I am not normally someone who enjoys shopping. I admit I find it to be somewhat of a waste of time to walk into a store or a mall for the sole purpose of browsing and/or window shopping. I just feel like there's so much that could be done and accomplished aside from wandering around a mall or Target or ... wherever and just looking at stuff. If I don't have a list when Grams sends me to the grocery, I'm lost.
(That or I wind up returning home with the wrong brand of something or other but that's neither here nor there.)
If I have to go to the mall or some department store, it's for a specific reason. I have something I want to buy. I walk in, buy it, walk out. Simple, yes? Not when you have a Grandmother and sister who feel the opposite way that you do, it isn't. I've never understood how those two can spend so long at a Target or a Wal-Mart, and even longer at the local mall. Seriously, who spends an entire day at the mall just looking around? My family, that's who. And it's yours truly who always ends up doing the driving because I realize shopping is one of our Grandmother's simple pleasures that she can still indulge in in her late years, and I want to be there for as much of it as possible. I can only be thankful that they just do this once every other week.
So I have to sit back and ask myself; why am I enjoying this?
I'd spent most of the morning here at this quaint street market here in Tokyo, and found myself genuinely interested in much of what the proprietors were selling in each one. There was everything from arts and crafts to fresh food, and even pastries and the like. I found myself quite surprised when I ran across another stall where an elderly gentleman was selling Native American weaves that one might hang from their walls. They were of beautiful quality and handmade from what I could gather. I wanted immediately to buy one or two for home (and did), but that did not stop me from insisting on authentic Japanese goodies for my two special ladies back home.
(And maybe a gift for Brandi Shotze as well.)
I had already decided that both Grandmother and Abigail would get kimonos. Heck, I was tempted to get one for myself as well. How can you not look at that colors and artistry of those gorgeous robes and not want to indulge and get one for yourself?
I knew that Mister Parker was somewhat annoyed at me. He hated shopping even more than I did, but I saw him looking at those same kimonos too when his wife had her back turned or was moving toward another stall to look about. He wanted to get straight to our training session at a colleague's gym. I'm sorry but this wasn't going to wait. I had cut my first promo against Blaque Hart and with a second still in the waiting list and training to come, I was going to have precious little time to do a little shopping so I could pick up some souvenirs for my family that was waiting back home.
I also had a little bit of a side stop that I had to make here, myself.
"Bo?"
I turned at the sound of my name being called and spotted Ms. Angel over at a stall across the street. She was waving to me and I scooped up my bags and headed on over to see what it was that had caught her eye and how it involved me.
She asked me, "Are these what you were looking for?"
She stepped aside and motioned with her hand to draw my attention to a large table carefully decorated with an allotment of porcelain and wooden nesting dolls. For those who aren't aware (or who haven't read the appropriate promo), a nesting doll is a series of sculpted dolls, each smaller than the last and placed inside of the other. Grams had always wanted one and it was one of the main reasons behind my little shopping excursion today.
"Yes!" I smiled and moved around the table to inspect them while a kindly looking elderly Japanese woman smiled and waited patiently. I had to admit that I was spoiled for choices and wished my Grandmother could see them and choose the one she herself liked best. Each one was decorated subtly with paints and carvings and appeared as smooth as silk to the touch.
"Found `em?" Mister Parker asked as he joined us at the booth, and a quick glance from both Ms. Angel and myself allowed us to see a couple new bags in his hand from that booth that was selling kimonos. I knew he would! "Maybe now we can get going and get to the gym?" He offered and was promptly swatted in the stomach by his wife. He rubbed the spot with his free hand and frowned down at her (and I mean 'down' -- he's 6'5" and she's 5'4"). He asked, "What the hell was that for?"
Ms. Angel said, gesturing toward me, "He's trying to pick the perfect one for his grandma. Give him some breathing space."
I heard a quiet 'huff' behind me and knew without looking my mentor had just performed a dramatic roll of his eyes. I didn't dare turn to look or else the smile I had on my face right now would probably earn me a few extra body slams when we got to the gym.
I leaned down over the table to look at a few of the ones on display in the back, and sighed. I stood back upright and brushed my hair from where it had fallen over my shoulder and smiled at the 'granny' who was presiding over this and smiled.
