Critically lauded, Academy Award-loser Aimee Mann wears many hats: singer, songwriter, producer, green felt one with a feather in it… Not impressed? Does this battle sound like a tune-up fight to you? An easy lay-up (I believe this is some sort of “non-punching sport” related phrase. From hopscotch, maybe?) Well think again. For two reasons:
1) I’ve seen her train and spar in the gym. Under the watchful, be-spectacled eyes of hall-of-fame boxing trainer Freddie Roach she was able to box the shit out of an opponent 15 years her junior. She telegraphed her punches a bit. (Literally, there was an old man in her corner tapping electrical signals into a small device every time she threw. It was SO EASY to pick up on.) And she also utilized a slightly too high guard that left her open to body attacks, but otherwise she looked good.
2) She has a voice like an angel… an angel with crazy-hobo eyes, who’s trying to punch you straight to hell. Big deal, you say? Well, much like the ancient sirens of legend, luring sailors to their deaths along treacherous rock-filled waters, she too can use her voice to dangerous effect. You know how some singers tug at your heart strings? She takes those strings, ties them to the bumper of a truck, then signals the driver to pop the clutch and gun it out of the parking lot before you even get the chance to blink. Your heart gets yanked out through your mouth and bounced along the highway like a “just married” tin can at fifty miles an hour.
For real, if you let her sweeping melodic tales of woe and love lost penetrate your earholes while trying to punch her, you’re as good as dead. Ever try to fight someone while a wave of your own thick, regret-filled tears covers your eyes and mouth like a curtain of liquid sorrow? If you’ve ever lived in Florida, you probably have. Either way, it ain’t ideal. She’ll have you on the ground and curled into the fetal position, sobbing over the memory of lost-lovers you DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU FUCKING HAD. Then, she’s got you.
You CANNOT let her get a song out. Not even a few notes. Plug your ears with wine corks the second you find out you even MIGHT be fighting troubadour Aimee Mann. Using a jeweler’s hammer, tap the corks into your ears until the pain makes it impossible to proceed. Then, file the corks down until they’re no longer visible to the naked eye-- Actually, I think they make silicon earplugs now, you could just get them, I guess. Your call.
When her song stylings fail to produce instant tears she’ll be momentarily thrown. Immediately “sing” something back at her. Anything. A hymn, nursery rhyme, old camp song, jingle, jangle, it doesn’t matter. Her rage at your butchering of her art form will cause her to lose control and charge you, once again leaving her body open. Work the body, until she drops. You’re gonna be “Bachelor Number 2” hitting her with left hooks number 3, 4 and 5 all night long.
Only then Aimee will truly discover 1 is the loneliest number when she’s all alone, flat on her back, staring up at your raised triumphant fists…
When I first realized the "comedian" Kevin Seccia had written a tutorial on how to beat me up, I was incensed. Then I was amused. Then incensed again. Then...well, this went back and forth for a while, until I landed on incensed and stayed there. The very IDEA of a numbskull like him thinking he could beat me up! Well, turnabout is fair play, my friend--now the HUNTER becomes the HUNTED.
First of all, let's take stock: Kevin Seccia, half Asian, half Caucasian; early-thirties; steady diet of doughnuts, whiskey and ham sandwiches; exercises maybe 20 minutes a week. (Does crawling around your apartment in the dark groping for your underwear count as exercise? Then let's make it an hour a week.) He's had only one real fight, unless you're including "fighting a giant hangover,” and there he's 0-45. I know what you're thinking..."half Asian?? He could know all sorts of martial arts! Kung Fu! Jiu jitsu!" Well, rest easy, my friend...THAT half is Korean, and all THEY have is weird barbeque. What's that you say? The Koreans have Taekwondo? Is that Korean for "make opponent go blind with reflection from giant moon face?" Then I guess you better watch out, because Kevin DOES know Taekwondo after all.
And you, his opponent--what do you have? A rolled-up sock? A knotted napkin? A curled lip? Your chances are good. He's so out of shape that the first blow you strike, anywhere on his doughy, flaccid form, will cause him to collapse with a hiss like an inflatable clown. But don't get cocky and think it's going to be quite THAT easy...the one advantage he has is that he's smart and canny. Sure, he's an out-of-shape blob who drinks and smokes too much, is totally undisciplined about training, and wheezes while pressing "Buy and Record" on the PPV boxing matches we watch together. BUT--while he's watching, he's gathering information...he squirrels away every between-round command, every piece of on-air commentary, every one of Teddy Atlas' "Keys to Victory"--and if he gets lucky and has a spurt of energy, you could find yourself suddenly swarmed with hung-up right hands, left-hand triple-punch combinations, paralyzed sciatic nerve hip punches that make your legs go out, and a Freddie Roach-style elbow to the chin. So get in there and do the job fast, before his sluggish reflexes have a chance to kick in.
And if you’re ME, whatever the outcome, just think about those Grammy and Oscar nominations, those sold-out concerts, those rave reviews, and you’ll know who the REAL winner is…