I've come to the realization, and am comfortable saying that there are some pleasures I hold that, although totally uninterpretable to most of my friends these days, are nonetheless entrenched aspects that have guided and continue to direct the growth of my personality.
Perfection. When you hear the word, what do you think about? What is the first image that flies across your mind? For some, it's the perfect body, with a favorite celebrity crush making a viewing. Maybe it's a Michael Jordan dunk for the Chicago sports fan, or Dwight Clark reeling in The Catch for those in the Bay Area. Maybe it's your childhood treehouse, and the view looking out into the wilderness of simpler times and impulses.
For me, there is only one answer: Toshiaki Kawada versus Misahiru Misawa, Tokyo Egg Dome, June 3rd, 1994 for the Triple Crown Title.
I see Kawada nailing a Yakuza kick out of no where, Misawa working on the leg, then the back, weakening Kawada's powerbomb. Misawa not being able to put away Kawada with Inoki's octopus lock, and being forced to unleash the Tiger Driver '91 from a wrestling hold warehouse hooked under lock and key for the final victory.
When I think really hard about it, and try to imagine someone NOT thinking this is the very image of all that is possible in the world, my head starts to hurt. What could possibly match its story? The telling, retelling of all their battles in every series of moves. The concessions to each others' that will that were only exerted by force in violent conflict, elbows and boots. What that ever existed was as elegantly crafted, and put under the pressure of live performance, and executed to the utmost of human potential? The in-match motifs, extemporaneously breathed into life, forming organic structures of emotion in the audience, suffering small tragedy's until the final denouement, when the man with the invinceable head was finally put down by the master tactician.
How many people to I know actually know the difference between a tactician and a technician in pro wrestling? A brawler and a striker? A hooker versus a grappler? A high impact offense versus a high flying one?
Wrestling is just the chief example, of course, of my many exclusive vocabularies. Quite often, I have awkward moments, especially when tired at work, or out with friends, where I made metaphors to concepts, events, etc. that no one around me gets. Especially when I'm tired, it's hard to properly contextualize an appropriate response, especially when I'm trying to clarify a point and reach for comparison to do so.
There's literary criticism, speed quantitative methods, Talking Heads song lyrics (or song lyrics in general,) early '90s country music, Korean Underground Hip Hop (I asked for that one,) coffee, management practices, even writing...it gets to a point where your help doesn't help: you want to explain something, but you start speaking in jargon other people don't have the background to follow.
When I'm awake, I guess, I'm okay at small chat. But when I'm tired? The first four things I think of seem to always relate to one of my narrow fringe interests.
I dunno. I'm probably just tired. In fact, I'm exhausted. Got four hours of sleep last night when I needed 10. Ack.
Better post tomorrow, I promise.
But seriously, Kawada/Misawa is the most perfect thing I've ever witnessed. Consolidate your image of my now, friend!
P.S. Number 2 is Oscar Wilde's behavior in court when he was tried and convicted for engaging in sexual acts with a male minor. If you can read any one thing in your life, when you're totally miserable and want to laugh AT the world rather than with it, read it sometime.
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