Most of you who know me are aware of the fact that I am a fan of professional wrestling. I grew up with it in the WWF era of Hulk Hogan/Randy Savage/Million Dollar Man, before it was referred to as "sports entertainment," and before it began to cater to the infamous "lowest common denominator." I remember various occasions watching Monday Night Raw and later WCW Monday Nitro with my dad, and being absolutely fascinated with the action, the spectacle, and the characters that came out of it. They were real-life superheroes, and though I knew even back then that it was more "entertainment" than "sport," it was still fun to get caught up in it all and lost in the real-life fantasy world which is pro wrestling. I vaguely remember cheering for Goldberg as he fought the nefarious Hollywood Hulk Hogan for the heavyweight title, booing the nWo even though they were the coolest group of bad guys ever, and feeling goosebumps rise every time Ric Flair had a microphone anywhere near him. Shoot, Youtube has been one of the greatest inventions ever for a wrestling fan such as myself because it allows an instant connection to those old memories.
I recently had the opportunity to revisit this in person as WWE (having "gotten the F out" several years ago) came to Phoenix for a taping of their ECW and Smackdown shows. Though technically the "second-tier" shows, both shows pack a lot of action into them and aren't quite as character-driven as Monday Night Raw is, so I figured that I'd have a good time. Plus, I'd heard rumors that one of their top stars (Jeff Hardy) was set to go on a personal hiatus, and that this would be his last match for some time. So after work, I sprinted out the door from work at 6pm and broke a few speed limits to get to the US Airways Center in time.
Now, I've been to a few WWE events in the past, mostly in smaller arenas, and they've always managed to sell out the lowest levels fairly quickly, so I've typically ended up in the upper or middle decks. Going by myself gives me the advantage of not needing to get a pair of seats, allowing me to get lower-row seats than I otherwise would. Since Brittany was at Enrichment Night at church, and had no desire to go even if she'd been off, I hoped that my usual box office strategy of asking "What's the best single seat you have left?" would work out for me. Back at Gwinett Arena in 2005, it landed me a balcony seat in the middle section on the far side of the camera - with no one in front of me and a decently-smart fan in the seat next to me, it was a good experience (by "smart," though, I don't mean "intelligent;" more on that later). So I got to the box office and asked the same question: "What's the best single seat you've got?"
The ticket guy checked his computer, then said these magic words: "First row floor OK?"
First row? Floor? Seriously? How much? Wait - forget that - don't care. I'll take it!
In hindsight, I probably should have at least thought about it before buying. Who am I kidding?
I sprinted to the floor just in time to catch the opening pyrotechnics for ECW. The atmosphere was electric as the show started up - this was going to be fun!
For those unfamiliar with modern professional wrestling - or those that just don't care, which is fine, by the way - let me provide some context for clarification as you keep reading. The biggest professional wrestling company these days is World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) - this company used to be called the World Wrestling Federation (WWF), but after losing a decade-long legal battle with the World Wildlife Foundation over the initials WWF, they were legally forced to change their name, thereby having to "Get the F out!" as their slogan touted that year. WWE runs original programming four nights a week: Monday Night Raw, which is live on Monday (imagine that); ECW (short for "Extreme Championship Wrestling," which was a lower-budget competitor that WWE bought out at the beginning of the decade), which airs live on Tuesday; WWE Superstars, which is recorded on Tuesdays after ECW and airs on Thursday; and finally Smackdown, which is also recorded on Tuesday and airs on Friday. Each show has a different roster of wrestlers, follows individual storylines and are treated as different "brands" with one parent company.
In addition to the television tapings, each live event generally has a few extra, non-televised matches at the end to make sure the crowd goes home happy. Since the product is very often story-driven, the bad guys occasionally have to win at the end of the broadcasts to further the plot line. This does not make for a happy crowd, especially when said crowd is full of "marks" (more on that later). So, to end the night on a positive note for the paying crowd, a special match is usually put together with at least one top good guy and one top bad guy, but more often teams of both. This allows fans to see what they want to see: the heels getting their collective butts handed to them by the faces, thereby ending on a high note and sending the crowd home pumped.
A few quick definitions before I move on so that the rest of this story makes sense:
Face/Babyface: good guy - the wrestler the crowd is meant to cheer for.
Heel: the villain or bad guy. The crowd is supposed to boo these characters.
Pop: refers to a loud, sudden, positive reaction from the crowd, typically cheers and/or applause.
