What's Right in the World: Pseudo-Swagger

Relying on an old giggle from Married with Children: "I! Am! A! Model!"

Still living by the phrase "do something that scares you." What this time?

Women's Running magazine is holding a Cover Model Contest.

I'm 44 years old, short, with a few extra pounds. Besides, I do not currently sport a brunette ponytail to bounce magically about my head.

Yet, I am still going to enter, submitting for their consideration a body shot from Adult Nationals, the Detroit Marathon, the River Bank Run, and a head shot from a party.

My one-liner is: A West Michigan wife and mother, Melissa is a freelance writer and graphic designer who runs and figure skates competitively. I also described myself as fun, determined and creative.

I know I'm not pretty, which of course excludes me from being cover model material. So why do it? I'm thinking back to all my encounters with beauty queens. I have had working relationships with not one, but two former national title holders, Shandi, a Ms Missouri turned Ms. USA, and Kirsten, a Ms Michigan turned Ms America. Throw in a Mrs. America, a Miss North Carolina and a few more Miss Michigans I have also known socially. I was a gargoyle in their shadows.

And yet not.

Shandi was my first beauty queen, a local celeb who was a VIP for Catholic Charities at a Go to Bat for Kids event I helped create and promote. Like any girl without a crown, I was prepared to be a bitch, except she looked so miserable and lonely in the suite, her date off working the crowd, so I sat with her. Damned if she wasn't the nicest girl on the planet, and we bonded over beers, baseball and girl talk. She was eager once her reign as Ms Mo came to an end to take me up on learning how to skate, then she won the national title, wrote a book, and became a game show hostess.

Kirsten was a gal who approached me while I worked at a pysch hospital for a little publicity before the national pageant. While we couldn't use her there, I suggested she talk to the girls at the figure skating club. This was a doozy, she talked about mental health and eating disorders, confessing to having developed issues while a teenager. By putting aside any of my own insecurities and defenses, I was able to bring this girl to an eager population that wanted to hear what she had to say and in a few cases, probably helped turn a few girls around.

Looking back on my chance encounters with these beauties, I see my own successes, radiating a little light on what I have accomplished for myself and others. While my hair may not bounce, it certainly puffs with the energy of a gal that has a lot to offer and maybe I too can preen through pictures and phrases. It's important that magazines such as WR know people like me exist and while not maybe me, but someone like me deserves to be celebrated on the cover of their magazine.

Why Art Matters: Documentaries

My newest, latest binge watch.

Being trapped inside this winter meant lots more television than I'd rather watch. This has led to a marathon watching of documentaries on Netflix.

What makes them so interesting?

It's compelling storytelling with the purpose to inform the viewer about something that maybe isn't that widely celebrated. In the case of the recent documentary on ice shows, it was a beautifully packaged 80 minutes chronicling the rise and fall of the shows, from Sonia Heine to today. Knowing some of the players made it even more real and also more magical a time for my sport.

It introduces people and characters you may not otherwise meet. As a fan of Andy Warhol, I was aware of his entourage dubbed The Factory, yet had no real knowledge outside of Edie Sedwick. Then I watched a documentary on Candy Darling, the trans actress celebrated in Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side." It was a very sad tale of a boy who grew to be woman, who in turn became an actress, a performer who performed every second of her existence. All I could think is the line from Courtney Love, "I fake it so real, I am beyond fake," even to the point of demanding full makeup during the final days in the hospital. And the Oscar winning 20 Feet From Stardom was simply magical.

They touch on real life. The documentary Trapped dealt with the subject of politics and societal norms clashing over the subject of international adoption. It was like reliving the years 2003 - 2005 again, as we were jerked around by both the Russian and Bulgarian governments  during our adoption quest, which drew to its end when Dave accepted a job in Michigan while I was in Missouri. This opportunity negated our home study, and also put the Catholic agency in a tailspin because they considered us "separated," even if it were for business. But we were lucky: we were only out $5,000 whereas the families in the documentary pumped $100,000 or more to be reunited with their child. Still, 10 years later, I wonder what our little Beatrix or Katarina is doing on the other side of the world, and hope she is ok.

This has also led to some consumer indignation on my part, watching in horror on the subject of GMOs, fast food and mega-super stores and their effect on economies both great and small. Hard to say not shopping at WalMart makes me some sort of activist, but it's a start.

