I didn't plan it, but the theme this week is men with shoulder-length hair
I accomplished two things in the past week that I probably shouldn’t be giving equal weight, but best of lists, much like time, have even less meaning in the midst of a pandemic. So live fast, eat trash, etc.
My book somehow found its way onto CBC Books’ list of the best Canadian nonfiction of 2020. And it’s in ridiculously good company. To the point where I feel a bit awkward about it. The way I feel when I show up at a party only to discover that my invite might have been a mistake. (This has happened multiple times. Which is extra fun when you have a disability that includes social issues!)
This is the first time anything I’ve written has appeared on a Best Of list and my wretched brain actually let me feel excited about it for a few minutes before pointing out that many of my colleagues were getting on multiple Best Of lists, so obviously I was not as good as them. I’m guessing that the healthy thing to do would be confront this unfortunate tendency of mine to diminish all of my accomplishments, but I think I’m just going to treat those fleeting minutes of grace as personal growth instead.
(I am loathe to tell a Former Gifted Kid story, but I can’t think of an example that better illustrates my lifelong state of being like this, so here goes: After being put through a seemingly ceaseless assload of cognitive tests in grades three and four, I was called down to the principal’s office to discuss the results. No, I have no idea why a ten year old kid was dragged down to the Getting In Trouble Zone to discuss her testing results alone, like they would mean anything to her. But anyway, he told me that I was gifted and that I had tested in the 99th percentile for language and math. Not having a clue what this meant, because I was ten, I thought I’d screwed up. Because I failed to get 100. I immediately started beating myself up.
The principal then asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. In retrospect, I believe he was anticipating something momentous like “I’m going to cure cancer!” or whatever else it is that kids who perform well on racist and classist testing are supposed to want out of life. I told him I wanted to appear on soap operas.)
Videos of the Week: My own damned fancams
Speaking of the best possible applications of my ostensible cognitive superiority (as determined by racist and classist testing and metrics I have long since rejected), I also learned how to make fancams this week!
I had no intentions of becoming a fancam maker. I figured I was long past the age at which people generally did such things. Which is not to say that I thought a woman of my advanced fandom age shouldn’t be making fancams. Age is a byproduct of time, and time has even less meaning in the midst of a pandemic. Live fast, eat trash, etc. I just didn’t think that I should have to. I put in my time creating things in fandoms when I was young! I had a blog dedicated to the gayness of whatever was happening on Raw and Smackdown in the early 00s! (It was called The People’s Homoeroticism.) Now that I’m a fandom elder, I should be able to sit back and enjoy the creativity of the next generations.
But the kids failed me. Long after the corners of the wrestling fandom that I care about adopted the practice of celebrating their faves in the medium, the fancam that I most wanted to see failed to materialize. Eventually, I realized that I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. For myself and for the betterment of the world.
And I taught myself how to make fancams. So I could make a Daisuke Sasaki fancam.
Once I’d acquired this new skill, I felt compelled to apply it to another important and grossly underserved cause: thirst for the most prominent and dreamiest reporter character in the sublime comedy/live action sports anime Ted Lasso.
Sighhhhh. Trent Crimm: The Independent. I just want him to show up, superciliously remove his glasses, explain Madeleine L’Engle to confused and angry men, get won over by my disarming earnestness, and then let me stroke his hair.
My my plans for future fancams are even more niche and self-amusing. (David Cronenberg’s Crash to Judas Priest’s “Turbo Lover!” David Lynch’s Dune to Lee and Nancy’s “Sand!”) My life is nothing more than an endless series of variations on that I Think You Should Leave skit where the office worker drives the joke about Santa coming early into the ground.
By the way… if you’re wondering how the writing is going, the answer to that is “I learned how to make fancams.”
Match of the Week: Daisuke Sasaki vs Konosuke Takeshita - D-OH GP 2021, November 22, 2020
I revisited this as part of the fancam making process. It was a tad bittersweet, knowing that the current Sasaki-sized hole in my wrestling viewing and my heart is the result of the broken rib he sustained during the match, but it’s still a great little story and a fantastic performance. An an uncommon treat for the Sasaki fan.
Fishnet-encased head games against Danshoku Dieno aside, Sasaki’s modus operandi has been the same throughout my brief but passionate DDT fandom: Wrestle. Eventually descend into chaos. See what sticks.
I love that chaos. I love anticipating the moment things will rapidly cascade into hell in his matches. I love going right along with it. But it was also nice to see him have a clear psychological advantage over his opponent for once. And know it. And relish it.
Both men come to this bout off of losses at Ultimate Party. Sasaki tried, descended into chaos, and couldn’t make anything stick. He doesn’t appear to remember the loss, let alone harbour any lingering feelings about it. He’s moved on to lovingly producing a naked photo book starring his opponent/momentary foe. Takeshita, on the other hand, had his ass and soul repeatedly handed to him during his loss and hasn’t been the same since.
Sasaki can smell blood before the bell rings. Even with the somewhat glaring height difference, it’s easy to see who the dominating force is as they size each other up.
He’s still scrappy. He still eats a lot of shit. He still throws in a few flailing dick kick attempts. He’s still a heel, after all. He’s still Sasaki. But there’s an underlying confidence to his attacks.
The moment of descent is never needed, and it never comes.
After a while he starts to look like a cat with a mouse.
Takeshita gets some devastating looking power moves in.
Spoiler alert: it’s not enough.
And they both know it.
(I made a lot of gifs and figured I might as well get some use out of them.)