Heat: negative crowd reaction. Can refer to boos, chants, or apathy in bad situations.
"Get/Be Over" with the crowd: a storyline or character's ability to captivate or draw in the crowd. Generally measured by ability to draw a pop or heat.
Mark: a fan with a deep emotional attachment and more willing to suspend disbelief. Generally not informed as to the real-life goings-on and behind-the-scenes facts in the wrestling world. (in terms of con jobs or sting operations, the mark is the target of a scheme)
"Smart" fan: enjoys the product, but less likely to suspend disbelief and more likely to read wrestling web sites and other sources of background information and real-life reasons for what happens in the world of wrestling (example: a wrestler is removed from TV for a while due to "injury," but the real reason is a failed drug test). Even these fans will revert to marks in certain situations - referred to as "marking out." You'll hear that last one frequently, as I did it a lot that night.
Now that you've got some background, it's time for me to go to bed, but rest assured that this story is far from over. I had a blast, and I hope to adequately convey that in Part II shortly.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Ah, Memories
Brittany told me today that a kid that grew up with her siblings is going on his mission soon, and is headed to - of all places - the Guatemala City South mission. I have to say, that brought out several long-sleeping memories, having served there from 2001 to 2003. Brittany asked me what advice I would provide to this new guy, and she was initially going to send my answer in a Facebook message. Those who know me, however, will see a certain flaw in that notion: as a writer, I am nigh-incapable of writing anything in a short form. Therefore, I present a few musings and observations in blog form, and she can send the URL. Much shorter that way.
Guatemala is a beautiful country and is home to some of the friendliest, most humble people one can hope to meet.
All right - I need to pause right there. Every missionary homecoming talk or description of the mission starts like that. It doesn't matter if they served in Madrid, Moldova, Moscow or Minnesota - a similar phrase inevitably works its way in somehow. I'll pass on the Mormon cliches for the moment and move on to a few unorthodox observations and things that often go unreported.
First off, the South mission (last I checked) is made up of about 2/3 of the capital city and most of the southern part of the country. You might have guessed that second part. It also includes the affluent sectors of the capital - including the Guatemala City Temple, which you'll be able to frequent during the mission - and also the distant port of Puerto Barrios, which entails an eight-hour bus ride to reach mission headquarters. I never had to endure that one, but I'm told that it's not fun. The capital has many modern amenities, but if you're a fan of peanut butter, root beer, or Arby's, stock up before going because you'll be hard-pressed to find any of them down there.
If you've done any reading on the country, you've probably come across many a mention of Antigua, Atitlan, incredible ruins, indigenous Mayan tribes, and beautiful jungle. Go ahead and forget about most of those while you're there - the jungle is in the north and west, Antigua is in the Central mission, and most of the Mayan villages are outside the mission boundaries. With that being said, the South mission is chock-full of beautiful sights - ask the locals for the best ones.
A few cultural oddities include the following:
-Go ahead and extend your hand towards someone in the room with your fingers spread slightly apart, like you are going to shake their hand. Congratulations, you've just "showed the hand" (enseñó la mano), which is equivalent to our "giving the finger." Handshakes are perfectly acceptable, and few people would likely take offense at an open-fingered mistake ("stupid gringo"), but just in case, keep your fingers together when extending the hand, especially to a stranger.
-Like the rest of the world, soccer is huge. The two favorite country teams (and bitter, bitter rivals as far as I'm aware) are the Cremas and the Rojos - learn a little something about them and you'll be able to strike up a casual conversation with 99% of the population. The people will be more likely to listen to you and trust you if you show interest in their cultural obsessions as well. The worst thing you can do in terms of dealing with the people is come across as not interested in their culture.
An absolutely essential rule to follow is this: don't drink the water. The tap water is unfiltered and can give you all sorts of ugly diseases. Bagged water, while sounding like a weird concept, is cheap, plentiful and very handy when walking from place to place. Bottled water on average costs six times more and tastes the same. Save your money - use bags when convenient.
Another essential rule to follow is this: if offered a drink, drink it. These are a giving people, and one must show proper respect of one's hosts. This unfortunately includes water, which can be a violation of Essential Rule Number One in rural areas and in certain poor parts of the capital, where you'll likely spend at least half your mission. Thing is, poorer people can't afford the purified stuff, but you don't want to offend them by refusing something offered to you. The typical missionary solution is "pray and hope for the best," but there's another solution: good old-fashioned Coca Cola. Coke is acidic enough to eat away a nail overnight, and when used properly, it will eat most of the parasites that might come through tap water. One liter within an hour seemed to do the trick in the rural areas.
