Tag: pro wrestling

Love Bites

Work at home Friday! My windows are covered in condensation, as we are expecting rain throughout the day–the thunderstorms are this afternoon. I have some things I need to get done today, including running to the postal service, and I would love to get the apartment finally under control (probably won’t happen) once I am finished with my work. It was a good week in the office, I must say. I slept in until about seven thirty this morning, before Sparky’s need to be fed became overpowering for him and he started hitting me in the face with one of his paws. Poor thing, he has no control over being fed so I always feel a bit guilty sleeping in.

Paul was late getting home again last night, and we watched the season premiere of South Park, and oh, how we laughed. It was one of the most brutal take-downs I’ve ever seen, and not only did 47 get burned like he was Dresden in early 1945, they also went after Paramount, CBS and 60 Minutes—and every last bit of the burns was well deserved. The fact that Paramount just paid $1.5 billion for five new seasons of the show and the streaming rights for every season is just *chef’s kiss*. (Which makes the Administration’s claim “the show has been irrelevant for over twenty years” even more butt-hurt hysterical.) I’ve not watched South Park in a very long time–not sure why or when I stopped watching, but I did–and this isn’t likely to make me want to go back and catch up on all the seasons I’ve missed, but it seems their anarchical mentality for satire has never been lost over the years?

I also kind of love that apparently the show has irritated liberals over the past decade for “punching down”, which made the Right think South Park was for them…and they just found out that it’s most definitely not. Thoughts and prayers, trash, thoughts and prayers.

No one is safe from South Park.

We’re in another heat advisory today, and things may not cool off should we actually get the rain forecast later. I am most likely going to spend as much of the weekend indoors to escape the brutality of the dog days. The new Entergy bill wasn’t as horrific as I thought it might be; it’s still ridiculously high, but not so high that paying it will be a struggle. The bill that will be due in September will be horrible, as well, but then it will start coming down for fall and winter. However did people live down here without air conditioning is a question I ask myself almost every day in the summer–but if you’ve never had it, you don’t miss it, and you adapt to the climate.

There have been a lot of celebrity deaths lately. Ozzy Osbourne, Malcolm Jamal-Warner, and Chuck Mangione all died this past week. Hulk Hogan also died, but that one didn’t hit me with a slight pang of oh that’s a shame; hearing of his death was another one of those good riddance to racist homophobic MAGA trash. I used to be a fan of Hulk Hogan, back in the days when it was the WWF and they did all those crossovers with MTV, which was a lot of fun to follow…but Hogan began wearing thin on me in the 1990s, and by the time we found out he was a bigot (and MAGA), I’d long since been done with him; that information only served to let me know I was right to think he was a garbage person. He did a lot for professional wrestling back in the day, but that didn’t mean he was good at actual wrestling. He had a large personality and knew how to work a crowd, but in the ring he didn’t really have much of a repertoire; he had very limited skills and clearly no desire to learn more…he was just a big man. (Ultimate Warrior was also a shitty wrestler with a huge body.)

Have fun in hell, Hulk.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again tomorrow.

Such pretty eyes!

Don’t Fear the Reaper

Ah, the Von Erich curse.

I’ve always been interested in wrestling. I wanted to go out for the wrestling team in high school, but enough people were already bullying me and calling me a fag, and as painful as those words were, they were made worse by the knowledge they were true–and absolutely godawful knowing I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant….but I knew by their faces and the tone of voice it was spoken in that it wasn’t a good thing. The last thing in the world I wanted was to wear one of those skintight singlets and get aroused for the world to see (although I learned, much later, that it was so common no one ever said anything about it; but even now I am not certain I would have been given that same grace as a sexual suspect); that would be the end of the world as I knew it…so going out for the team wasn’t an option for me, and I kind of regret that fear kept me from something I’d enjoy.

But as I was figuring out my sexuality and trying to figure out what all was entailed by being an object of scorn and disgust by everyone, I started being drawn to professional wrestling. The heyday of pro wrestling was long in the past in the late 1960’s and 1970s, and the WWE boom was yet to make it mainstream once again. But the body contact and domination/submission aspects were the closest thing I could actually find on television that was sort of like a male/male sexual experience–which made my liking for pro wrestling even more suspect and something I couldn’t really talk about with anyone because of course he likes pro wrestling, the fag.

So, I was closeted in that way, too.

But one day when I was a teenager I was in a store–a Walgreens or something–and I saw a professional wrestling magazine with a cover story on Kevin Von Erich, and he was like nothing I’d ever seen before–a tall, long, lean and muscular body in white trunks and barefoot, and handsome in a rugged kind of way. I bought the magazine, and became a fan of the entire Von Erich family…and also was aware of how tragedy haunted the family. When I first heard about this movie, I had to see it…although I wasn’t sure how telling this story would have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

But…I did enjoy it. A lot.

It’s actually very well done, but it’s also kind of sad to watch almost from the very beginning. The movie also cut out one of the brothers, but seriously, another death in this grim film might have been too much for any viewer to handle or take.