"It's so hard to decide." I said, whether she understood English or not. "They're all so beautiful." And they were. I swear if I were a rich man, I would have bought them all. Each one had a quality that the other did not and that had me thinking Grams would like the one, then the other. I probably would still be struggling for a choice when Mister Parker came to the rescue.
"Hey." He gave me a tap on the shoulder. "What about that one?"
He pointed at a small tree in a ceramic pot where another was one display. It was sculpted out of a pure, white wood and decorated in a simple and tasteful way with just a hint of colored oils. It was perfect.
"Yes." I nodded and pointed toward that one in particular. I didn't want to touch it myself. I had heard to just start grabbing these products was considered rude in Japan. The woman smiled and reached for it herself and once she had taken it down, she held it out to me. As I had it in my hands, I knew this would be the one my Grandmother would have selected for herself as well. I looked up and smiled. "How much?"
The old woman nodded and must have understood at least that much because she answered me with, "6216."
"How much!?" Mister Parker exclaimed and that got him another smack to the stomach.
I looked at him and had to smile as I said, "That's just $79." and I held it back to the woman with a nod. I reached for my wallet with my exchanged currency while she carefully wrapped the doll in sheer, white paper and laid it inside of a small box. She tied a string around it to keep the top on and handed it to me while I passed her the money.
"Are we ready now?" Mister Parker asked, emphasizing the word 'now'.
"Not yet." His wife answered before I could. "I saw another booth i want a peek at first."
"This is gonna be the death of me." Mister Parker jokingly (?) said as we followed her from the stall to the courtyard of the street. "We've spent all morning here and if ah drop over here an' now, yer only gonna have yerself to blame. Then how are you gonna feel?"
She didn't miss a beat when she answered, "I'm going to feel like I'm no longer shopping with a five year old."
Mister Parker watched with a frown as she moved across the street to another smattering of booths and stalls. He turned and pointed a forefinger at me and warned, "An' you jest wipe that smile offa yer face." before he started to follow his Ms. Angel. he paused when he realized I was not following and turned to ask, "You comin'?"
"Not yet." I answered. "I'm going to check something else out for myself. I'll just be a bit and I'll meet you right here in a few."
There we saw it! The rolling of the eyes!
I watched him head off and then turned around myself and walked along the street and passed many booths until I came to a small store in an equally small building on the corner of the street. I knew enough from my past tours here that this was an herbalist store that sold traditional Japanese herbs used for cooking as well as to heal varied ailments.
I had already bought an extra large bottle of Advil at the local store in front of the Parkers, claiming I was feeling under the weather and didn't want to take any chances of being ill before the actual show. But the truth was with my actual prescribed pain killers still at home, my back and shoulder were tightening up on me with alarming regularity. I suppose I could have brought the meds with me, but I was traveling with friends and didn't want to risk them seeing in case the screening personnel at the airports questioned me about the pills.
A couple of the men I worked with here in Japan around two or more years back swore to me these helped when brewed in a tea. So who was I to judge? I figured anything is worth a try when I was hoping to ease the burden of the pain I was in constantly.
"お困りですか。?" The older man behind the counter asked me the moment I stepped through the door and the small bell overhead had signaled he had a customer.
I sat my bags down by the door so as to soothe his suspicions in case he thought I might slip a little something extra in them without paying, and approached.
"ください。" I knew a little Japanese, but was afraid that it was incredibly rusty given I hadn't been here in well over a year. So to make matters simpler for the proprietor and myself, I had written down the herbs that I was looking for along with a Japanese translation (thanks google!) on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
He looked it over and read that I was asking for ginger, noni and ginkgo biloba. Each one used for treating pain of varying degrees. He looked at me with a toothless smile and nodded before he walked back to the rows of shelves he had at the back of the store with so many jars filled with different herbs that had been crushed into a fine powder. I watched as he selected the three that I had asked for and placed them on the counter and proceeded to measure small amounts into small, plastic bags. I would have thought he not giving me enough had I not been forewarned how potent these sort of herbs were when taken in their natural state. But the Chinese and Japanese had been using them for centuries so who was I to judge?
He placed the jars back where they belonged and then put my purchases in a brown, paper bag and held it out to me as I passed him the amount he had written on the bag. I only hoped these would do the job. I'd wait until the day of the show and my match against Bruce Evans before I took these so I'd be at running at full capacity.