One more thing: there is a phenomenon in Central America known as B.U. (pronounced "boo" - I'll save the meaning of the acronym for your own discovery). It crops up under other names in popular culture, with the tourist variant being "Montezuma's Revenge." No matter how hard you try or how strong your GI tract may be, you will experience it, guaranteed. It strikes without warning and attacks without mercy. For the sake of space in one's backpack or other bag, I've found that one can fold an emergency supply of toilet paper into a 35mm film canister to handle a single - ahem - "gastrointestinal emergency." My mission was in the pre-digital camera era, so those were convenient for us - I'm not sure what a comparable equivalent would for today's young whippersnappers. Suffice to say, though, emergency rations are an ABSOLUTE must.
This sort of reminiscing brought back many memories, some scary, and some good. I may have to revisit this topic - if there are any questions or anything one of you would like me to cover, please - I take requests.
Guatemala is a beautiful country and is home to some of the friendliest, most humble people one can hope to meet.
All right - I need to pause right there. Every missionary homecoming talk or description of the mission starts like that. It doesn't matter if they served in Madrid, Moldova, Moscow or Minnesota - a similar phrase inevitably works its way in somehow. I'll pass on the Mormon cliches for the moment and move on to a few unorthodox observations and things that often go unreported.
First off, the South mission (last I checked) is made up of about 2/3 of the capital city and most of the southern part of the country. You might have guessed that second part. It also includes the affluent sectors of the capital - including the Guatemala City Temple, which you'll be able to frequent during the mission - and also the distant port of Puerto Barrios, which entails an eight-hour bus ride to reach mission headquarters. I never had to endure that one, but I'm told that it's not fun. The capital has many modern amenities, but if you're a fan of peanut butter, root beer, or Arby's, stock up before going because you'll be hard-pressed to find any of them down there.
If you've done any reading on the country, you've probably come across many a mention of Antigua, Atitlan, incredible ruins, indigenous Mayan tribes, and beautiful jungle. Go ahead and forget about most of those while you're there - the jungle is in the north and west, Antigua is in the Central mission, and most of the Mayan villages are outside the mission boundaries. With that being said, the South mission is chock-full of beautiful sights - ask the locals for the best ones.
A few cultural oddities include the following:
-Go ahead and extend your hand towards someone in the room with your fingers spread slightly apart, like you are going to shake their hand. Congratulations, you've just "showed the hand" (enseñó la mano), which is equivalent to our "giving the finger." Handshakes are perfectly acceptable, and few people would likely take offense at an open-fingered mistake ("stupid gringo"), but just in case, keep your fingers together when extending the hand, especially to a stranger.
-Like the rest of the world, soccer is huge. The two favorite country teams (and bitter, bitter rivals as far as I'm aware) are the Cremas and the Rojos - learn a little something about them and you'll be able to strike up a casual conversation with 99% of the population. The people will be more likely to listen to you and trust you if you show interest in their cultural obsessions as well. The worst thing you can do in terms of dealing with the people is come across as not interested in their culture.
An absolutely essential rule to follow is this: don't drink the water. The tap water is unfiltered and can give you all sorts of ugly diseases. Bagged water, while sounding like a weird concept, is cheap, plentiful and very handy when walking from place to place. Bottled water on average costs six times more and tastes the same. Save your money - use bags when convenient.
Another essential rule to follow is this: if offered a drink, drink it. These are a giving people, and one must show proper respect of one's hosts. This unfortunately includes water, which can be a violation of Essential Rule Number One in rural areas and in certain poor parts of the capital, where you'll likely spend at least half your mission. Thing is, poorer people can't afford the purified stuff, but you don't want to offend them by refusing something offered to you. The typical missionary solution is "pray and hope for the best," but there's another solution: good old-fashioned Coca Cola. Coke is acidic enough to eat away a nail overnight, and when used properly, it will eat most of the parasites that might come through tap water. One liter within an hour seemed to do the trick in the rural areas.
