It’s Called Pillow-Talk, Baby

Well folks, I have something that I really want to talk about today, but the first thing I have to do is deliver some bad news. On Tuesday I wrote about the plight of Lieutenant Dan Choi, a New York National Guardsman who faced expulsion from the military for publicly coming out as gay on national television. If you had the intestinal fortitude to get through that massive post, I applaud you, and I won’t reiterate here what I spoke about there. If you missed it, go read it.

Anyway, I signed an online petition urging the military to reconsider their decision to fire Lt. Choi on the grounds that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is an archaic policy and desperately in need of scrapping. Lt. Choi’s hearing took place on Tuesday, and by Wednesday morning, I had this email in my inbox:

Dear Alex –

I’ve got some bad news.

After 10 years of service to our country — including leading combat patrols, rebuilding schools and translating Arabic in Iraq for 15 months — the Federal Recognition Board issued its recommendation on Tuesday that I be discharged from the Army for “moral and professional dereliction” under the military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy.

The board’s decision to fire me is not the end. Now that this panel of four officers has recommended my discharge, it still must be approved by senior officials in the Army, a process that could take a few weeks to a year. Unless something unexpected happens, it may be just a matter of time before the Army officially fires me.

I will not give up, no matter the odds. Because I know that the only way we will win this fight to repeal “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is by facing it head on. And I need your help again to keep up the fight.

I’ve made my case to President Obama — supported by more than 140,000 of your signatures. I’ve made my case to the Army — supported by more than 160,000 of your signatures. And I will continue to make my case until they fire me for good.

Now we need to make our case to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. Will you join me in asking Speaker Pelosi to strongly support legislation currently in Congress that would repeal “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”? Please sign on to our letter before July 4th and I’ll personally deliver your signatures to the Speaker ASAP:

http://www.couragecampaign.org/RepealDADT

At West Point, I recited the Cadet Prayer every Sunday. It taught me to “choose the harder right over the easier wrong” and to “never be content with a half truth when the whole can be won.” The Cadet Honor Code demanded truthfulness and honesty. It imposed a zero-tolerance policy against deception, or hiding behind comfort.

That’s why I can’t give up now. I’ve got to keep fighting. My fellow servicemembers — and the 70 fellow West Point graduates who have also come out of the closet to join Knights Out, the organization I co-founded to push for repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” — would expect nothing less.

The only way we can win this fight for the truth is if the political cost of discrimination eventually becomes too great for the system to operate successfully. We need to raise the political cost in Congress so that Speaker Nancy Pelosi understands that, as Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall once said, “justice too long delayed is justice denied.”

Speaker Pelosi needs to make “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” a priority now and come out strongly in support of legislative action to repeal this discriminatory law. Will you stand by my side now and sign our letter to the Speaker before July 4th? You have my word that I will deliver your signatures to Speaker Pelosi personally:

http://www.couragecampaign.org/RepealDADT

As I said a few days ago, national security means many things, but the thing that makes us secure in our nation and homes is love. What makes me a better soldier, leader, Christian and human being is love. And I’m not going to hide my love.

Love is worth it.

Thank you for your support.

Daniel W. Choi
1LT, IN
New York Army National Guard

There you have it. As usual the backwards, bigoted policies of the United States have bitten another of their citizens in the ass. And not just a citizen – a soldier who has served his country with distinction. This is morally reprehensible, socially unacceptable and politically absurd. I’ve already covered this issue in my original post, so even though I’m really, really pissed about this issue I’m not going to retread ground. But I have signed the letter to Speaker Pelosi and shown my support for not only Lt. Choi but for equality across the board. You should too. The links are there – go click on them.

In better news, yesterday was Canada Day, and thankfully our awesome nation is far less plagued with these sorts of social injustices than our neighbours to the South. And yes, before you leap down my throat and start calling me names again, I’m well aware (and not denying) that we have our own work to do here in Canada – and lots of it – before we can truly be called democratic and egalitarian, so don’t start. I’m in a bad enough mood over this whole DADT thing as it is. With that in mind, I’m going to give the heavy-hitting stuff a rest for a day and talk about something really cool. You’ll thank me later, so you’re welcome.

