Post-Bachelor: Something to do with one’s hands.
I will admit that there is a small hole in my life where the Bachelor franchise used to be. That’s a hole in the tv schedule, mind you, with maybe a touch of the muscle memory going on (not any of which you would find in my heart). No love for the Bachelor, but my fingers still expect to do some typing.
I don’t actually think I was on the prowl for any amount of ick factor last Monday night when I saw David Hasselhoff thrust his hips on Dancing With the Stars. Was anyone, or is it mere coincidence that he was eliminated the following night? Regarding last night’s episode, I predict that Michael Bolton will go. There’s a certain elegance in dancing like a zombie and almost definitely an exploitable market for it, but not one that Michael Bolton should have access to. I mean, how many zombie markets is one guy entitled to? BOLTON MUST GO, which brings us to a main point that I’d like to make today, which is I WILL NOT BLOG DANCING WITH THE STARS.*
But here I am, on the couch with my wife, watching Dancing With the Stars‘ second hour instead of heading right on over to wrestling at 10. Y’know, I think about blogging wrestling from time to time, but it’s like, post-post-post-post-post-modern by now and way too complicated for me to truly understand, let alone describe. Richard Nagel’s article, “What is it like to be a professional wrestler?” would be highly instructive at the times when Edge takes to smashing himself in the head with the laptop computer through which the unnamed General Manager communicates with “the WWE Universe.” If only he had pushed ahead with that.
But here’s something really interesting: an excerpt on Slate from former wrestler Mick Foley’s latest memoir (his FOURTH!), in which he describes the precise moment at which he fell in love in Tori Amos, and everything that has come to mean to him.
*I just needed to say that about Michael Bolton, actually. Yeah, I totally coulda gone without saying anything about David Hasselhoff, that was gratuitous.