The film is very well done, and the story is sad–one about toxic masculinity, distant and emotionally unavailable parents, and how the dream, the drive, of being at the top of the wrestling game caused so much damage. Afraid to admit weakness, not really able to ask anyone else for help when struggling emotionally, the suicides make complete sense. The Von Erich brothers were so tightly bonded they didn’t have room for much else in their lives–friendship, love, etc.–other than the grind of training and wrestling and tightening the bond with each other. The cast is brilliant–great casting, but ultimately flawed in the physical side of things; the Von Erichs were taller than the actors playing them, and of course Kevin was never as jacked as Zac Efron; those kinds of bodies were extremely rare during those decades. Kerry was big and muscular and defined, but he’d also been an Olympic wannabe in discus and javelin.

There’s a particularly moving scene towards the end of the film where Kevin finally breaks down from how overwhelming all the tragedies have been and the toll on his soul and psyche, and his young sons come to comfort him…and he tells them how much he misses his brothers and misses being a brother; the boys tell him they’ll be his brothers, and he apologizes to them because “men aren’t supposed to cry.”

Maybe if the Von Erich brothers had been raised to not believe in toxic masculinity and the narrow definition of what a man is, and allowed themselves to be vulnerable and get help for their demons, the story may not have been as tragic.

Kevin’s sons now wrestle professionally, and Kevin himself doesn’t believe in a curse on the family–though he did for a number of years, but he’s made peace with the past and focuses on his family.

I really enjoyed the movie, but it’s depressing. Four out of five stars.

Three of the actual Von Erichs, with Kevin in the center

Ring of Fire

Professional wrestling is actually an excellent metaphor for reality television; in some ways, professional wrestling programs were the first reality shows televised. It was supposed to be completely real–the feuds and fights and title runs, personality clashes and “backstage” drama–and the wrestlers were supposedly exactly who they were before the cameras. It was until the steroid hearings of the late twentieth century that “kayfabe” (the idea that all wrestlers never give away any of the business secrets, including whether the matches were real or not, etc.) was thrown out the window and the idea of it being a sport rather than entertainment (which wouldn’t need regulating) was dead and over and history. Professional wrestlers now cross over into other areas of entertainment, like film and television; it used to be rare (although Andre the Giant in The Princess Bride remains my favorite wrestler crossover performance of all time, but John Cena in Peacemaker is a very close second and I love Dwayne Johnson in general).

To be honest, the final exposure of professional wrestling as scripted made it all the more interesting to me. After I got published, I started exploring the world of professional wrestling, with an eye to writing about it someday. I wrote a lot of wrestling porn back in the day when I first started publishing–pro wrestling has actually quite a subculture in the gay community, and it was a lot of fun. I worked with someone who was a legendary trainer a long time, who showed me a lot, and I met other guys who were pro-trained or had worked in the ring and tried to learn as much about it as I could–because it was interesting to me and I thought it would make a great setting for a gay noir novel. I’ve actually started writing that book–it’s called Muscles, because I am sure I’ve mentioned it before–primarily just for fun. I’m about four chapters in, and had to put it aside after thinking about it for years because I had other things under contract that I needed to write and get finished. I am hoping to get back to working on it once I’ve caught up on everything already contracted and maybe by the end of the summer there will be a working draft. We shall see.

So, needless to say, when I heard about Bobby Mathews’ Living the Gimmick, how could I not get a copy? A hard-boiled crime novel about professional wrestling? And it’s set in Alabama?

Sign me up, please.

Closing time, when the lights come up, the music is silenced, and the drunks go home. The tabs get paid, the regulars shuffle out the door and weave their separate ways home. Sometimes the couples come uncoupled, recoiling in near horror at who or what they were considering taking home. Brights lights and last call are the enemies of the drunken hookup. Except when they’re not.

I walked the last ones out, turned the locks closed behind them, and emptied the tip jars. Hit ‘No Sale’ on the cash register and changed singles out for twenties and tens. The cash went in my wallet. I closed out the day, and the register began spitting out its daily report on a long, narrow white spool of receipt paper. While it printed, I restocked the cooler. Two cases of Bud Light, a half a case of Miller and another case of Coors. Wipe down the bar with a mostly-clean damp rag and then pour the rest of the coffee into a thick china mug. I put it at the end of the bar and sat down to read the tape. The tensions in my shoulders eased as I read the tape. It had been a good night, for a Tuesday. Might make my nut this month. Sip dark, butter coffee and let the after-hours silence wash over my like a gentle wave.

On the surface, Living the Gimmick appears to be a very simple, point A to Point B crime story. Our point of view character is a long-time pro who has since retired and opened a bar in Birmingham, Alex Donovan. Alex never became a star; he was a journeyman who worked matches up and down the card throughout his career–but his brightest shining moments were his friendship and partnership with a Ric Flair-style superstar, Ray “Wild Child” Wilder; a consummate hard-living hard-loving star who loves his stardom, loves what he does, and as a star, kind of feels like the rules that apply to other people don’t apply to him. But Ray and Alex had good times together, looked after each other, and when he shows up at the bar one night after closing time, Alex isn’t quite sure what his old buddy wants–until he is shot in the head from behind and dies in Alex’ arms; Ray feels obligated to his old friend/partner to track down his killer.