And simply opening the world around me. CNN is the home to not one but two recent favorites, Anthony Bourdain's Parts Unknown and Morgan Spurlock's Inside Man. Both shows are part two in both men's television career, Bourdain's No Reservations and Spurlock's 30 Days. Yet different, of course. The first season of Bourdain's PU finds him exploring the more challenging corners of people, food and culture, like Libya and Detroit. What he finds time and again is people are people and local cuisine is amazing. He doesn't sugarcoat issues, like abandoned buildings in Detroit or the uncomfortable culture clash where he was allowed to eat with the men, while the women were regulated to what he called "the kids table." Spurlock again immerses himself as a local to experience societal problems firsthand, like teaching in an inner city school or working the orange groves alongside migrant workers.

Typing Out Loud: #Bring Back Our Girls

My girl is #136: Tabitha Silas

There are days when the subjects and interests of note are lighter than air and fluffier than a fresh from the package marshmallow.

This is not one of those subjects.

A militant group known as Boko Haram (which sounds much more fun than they are) admits to kidnapping a group of girls in the name of religion. Their crime? Going to school, educating themselves.

As more and more information is coming to light on how they were kidnapped, why they were kidnapped, and what their fate may be (rape, forced marriage, murder), I get angrier at how history as a whole treats women, and how groups justify this horrific treatment.

But what can I do, all the way up in Michigan? For one thing, exercise my freedoms here in the US. Vote. Vote for people who will accept a world view where it's not acceptable to treat women this way. Care less about Kardashians and more about girls who are brave enough to get up in the morning and attend their physics final.

I'm praying for you Tabitha. I hope when you are found again, it's as a freshman at MIT in the sciences, wearing a Katy Perry concert tee.

May Playlist: Adult Nationals

These are my people.

When I discovered adult figure skating, I discovered my tribe. I was heartened and humbled by the cheers and tossies for me when I knew next to no one at my first AN in Kansas City in 2005. The competitor party was a special memory, as a solitary hug between Maureen and Kristin enveloped me, then Dee, then began to absorb every adult skater in its path, leading to an impromptu hokey pokey dance party and an all night champagne toast.

Along the way, songs have been added to the lexicon of skating, either because they capture a certain moment in time, have become go-to anthems at the party, or simply a signature.

Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bonnie Tyler: random pop up on an iPod while traveling through Canada on our way to Lake Placid, it became THE song of AN08. It was on repeat well on our way to Niagara Falls, at the grotto at our hotel, and "bath towel optional" hotel room dance party. Oh Sue, such a good look.

Celebration, Kool & the Gang: isn't this universal at any party?

Carmen Suite, Bizet: an overused piece of skating music, it is key element to drinking games and Skating Bingo.

Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Chung: on our 10+ hour road trip to Minnesota in 2010, the WMAS (West Michigan Adult Skaters) girls got a little punchy in Chicago commute traffic and this song sent us over the edge, and shouting WANG CHUNG! became a rallying cry picked up by the competitors and US Figure Skating's coverage of the event.

Eye of the Tiger, Survivor: figure skating is a sport and of course we have a get pumped up go-to tune. Watch Becky lose her mind when it's played.

Never Been to Me, Charlene: Pathos from a woman who lived the high life warning a stay-at-home mom that the highs weren't so high. Oh the discourse in this song is hilarious, so camp. Jen and I will occasionally throw a line from this song at each other just to see if we are paying attention.

Hold On, Wilson Phillips: It came on the radio on our way to the Cape, and what started as a quiet singalong turned into a raucous chorus of girl power. It reappeared in the movie Bridesmaids, which we watched the morning before competition, and then it reared its head again on the way to the rink.

Back Dat Azz Up, Juvenile: this one was added this year, as the gang loaded into the van for the final day of competition. We responded accordingly.

Jessie's Girl, Rick Springfield: This one was adopted when Becky wished she had Stacy's spins or her jumps.

Evergreen, Barbra Striesand, Nothing Takes the Place of You, Toussant McCall, Dog and Butterfly, Heart: There are some times when it's just a duet between me and Michelle that gets on Jen's nerves. These are three songs off the top of my head that send Michelle and I into our parallel high school alternate universe where we were thick as thieves, in some sort of Square-Pegs-meets-Misfits-of-Science-MTV-video reality.

(Usually May is River Bank Run playlist month, but I haven't gotten around to it yet! Next month, I promise...)

What's Right in the World: Adult Nationals diary recap

That's me hanging with Dick Button and Charlie Tickner. Three skaters, three Olympic medals!

(Some of us have more modest resumes...)

So me and the girls headed out to New England last week to participate in the 2014 US Figure Skating Adult National Championships, known affectionately among its participants as ANs.

