Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Mainly I'm drawn to Tristan Archer because he reminds me of a fuck buddy from the early '80s. There I said it, proving what a self-absorbed and sentimental prick I am. It should all be about the wrestling, right? Except that it's not, as you well know. Wrestling is, without a doubt, the grand design of my passions--but there are other imprints as well--exes, crushes, role models, sexy cousins. My likes in wrestling--like my likes in other areas--are partly shaped by those I've known, loved, and bought drinks for in the past. So, for me, gear, moves, holds, speed, agility, and toughness are about 72% of it. Another 6% derives from my life story. The remainder is je ne sais quoi.
By the way, the fuck buddy wasn't into wrestling, but he definitely knew his way around a fuck. If he had a fetish it was for white button-down shirts and CNN. Still, well worth the two-hour drive to Savannah, Georgia, from where I lived back then. In consideration of him, I'd like to see some hair on Tristan Archer's chest, forearms, and legs--but that's my personal tastes, and frankly I am reconciled to depilated, too. Shaved underarms still pose a challenge, but you know what? I came to terms with soul patches and rattails, I can come to terms with smooth and silky pits.