MMA Dreams

I used to think that professional wrestling was the most criticized sport in the world until I started watching mixed-martial arts around the time when Brock Lesnar became the UFC Heavyweight Champion. In only a short period of time, I’ve seen all the negative aspects of the sport: homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, poor sportsmanship, cyber-bullying, unwarranted criticism, premature referee stoppages, squirrelly judging, what more can I say? There was even an incident at UFC Fight Night: Henderson vs. Khabilov where a fighter named Jason High shoved a referee after his fight was “stopped too soon”. Mr. High was cut from the UFC shortly after.

Despite all of these negativities, I still find MMA to be fascinating, which is probably why I continue to have dreams about doing MMA about as often as I have dreams about going to school. In my own subconscious, I’ve had matches with the best of every weight division. I up-kicked my way to a KO victory against Chael Sonnen, I right hooked Pat Barry into dreamland, I called out Matt Mitrione after another triumphant victory, and I even locked Nate Diaz in a kimura and made him tap out. If I insinuated that these claims were true, people would say, “In your dreams!” And they’d be right too, because these exciting MMA moments only happened in my dreams.

Truth is, if I actually tried the intense exercise regimen these fighters go through day in and day out with my clunky body, I’d pass out within seconds. My greatest claim to athletic fame is walking to the grocery store every morning to buy either a pound of popcorn chicken or three one-liter bottles of Diet Mountain Dew. Whenever I’m not “training like a champ”, I’m usually eating an oversized meal at McDonald’s or Wendy’s, usually consisting of 20 chicken tenders, the biggest burger they have (without the bun), and a large unsweetened iced tea. Not exactly the athletic lifestyle a typical MMA fighter leads.

Deep down in my subconscious, I know even though I don’t train like an athlete, the thrill of having a long winning streak and being cheered on my thousands of fans is exciting. The fight itself would be even more exciting, provided I wasn’t in the cage with a “grinder”. Perhaps these MMA dreams are a manifestation of my need for excitement.

Given the limited resources I have at my disposal, I have only a few ideas of what would constitute excitement. Writing is always an adrenaline thrill I love, especially if there’s a fight going on in my stories. Going to see an action movie at Regal Cinemas is exciting as well, my most recent one being Godzilla. If I didn’t want to go out in public, I could just rent a movie on my Roku, this time my most recent viewing adventure being the first “How To Train Your Dragon”. If I’m feeling particularly frisky, I could read “A Million Little Pieces” by James Frey, which is both depressing and exciting at the same time.

The activities mentioned above are just temporary fixes, though. Once I do them, they’re done forever. I know, I know, there will always be books to read, movies to watch, and stories to write, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting a permanent high from these things. There’s too much of a wide gap of boredom in between activities. If I can find a way to shorten the gaps without turning my mind into a melting puddle of exhaustion, that would be excellent.

The sleeping dreams and waking fantasies I have just might be the answer I need for filling the boredom gaps. Thinking is the best way to travel and who travels more than an MMA fighter? I could go to Brazil from my beddy-bye and elbow my way into a Performance of the Night award. I could go to Chicago from my treks to the grocery store and guillotine choke my way to my 15^th victory. And as long as we’re talking about Chicago, I could get a slice of deep dish pizza after I’m done cutting weight.

I just thought of another reason not to do MMA in real life: cutting weight. I have a hard enough time losing weight and staying away from fatty foods. If all the water was drained from my body, I still wouldn’t make the 265 lb. heavyweight limit. That, and my opponent would be awarded a KO victory automatically after I pass out on the scale. I can still dream, right? I can still exercise my subconscious creativity and make some kick-ass stories out of it, right? You’re damn right I can!

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Geezers need excitement. If their lives don’t provide them this, they’ll incite violence. Commonsense. Simple commonsense.”

-The Streets rapping “Geezers Need Excitement”-

Burger King Dreams

Regardless of what city I’m visiting in my dreams, there always seems to be a Burger King right up the street. I wouldn’t even have to ask for a ride, I could just walk and that Triple Whopper with Cheese is as good as mine. There was even one dream where UFC fighter Chael Sonnen gave me a cut of his post-fight bonus to go eat at Burger King. He said it was the closest thing to socialism that I would ever get in my lifetime. Nice guy, huh? But let’s talk about this strange archetype for a moment. Why Burger King? Why not McDonald’s, Wendy’s, or Sonic? Could it have something to do with the fact that going to Burger King was a weekend ritual for me during high school? I’ve had lots of high school dreams, so Burger King might be the link I’m looking for. Every weekend during my junior and senior years of high school, my dad would give me a ten dollar bill and I would walk to Burger King to get a Triple Whopper with Cheese. This was obviously before I was eligible for social security, so I needed that ten dollars. When I was packing on weight in a big fucking hurry, he stopped giving me ten dollar bills. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, because now that I’ve been receiving disability benefits since 2004, I spend most of my money on restaurants and convenience stores. That’s right, folks. My life is so lackluster that the only source of entertainment I have is chowing down on processed meats and cheeses. I take one bite of a greasy hamburger and all my depressive pain goes away. But once the meal is over, I have to find another fix and dinner won’t be for another few hours. Then what? It’s funny that I have all of these writing projects to do and all these books to read on my shelf, yet eating at a fast food restaurant is more fun than doing either of those two things. When someone asks me to read a book, I’m conveniently “mentally exhausted”. But when my step-father is going out for a grocery run and asks me if I need to stop anywhere, my mental energy suddenly comes back to me. In a way, cheap food has become my painkiller, which is funny, because when I started writing this blog entry, I was listening to “Painkiller” by Three Days Grace. But you know what else is a painkiller for me? Writing and reading. The feeling of accomplishment I get from both of those activities will last me for at least the rest of the day. The difference between creative activities and eating is that eating is readily available when I need it. Creativity takes more time. I’m not a patient man, so I choose fast food over writing and reading. This is obviously the wrong path to choose since I have a saggy tummy and big cheeks. But you know what? Until somebody provides me with a solution that’s more permanent than a pep talk, I’m going to keep going down this road. It’s sad and unfortunate, but this is who I am. Food has become a part of me in more ways than just eating it.

　

***DOMESTIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Garrison likes his books like he likes his food: fast and cheap.”

-Susan Wilson-