I’m thinking of giving up my dualing ambitions of pole-dancing and tour-guiding and instead switching my life goals to roller derby. I know this comes as a mighty surprise and I’m sorry to spring this on you. I know you thought you’d see me inching down a pole at the Spearmint Rhino or some such gentleman’s club, hanging upside down using only my big toe and a two-square-inch piece of shiny fabric to prevent me from crashing to the stage. Or you figured I’d be dressed in period costume with full petticoat and bonnet, taking tourists around to meet the blacksmith and the cooper at Colonial Williamsburg. Well, I’m happy to announce that I intend to pursue a career as a professional roller derbyist. Derbier. Whatever.