To save money (we think) and time, we road tripped to Chicago to catch a flight from there to Providence, RI. Hi jinks began on the road and continued through the airport. One passenger noted our jovial mood, and commented that we seemed like a lot of fun. Sweet. As Southwest fate would have it, I ended up seated next to this passenger, who began conversation with "you know this country is run by communists!" and proceeded to discuss one-sidedly gays ("boys wanting to be girls, girls wanting to be boys, you jus' don't know who's wearing the pants anymore!"); his time as a wrestler, including being a "state champeen"; Vietnam; a stint as a horse jockey; raising kids "they all disappoint me"; and of course politics. He of course had an aura that can only be obtained through 30 years of cigarettes and horse manure.

Off to Providence, where upon landing we chanced upon Jean, a fellow competitor who happened to be in all three of my events. Stalking through the airport in stilettos, I wondered how I'd measure up. But I had other things to celebrate, as I was now in a new state! I regret saying I am somewhat unimpressed, it looked like Detroit with yachts. This led to conversation about the Kwan and the critical attractiveness of her husband, who is running for governor.

In the blink of an eye, we exited RI and were in MA. For such a highly concentrated population area, it still felt woodsy and small town. We stopped for supplies, dinner and booze. We made it to the cottage around 9pm, after having travelled for 13 hours.

We woke up Tuesday to fog and rain. Beach? No beach today, it was time for registration check-in, and pray I would be able to hop on to practice ice somehow. Competitors gifts were a grocery tote, a pen, an alarm clock and a phone case only for iPhones. My Galaxy and Blackberry companions were not impressed, and I ended up with the extra cases. Due to a clerical error, I was able to hop on the 1pm practice session and step on Nationals ice for the first time. It was nice. It was smooth. There was a camaraderie that can only be found among adult skating athletes. I landed all my jumps, did all my spins, and managed to crank out a little choreography. Afterwards, I power walked the track and hung out with friends until it was time to go to yet another rink.

We headed to the Tony Kent Arena in Godknowswhere, notable because that was Nancy Kerrigan's rink where Tonya Harding's henchmen were suppose to stalk and attack her, but they got lost. So did we, finding ourselves at a trailer park closed for the season. Recalibrating mapquest, we were quickly back on track, giving us the unique opportunity to debate the merits of Paula Abdul's career. While at TK, we ran into more friends and for me, a familiar face. Because I was staring, I decided to approach the man, and introduce myself, wondering how I knew him. A few quick questions, Kevin introduced himself and we discovered we had met a ISI competitions nearly a decade ago. It was the ISI Adult Championships in Vegas in 2005, he had been rinkside, waiting to take the ice while I was performing in FS4. In the middle of the footwork sequence, I stutter stopped in the middle, looked him square in the eye, exclaimed "fuck!" and proceeded to complete the step to his howls of laughter. The next year in Nashville, before starting the footwork, I nodded at him, and made the sign of the cross then proceeded to complete the dance step to his howls of laughter.

Dinner was at a British pub, with trivia and karaoke going on. Huge pickles and tasty personal pizzas.

Recovering from a cold/flu/whatever, I was pretty close to fast asleep when a coughing fit woke me with a start at 1am. Ordinarily, I would read myself back to sleep, but I was sharing a room with Robin, and I didn't want to disturb her. And the realization that I was competing freestyle at nationals THAT DAY, jarred me awake even more. Sigh. I hadn't been nervous when I went to sleep, why now? So I did what I usually do, went through my program in my head. Told myself stories. Contemplated withdrawing. Cried a little. Went downstairs so as not to disturb anyone to read myself to sleep off my phone. I must have gotten a little sleep because I woke up to weird dreams, ready and anxious to compete.

For some reason, the nerves worked for me that day. It was satisfying to know I was nervous because I wanted to do well, not because I was ill prepared. I truly let my muscle memory and training take over so I could perform. For once, I was glad I went first. I startled myself by how high my jumps were, how flowly my movements, how serene my smile, because I was feelin' it. I even looked at Michelle after the rocking exit out of the lutz like "really?!" and I ended the program with a fist pump and "eff yeah!" because I haven't quite worked cursing out of my performances quite yet. I came in 10th, which is about where I expected, smack dab in the middle, given my early draw and my well-balanced-but-not-as-difficult program. Greedily, I wished for 8th, and a couple judges gave me that place in their ordinals. I celebrated with candy and clam chowder and spent the day watching friends compete, leading up to the opening ceremonies.

The ceremony was hosted by the Yarmouth club, and featured opening remarks by the club, the mayor, US Figure Skating dignitaries. Friend Michael Tongko sang the National Anthem, and web celeb Michael Buckley came out to do a little shtick and introduce The Nine. The Nine are the skaters who have competed at every single ANs since 1995, including friends Julie, Thom and Angie. It was a pretty big deal.