One more thing: there is a phenomenon in Central America known as B.U. (pronounced "boo" - I'll save the meaning of the acronym for your own discovery). It crops up under other names in popular culture, with the tourist variant being "Montezuma's Revenge." No matter how hard you try or how strong your GI tract may be, you will experience it, guaranteed. It strikes without warning and attacks without mercy. For the sake of space in one's backpack or other bag, I've found that one can fold an emergency supply of toilet paper into a 35mm film canister to handle a single - ahem - "gastrointestinal emergency." My mission was in the pre-digital camera era, so those were convenient for us - I'm not sure what a comparable equivalent would for today's young whippersnappers. Suffice to say, though, emergency rations are an ABSOLUTE must.
This sort of reminiscing brought back many memories, some scary, and some good. I may have to revisit this topic - if there are any questions or anything one of you would like me to cover, please - I take requests.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Slow Night
Slow Night
I am sitting in the office of my second job without much going on tonight. To facilitate a quicker return to Georgia, I have taken on a night jib on the weekend to earn a bit more money - one of those "every little bit helps" sort of things. Given the nature of this job, I figured that I'd like it, but the extent has changed. If I could make ends meet working this night job, I'd give up my day job without a second thought.
The company is called "Zingo," and they have branches in several cities, but they actually started in Athens, Georgia. They are on-call designated drivers that will take you home in the event that you, shall we say, have a little too much fun at the bar or the club (small wonder that they started in Athens . . .). There are similar services in many places, and one can certainly call a cab to get home, but the question then becomes this: "What do I do with my car?"
Depending on the hour, the options are usually the following:
1: Try to find a friend still awake and willing to come pick you up and take you home. If you can find two, maybe you'll get your car home too.
2: No one is available (or willing) to pick you up, so you call a cab. The cabbie takes your money and takes you home, but your car sits in the parking lot.
3: You try to drive yourself home. Given your - ahem - "compromised" mental state, this has great potential to end badly. Driving skill or lack of law enforcement prescence notwithstanding, it's just a supremely bad idea to risk it.
Zingo's methodology in picking up customers is a bit different because we aim to get both customer AND car home in one trip. Whereas some companies use two-man teams in chase cars, Zingo's drivers all use tiny Diblasi scooters to get around. This particular type of scooter collapses into a suitcase-sized package that is then stored in the customer's trunk. We take the keys, drive them home in their own car, then scoot off to our next destination from there. Check out "www.zingoaz.com" to see more on how the process works (cut and paste - my HTML skills are teh suck).
We cost a bit more than a cab fare (I had a 25-mile run that cost nearly $100 last night, for example), but one gets a lot of convenience out of the package: the customer gets home safely, and there is no need for a second run in the morning because their car is already home with them. Some new customers get hung up on the price issue, but one must specifically remember what's at stake from a DUI standpoint:
Here in Arizona, first time offenders get slapped pretty hard: for a BAC above .080, one can expect 10 to 180 days in jail (depending upon the severity), approximately $1,800.00 in fines plus court costs, and a suspension of one's drivers' license for 90 days. Conviction also results in required substance abuse evaluations and probation for up to five years, with an Ignition Interlock Device being required in one's car for 12 months. It all depends upon how one defines "acceptable risk," I guess.
At least a few of you are likely thinking, "That's a little bike - it can't move very fast." And you'd be right - the little 50cc two-stroke engine goes from 0 to "swift jog" in about 30 seconds, and the bugger shakes, rattles and rolls like a small, unbalanced washing machine, all while making a half-inch drop in the pavement feel like I'd jumped the thing off a rooftop and stuck the landing. Add to the mix the fact that a kid on a ten-speed would probably give me a run for my money on a flat surface, and those of you who know me can safely imagine my frustration on the road. To counteract the obvious lack of performance, every trick I have learned as a motorcyclist is being put to a new use. Constant situational awareness, working knowledge of the side streets, liberal use of the bicycle lane, and conservative use of the sidewalk have kept me alive so far and will continue to do so For the forseeable future (that last maneuver is technically illegal in Arizona, but I'm sure the local PD wouldn't begrudge me some sidewalk space on a two-lane road for the sake of speeding up traffic flow or to dodge some oblivious geriatric in a Buick).
Brittany will shortly be joining me on the job by taking the incoming calls and dispatching drivers, which will be nice. She's picked me up on a few long rides to keep me from having to scoot back a long ways, most recently from Chandler to Scottsdale, which is roughly equivalent to the distance from Grayson to Norcross - doable, but not much fun with a 25 mph top speed and zero suspension. When the lead guy heard that she was picking me up, he offered her a job. It'll be nice to have her get paid for that, and will help us get closer to be able to move back to Georgia next year.
