In an attempt to gain publicity for his new book The Fighter, Canadian author Craig Davidson fought American man-o-letters Jonathan Ames in a boxing match at Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn's DUMBO neighborhood last Wednesday. Though Davidson was the younger and seemingly the fitter of the two writers, Ames had literary weight on his side, having written seven books to Davidson's measly one. Also, he is dating Fiona Apple (?!)

(from Gawker)

I'm going to skip over the obvious joke about how he's her shadowboxer to comment briefly on how this picture is kind of gross. Him all sweaty, veiny and semi-old. Her all pouty and not looking terribly different from the sexy nineteen year old version of her that lounged about in shiny underwear on MTV for the better part of 1997. Maybe they have some sort of "spiritual" connection that "transcends the physical" and comes from both being deep and creative or something. Whatever, he's fugly. Go date a Stroke or something.

The fight was remarkably evenly matched, but in the end, most reports give it to Ames. It certainly didn't hurt that he had the advantage of several potent sexual signifiers. Besides the aforementioned hot-talented one-two sucker punch of a girlfriend, he had his curious friend the Mangina, whose apparent joy at prancing about wearing a lady-suit complete with fake cooch contributed to his morale and testosterone levels. After all, what modern author's harem is complete without an old, grinning girly-boy thrown into the mix? I'm guessing Mangina is also a writer or maybe a lesser known female musician of the nineties...I'm too lazy to look it up.
Another aspect of his manhood that likely helped Ames win is the fact that he's a red blooded American (fuck yeah!) while Davidson is a mincing little guy from Canadaland. Everyone knows that Americans write better and more books, date hotter and famouser chicks, and generally kick more ass (literally and figuratively) than our gentle neighbors to the north.
I'm a little perplexed why Davidson keeps doing this. It's not the first time he's had his ass kicked by a guy who spends most of the day thinking deeply about metaphors for the human condition between trips to holistic retreats or Nobu or wherever famous writers who date Fiona Apple like to go.

I guess some people will go to Jackass-style lengths to get noticed in the literary world. But if nothing else, this series of fights (something tells me he's a glutton for punishment and there will be more) resurrects the good old tradition of writers as big, scary, womanizing, drunken chunks of pure masculinity. You heard me: mascufuckinglinity. Not those namby-pamby masculinities you study in your fancy liberal arts gender theory classes, neither. I pray each and every day that I will miraculously grow a pair so that I, too, can be among the rough and tumble literary elite of the nation and beat up Bret Easton Ellis or some other evil literary wunderkind, Also, I'd make Josh Hartnett be my girlfriend. Concentrate with me now! Let's harness the power of the universe and make this happen. Ladyballs. On me. So I can be a writer.

And in case anyone is wondering where all the "regular" celebrity news went...Lindsay Lohan has taken more hostages, Jessica Simpson is a classy broad whose creepy dad is living vicariously through her, and Paul Rudd is a big fucking dork who I kind of want to bang.