I disagree with the claims that Gina’s brutal loss sounded the death knell for women’s MMA in America. Maybe that fight wasn’t exactly what people wanted to see, but it wasn’t nearly as ugly as last year’s Couture/Rose fight, a fight that many claimed would kill any hope of woman’s MMA getting a fair shake in the States. Clearly, it didn’t. Carano/Cyborg was still a huge draw and there’s already been talk of other female fighters like Marloes Coenen making bid for the title in Gina’s wake. Plus, Americans love a comeback, and I wouldn’t write Carano off just yet. So, yeah, I do think America is ready for more women in the cage, as long as they play the angles right.

Which brings me back to a topic that I’ve mused on many times before on this journal. “Reality” vs. Story.

I’m endlessly amazed by this weird Madonna/Whore relationship that modern America seems to have with “reality.” Reality is the sacred Madonna that makes something legit and worthy of bringing home to mom but Story is the Whore that really makes them hot. The writers who work on “reality” television shows can’t get in the Guild because no one wants to admit the shows are scripted. James Frey couldn't give away his awful novel until he reworked it to make it "real." You see, Americans love the idea that something is “true” or “real” but they don’t actually want to watch something genuinely real because, let’s face it, real reality is boring. Or, like in the case of Carano vs. Cyborg, it doesn’t always go the way you want and ruins all the fun. Everyone loves to bag on pro-wrestling because it’s worked, but they don’t really want to watch evenly matched grappling chess matches between two technically proficient but visually identical Japanese guys they’ve never heard of. They want stars and they want the big knockout, but more than that, they want the angles. The soap opera. They want a worked show with a veneer of “reality” so they don’t have to be ashamed of themselves for liking it.

I’ve never been ashamed of the fact that I love a good story. I’m a writer for fuck sake. And you, my faithful readers, you love stories too, or else you wouldn’t be here. So, with that in mind, and given the story so far, what angle would you propose to sell the next episode of Dames in the Cage?

I have so much I want to say about this fight, but if I take the time to write a long blog post about it, I won't get enough work done to be able to take tonight off and watch it. I'm hoping to put this book to bed soon (fuck, how long have I been saying that?) and when I do, then I'll be able to dig a little deeper into this.

Meanwhile, what do you guys think about all the hype and snark? Are you betting on Gina, or do you think Cris Cyborg will kill her? What do you make of the whole "beauty and the beast" angle being used to sell this fight? Is America really ready for women's MMA? Do they really want to see a beautiful woman get her nose broken on national television? Will they get behind the butch women too, or does it only work if the fighters are what hetero men view as "hot?" Is this fight really going to open the door for other female fighters or is it just a one time fluke?

Discuss.

Well, it sounds like mostly everyone loves their iPhones, so if I can nurse my dying phone for another six months (or, if absolutely necessary, replace it with another cheap piece of crap that won’t lengthen my contract) then I’ll make the jump as soon as my Sprint contract runs out.

Meanwhile, I do have that pesky deadline coming up.

Yesterday I had a very interesting lunch with an 18 year old fighter to help get a handle on a character that’s been somewhat elusive for me. I’m such a cranky old fart and I honestly can’t remember the last time I spent any time listening to anyone under 21. Was I ever that optimistic?

After buying him lunch, or more specifically buying him bottled water to drink with his meticulously measured and prepared Tupperware containers of protein and carbs, I spent a few hours at Legends watching him train. I also talked to several other students and one of the instructors too. Sometimes when I’m feeling blocked, spending time with people doing the thing I’m writing about can help grease the mental wheels and get things moving again.

Time to find out exactly how greasy those wheels really are.

Through some miracle of weather, the FOB was not sweltering and unbearably hot as it had been over the past few years. Of course there had to be a downside to the balmy temps and that was very strong wind. Not only could I not use my parasol for shade, (it was turned inside out no less than ten times before I gave up in despair) but my perfect hair quickly became disheveled and not-so-perfect and I had to hold onto my hair flower to keep it from blowing away. The wind was so strong at one point it was knocking over recycling bins. Lucky for me it died down before my signing and I was able to smooth out the tangles and make like I was that perfect the whole time.

Meanwhile, I spent my entire book budget at Hi De Ho Comics on this gorgeous book of vintage fetish art by 50’s comic artist Joe Shuster, co-creator of Superman.

It was great to see all my friends and fans. Thanks to everyone who stopped by the booth.

After the signing I kidnapped Victor Gischler and dragged him off for dinner. I pride myself in being up on where to eat and I know dozens of great places on the east side. But put me west of La Brea and I’m as lost as Gisch, chow-wise. So we drove aimlessly, headed towards the ocean and looking for inspiration. It wasn’t until the last minute that I remembered Chez Jay’s. A classic old-school dive that seemed like just the ticket, and it was.