It's nearly 1:30am now, and I've done just one run, so it's about time to go home. If nothing else, tonight has taught me that it is possible to write a blog using only an iPhone. It doesn't pay well, but it keeps me occupied.
I am sitting in the office of my second job without much going on tonight. To facilitate a quicker return to Georgia, I have taken on a night jib on the weekend to earn a bit more money - one of those "every little bit helps" sort of things. Given the nature of this job, I figured that I'd like it, but the extent has changed. If I could make ends meet working this night job, I'd give up my day job without a second thought.
The company is called "Zingo," and they have branches in several cities, but they actually started in Athens, Georgia. They are on-call designated drivers that will take you home in the event that you, shall we say, have a little too much fun at the bar or the club (small wonder that they started in Athens . . .). There are similar services in many places, and one can certainly call a cab to get home, but the question then becomes this: "What do I do with my car?"
Depending on the hour, the options are usually the following:
1: Try to find a friend still awake and willing to come pick you up and take you home. If you can find two, maybe you'll get your car home too.
2: No one is available (or willing) to pick you up, so you call a cab. The cabbie takes your money and takes you home, but your car sits in the parking lot.
3: You try to drive yourself home. Given your - ahem - "compromised" mental state, this has great potential to end badly. Driving skill or lack of law enforcement prescence notwithstanding, it's just a supremely bad idea to risk it.
Zingo's methodology in picking up customers is a bit different because we aim to get both customer AND car home in one trip. Whereas some companies use two-man teams in chase cars, Zingo's drivers all use tiny Diblasi scooters to get around. This particular type of scooter collapses into a suitcase-sized package that is then stored in the customer's trunk. We take the keys, drive them home in their own car, then scoot off to our next destination from there. Check out "www.zingoaz.com" to see more on how the process works (cut and paste - my HTML skills are teh suck).
We cost a bit more than a cab fare (I had a 25-mile run that cost nearly $100 last night, for example), but one gets a lot of convenience out of the package: the customer gets home safely, and there is no need for a second run in the morning because their car is already home with them. Some new customers get hung up on the price issue, but one must specifically remember what's at stake from a DUI standpoint:
Here in Arizona, first time offenders get slapped pretty hard: for a BAC above .080, one can expect 10 to 180 days in jail (depending upon the severity), approximately $1,800.00 in fines plus court costs, and a suspension of one's drivers' license for 90 days. Conviction also results in required substance abuse evaluations and probation for up to five years, with an Ignition Interlock Device being required in one's car for 12 months. It all depends upon how one defines "acceptable risk," I guess.
At least a few of you are likely thinking, "That's a little bike - it can't move very fast." And you'd be right - the little 50cc two-stroke engine goes from 0 to "swift jog" in about 30 seconds, and the bugger shakes, rattles and rolls like a small, unbalanced washing machine, all while making a half-inch drop in the pavement feel like I'd jumped the thing off a rooftop and stuck the landing. Add to the mix the fact that a kid on a ten-speed would probably give me a run for my money on a flat surface, and those of you who know me can safely imagine my frustration on the road. To counteract the obvious lack of performance, every trick I have learned as a motorcyclist is being put to a new use. Constant situational awareness, working knowledge of the side streets, liberal use of the bicycle lane, and conservative use of the sidewalk have kept me alive so far and will continue to do so For the forseeable future (that last maneuver is technically illegal in Arizona, but I'm sure the local PD wouldn't begrudge me some sidewalk space on a two-lane road for the sake of speeding up traffic flow or to dodge some oblivious geriatric in a Buick).
Brittany will shortly be joining me on the job by taking the incoming calls and dispatching drivers, which will be nice. She's picked me up on a few long rides to keep me from having to scoot back a long ways, most recently from Chandler to Scottsdale, which is roughly equivalent to the distance from Grayson to Norcross - doable, but not much fun with a 25 mph top speed and zero suspension. When the lead guy heard that she was picking me up, he offered her a job. It'll be nice to have her get paid for that, and will help us get closer to be able to move back to Georgia next year.
It's nearly 1:30am now, and I've done just one run, so it's about time to go home. If nothing else, tonight has taught me that it is possible to write a blog using only an iPhone. It doesn't pay well, but it keeps me occupied.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
First Post?
This the post where I say "I've never done this before, so we'll see where this blogging thing goes," right?
Standard Issue 1st Post: Check.
Standard Issue 1st Post: Check.
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