jackwebster

At some point you realize you're dying 7 minutes at a time. Other times, you realize you're dying 30 seconds at a time. HEW, indeed. It's like the alcoholic who makes the mistake of tallying up how much money they spent on beer a six-pack at a time.

Since this thread kinda veered off course, I'll just put this here: I've experienced something worse than an icy hot or pepper crossface. The athletic dining hall had a seafood night with scallops, clam chowder, gumbo, cod, Old Bay seasoned shrimp and crabs, etc. It must have been in the spring because everybody was on full feed. We had an hour drill session the following morning. About 15 min in, the smell started. 15 minutes later it was unbearable . . . like wretch-inducing.

Or icy-hot

Heard about this. Glad to hear things might be turning around.

I used to practice with a first year Mikey Blaylock, pretty sure that's Jonce's dad, at Keifer every once in a while. I wrestled Sapulpa's Blue Perez a bunch.

Funny story about his shoes: he was so young and small that they couldn't find ones small enough. So, they cut a pair of the mesh Dan Gables in half, took out the middle, and sewed them back together. Now that I write this, it seems absurd; but, that's the story my mom told me.

Shane and I started the same year and carpooled to our first tournament together: Glenpool.

Oh, make no mistake: I was there for every second cheering on Perry's stalling, flinching every time Evans stacked him up in that water fall position, and swearing to everyone who'd listen, "No way he was flat!"

Parity for sure. But save for Ruth and the Stanford kid, we got death by a thousand yawns. Brutal.

I was a solid high school wrestler that took advantage of a move from a state and a feeder program that was really good to a state that kinda sucked. I grew up in Bixby, OK and lived down the street (well, down the street in OK means a couple of mile-sections over) from the Roller family. Josh Stubbs and CJ Daniels were also my teammates. Bobby Stites was the high school coach and Ryan was in my grade. The Tulsa Nationals was basically our home tournament (The Bixby Open was pretty good, too). My heroes were Mike Bodily(and his nemesis Keith Nix) and Jeff McAllister. I wrestled Hardell Moore from Coweta (lost), Jimmy Arias from Okmulgee (beat), some kids from Mustang that kept kicking the shit out of me. I was solid, went to elementary states, Tulsa Nationals and won matches. Then in '87 the oil companies went belly-up and we had to move to Northern VA. These kids sucked in comparison. So, I ended up winning MAWA Nationals (Foxcatcher sponsored at the time) in middle school and some small school state titles in high school, but I didn't beat anybody of note. Wrestled in ACC in college and was thoroughly mediocre: e.g. lost to second string kids from Maryland and Army and beat some national qualifiers and a future AA who must have had the worst day of his life in a match that meant absolutey nothing to anyone involved. Quit because of the HEW trifecta: injury, weight cutting, and ennui.

One of my best friends was born in 1945 and grew up in Flatbush. He thought he was a solid chess player as a kid. So, he entered a local tournament and got waxed in the finals. He decided that he might not be as good as he thought. Years later he realized that that kid who beat him was Bobby Fisher. True story. Look it up. His name was Paul Cantor and a literary critic of some renown.

Certainly not. Neither was the weigh-in line up. Neither were any individual scenes in isolation. In fact -- again, as the essay was at pains to point out -- Vision Quest is not pushing a gay agenda or some such nonsense. The essay, instead, suggests that the film's protagonist has a curiosity about homosexuality. A poster upthread noted that the book's author had this sort of curiosity in mind when he created Swain. This curiosity is explored through a number of otherwise inexplicable details, i.e. the way Swain shrugs off being proposited, mysterious appearance of the shoes, the Tai Chi warm up, the way the ... errr ... titilating scene with Carla in the tank top embarrasses onlookers while way more reavealing scenes of guys do not, etc. That's it. I have no more to say. If this sort of readibg isn't your cup of tea, so be it.

The Anger film has nothing to do with wrestling. It has everything to do with the ways macho imagery can be manipulated to suggest deviant gender and sexual attitudes. Obviously, Vision Quest isn't as overtly provocative as KKK, but Becker's film does raise similar questions. Again, the film is not a documentary. The director made choices about what images to put next to other images, what words next to other words. I like to think about these choices, and the essay that I cited is interesting to me (though I have a couple of strong objections, primarily due to the fact that the author doesn't seem to know much about wrestling). A quick google search reveals a number of other essays with similar theses. Point is, other folks have been seeing simimar things. If you don't, I get it. Take it easy. I'm out.

https://medium.com/@j_e_lallerstedt/kustom-kar-kommandos-as-a-representation-of-america-199d1d93ddfe

Nothing gay about working on your hotrod with the boys either:

I always thought the ads were based off your individual browsing, cookie history. No?

Yup. Now one to more pressing matters: Lees knees are shot and his cardio is suspect. Maybe he'll win; maybe he won't.

That makes total sense. Louden isn't gay -- which the linked essay is at pains to point out. However, he is interested in it. The filmmaker works with this curiosity to explore to our sexual hangups and potentialities.

2013 174s

Of course they are. But the filmmaker isn't documenting what a real person actually said. It isnt real. Instead, of the innumerable things to have the kid say, the filmmaker decided to have him say this. Why?

Laugh all you want, but you can't explain away the fact that Swain says "The clitoris is homologous to the penis" and that Carla combines the best things he likes about girls and the best things he likes about guys. Look: the only way he could have got his new shoes is if he went back to the gay guy's room. Obviously, I'm half-trolling, but only half.

Word. Posts on message boards are by definition cries for attention.

In the immortal words of the Porter of Inverness, "Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance."

I appreciate the support.

You might be in luck: Rumor has it that she's a godess, blue movie, geisha, your slave, and one night stand. But then again she's a virgin, bitch, little girl, your mother, and a boy.