In his last piece, Big Red's assessment of "The Real World" ladies was fair. I tend to agree this year's installment is by far the hottest female group we've had. Rebecca from Seattle was a solid choice on Red's part, but not my top Real Worlder of all time. That dubious distinction has to go to Julie, from the original cast.
There really isn't an obviously reason for my choice of Julie. Despite being from the South, I'm not a big fan of southern accents … which she had … a very DEEP one at that. Maybe it was her dancing. I remember the episode where she took that annoying Eric to her dance studio. You remember Eric, right? The guy that wouldn't LEAVE MTV after his stint on "The Real World" was done?!?!?! I mean, "The Grind"??? What a joke. Regardless, she had this cute, flirtatious presence about her … yet this little southern belle innocence. Yet you KNEW deep down, she had a side to her that she'd yet to show the world. Or maybe it was just she was the closest to my age, her being 18 at the time and dealing with people all several years older than she was. Whatever it was, MTV has Julie to thank for keeping me watching this mindless television … oh, except for the London season. That was so lame.
Speaking of mindless television, I'm going to talk about something I don't share with a lot of people. It isn't a problem, and I'm not in denial … but I do have an addiction. My addiction is … professional wrestling.
I never used to watch it when I was a kid. My friends had all the action figures, but I just never really watched … until around the time I was 11 or so. This was right around the time greats like Hulk Hogan and Ric Flair were at the top of their game. I watched for probably 2 years, and then lost interest. It wasn't until I was back in college that my addiction started.
It was like a ritual after fraternity chapter meetings … get out of those at 7, run and pick up food and be back at the house around 8 to watch Monday Night Nitro. Yeah, I was probably a bigger WCW fan than WWF for a long time. As the years have passed, I've just continued to watch … more times than not, putting wrestling before any other duties on Monday nights (so yeah, here's a hint about jaylowe … if you are doing something with me on a Monday night, you must really impress me).
So why is this a column today? Because I've realized that letting people know I watch wrestling is similar to letting them know I have some sort of disease. Is that fair? No, and I'll tell you why.
Wrestling is no different than any other programming on TV. There is a script, there are storylines, the performers have millions of viewers nightly and typically pull off solid shows. Wrestling is fake … obviously. I don't watch it cause I think it is real. I watch it because it makes me laugh. I watch it because I enjoy the story lines. I watch it because I enjoy rooting for the bad guy. I watch it because I work insane hours and it is just an outlet to let me sit and do nothing for a couple of hours.
Obviously it isn't for everyone. My roommate reminds me of this … constantly. That is why it is almost something strange to bring up with friends. You tell someone you watch wrestling, and they look at you funny. Like you've just told them you have a third nipple.
My buddy Alex is possibly the biggest wrestling enthusiast I know. Just yesterday we were discussing how one might bring up wrestling to a woman one might be dating. I told him I never really brought it up to women I date … that if they find out, they find out. I asked him what he thought, and he suggested I break it to them gently … that they might not be as receptive to it. I can understand. I mean, not everyone enjoys watching someone get hit in the head with a trashcan … or getting thrown through a table. So I felt Alex made a good point.
I suppose all this means is that wrestling is apart of me. Not like music, work and friends are a part of me … but it is one of those little idiosyncrasies that make up jaylowe. Much like my obsession with the Blue Jays or candy. But no need to worry ... I won't try any wrestling moves on you. Unless you hit me with a street sign ... then it's Pedigree time for you.