book. I’m not sure I can accurately describe the floaty, out-of-body experience I had reading from my book to a bunch of almost-strangers. It’s the ultimate “me me me me me me me me me” moment. And I had to struggle a bit to keep it together when the audience laughed at just the parts that I hoped they would.

When the reading segment was over, I answered a few questions, and then the sweet older couple in the back spoke up. They were Bert Wall and Bobbie Mateer, a.k.a., the Ponytail Express… banked track skaters in the ‘50s! (A quick Google search this morning revealed that they were both on their respective All-Star teams for many years!) They told us how they’d toured all over the country, and they played in those Madison Square Garden bouts with tens of thousands of fans watching.

Bert & Ponytail had seen a notice about the book signing and decided to come out to meet the Rollergirls and hear about my book. They said that they are thrilled we Flat Track skaters are reviving the sport, and that we’re all welcome to join their annual Roller Derby reunion. They really couldn’t have been more gracious or charming. And we swarmed them, asking for autographs and photos.

When we encouraged them to come to the Dust Devil this weekend, the Ponytail Express said, “I’m not sure if I can. I have a tennis tournament this weekend.”

Rollergirls… they just get tougher with age.

Then it was time to sign books, and I think that was my favorite part because I got to talk to everybody one-on-one. Hearing snippets of everyone’s stories is a joy, and I’m taking mental notes for my next book.

When the last Rollergirl wandered out, I signed some books for the store to sell, and Cindy gave me a t-shirt that says “Fictional Character” across the chest and told me to choose a book as a gift. I selected a children’s book called “Seventeen Things I’m Not Allowed to do Anymore” because the little girl in the book is definitely a punk-rock-Rollergirl-to-be.

Justin helped D the B and I find our way back to the hotel, and I fell asleep watching Countdown with Keith Olbermann, sometime between the #3 story of the day and Keith’s list of the Worst People in the World.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to drink water and realized I left my Dust Devil tickets at home, sitting on my desk, in the folder marked “Important Papers.”

Thanks a lot, Justin.

For the last two weeks – as I’ve been wrapping up last-minute dayjob to-do items and obsessively making lists of things that would doom me to lifelong failure if they didn’t make it into my suitcase – my mantra has been, “I’ll be fine once I’m on the plane. I just can’t wait to get on the plane.”

One of D the B’s to-dos was to strip DVDs for me, so I’d have lots of entertainment on the kickass iPod he got me for Christmas. (Thanks, D the B! And for those of you who haven’t had the distinct pleasure of meeting D the B, he has the patience of Job, he’s very handsome, and he finds ways to make me laugh when I think I might crack into a billion little shards from stress. He’s such a catch, I can’t even really talk about it.)

Yesterday, he armed me with 13 episodes of Keen Eddie (an awesome detective show co-starring a pre-overexposure Sienna Miller); the new, almost-perfect 4-hour Masterpiece Theatre version of Jane Eyre, complete with makeout scene(!); When Harry Met Sally, which D the B was reluctant to include because I always cry when Billy Crystal runs through the streets of New York to get to Sally on New Year’s Eve; Hellboy, ‘cause, yes, I have a crush on Hellboy; and Little Miss Sunshine. From iTunes, I bought myself the music video for Duran Duran’s “New Moon on Monday” and an episode of the TV series Wonder Woman in which Linda Carter plays dual roles (the evil twin episode!): Wonder Woman and an evil Nazi impersonator.

I couldn’t wait until we’d been in the air for the requisite 10 minutes so I could fire up my iPod and start watching. I planned to start with Linda Carter.

I’m pretty sure I was asleep before the plane took off, and I only woke up when the pilot announced that we’d be landing 30 minutes later than planned because Phoenix was in the midst of a thunderstorm, and we were one of 60 planes making lazy circles in the sky over Arizona, waiting for the storm to pass.

Once awake, sort of, I started on the Detective Barnaby novel I bought at Half Price Books a few weeks ago. So far, it’s just what I expected, which is a good thing. Cozy. Familiar.

So… flight: mostly uneventful. And I was in row seven. Lucky!

