So last night, as is my wont on a Wednesday in NYC, I went skating at the Roxy. And, after going around in circles for a couple of hours, I thought posting a crappy picture of my favorite skating skirt (after having worn it for said couple of hours), taken in a badly-lit hotel room in Midtown, would be an excellent idea. So here it is!
I bought this fabric a year and a half or so ago, on eBay, and originally made a plain circle skirt out of it. I was a little scant of fabric, though, so it was a bit short for my taste. So a few weeks ago I added the waistband, and voila! The Twister Skirt.
I got several compliments on it at the Roxy, usually by people who had just narrowly missed involving us both in a sixteen-wheel tangle on the floor. (Well, they had to say SOMETHING!) Hoo-boy, was the Roxy crowded last night. Think Times Square, at rush hour, on wheels. It was fun, though. The bass was turned up to "defibrillate," and the DJ somehow had a shunt straight from my iPod's "guilty dance-y pleasures" mix to the turntable. He played "Get Into the Groove" and "Bizarre Love Triangle" and "Best of My Love"! I may have to send him a thank-you note.
I was surprised that the Long Island Concussion Enthusiasts' Society was out in such force last night, but they all thoughtfully skated carrying their baguette handbags clenched tightly under their arms, so that when they hit the floor skull-first and forgot their own names, the responding EMT could just pull their IDs right then and there. They also pair up, so that if one skater looks in danger of staying upright for more than thirty or forty seconds, her spotter can squeal and haul her down to the floor where the concussions are more readily available. Because nothing says "Missy's 23rd birthday party!" like a traumatic head injury.
There was also a meeting of the Human Spirograph League — these are the guys (they're almost always guys) who cannot skate in the tame and banal oval that the rest of skate in; they must perform elaborate loops around the floor in highly elliptical orbits. Often backwards. They're like stray planets haplessly interrupted by the sun at a really, really bad time, and so they won't ever have a nice neat orbit. Also, they tend to wear inline skates, instead of quads. One of them nearly took me down, but nicely hauled me along with him for a stride or two so that I didn't suffer the indignity of an official butt-to-the-floor fall. All I can say is, the Human Spirographs? Have tremendous upper body strength. Go figure.
I had a really good time (I always do) and, as usual, left right before I got tempted to get too fancy. I'm a great mediocre skater. I don't run into folks; I don't do the Wile E. Coyote leg-shuffle to keep my balance; I can stop several different ways, none of which involve finding a large immobile object to run into at top speed. I also don't skate backwards, do spins, or too much tricky footwork, because I think the pleasure I would get from doing that stuff (especially when it's so crowded) would not be enough to overcome how just plain stupid I would feel if I seriously injured myself on a business trip 800 miles from home.
So. This is my skating skirt, and that was my night at the Roxy, and sometime in the next six weeks or so I'll get another chance to skate wearing polka dots, and happiness will abound. Can't ask for more than that.