I am not enjoying Nick Tosches' book

Despite my friend Peter imploring me to read this thing I am definitely not enjoying The Devil and Sonny Liston. The guy (Tosches) keeps totally overstating things and is just way too heavy-handed as a writer. Let's see some bloody delicacy man! The best quote so far is not about boxing, per se:


"I remember Christopher Walken being asked if there was a role that he felt he could not play. Yeah, he said, he couldn't play a human being, because he'd never been one, as he'd been on the stage since childhood." (188)


Enough about that book. I am probably going to take it back to the libray 2/3rds finished.


I find myself pausing, or stopping, before thinking or writing words like "men" or "masculinity" as regards the boxing gym because there are, simply, no small number of women and girls there. Why are they there? What do they want from themselves? The same things as me? They make my job as chronicler and philosopher much more difficult. I ought to be glad for it. Is "toughness" then a more accurate or inclusive concept than mere "masculinity" ? I see a few women around, almost daily, who come across as being a lot tougher than me. More "masculine" though? The question, the whole question, must either be re-examined or rendered ridiculous.

Valentine's Day: Boxing and Chocolate Soy Ice Cream

During last week's visit to observe training at the local boxing/kickboxing club, instead of the terrifying menagerie of battered and angry male warriors that I was expecting I encountered a 10 year-old kid, a variety of women and girls, some inoffensive looking young men and just a few scary looking dudes. And the coach wasn't there. A really nice guy named Keith was filling in for him (dude who works the front counter).

So I go back a week later (Valentine's Day) because I want to see the Seph (the coach) in action and shit the first class is free so what the hell, eh? I'd been damn nervous about going all day, to the extent that I had to cut through all kinds of excuses about why I ought not to go, or that maybe I should just observe class again. I had skinned my knuckle breaking in a new pair of bag gloves, and it simply wasn't getting a chance to heal, after all. So shit I walk up the stairs, all excuses behind me, and survey the room before me and sure enough my eyes fall upon this big skinhead and of course that's gotta be him. And it is. I wonder if he is racist with his spiderweb tattoo on his elbow and all but I figure that there is an asian, a black guy and a guy who might be South Asian so probably not. He looks like a hard-man that's sure enough. And there are a lot more intimidating looking dudes this time (though none as intimidating as Seph). I'll cut this short but I will tell you that I barely got through the calisthenics without puking and that ispent the rest of Valentine's night by myself with a little tub of chocolate soy ice cream and that it was pretty brilliant.

friend's new blog

check it out, cool photos and he likes Paul Auster:

littleharrison.blogspot.com