When we got to the hotel, we were given a key to room 711! VERY lucky. And shown the pile of book boxes stacked in a storage room. I had 400 copies of Rollergirl shipped here to take to the Dust Devil. They arrived on a palette and a bellhop had to carry 20 boxes into the hotel. I gave him a heart-shaped box of chocolates when I arrived; it seemed to make amends.

I’m about to wander downstairs for complimentary coffee now and get ready for AZ-TV interview at 9:00 a.m. —my first TV interview in regular human clothes, instead of my Derby uniform! And tonight, my first book signing!

To all of you who’ve been sending me sweet emails and words of encouragement: thank you (truly) and keep ‘em coming! I love hearing from you.

This may be my favorite interview yet. I had a blast talking to San Antonio Current writer Dave Maas, and the resulting Q&A is pretty fun. Dave usually covers prison/death penalty stories, but recently found himself interviewing Suicide Girls and me. Should I be concerned that his editor thinks we’re all of the same ilk? Or is that a compliment?

I’m going with compliment.

Visit the San Antonio Current online, and if you’re feelin’ generous, send Dave Maas an email and let him know you liked the interview.

In honor of the Dust Devil being just one week away, I present my first 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: the account of my first misadventures in Tucson at the Dust Devil 2006, at which the Texas Rollergirls became the Flat Track Champions.

D the B and I have been a goofy-in-love couple for a decade and a half, so we have lots of experience traveling together. Lucky for us, we like most of the same things. Airplanes are for reading, not talking. Vacations usually begin with a nap. Funky hotels – with a fair number of assorted colorful characters – trump homogenized chain accommodations. That’s why we were booked at the Hotel Congress in downtown Tucson, instead of a cheap, but frigidly air conditioned, Econo-Six-Days-Lodge.

The gangster John Dillinger spent his last few days as a free man at the Hotel Congress in the 1930s. The lobby is a mix of retro fixtures and hipster touches: a dark wood counter with a switchboard from the thirties faces the neon-lit entrance to the Tap Room, a dive bar consistently voted as having the Best Jukebox in town. (It spins honest-to-Elvis vinyl 45s from Ella Fitzgerald, Tommy Dorsey, ZZ Top, Violent Femmes, Velvet Underground, The Clash.)

A wide, curving staircase leads to the guest rooms on the second floor, all tidily appointed with vintage radios, chenille bedspreads, antique iron beds, and compact tiled bathrooms. Hallways are barely lit by fringed lamps that cast eerie reflections in the heavy vintage mirrors along the walls. Floorboards creak under the Oriental rugs, which only make the stories about the place being haunted seem more plausible. I’m not too proud to admit it: when I walked the hall alone, I did it with purpose, lest a phantom materialize by my side. I was charmed. I wanted to photograph every nook and cubby. I plotted to sell my house and move permanently into a Hotel Congress room, like Hemingway in Cuba, clacking away on my typewriter, a heavy-bottomed glass of Jim Beam within easy reach.

Until the next morning.

Dave is 6’5”; beds from the thirties are not. His feet dangled over the edge of the mattress, tempting the demons that hid underneath. Sleeping on the too-soft mattress, any movement sent both of us rolling into its center, a tangle of damp sheets (no air conditioning) and damp limbs.

In the morning, I cracked my elbow twice on the sink as I used the commode. I have no idea how Dave managed the Lilliputian bathroom. When I tried to use my hair dryer in the bathroom, the ancient electrical system shorted it out. As I dressed in black pleated mini skirt, black fishnets, black boots, and black Texas Rollergirls logo T (the poster girl for team support), I realized the chenille bedspread was not only authentic, but annoying. Every inch of me was coated in tacky white fuzz.

Lint brush. Reminder that we were on vacation. Attitude adjustment. And I was ready to meet my roller sisters in the lobby. Dave, always my Sir Galahad, navigated the bustling breakfasters in the lobby cafe to score me a cup of coffee. In the first surprise of the day, the van that was taking us to Bladeworld for the Tournament was on time.