And now, dear readers, for something completely different.

I consider myself something of a man-about-town. When I’m not toiling diligently away at the Compound I like to get out and about in the beautiful city of Toronto, because typically there’s always something interesting going on – live music, theater, street performance, you name it. This city is also a hub for sports – Toronto teams are supported by a cadre of rabid fans who embody the kind of boundless optimism necessary to continue supporting teams that don’t win.

I’m not remotely a sports fan. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I think professional sports are a tremendous waste of money and energy. And usually I’m right – but not always. You see, I have discovered a sport that truly represents all the very best things about athleticism, with a healthy dose of theater thrown in for good measure. It’s kind of like this:

except that instead of having to watch a cage full of enormous, ‘roid-raging men covered in a sheen of oil and dressed up in terrible costumes, screaming scripted PG dialogue at one another, you get to watch women like this:

beat the everloving shit out of each other – with pillows. It’s called the Pillow Fight League and it is, without a single word of a lie, the most fantastic entertainment I’ve ever experienced for twelve dollars.

Here’s how it happened. My good friend Brent Chittenden (who I’ve mentioned in previous posts) runs a podcast called Two Assholes Talking About Nerd Stuff, which necessitates him being in the know about all manner of unusual nerd-related activities. Brent spent his childhood and most of his adulthood a devout fan of professional wrestling – he’s one of those rare animals that knows good and damn well it’s completely fake; his interest in the industry stemmed from a behind-the-scenes standpoint regarding the business and its employees, from the wrestlers to the announcers to the guys on top. When he got wind of the PFL and discovered that Jason Agnew of Bite TV was going to be one of the judges for the “championship” (held yesterday at the Mod Club in Toronto) he immediately started looking for people to attend with him. I’ve been a guest speaker (or Guesthole) on his podcast several times, so naturally he got in touch with me and asked if I’d be interested. My response went something like this:

“My art and my writing would suffer if I didn’t attend something called the Pillow Fight League Championship. I will be there with bells on.”

And so, with another friend in tow, we ventured downtown.

Doors for this function opened at 8pm, but our friend felt it would be untoward and kind of lame to show up right as they started letting people in, and to be fair I kind of agreed with him – I’m a “fashionably late” kind of guy. So we puttered around the College Street area for a while, took in the stunning scenery that is downtown Toronto in the summertime:

and had a burrito at a strangely-placed Mexican diner (for those not in the know, the Mod Club is located dead-center of Little Italy). Our friend enjoyed a quesadilla that he aptly described as a “soupy pile of shit” and Brent complained about the volume of cilantro in his chicken burrito. After this mediocre meal we headed over to the Mod Club for what I was absolutely convinced would be the experience of my life. From the time we walked in the door I was not disappointed.

(I would love to include photos, but like a total moron I forgot my camera at the Compound. Gonzo journalism at its best, I’m telling you.)

The Mod Club isn’t a bad venue for live stuff, in my opinion. A spacious dance floor is dominated by a well-appointed stage complete with full light set up and video screens. Seating isn’t usually an issue at the Mod because people aren’t generally sitting down during shows, but there’s a raised platform along one side of the main room that seats maybe two dozen people at tables with chairs and an upholstered bench. But all this wasn’t what caught my attention when we walked in.

The place was decked with PFL-themed decorations, from those frilly red, white and blue semi-circle flag things you see on American Gladiators, to the PFL logo emblazoned on the video screens, to the sizeable merch table selling everything from drink cozies to teeshirts (I bought one) to – yes, pillowcases. But the dominating feature of the room was the 15′-15′ mat they had set up in the middle of the dance floor, flanked on all sides by PFL-brand stools for seating. Needless to say, my excitement level immediately went up – we were sitting close enough to literally reach out and touch the fighters if we wanted to (and, as I discovered later, we definitely wanted to, but we would have been murdered by the cadre of PFL bouncers hanging out on all sides of the mat if we’d tried).