Later that night, I finally had a chance to catch up on Strikeforce. The whole card was good, but I really wanted to see the Cyborg vs. Akano fight. It was kind of like watching a cute little woodland creature get hit by a truck. Don’t get me wrong, Akano really gave it everything. She had a lot of guts and heart and she didn’t just cover up and run, but she was outweighed by nearly 10 pounds and keep in mind, this is after Akano had to gain just to make 145.

That being said, I can’t wait for Cyborg vs. Carano.

Still have lots of items left on the to-do list. I fly to NYC first thing tomorrow morning.

Edited to add: Photo here. (Scroll down!)

My Boston Butch went to the ophthalmologist today. Stitches out, more eyeball debridement and ten more days in the satellite dish.



Meanwhile, to prove the world isn’t all bad, here a link to an astoundingly hot dyke MMA porno called Champion. Not even remotely work safe, but click anyway. You know you want to…

L.A. is burning, again. The smoke is thick even down here in Silver Lake. My eyes are stinging and the rising moon was the color of expensive beer. Nice sunset though. Kinda like Chernobyl.

In other natural disaster news, Brock Lesnar is the new UFC Heavyweight champion.

I went down to the International MMA Expo in Long Beach today, under the guise of research. Truth is, I just wanted to mark out and get my photo taken with BJ Penn.

I had a great time but I was absolutely thunderstruck by the degree to which clothing companies have taken over MMA. There were a zillion booths full of “fightwear,” which apparently consists primarily of bad tribal and skull t-shirts and stripper booty shorts. There was even a brand of women’s wear called Fight Chix that offered to bring out “The Sexy Side of MMA,” with booty shorts that read “Love the Mount.” I’d love to see Fedor in a pair of those…

Photographic evidence of my nerdy shame here.

Amazing fan sign during last night’s Affliction show: “He’s Fedor-able!”



I can think of many adjectives to describe Russian heavyweight Fedor Emelianenko, but adorable isn’t the first one that comes to mind. I’m sure former UFC champ Tim Silvia agrees, after having his ass handed to him in the longest 36 seconds of his life.

In my less-than-humble opinion, Affliction has really come out swinging. They offered up a slick, well produced, dare I say “Pride-like” product that kicked the UFC’s ass eight ways to Sunday. There were a few minor hitches, like trying to figure out what to do when fighters get hung up in or pushed through the ropes and the idea of a live band, which I think was better in theory than in reality, but otherwise I’m sold.

This story has been on my mind all day today. For anyone who hasn’t read about this yet, former UFC champ Rampage Jackson crashed his car and led police on a slow speed chase that ended in his arrest. Rampage is known for being a Christian who doesn’t drink or use drugs. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m thinking this situation screams CTE, the brain disorder also known as Punch Drunk Syndrome.

Of course, I have Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy on the brain (so to speak), since I’ve been obsessively researching the topic for my current work-in-progress. But when an otherwise normal sober guy (who just happens to have suffered from multiple concussions) suddenly starts behaving in an erratic, dangerous fashion that doesn’t make any sense, there isn’t really any other explanation that fits. Not to mention the fact that sudden intense conversion to religion is also a common symptom of CTE.

This could bring some controversy down on Dana White, since his UFC has become the recognizable brand name of MMA in the states. If rumors start going around that the UFC gives guys brain damage, I’m also willing to bet that the Gracies and other more pure-grappling types will be quick to separate themselves by pointing out that it’s rare for grapplers or Greco-roman wrestlers to develop CTE because they are rarely knocked out. On the other hand, Vince McMahon doesn’t seem to have lost any skin off his nose after Chris Benoit’s post mortem CTE diagnosis. If killing your whole family can’t make people rethink the way they deal with concussions in contact sports, I don’t know what will. Plus the unfortunate reality is American fans are all about the knockout. Just listen to the crowd booing when the action goes down to the mat and stays there for more than 30 seconds. So while there may be some controversy because of this I’m not seeing any real change happening any time soon.

In the end, I just feel terrible for Rampage and his family. He’s only 30 years old.

Happy Birthday Month!



One of these could be yours. What are you willing to do to earn it?