We met Electra Blu, Dirty Deeds, Muffin Tumble, Sedonya Face, and Felicia Graham (friend of roller derby, talented photographer) at the overstuffed couches in the lobby. The clamor of six Rollergirls talking at once was shrill for 8:00 a.m. We hugged. We milled about. We finally straggled out the front door to the parking lot. Coffee in my left hand, purse in my right, I walked with D the B as questions buzzed the air:

“Who has the directions?”... “What time do our girls start?”...”Did you talk to Barbarella last night? Is she excited?”

I walked between the van and the car parked next to it and turned to wave to Dirty Deeds and Sedonya Face as they split off toward their car. Then a bunch of seemingly unrelated things happened all at once. Muffin Tumble gasped. Dave’s face creased with worry. From far away, I felt my boot thud against the concrete tire stop at the head of the parking space. Yellow paint lines rushed toward my face and suddenly, I was tumbling, coffee and purse thrust in front of me as if they might cushion the blow of the asphalt that streaked toward me.

I landed like a tripod in a Twister game: left hand coffee cup, left knee tire stop, right hand purse. I was in a vacuum; there was no sound or motion as six Rollergirls, two boyfriends, and a handful of strangers at the windows of the Cup Cafe gawked at me.

Mustering what little dignity I had left, I righted myself, made sure my (short, short) skirt covered my butt, and assessed the damage. I’d neither spilled my coffee nor torn my hose, but my knee was skinned and bleeding. It hurt like a mother. The expression on my face warned everyone to proceed with caution, so I was spared too much fussing. We loaded in the van. I drank my coffee and sulked.

Later, at lunch, when my scraped knee and pierced pride had scabbed over – and the margaritas had kicked in – Muffin Tumble said, gravely serious, “Mel, really are you OK?”When I said yes, she could barely get out the words through her guffaws, “Good… ‘cause that was… so funny! You took such… a header! And you… didn’t… even… spill… your… coffee!”

When I ran into my teammate Tomcat for the first time that weekend, she greeted me with, “Hey! Are you OK? I heard you fell!”

Like I said, news travels fast in the underground.

I had the dubious distinction of the being the first Texas Rollergirl, neither on skates nor intoxicated, to wipe out in the great state of Arizona.

Yee-f*cking-ha.

Radio Free Derby is a kickass 30-minute podcast, produced by Hambone of the Gotham Girls Roller Derby. It features interviews with rabble-rousing Derby characters and awesome music, and it’s available free at the links below.

If you’re a newbie to the Flat Track world, the interviews from the Philly vs. Charm City bout give you a pretty good idea of what the magic is all about.

I had a great time being interviewed by my former league-mate Rolletta Lynn—and yes, that’s the Master of Awesomeness himself, Mr. Peter Elliott, crooning his song “Happiness” at the end of the podcast.

Check it out:

• Click here to listen to just this episode.

• Click here to listen to previous episodes.

• To permanently subscribe to all new episodes in iTunes (or other content aggregation program) pick “Subscribe to Podcast” and paste in: http://radio.gothamgirlsrollerderby.com/?feed=rss2

• Or visit the radio.gothamgirlsrollerderby.com page and click on “subscribe”

Topics In This Episode:

• Philly Liberty Belles vs. Charm City Mobtown Maulers – January 20, 2007

• Melissa Joulwan, a.k.a, Melicious – Rollergirl:Totally True Tales From The Track

• Monkeys versus Robots

Host: Hurt Reynolds, Have Derby Will Travel

Cub Reporters:

• Ginger Snap, Bronx Gridlock
  
• Hambone, GGRD referee
  
• Rolletta Lynn, Queens of Pain
  

Music:

• Devil Kit – “Clunk”
  
• The Bella Bombs – “Super Glue Beauty Queen”
  
• Peter Elliott and the Sellouts – “Happiness”

There’s gonna be a lot of talkin’ Derby in the next few weeks. Tune in to see if I say something silly or salacious!