Thursday I had no plans, so I took half a bagel and a cup of coffee down to the beach for an hour and a half. I amused myself with boat watching, listening to waves, and picking up shells. I did the brave/crazy toe dip, and was immediately punished by the ice cold water that seeped directly into my bones. I warmed myself on the rocks of an inlet pool, and absorbed the sunshine and blue sky. Ready to go to the rink! I was a "sweeper" the rest of the day, one of the gals who races out to clear the ice of presents and debris tossed by friends for the skaters. I was assigned to Butler, but with dance going on, there wasn't much to sweep, so I reassigned myself to Kennedy with Robin. Oh, it was so much fun. And yes, people started aiming for us, but no one was able to hit us. After the Gold ladies, we were interviewed and photographed by a reporter for Ice Network.

Friday was a big day! First, Dick Button, two-time Olympic gold medalist, pioneer of both sport and broadcasting, was in the house to autograph books and talk to adult skaters. Whoa! We were among the first to show up that morning, so he was fresh and spry. When it was my turn to meet and greet, I told him I was a judge and skater, and agreed with his stance on transparency and accountability in the sport. He looked at me in what I hope was admiration and we had a lively discussion on the pros and cons of the IJS system, artistry, getting rid of Ottavio Cinquata who is the head of the ISU, a speed skater that doesn't know squat about figure skating. Acknowledging the line building behind me, I cannot believe I attempted to hurry the man along, but he had an ear and he wasn't going to let go of it until he was good and ready. He allowed me behind the table for a handshake and hug, and when it came time to dedicate my book, he asked what inscription I would like. I said, "I'm Melissa, but my friends call me Mel." And Mel is what he wrote with a smile and flourish.

After dumping costume and skates in a locker room, I headed back to the gym for STARS training camp. The camp is comprised of a series of exercises designed to measure strength, endurance, flexibility, etc. I was hooked up with Heather and Audrey to run from station to station. I did remarkably well on some measures, pathetic in others. Shamefully, I recorded two zeroes: push ups and hand presses. For the push ups, I blame doing them incorrectly for the last 44 years, since I rocked at least 2 with wrong form and when she corrected it, I crashed to the floor. Hand presses were a near physical impossibility, given my short arms and large breasts. Not sure I need to know how to do those since my window of opportunity to be a pairs skater closed when Larry quit. I still want to be able to do it, and practiced the hand press in the pool. Not impossible, but still very difficult.

I competed That's What Friends are For on Friday, which I have already posted about below.

The gals and I went out to dinner finally, after a series of days eating breakfast and lunches on the go (I cannot believe how many times I packed a little lunch for the rink - responsible!). We went to the Black Cat Tavern for lobster rolls and its piano bar, where the guy was playing 80s alt rock, like Midnight Oil. Yes, I savored tuna sashimi and lobster over the strains of Beds are Burning.

Saturday arrived way too soon, and having put in 12 hour days at the rink, we hung out at the house in pajamas watching Bridesmaids for the morning. Afternoon started comedy interps and Jen was first, so off we went. I needed to get in costume and character for Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee. I hung out in the locker room with Jean, Mary and Carol and we posed synchro style prior to our event.

Oh, our event! The great thing about creative people is they feed off other creative people and what would have been a typical warm up was turning into something entirely different as I fed off Sharidan and Kathy as we played it sexy and crazy. The audience was cracking up and it was a great feeling. In fact, the only other time I have ever been this relaxed competing is with Denise. I hammed it up, playing up Rizzo to perfection. I came in 6th in a very tough group, and had three judges place me in the medals. Ugh, I only needed one more!

I parted with my very last tossie, a blue raspberry lip balm I threw to Becky at 7:40 pm. That would be 100 power gels, 100 lip balms, two pair of underwear, two champagnes, and a handful of flowers and bandannas thrown at Lanette's request.

So what have I learned? Being prepared builds confidence and confidence reduces anxiety. I know I couldn't have skated any better than I did, so I'm proud of that, but at the same time, I'm disappointed not to have a medal to show for my efforts. I'm admittedly jealous of everyone posting their medal shots and podium pictures and I wish I could figure out how to make that work for me. I guess that's what coaches are for.

Oh and even chowder from a rink cafe in New England is ten times better than canned crap. I'm afraid this trip spoiled me for quality seafood. That lobstah roll was wicked delicious.

What Art Matters: Putting Together a Skating Program

Me, coupled with inspiration.

