How I Roll

"If you believe in me. like I believe in you. You wouldn't be tellin' me things that weren't exactly true. Now everythin' changes ain't nothin' the same, I'm gettin' the strangest feelin' baby I can't remember my name" Aerosmith from "Round and Round"

For a moment when the nurse brought me my dose of Quicker Picker Uppers I thought that I had stumbled into a P.T. Anderson movie. No she didn't drink my milkshake, for that I'd have shaken the Skittles out of her, as I don't hit women. No, frogs did not start falling from the sky, that, I was told, was just a hallucination. But she was on skates. Was my Rollergirl fantasy about to come true? Of course not, couldn't be that lucky, but her skates did get me thinking.

Back in the day, which according to Dane Cook was a Wednesday, back before there was Reagonomics, when there was a huge wall that divided Germany between east and west, back when people like John Denver and Dan Fogelberg could be rock stars I spend many a day just cruising around in an oval. No, I wasn't a NASCAR driver, though I'm sure to the observer it was just as exciting and mind numbing. Millions of people may watch the Daytona 500, but the fifty or so people that populated Skateland on any given day were far more judgemental. Their eyes always seemed to be following my graceful hulking mass, waiting for the right moment, when I would fall, and the pointing and laughter would begin. And of course, it would happen.

The thing about it was that the constant disco audio assault on my rock-n-roll lobes threw my balance off. It's true. When the music in your head is "The Ocean" by Led Zeppelin and the disc jockey is spinning "Disco Inferno" by the Tramps the war that will break out in ones head is enough to cause even the primo ballerina to suffer through a dizzy tizzy. So there I was, wobbly in the knees, pre-pubescent but certainly aware that those bumps under her, and by her I am speaking of the generic she, peasant blouse were something that I definitely wanted to get my hands on. Skating skills would have certainly helped, but alas I am left handed and therefore unable to skate backwards, or so I have been told. No skills, thus no girls would ask me to skate during "Ladies Choice". Those spats of rejection at Skateland haunted my self esteem for years to come.

Now, during "All Skate" or "Reverse" I was Jimmie Walker dyn-0-mite. As long as I was facing forward and tuning out the so called music, I was a gladiator on eight plastic wheels. Once I got my momentum going there was no stopping me, like the Juggernaut. I would, however, take the occasional break to fee the furnace at the snack bar. Two slices of pepperoni and a soda for one dollar twenty five cents. Those other three quarters were a pivotal part of any session at the rink, for the arcade was chock full of pinball machines, a lifelong vice.

I suppose the other thing I remember about skating round the hardwood would be the fashion show that was on display each and every day. At Skateland clothes made the man and the ladies dressed to impress. Countless hours must have been spent working that Farrah hair to look just right. The jeans were tight, the legs flared, the accessories of the sea shell variety, at least they were in California. For us boys it was Ocean Pacific or Lightning Bolt, no other brand would do. The colors were like a rainbow, the collars wide enough to land a small aircraft on, and our hair was just as Leif Garrett feathered as the girls. It was a great time to be a skater, even one that still, to this day, can't skate backwards.

Got skating stories? Where were you spending time in your youth?

Dixie Cup of Love: Sam Andeasdale, proprietor, Skateland, circa 1977.