Saturday
19Dec2009
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The last time I saw the best friend I’ve ever had was 10 years ago this month. We were dropping shots of Jack Daniels into beers at 10:30 in the morning and we got thrown out of the bar for wrestling. He was game for more of the same in the bar next door but I told him I was leaving, to get in the car if he wanted a ride. He told me to get fucked.
I’ve got a wife, two kids, good jobs, graduate degrees, nice house, couple cars, various insurances, stability, security. All I need. And yet there are quiet moments in the middle of the night when I get the creeping suspicion that our generally accepted theories of psychological health are perhaps mistaken in their omission of the subtle human need for wrestling in bars.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Reader Comments (15)
oh how right you are.
The last time I drank a shot of Jack out of a beer, I ended up locking myself in a bathroom stall and wrapping myself around a toilet like an opossum, refusing to come out until an ambulance came to get me. (It never did.) Where do you think THAT would fall on the scale of psychological health?
Yes. Those who knew us when grow dimmer every day.
I want no part of generally accepted theories of psychological health that make one forget pain.
But fulfilling the subtle human need for wrestling in bars doesn't have to mean wrestling in bars. On the other hand, it almost certainly doesn't mean attaining textbook psychological health either.
Wrestle on BHJ, wrestle on.
Every so often I think of a couple friends I had like that too. I miss them for a moment and then I realise how great I have it.
By some strange quirk of genetics, I don't feel the need to wrestle in bars. In me, that urge is twisted into singing show tunes at the top of my lungs. On a beach, at a party, in the car... Oddly, most of the time I loatheshow tunes. But there are times when they simply must be bellowed.
It probably explains why you're a writer and I'm an actor.
So, why not open one. Be a doer, not a dreamer. I think it would be a cool gimmick for a bar at the Tropicana. "The Wrestling Room."
Sorry for the unrelatedness, but I heard Tony Hoagland do a reading last night and Oh My Stars. I think you would dig him. New book of poetry is What Narcissism Means to Me. Hilarious in a crack open your head to let in the light sort of way.
This is not spam, btw. I don't even know the dude. Wish I did.
occasionally my internal aggression has to overflow. as an adult with the same assets as BHJ, I try to direct them to aggressive sports. as a woman, that is easier said than done. everyone benefits when I manage this.
I really think family responsibilities and wedding vows should have a couple days off and a general amnesty at least once a year.
Kind of like the way Las Vegas is supposed to work but never does.
What about wrestling in the street? That got me arrested in New Orleans once.
This is why I do martial arts. I can hit someone whenever I want, when the need hits :) Literally :)
fight. club.
Not sorry you're missing him. Missing him is good. Memories are good. Wrestling is good.