A deceptively simple premise, right? And a pretty standard one; buddy gets killed so Main Character must avenge his death or at least bring the killer to justice. It’s kind of a tired trope, because in the hands of lesser writers it turns it typical toxic masculinity bullshit I don’t enjoy reading and usually give up on before finishing. I’ve grown to loathe toxic masculinity and I generally don’t want to read about it for pleasure. But that’s where Mathews works his magic. This isn’t just a “let me avenge my buddy” book; throughout the book there are chapters where Alex flashes back to a past experience with Ray which he thinks about, reflects on, and now, as a more mature and settled-down kind of guy, sees through a slightly more jaundiced eye. And the more people he talks to as he follows clue after clue, he also begins to see Ray–whom he kind of hero-worshiped, back in the day–in a different, more mature light; Alex grew up but Ray never really did.

Mathews also brings these characters to vivid life as he shows us behind the curtain into the world of pro wrestling, as well as some good history of how the business has changed and evolved since the WWF explosion under Vince McMahon. You can smell the locker rooms, see the sweat glistening on their bodies, hear the dull rumble of the crowd. It’s a sentimental novel that never descends into cheap sentimentality; it’s honest and open and real.

My only complaint is that the book was short. I could have easily spent another hundred pages in that world. Check it out, peeps–you won’t be sorry.

Will This Be The Day

I kind of feel like normal at long last this morning. It shouldn’t take one a week to recover from a weekend trip, but…in order to be fair to myself (something I’ve always had trouble with accomplishing, frankly, and is a goal of this new year for me) I also did some binge-writing before and after, so it was no surprise that I’d pushed myself on every level hard to the level of practically cratering everything. But I will undoubtedly forget the toll binge-writing takes on my body–binge work is always hard on my body, frankly–and will find myself in the same situation yet again when my next manuscript looms due. Heavy heaving sigh.

I did start cleaning and organizing last night after my work-at-home duties were finally complete. The living room looks much better than it did, even though it’s not completely done (more work for today, alas) and the same holds true for the kitchen. I also managed to launder the bed linens yesterday around my work, and today–today I have to make groceries and get the mail and put air in my low tire, hoping to keep it going until Friday, when I will have to get up early to take it to the dealership on the West Bank (I am still not happy about oversleeping yesterday, but I am also choosing to look at it in terms of clearly I must have needed the rest more than any other way; yes, it means I have to get up early five days next week but then I can sleep in that Saturday and on and on it goes and goes.) and get that over with at long last. Parades also begin on Friday, which should be a fun experience (he typed sarcastically)…heavy heaving sigh. But that will take us through the end of the month–Fat Tuesday is March 1 this year, and then the madness of spring truly takes over, and then…it’s summer time again.

I also intend to drop books off at the library today and since I flatly refuse to drop off a box of books that isn’t completely full (to the point of bursting seams) I am afraid I am going to have to do another run through the books this morning to find some more that will find good homes through the Friends of the Library. I was doing such a good job of pruning it down last summer (or whenever that was) and have allowed them to continue to gather and be hoarded and become dust collectors here in the Lost Apartment, and that’s wrong. I need to get them out of my house so they can be shared and read and enjoyed the way they were meant to be; and I need to keep that mentality alive so I can slowly but surely get rid of all the clutter here in the apartment.

Imagine a clutter free existence. It’s possible and it’s a reality and there’s no reason why that goal for 2022 cannot be accomplished.

I also, around the cleaning and organizing and so forth yesterday, figured out how to end “Condos for Sale or Rent”, which I am hoping to spend some time with today to get it closer to a finished first draft. I’m also going to spend some time doing Bouchercon anthology grunt work, and tomorrow we are going to Costco, since the parades mean we won’t be able to go again until after Fat Tuesday. So I also have to make a list for that, and I am wanting to get back to the gym tomorrow. Fingers crossed–the stretching alone will make the walk over there worth it, frankly. And it will be nice to get back into that routine again, too. The working out also should help me sleep better–although if this past week is any indication, I don’t really need to be so concerned about sleeping anymore, really–but I want to feel better, I want to get into better physical condition, and if it helps me burn off some extra fat, so much the better. I am not worried about ever getting back into “Greg dressing as a pro wrestler on Fat Tuesday” shape ever again–that’s too much work and too much worrying about diet; I am old enough now that I don’t care to go on a specialized weight loss diet again (even though it would make the weight loss easier in the long run) because no one is grateful, as they lay dying, that they didn’t have that bacon cheeseburger or that piece of cheesecake. NO ONE.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and get back to doing some cleaning and organizing and going through the books in order to fill up that box before I head out for today’s round of errands. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.