Imagine That America

BILLED AS A "SHOWDOWN"and possible game-changer, America's first Presidential debate was anything but.  Mostly predictable, often boring, and mainly a shameful time for our country because it showcased the worst we have to offer as if it were the best.

As a people programmed to take sides, we were, and will be until election day, bombarded by pre- and post-debate spin that focused on who won and who lost, who's leading, who's behind, who's scoring, who's not.

As if the two candidates were even comparable in the slightest.  We seem so eager to protect our two-party system that even a supposedly wealthy extremest is not called out for what he is.  The pied piper of an old boys' club and certain Americans who put down people of other races, other religions, other lifestyles for one reason or another. 

If this is the best the Party of Lincoln can do for all Americans, we need a new Party of Lincoln faster than previously thought.  The present one looks spineless and hopeless for America's future.  It has a candidate for the Presidency of the United States of America who cannot be prepared for what would come.  Mr. Fixit is not fit.  Yet there he stands, wound up like a robot to repeatedly repeat loaded and misleading talking points that are nowhere near the subject actually being talked about.  No matter.  He's so programmed and full of himself that he still takes credit for scoring points.  

I sometimes play a game with my three-year-old grand-daughter called Imagine That:   Imagine being a dancer, can you imagine that?  Imagine being a teacher, can you imagine that?  Imagine being Queen of the World, can you imagine that?  The game always brings smiles of merriment and fascination.

What we are being led to imagine now as a country is far from a game. 

Imagine the churning, squirming, sunburning man on stage at the debate with the full power of the United States, not just an old boys' network, in his pocket.   Can you imagine that?

Roller Derby & the Woman in Me

ON A RECENT FLIGHT, I bumped into a roller derby girl, goes by the game name of Terror Nova. A college student, she plays for the Cape Fear Roller Girls in North Carolina.  She's what you call a "jammer", namely the skater who jockeys through the pack of pivots and blockers to score points.

Turns out Roller Derby is written in caps, ranking among the fastest growing sports nationwide for women.  Fans love it.  And why not?  Like Terror Nova, the players get to learn how to skate, pick out uniform numbers and helmets, and choose a game name -- Babe Ruthless, Rosy Sparks, Charli Horse -- that sticks.  Websites now even generate and suggest roller derby names for babies.

If I were a woman, I'd be playing, game name Lotta Luck, and be rolling around the track, jamming, blocking, bumping, maybe even grinding my way through the packs. The sport is locked in my brain, going way back as a kid watching bad girl rollers with my father when the Derby was on TV in the 60s.  The Bay Bombers from San Francisco were queens of the track back then, elbowing, jabbing, punching each other.  Their leader was the Blonde Bomber, a six-foot-tall skater who starred at pro softball on the side.

None of my four sisters ever took to the Derby all that much.  But it brought out the woman in me.