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/wrestling /guests /Laura |
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/wrestling /guests /Laura |
| Guest Columns | NPR's Laura |
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Pop Culture Indicators & Rankings for the week of Sept. 13, 1999 all hail the conquering hero: Vincent K. McMahon It's been quite the eventful week here at NPR. The show I work for is wrapping up its production (anyone need an editor?) forever and for good; and then there was this sort of storm? that hit the East Coast? Anyone hear about this? Anyway, I was really busy all week. So all this is a little late. Here's what I know, news-wise:
So here, forthwith, are the Pop Culture Indicators of the Week: Bandannas. Again. Last week: I don't remember. This week: 8. They're everywhere! They're sort of snappy headgear -- cheap, colorful, utilitarian. And hey, all the kids are wearin' em. I think the Undertaker looks better in the "I Listen To A Lot Of Molly Hatchet" gear than otherwise. It sort of fits the look he's cultivating, with the extra weight and all. And they are, of course, available at both the Gap and Urban Outfitters, so you know that they must be extra-cool. Cough, cough. The Ambivalence of the American Male to Changing Women's Roles. Last week: 6. This week: 9. I do NOT know what they are up to with this set of angles. (all I know is...they can't add up to more than 180 degrees, har har.) (That's very obtuse of you. - CRZ (I couldn't resist)) Okay, so Linda McMahon comes out in a show of strength...and is bailed out by Vince. Jeff Jarrett is clobbering self-confident women left and right. Chyna gets a frying pan upside the head. The Fabulous Moolah meets Senor Ka-Bonng. Stephanie McMahon, in the "cute and cuddly" role, is making a career of trying to be the conciliatrice, the facilitator, and being really , really concerned when, uh, Andrew (d'oh) gets hurt. On the other hand...that big match where she slapped a Million Dollar Dream on that guy was a kick. (Hey, Steph! Way to watch old wrestling tapes!) Whatever. I'm not sure what they are trying to say, here. It's long and complicated, yet life is short and bandwidth valuable. Just think about it a bit, is all I'm saying. Chris Jericho. This week: 8. This guy is getting more wack by the day. Here's what I most like about Chris Jericho -- mining the cultural motherlode. I noticed this week that his GESTURES even make cultural references...I rented a tape of some old wrestling matches with (the real) Gorgeous George, Lou Thesz, et al...and anyway, he's EXPLICITLY and SELF-CONSCIOUSLY doing the Gorgeous George walk, hair-toss -- it's spooky! I love it! Am I the biggest mark in history? Probably...but it's for the right reasons. I mean, it's not because of the hair and the look and the ridiculously overgymmed body. I don't think. Hmm, let me ponder that a bit. No, no...it's definitely more a function of the wit and the intelligence there. If they keep letting him show it, this guy will define wrestling in the next five years. (Let me reiterate -- it is definitely not the hair. Lose the Chrissy Snow hair-fountain, dude. Down at our rendezvous...that's a dorky hair-do.) Vincent K. McMahon. Last week: 6. This week: 9. All the world loves an entrepreneur. Genius, sheer genius. Let use the words of my friend Kelly: "I'm not interested in sports any more -- all I want is 'sports entertainment.'" He's not kidding -- if I had faith that MItch Richmond or someone would come out on the basketball court with pyrotechnics and some sort of slur against his opponents' mothers, I might actually go to a Wizards game. Whatever. He rescued a dying genre. Reinvigorated it. Generated competition. Love him or hate him, it's what he did, get-fucking-used-to-it. Nitro Girls. Last week: 5. This week: 8. This is because my sister is trying out. Whatever. I asked if she was going to change her name. She said no but she might try spelling it some goofed up way. So keep your eyes peeled for Merribeth, Merrybyth, Myrrybeth, Myrybyth, Mehribeth, Maribeth, Marrebeth. Hogan. (yeah, okay, right, but no, I'm not kidding.) Last week: 2. This week: 6. A move back into the spotlight for the Once and Future King. He displayed this week that his usefulness is just about exhausted (that attempt to get a 'kick your ass' chant...oh, God, it almost made me cry, I was so sad to see how the mighty art fallen). Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.... Sting. Last week: 5. This week: 7. I heard several people discuss Sting on the bus this week. I thought for a minute they meant Gordon Sumner, but then they got going on the scorpion deathlock, so I got it from context. Hey, if you're in the common parlance at all, while working for the WCW, you must be doing something right. Now, if they could just bottle it. The verdict of the bus people: they like the heel turn. Of course, the bus people also like, you know, eating Slim Jims and spitting out the window and harassing the little old ladies who slide pitifully into their seats after hobbling aboard, staring dead and dreamless at the passing streetlights. (I'm a little depressed today. Never mind.) Okay, something better next week, as I take a breath and can think again about anything other than how to get reporters to the PRECISE places that everyone is recommending that you should not go, lest ye be killed. Looking forward to next week's programming. Thanks to everyone for the nice letters last week -- I'll write you back now that I have a chance to think a thought, have a soda, get some sleep. Oh, and I'm moving to Chicago -- anyone out there wanna watch "Unforgiven" with me? Laura [slash] wrestling Mail the Author |
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