So I just got back from the 2014 USFSA Adult Figure Skating Championships. I performed three well thought out and, IMHO, creative programs. While I didn't win any medals, it was beside the point. I make a case for, and will explain the creative process behind my artistic/dramatic entry, That's What Friends Are For.

A year ago, I was pouting in the car on a trip back home that I was missing the adult skating party of the year since I elected not to compete. Via text and facebook posts, friends kept me up to date on the various happenings. a few even contemplated what measures should be taken to celebrate the milestone anniversary, as we were coming up on the competition's 20th.

While musing over those photos, I said aloud, "There's plenty of icons in the sport that have been honored, like Jay doing Michelle Kwan. Adult skating has a long enough history that we have our own icons, like Larry doing his triples and Amy's Bolero program. And then there's Wendy Bears..."

Wendy, center above, is a long time adult skating competitor who knits tiny sweaters that she puts on tiny bears and then tosses them out on the ice at the conclusion of a routine. (Skating tossies should be their own WAM, perhaps next year...) To get a bear is a huge honor. There are some skaters that have never, ever received one. I received my first at the conclusion of my first competitive program, at my first ANs (Adult Nationals) in 2005.

A Wendy Bear as an icon of adult skating. The idea sprang fully formed - skate AS a Wendy Bear! The song came quickly to mind as well, That's What Friends Are For, a group sing by Dionne Warwick, Elton John, Stevie Wonder and Gladys Knight, four singers in perfect harmony.

I approached Michelle with the idea, whose choreography was intricate and worked with the nuances of the song as well as the emotion I wanted to convey.

My original plan was to get a bear costume at a Halloween shop. This idea fell through when you could only find sexy bear costumes (seriously, what?). Instead, I went with leggings, leg warmers, a bear hat and a green sweater with AN 2014 cross stitched in white.

Hoping for secrecy, I told very few people about the program until Nationals. Then there was a group effort to make sure Wendy was in the stands for the program.

When I skated out for the warm up, the cheers in the stands were audible. I was told during the performance, there was barely a dry eye in the house. I was mobbed afterwards by skaters who wanted a picture with the real live Wendy Bear, and most importantly, Wendy herself.

Not one for tears or sentiment, she nonetheless embraced me in at least 4 bear hugs, saying it was so touching, so amazing. And... it placed 14th. I was disappointed, but when people started saying it was their favorite program of the competition, I can hardly pout.

April Fool's Playlist: Beatles Songs I Hate

You don't love us anymore then?!

I'm like Rolling Stone magazine, I have to feature The Fabs at least once a year.

I'm turning the April Fool's joke on myself this time. What songs by my beloved band do I hate? This April playlist is in reality an anti-list.

Revolution #9: tape loops. Drugs. Yoko. Lazy.

You Know My Name, Look up the Number: Paul as a fake bossa nova lounge singer. It's on Past Masters, it came out around the White Album, but I don't care enough to know more. I find it annoying.

Yesterday: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Hear me out. When I think of my Classic Rock ban playlist from January, 2013 I think I chose the wrong song. Overwrought, over played. When people find out I'm a Beatles fan, they assume this is one of my favorite songs. They are wrong.

Fool on the Hill: I don't know what annoys me about it, maybe it's a series of things, like the pan flute, the stupid video of Paul looking stoned dancing on a hill during the Magical Mystery Tour, the knowledge no other Beatle wanted anything to do with it, or the fact once it's up in your head, the only way to excise it is another ear worm.

Her Majesty: the greatest band in the world completes their legacy with the words "and in the end, the love you make is equal to the love you make." Astonishingly profound, right? Wait for it.... this little snippet ruins it. The only flaw in an otherwise flawless album.

It's Only Love (Help! version): sometimes Sir George Martin got a little too heavy handed in the studio, and he slicked up this song by Lennon to boy band standards. By doing so, the gloss obscured the charm. I usually skipped this song completely when listening to Help. I was pleased to hear this song on the Anthology II disc, when it was just Lennon's vocals and a guitar, the rawness and simplicity enhancing the vocals. I fell in love with it immediately.

Misery: off the debut album. *sigh* They can't all be classics.

Piggies: Harrison's bitching about the British tax system again. An interesting song, but given its discordant nature, I think it's an *important* work, but not one we were expected to jam out to. I tolerate it in order to listen to the White Album in order.

A Taste of Honey: it sounds dated, feels like they are playing through honey. Heavy, forced.

Yes It Is: kind of a masochistic piece of crap, manipulating the sensibilities of a new girlfriend against the memory of another. Yeah, you're not over her yet, are you? I'll wear red if I want to, pal.