We got into an interesting conversation with the guys populating the row in front of us – apparently they were all veterans of PFL shows, and one of them had even judged a few competitions. They regaled us with tales of PFL glory past, titillating my imagination with stories of blood-stained pillowcases wielded by punker Amazons with bad attitudes. According to them (and according to the rules, printed on the back of the teeshirt I bought) pretty much anything was allowed in the ring as long as a pillow was between the attacker and her contact point. One of the guys, significantly more intoxicated than the rest of us, blearily recalled watching a girl get “choked out” by another fighter using the pillow. I checked the Awesome Meter I wear in place of a wrist watch – it was hitting the red line and the show hadn’t even started yet.

In short order, the announcer “Mouth” (real name Dan Lovranski, co-host of Live Audio Wrestling) took the stage and got the show underway. The guy was absolutely fantastic – he had the old-school wrestling announcer schtick down to a science; he even drew out his vowels when introducing the fighters just like they used to in old-timey boxing matches.

We were also introduced, via video screen, to the owner and founder of the PFL, a Vince McMahon-esque character who calls himself Stacey P. Case (no idea if that’s his real name or not, though the official site suggests it is). He nailed the “heel” role perfectly, to the point where even newcomers to the scene like me were boo-ing and catcalling the guy every time he appeared on screen.

And then came the women.  Awesome Meter explodes.

Remember how I said that PFL is very much like the WWE? Well, for those of you unfamiliar with the circus performance that is professional wrestling, part of the theater involved is the development of individual “characters” for each of the wrestlers. They’re stage personas, designed to reflect particular qualities and attributes – at one time, many personas reflected different jobs (fire fighter, cop, undertaker, whatever).

PFL is like that, only better. There was Apocalipstic, the angry hipster with a terrible attitude and a proclivity towards holding grudges. Her first fight was with a mousey professor type who called herself P.H. Demon, sported a lab coat and pigtails, and affected a bookish, shy manner even in the midst of pummeling her opponent. Incredibly sexy goth-vegan Guillotina took on the American Gladiators-esque Laina Beaton (who actually had an honest-to-god mullet and spandex workout pants) and, thanks largely to the support of a wildly enthusiastic crowd (including Brent who urged her to “knock the mullet off her head”) thumped Ms. Beaton in short order.

Seriously, every girl had a schtick like this: there was schoolgirl Dinah Mite:

who is also featured on the website’s “how to become a Pillow Fighter” video; Scottish beauty Abbi Roadkill:

the incredibly cleverly-named Laura Tunderin-Geezus (who of course hails from the East Coast)

reigning champion and fan favourite Carmen Monoxide (who seriously needs to call Brent, apparently)

and the main contender for the belt (and yeah, there was a belt) Olivia Neutron Bomb (how awesome is that name?)

Now, I’ll admit that upon seeing the costumes and whatnot, my excitement waned somewhat (well, at least it changed form). I started to question whether or not this was going to be a series of worthwhile fights or a lame PG-13 softcore strip session involving women half-heartedly whacking one another with down-filled pillows as a preamble to awkward making out and maybe a wardrobe malfunction or two.

The first match didn’t do much to improve my outlook – it was a preliminary match between two hopefuls who didn’t yet have stage names or costumes, and it was pretty weak. No making out or nipple slips, but not very impressive. I started to wonder whether I’d wasted twelve dollars on the entry fee.

Shit, was I ever wrong.

From the first professional match on, it was bedlam. When the low-rent Ron Jeremy lookalike referee shouted “One – Two – Three – FIGHT LIKE A GIRL!” I prepared to laugh.

Then the two girls who had been waiting on the sidelines (I believe it was Apocalypstic and P.H. Demon) exploded into the center of the ring, scooping up pillows as they ran, and collided like medieval knights jousting on the back of horses. I immediately rocketed off my stool to get a better view, and I stayed there the rest of the show. It was unlike any pillow fight I have ever seen. The pillows were literally whipping through the air with such speed you could hear the whoosh as they arced towards their targets, driven with such force that each blow made a satisfying – and at times cringe-worthy – meaty thump noise as they connected with arm-blocks, body blows and even full-on head shots. The action didn’t stop there either: these girls were far more athletic than I had anticipated, and they routinely grabbed for one another’s legs, pile-drove each other face-down into the mat, and even performed expert throws on one another. You know what? I’m not even going to bother trying to describe what I saw on that mat. Watch this video, you’ll see what I mean:

This isn’t a pillow fight: this is UFC with little mattresses. It was brutal – it was extreme. There was a tag-team match, much shouting at the ref – which resulted in one fighter losing by default – catcalling of heels, cheering of fan favourites, and the best part was none of it was scripted. I would have sworn these girls had pre-worked every match until I did a little research and discovered that none of the matches are ever decided beforehand: they’re decided either by an obvious win (a three-count pin for example), by default (if one of the fighters shoves the ref) or by a panel of judges who make their determinations based on style, athleticism, and what the PFL calls “eye of the tiger” (essentially moxie and characterization). Yeah, some of it is theater – a lot of the ref-shoving looked pretty put-on – but I think I gained a little insight into the mind of a WWE fan in watching this show (God help me), in that when you’re at the show, surrounded by a hundred people who are enjoying it as much as you, being entertained by beautiful professionals, you cease to care whether or not it’s all real. It’s like being at a play – willing suspension of disbelief. By the time the final match came around (Carmen Monoxide vs. Olivia Neutron Bomb – winner was the contender, much to my dismay!) I was on my feet, sloshing my beer around and screaming myself raw for my chosen fighters. It was like a sexy Medieval Times with less food, more beer and a way better looking cast, crew and audience.

That was the one other thing I wanted to touch on – a lot of people are going to read this and accuse me of being totally sexist for attending something like this, because on paper I bet it sounds pretty misogynistic – the whole “pillow fight” thing is kind of a negative stereotype that calls to mind ditzy blondes in revealing underwear, like I said before. But the biggest thing I really wanted to get across in this post is just how empowering and socially relevant this sport is. Their tag line is “fight like a girl”, and I’ll be totally honest – most of these “girls” could probably break my shit in half as soon as look at me. The PFL is dedicated to being a legitimate organization with legitimate athletes providing legitimate entertainment. This is an excerpt from their website:

“We’re fun. We’re fierce. And most definitely, we are fighters. We are women who are proud of our strength, and not afraid to let loose. So why fight with pillows? Because it lets us be creative, do something different, and go a little crazy. And not only do we get to entertain a dedicated fan base in Toronto, the best city in the world, we also get to travel to some amazing places and do what we do best. We don’t fight in sports bars, we don’t take off our clothes, and we don’t script the fights. To quote the Commish, “It’s not pillow fighting. It’s fighting with pillows.” Trust me, there is a difference.

The PFL is a business, and we do expect certain things from our fighters. Each pillow fighter has to have style, stamina, and eye of the tiger. You also have to show up to at least three practices a month, where you will be trained by our personal trainers to become the best you can be. You also have to be able to get along with others, because even though we may hate each other on the mats, once we’re backstage we go back to being the best of friends. Because ultimately we’re in this to have a blast, and that’s exactly what we’re doing…

What We Actually Are (a fun professional sport for women, with rules and regulations, enjoyed by all ages and both genders), versus What Some Think We Are (adults only, with all of the baggage that that implies)…you’ll be getting a pillow fight, not a wardrobe malfunction.”

Taking that into consideration, I’d hazard to say this is one of the most forward-thinking ideas in modern sports I’ve ever heard. Compare this outlook to Wimbledon, where the players chosen for the game’s Center Court aren’t chosen on the basis of their talent, but on the basis of their looks. Now, I’ll admit the ladies of the PFL are definitely easy on the eyes, but that’s only icing on the cake. They’re all well-trained athletes who have a definite feel for entertainment: I am an extremely difficult guy to entertain, and as one friend commented today, not at all the type you’d think would enjoy a night of pillow fighting.

But I’ll tell you what: I walked out of the Mod Club at 1:00 this morning, a little drunk from too much beer, a lot drunk from a night of raucous entertainment that is, in my experience, totally unmatched by any other sporting event I’ve ever attended, as well as most movies and concerts I’ve been privy to in the last ten years. It’s fun, it’s hilarious, it’s empowering – it’s Fight Club with pillows, for goodness’ sake. What else do you want?

The next time these ladies are through town, do yourself a favour and check them out. If you haven’t started thanking me, you will once you experience the magic that is the PFL.

Fight Like A Girl!

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