Date: Thursday, February 8
What: The Mark Reardon Show on KMOX 1120, St. Louis
Time: 11:00 p.m. – 2:00 a.m. Central
Listen: Online at KMOX

Date: Friday, February 9
What: Mornings with Ray & Diane on WTIC News Talk 1080, Hartford, CT
Time: 7:50 a.m. Central / 8:50 a.m. Eastern
Listen: Online at WTIC

According to the scuttlebutt, hosts Ray and Diane have become Roller Derby fans since one of their co-workers joined the CT Rollergirls. Whoop!

Date: Friday, February 9
What: The Morning Show on KAXE 91.7 FM, Grand Rapids
Time: 8:10 – 8:20 a.m. Central / 9:10-9:20 a.m. Eastern
Listen: Online Streaming

Date: Friday, February 9
What: The Gary O’Brien Show on WDWS Radio 1400 AM-News Talk, Champaign, IL
Time: 4:15 – 4:30 p.m. Central

Date: Saturday, February 10
What: The Warren Pierce Show on WJR Radio 760 AM, Detroit, MI
Time: 6:35 – 6:50 a.m. Central / 7:10 – 7:20 a.m. Eastern
Listen: Online Streaming

Date: Saturday, February 10
What: Saturday Magazine w/ Bob Johnson on WPKN Radio 89.5/88.7, Bridgeport, CT & Montauk, NY
Time: 12:20 – 12:35 p.m. Central / 1:20 – 1:35 p.m. Eastern
Listen: Online Streaming

WPKN is a totally indie station – f*ck, yeah! – that’s been on air for 42 years. Bob is a big Roller Derby fan and previously interviewed Polly Sonic, of the CT Rollergirls.

Date: Saturday, February 10—late night! into Sunday morning
What: The Jordan Rich Show on WBZ Radio 1030, Boston
Time: midnight – 12:20 a.m. Central / 1:00 a.m. – 1:20 a.m. Eastern
Listen: Online Streaming

Date: Monday, February 12
What: Tron in the Morning on KCMN Radio 1530, Colorado Springs, CO
Time: 9:50 – 10:00 a.m. Central

Date: Thursday, February 15, 2007
What: Pat McMahon LIVE on KAZ-TV Channel 2 & 13
When: 9:00 a.m.

Date: Thursday, February 15, 2007
What: The Round Table, WAMC, Albany, NY
When: 11:00 Mountain /12:00 p.m. Central / 1:00 p.m. Eastern
Listen: Online Streaming

Texas Monthly is like a bible for Texas culture – a celebration of and tribute to all things Texan. The magazine publishes the annual “Bum Steer Awards” to shine the spotlight on the foibles of Texas politicians, wacky only-in-Texas news, and celebrities. And D the B and I have a handful of issues that we use as serious reference materials: a guide to BBQ, the tacos every Texan must eat before they die, killer roadtrips… you get the idea.

This month, they reviewed Rollergirl:

{click for a larger view}

I’m not sure if I was more excited about the review, or the fact that my review appeared just above the review of Joe R. Lansdale’s latest book. I LOVE his work. Love it! And the idea that he might read his review and see my review – and, therefore, know that I exist – is pretty thrilling. (If you have any sense at all, you will immediately get your hands on one of Lansdale’s novels that feature Hap Collins and Leonard Pine. Irresistible characters, evocative Texas settings. And for you Bruce Campbell fans, Lansdale adapted Bubba Ho-Tep for the screen. Wow! I’m really putting my inner geek on display, yes?)

Learn more about Joe R. Lansdale at Wikipedia and his official Web site.

Learn more about Texas Monthly, read the other book reviews, and subscribe to the magazine here.

Chris Gray is the TCB columnist for the Austin Chronicle – the go-to guy for all the latest scuttlebutt on music in our music-loving town.

I have a gigantic soft spot in my heart for Chris because – in addition to supporting Roller Derby since the beginning and writing about some of my favorite musicians – he’s the man responsible for putting me in touch with my hero Mr. Mike Ness a few years ago.

Today he’s done me another good turn in his column:

Read the piece and the rest of Chris’s column at the Austin Chronicle Web site. And why not send him a note of thanks for his continuous support of Roller Derby!