For Matt Wallace:

Yesterday was my last day to hang with my mom, whom ladyeuthanasia has dubbed “Lady V.” In our quest to get out of the heat, we decided to get manicures and pedicures. The nail salon always has tons of magazines to read while you get your toenails painted and naturally all of them are women’s magazines. Nothing but articles about various stars I’ve never heard breaking up with each other, the familiar “how to give a blow job so your man won’t dump you” Cosmo-type thing and one or two ultra-couture fashionista rags. As I was perusing the spread searching for the least of various evils, I noticed a magazine slightly under the rest. All I could see of the cover was a large black bald head. Definitely not a broken hearted starlet or a well dressed stick-insect. Curious, I snagged that mag and amazingly enough, it turned out to be street-fighter turned MMA star Kimbo Slice. What a copy of ESPN magazine with a cover article about Kimbo was doing in a nail salon I’ll never know, but it set a surreal precedent for later events.

That evening, Lady V and I went off to Providence for dinner. I thought about taking photos and writing everything down and even brought my camera but when I got there I decided I would just enjoy everything and be a lazy birthday girl. We had the five course market menu and were blown away. Each new thing was more incredible than the last. Mojito ravioli. Tiny chive blossoms. Ginko berries. Corn tortilla ice cream. All these complex and unique flavor combinations but nothing seemed weird, silly or experimental just for the sake of being out-there. Each dish seemed perfectly balanced, as if it were the only possible way that it could be.

After that I had to take Lady V back to her hotel so she could get packed and ready to be whisked back to NYC first thing this morning. My mom loves my dogs and so we thought we’d swing by my place and grab the pups so they could ride with us over to her hotel.

We pull into my parking slot next to my house and notice my neighbor pulling out of his. She waits in the car while I let the dogs into the yard. About three minutes later, I call the pups to come out to the car. Emma shows up but Butch does not. Curious, I go back into the yard (with Emma following me) and call Butch. Nothing. He’s nowhere in sight. That’s when I notice that my neighbor’s back door is open (the one who just left.)

I walk up to the neighbor’s open door and call Butch. I knock on the open door and call inside to see if the neighbor’s wife/girlfriend is home. No answer. Now Silver Lake has become pretty gentrified but not enough that you can go out and leave your door open like this. While I’m calling Butch, Emma runs into the neighbor’s house.

The neighbor’s back door opens into their kitchen. I take a few tentative steps into the kitchen, excruciatingly uncomfortable and feeling terrible about just walking into the home of someone I barely know while they are not there. I finally spot Butch and see that he is wolfing down cat food out of one of those free-feeding dispensers that holds five pounds of kibble. I grab him and hustle him out the door, but now I can’t get Emma to come when I call her. I really don’t want to go searching through the house, but I’m about to when I hear her start screaming and yipping like she’s being murdered. Sounds like she’s being dealt a feline ass-whupping by the resident cat. I run through the living room and realize she’s in the bedroom. Now I have to go into a stranger’s bedroom to grab my dog who is cowering in terror and refusing to move while the victorious cat sits on the bed washing herself like it’s no big deal. I grab Emma under my arm and head out to find Butch back in the kitchen having at the all-u-can-eat kitty buffet again. I’m completely mortified at this point, Boston under each arm and waiting for my neighbor to return and call the police.

I go out into the yard and hustle the dogs out the gate and over to the car. My mom opens the car door for them and Emma jumps in but Butch decides to take a little detour around the car and over to the garbage cans. Where he immediately gets skunked. AGAIN.

Interesting night…

Just watched the Gina Carano vs Kaitlin Young fight. Yeah, I know she didn't make weight and I know there's been lots of grumbling about the slack she's been cut because she's female and gorgeous besides, but for my money that was still a hell of a fight.

From 2-4 PM on Saturday, May 31st,
I’ll be signing at the Hard Case booth (# 4216-4218 in the West Hall) at BEA at the Los Angeles Convention Center:
1201 South Figueroa Street
Los Angeles, CA 90015

There’ll be wine and other goodies at the table, if my sparkling personality isn’t enough to get you to drop by.

Oh and for those who didn't catch Saturday's Pay-Per-View, BJ Honeydew beat the Muscle Shark (and no that's not a metaphor for something dirty.) I know you were worried...

I never thought I’d see the day when I’d find myself kind of excited about a UFC card again. I love BJ Penn, even though (or maybe because) he was separated at birth from Dr Bunsen Honeydew.







You be the judge...

I spent some time today scoping out my location for the book trailer and messing around with lights. I’m hardly any kind of cinematographer, so I wanted time to experiment and test my ideas and make mistakes before I actually have Roxy on set. I’m hoping that way, when it comes time to shoot the real deal maybe I’ll have a little bit more of a clue.

Inspired by Gonzaga’s lovely broken nose from last night’s UFC, I’ve been considering bloodying Roxy up a bit when I toss her in the trunk. In MONEY SHOT, Angel does have a broken nose at that point in the story, but again, I’m going for more of the flavor of the story than a literal representation of the events. Jury’s still out. Thoughts, anyone?

In other totally unrelated news, this cracks me up!