Independent wrestling is thriving across rural America

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All images courtesy of author.

Ding, ding, ding!

It’s Friday night in the brightly lit gymnasium of a middle school in McKee, Kentucky (population: 800), and fans are restlessly awaiting a night of piledrivers, dropkicks, and spandex — so much spandex.

As the announcer’s tinny voice echoes through the gym, a flock of third-grade boys with matching buzz cuts flail their spaghetti arms wildly. A high schooler with a greasy pageboy haircut rips open his button-down shirt and pounds on his chest, King Kong–style, as his date blushes, burying her face in her hands. …

Inside ‘The Rink,’ the longtime skating mecca that inspired Chance the Rapper’s ‘Juke Jam’

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“I got my first pair of skates from my dad when I was 5,” says Keith, a lanky, green-eyed teen with bleached hair. “He took me down in the basement, and said, ‘Now son, here’s how you skate.’ I’ve been doing it ever since. I’m teaching him things now!”

At 19, Keith is perhaps one of Chicago’s most talented young rollerskaters: I once watched him leap into the air, do a full spin-and-a-half, land backward directly into a somersault and then yawn. (Eat your heart out, Tara Lipinski.)

Keith has some serious competition, though. There’s the man — blazing in…

Bottom line: It’s really, really hot in August

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Method Man at the premier of ‘Trainwreck.’ Image via YouTube.

Though I grew up with a father who cared deeply about the latest runway fashions, my personal style has always been more Patti Mayonnaise-meets-the-dad-from-Frasier. I went through a bike-shorts phase. I don’t really know how to accessorize. I’m still trying to bring back turtlenecks.

But with all my sartorial limitations, I do know a few truths about men’s fashion. If a dude is wearing a puka shell necklace, a thumb ring or Ed Hardy anything, cut a trail in the opposite direction. …

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Ernest gets a thinkpiece

Everyone has an Ernest P. Worrell character in their life: the kind of acquaintance who pops up out of the blue like a chatty Whack-a-Mole, ready to ramble on about nothing in particular.

For me, it’s my childhood next-door neighbor Zac, who was blessed from a young age with the ability to tell massively tall tales without batting an eye. Not unlike Ernest, Zac was gangly, awkward and eager to please — to hear him tell it, he had done it all by age 8. He’d auditioned for Space Jam. He’d met the (ahem, fictional) Roald Dahl character Matilda. His…

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After a history of marginalization, product design is finally catering more directly to left-handed users

by Sarah C. Baird

For every family of a left-handed person, a moment arrives when it becomes clear that the way of the right-handed masses is just not going to cut it.

The moment of reckoning for my unsuspecting parents arrived on my first birthday, when they repeatedly attempted to shove a tiny fork into my right hand in order to eat a baby-sized ceremonial birthday cake. After throwing it on the ground repeatedly in frustration, instant-replay style, I grabbed a hunk of cake with my left hand and squeezed it through my fingers like a tiny Hulk, mauling it…

Sarah Baird

van lear rose.

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