I tucked this into my already bloated shopping bags and scooped them up before I headed back outside again. I just turned the corner of the building and walked back into the market when a heavily laden Mister Parker carrying all of his and his wife's shopping bags stalked toward me.
"There you are." He called out. "What the hell exactly did you need in this part of the square?"
I shrugged. "Tea herbs." I answered innocently enough. I mean, technically it was true.
"What exactly qualifies a person to label themselves a 'wrestler'? The use of this term is thrown around rather aimlessly these days, which is sad. When you think of a wrestler, or more precise, a professional wrestler, what do you think of? Me, I think of a man or woman who is a skilled athlete in the ring. Someone who can do more than drop a leg on their opponent or pick a smaller opponent up for a body slam. These days it seems that anybody can use the term 'pro wrestler' when describing themselves just because they possess the ability to step through a set of ring ropes. Can you swing a chair? Why, you must be a pro wrestler. (insert sarcasm here)
To me, a professional wrestler is just that. A wrestler -- in the literal sense of the word. Not someone who relies solely on size and strength to get by coupled with a clothesline and a legdrop. But more so someone who can spot a weakness in an opponent and wrestle them down to the mat and exploit said weakness. Someone who can work a certain body part until it's completely useless and then move on to the next, until the opponent is ready to hand in the proverbial towel and call it a night.
I've been asked who I think are the best wrestlers in the sport, past or present. Many of you might be disappointed in some of my answers but I can tell you who I do not think fits the bill. Men like John Cena and Batista for one. John Cena is charismatic beyond compare and strong as an ox, but as far as actual clinical wrestling ability? I'm sorry but I do not see it. Batista was big and strong, but that's it. His size made him intimidating and that alone is what he had going for him. Also, Ric Flair. Yes, the Nature Boy. As much of a legend as he is, it's hard to call a man a wrestler when he mainly seems to chop and kick, and every match is seemingly the same thing night after night.
As hard as it is for me to say this because I enjoy the ring style so, but aerial competitors don't fit the bill. To me, that style is acrobatics, not wrestling. I apologize, but it's true.
The best? Easy, Austin Parker. "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward. Dean Malenko. Bret the Hitman Hart. Lance Storm. If I might bring the ladies into this; Miss Linda and Susan Sexton, a woman bar none in technical expertise on the mat.
Notice how nowhere in the above did I mention Blaque Hart Bruce Evans?
Reason being he had shown me no reason to place him in the same category as the above men and women. And before he says so, no, he is not better than any of them.
Blaque Hart Bruce Evans likes to speak of himself in a vaunted sense of self worth, but when you get right down to it, he has shown very little aside from the fact he is capable of cheating to come out ahead of me in a match. Anybody can pull the tights or use the ropes to get a victory, which is exactly what Blaque Hart had to resort to in order to put my shoulders down on the canvas for the one-two-three. Any other time or place, he would have been defeated soundly, but no. Not that night, and not by any just means.
You can boast and brag all you like, Blaque Hart, but you can't ignore the fact that you had to hold onto my trunks to pin me. Well, you might be able to ignore it. You have thus far. All I've heard from you is how you beat me, but you never seem to be able to bring up just how[.i] you managed to do so. It's just as well. Everybody save for the official saw that little rule infraction, but it's about to be corrected.
Boast all you will, but I knew very well that a man with an ego the size of yours would never be able to pass up the chance to shine in the spotlight of a major Supercard like 'Violent Conduct'. And you can insult me as much as you feel the need, but the fact remains you continue to brag about beating me so there must have been something about me worth bragging about. You don't brag about manhandling a jobber in the ring, but when your opponent makes you bleed and sweat, then you can brag. And you've done more than enough for the both of us.
Even from before our match, I watched you and what you were capable of inside of the ring. I can admit it; you are a dangerous competitor -- but, I wouldn't exactly call you a wrestler. Now here you are and you've went and accepted my challenge to a match where there are no short cuts. You're going to be in front of several thousand people watching your every move and there won't be any excuses for when you end up flat on your back for the one-two-three. Or who knows? I have a few new tricks up my sleeve. There's always the option of tying you up in knots so tight that even the Boy Scouts wouldn't be able to figure them out and you'll have no other option but to cry 'Uncle'.
Either way, everyone here in Tokyo and watching the world over is going to find out you're the third best wrestler in the ring that match -- because even the referee could wrestle circles around you.
