Psychic Revelations

Until I moved to Los Angeles, I thought Kentucky Fried Chicken held a monopoly over fast food chicken. Then I saw Popeye's, and after recovering from the shock that anyone would have the audacity to compete with the Colonel, I started noticing an abundance of chicken restaurants in the Angel City. Why were there so many? How did they compete? Is this what divided LA from the rest of the country?

My poultry awakening exemplifies a phenomenon where awareness of one thing ripples into multiples of the same. It can be something you see – like Popeye's – and suddenly realize that your unassuming city possesses a thriving chicken sub-culture. Or, a phrase pops up that you can't get away from, like ‘gamechanger". Is it possible that pundits in the last election were paid a fee every time they said it?

Currently, psychics fascinate me. Primarily the ones with storefronts and who identify themselves with the classic neon palm. On a whim, a friend and I randomly visit a psychic while we are on a roadtrip, which leads me to wonder how psychics stay in business. Or rather, how they support themselves.

Much like the rippling awareness of chicken restaurants, I now see psychic advertisements everywhere - posters in yards, neon palms in store windows, a placard at a busy intersection, a flyer at the car wash. I decide to call three different psychics to do a little research, imagining an interesting article. That notion evaporates as each psychic responds with a similar sentiment: she's not interested. Doesn't need the exposure, doesn't want it. When I hear this for the third time, I ask why she would advertise her services with a sign at a busy intersection, yet doesn't want potential media exposure. "I don't need it," she firmly replies.

Of course, my curiousity sky-rockets. I decide to forgo phone calls and visit these psychics in person. Around this time, I mention my current obsession to a friend who directs me to the Orange County Register for enlightenment. I read articles that connect fortunetellers – a.k.a. psychics – with Gypsies and describe a down and dirty turf war between two major Gypsy families. (Side-note ripple: Apparently, one of the heads of a major Gypsy family is named Ted Stevens. Could it be...? ) Good thing this particular brand of Gypsies represents the minority.

I re-consider my obsession. I think I may have more to gain by switching back to Junior Mints or sand art, something that doesn't involve death threats and flashing guns. Another friend in New York tells me about a newspaper series she read that debated the authenticity of Manhattan psychics. Next, the LA Times prints a story about the murder of a psychic on Sunset Boulevard – the victim of a Molotov cocktail tossed into her store.

My innocent interest now feels decidedly misguided. I'm still fascinated by psychics, but am even more intrigued by how the ripple effect led me to them through literal signs and just as effectively, pointed me away.

Skating to Success

The disparate standards for success among men and women cannot be denied. I am amazed that the age-old, unspoken rule persists which says women may not be ambitious, aggressive or competitive. We just witnessed this rule in excess during the elections: the media slammed Hillary for exactly these traits. Were any of her competitors skewered to the same degree? Not even close. The whole "pretty" thing presents a different, antithetical measure for women. Sarah Palin perfectly demonstrates the theory that beauty can catapult a career.

Meanwhile, far away from politics, an unlikely phenomenon in our beloved country relentlessly shuts these tired standards down: women's roller derby. Forget the cheesy, choreographed tv fare from the 70's. Today, the sport – and yup, it's a bona fide sport – actually encourages women to be aggressive. And sexy too, if inclined. Fishnets, tattoos and cleavage rule. Few comparable realms provide competitive women with this kind of safe, unconditional acceptance. Self-expression is welcomed; "pretty" is irrelevant. What a relief!

Women's roller derby also re-jiggers the phrase, "sports entertainment," but not in the way of World Wrestling where the athletes are cartoonish characters. The women who play roller derby today may have colorful skate names – Laguna Beyatch, Demolicious, Tara Armov – but those nicknames signify membership in an exclusive club, not a larger-than-life persona. You've got to earn that membership. Turns out a lot of women want to earn it. Since the Texas All-Star Rollergirls pioneered the roller derby comeback in 2001, over 300 all-women leagues cropped up in North America. There's a thirst out there and roller derby quenches it.

Despite all this empowerment business, the "pretty" issue crops up with annoying frequency around women's roller derby. Guys perpetually ask, "Are the girls pretty?" No one goes to a bout and walks away disappointed because the girls didn't fall out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Mila Minute's ability to lap the pack twice in under forty seconds grabs the crowd's attention. Not her looks. These events sell out around the country because there's nothing else that comes close to the energy & spectacle of watching women play a highly competitive game they own.

It would be ironic if roller derby, of all things, helped paved the way to equalizing our society's standards for success.

Hillary would be welcomed with open arms.