Tag: WWF

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!

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.

For Better or Worse

I have always been a fan of John Cena since the first time I laid eyes on him.

I am nothing if not shallow.

But his unique charisma, outstanding physique, and handsome, expressive face caught my eye the first time I caught a glimpse of him while flipping through the channels. Despite my lifelong passion for professional wrestling, however, I never watched any of his matches–my disdain for WWE, which began when they were WWF back in the day, has never abated, despite the hiring of so many heavily muscled guys with spectacular bodies–and was really happy to see him start making the transition to acting (following in the footsteps of Dwayne Johnson, Dave Bautista, and numerous others). I bought a DVD of his first film years ago relatively cheaply in a bargain bin (The Marine, if you are so inclined), and thought, at the time, “this dude could go far in films–he’s naturally charismatic and can act. He’s not Olivier by any means, but he can act enough to carry a scene and create a believable, likable character”.

But the film itself wasn’t good–it was produced by WWE, of course–and I hoped he would get another shot in something not WWE related. He has since proven he can carry a scene, and has done some really great character work in small roles over the years. I did keep thinking–I think this often–that he (and other professional wrestlers) should be cast as super-heroes; it’s not like they have to build up their bodies the way Henry Cavill or Chris Hemsworth had to, so was relatively pleased when he was cast as Peacemaker in the reboot of Suicide Squad–a DC Comic I had no familiarity with; likewise I knew nothing about the character of Peacemaker. But…as a Cena fan, I wanted to watch–and Paul enjoys a good superhero show/movie, too.

I didn’t realize the show was directed and written by James Gunn–whose Guardians of the Galaxy remains my favorite Marvel Universe film–but could immediately detect that Gunn sensibility I loved in Guardians in the very first episode. Not knowing what to expect, I was a little taken aback by the first episode–I thought the opening credits were strange, for one thing; and I wasn’t sure about the show’s tone, or if the characters were going to work or not. We were very close to giving up after the first episode, but decided to keep going.

I am very glad that we did.

It took about three episodes for us to completely buy into the story and the characters, but once the show gets its feet underneath it, it is actually quite fun and darkly funny. All the acting is good, the characters are clearly defined and their inner lives (and inner struggles) make them not only relatable but understandable and likable. They are, of course, on a secret mission to combat an alien invasion (code name: Operation Butterfly), and while the mission is kind of crazy, it works within the context of the show. Freddy Stroma–who is actually gorgeous–downplays his looks to play nerdy Vigilante, and Danielle Brooks is also fantastic. Robert Patrick is also perfectly vile as Peacemaker’s racist father, a super-villain known as the White Knight.

And yes, the opening credits eventually–as we got deeper into the show–became one of our favorite parts of the show.

And Peacemaker’s best friend, an eagle cleverly named Eagley, is also pretty hilarious.

We enjoyed the hell out of this show, and I highly recommend it. Can’t wait for season two–and may even go back and watch Suicide Squad.

And God, Cena is perfect. PERFECT.