The Pioneer Newsletter #21
Special Friday Edition
(unhinged) Introduction Wellness Blog
I visited the weight room for the first time in a long time this week. As I briefly explained two newsletters ago - in a concise 5,000-word beach read - I’m no longer a runner. But I also have zero interest in becoming White Goodman (post-credits), so an alternate form of physical activity would have to take its place. Lifting seemed obvious. Look at the date people. May 3rd. One month away from the opening ceremony of Summer. And unless I’m at work or appearing in court, I don’t plan on utilizing the top three buttons on my J-Crew Secret Wash shirts. So I knew what I had to do. Sculpt.
There’s an obvious place to start one’s gym journey. Remembering Brad Pitt in Fight Club and deciding you’d like to look like that. We all know the scene. Fincher’s camera tilted up for a hero shot of Tyler Durden, fresh off a brawl, backhanding a cig under the dimly lit basement lights.
Personal trainers should have a designated phone extension for clients seeking the Brad P Fight Club physique. And that extension should promptly end the phone call, because like Tyler Durden - the Brad P Fight Club physique simply does not—— well actually I’ll just stop myself right there. We then turn to our second body dysmorphic fantasy…Brad Pitt in Troy. We all know the scene. Wolfgang Peterson’s camera tilted up on a hero shot of Achilles, slow-mo tomahawk stabbing Boagrius into another dimension.
But such as the Brad P Fight Club physique, as well as this rendering of Greek history, the Brad P Troy physique is that of myth and just as unachievable.
So we instead…get Vuori-yoked.
This physique is as ordinary as it is impressive. The epitome of training for absolutely no other reason than to train. Over-ear headphones, athleisure wear, and Blender Bottles. Vejas, tapered Dickies, and a few light beers on the weekends. A freezer full of Trader Joe’s frozen food and a pantry full of Costco protein powder. It’s the attainable yet aspirational Gen-Z wellness plan. 300+ Oracle Netsuit cold calls during the day, 2 hours of iron worship at night, and a little revelry on the weekend. And I commend it. These folks are taking advantage of all that modern urban life has to offer. Equinox, cheap organic food, and the constant degrading motivation of fitness social media influencers.
But I simply cannot abide. I don’t wear ABC pants (aka pajama khakis), work at Oracle NetSuite, or eat frozen food. I cook mediocre meals in fear of de-evolution, work at The Pioneer Newsletter Incorporated, and source my garments from a Pinterest board titled fucking psychopaths.
I don’t want to look like I’m putting in effort. I want my results to instead look effortless. So I’m looking to sculpt myself into a forgotten physique. One found in some of our great men and forged in the fire of 1980s smog-filled Los Angeles. Newman, Ford, Selleck, Larry Bird. A physique that doesn’t look best in 98% organic cotton made from recycled turtles but instead raw denim and a stained Oxford shirt. That’s right, people. I’m looking to get Temple of Doom-ripped.
Fill out the frame. Get fuggin JACKED. And more broadly, get BROAD. That effortless brick wall type shit. That Sam Elliot in Roadhouse nonsense.
So here are my rules:
Shirts worn at the gym must be made of thick, scratchy, 100% unbreathable cotton.
No shakes. Protein instead must be consumed through animal carcasses, whole milk, or legumes.
When someone asks what I’ve done to cut down on carbs, I must offer a Larry Bird ‘89 Playoffs response - “I stopped drinking Miller Light”.
No intermitent fasting. Three full meals a day.
No use of post-9/11 exercise equipment (you know it when you see it)
Gym bags must be made out of military-grade canvas
The only accessory worse than over-ear headphones are fingerless gloves
Any progress pictures should be considered contraband
Gym shorts must be mesh and unattached from briefs
No shakes (that’s right, it’s on here twice)
Folks, it won’t be easy. You can’t spell effortless without effort itself. My fitness heroes may be mid-range jumper hitting, Genuine Draft sipping, tomb raiding legends on screen - but they spent HOURS in the Iron synagogue all to look that impressively casual. So wish me luck. And if I see y’all before Memorial Day, don’t even fucking think about offering me a Miller Light.
This Week(s) on Elevator Pitch…
Two new episodes of Elevator Pitch. Hope you checked out and enjoyed the first three. As always, new episodes will (hopefully) drop every Wednesday.
Jerry Bruckheimer - 1999
For the release of The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare - a movie we've definitely seen, we're taking a 10 G nosedive into the gloriously profitable and adrenaline-filled career of producer, denim enthusiast, and certified hitmaker...Jerry Bruckheimer. First, we break down Jerry's career into three eras - covering his 80s hits such as Beverly Hills Cop and Top Gun, his 90s adult action heaters like Crimson Tide, Con Air, and The Rock, and finally his 2000s family-friendly pivot scored by home video classics like National Treasure and Remember the Titans AS WELL AS his network television dominance with CSI and The Amazing Race.
Ready to fight yet? Well, hold on just a moment. First, we'll need to let you know how significant 1999 was for Jerry as well as film in general. Then, we finally pitch two potential '99 movies to Jerry the only way we know how to...ON FIRE.
Luca Guadagnino - 2021
For the release of Challengers, we're getting down with all things Guadagnino. First, a tasty conversation on the fit god, vibe sommelier, and occasional director - spanning Luca's often quiet 25 year career in film. Then we talk about the #1 movie at the box office, Challengers, and what the project means for Luca, Zendaya, and of course game show host Wayne Brady. Then, we dive into what can only be described as our most experimental pitch session yet for Luca in the odd and forgotten year of 2021. Get your Golas laced up and your racket taped, cause this pod's going 6 sets AND A MF TIE BREAK.
Conclusion Paragraph
Beekeepers are oddly having a moment right now. Yup, you read that correctly. Beekeepers…are finally getting their pollinated flowers. It started this January, with the release of a new Jason Statham movie - The Beekeeper. A movie I have yet to see as I’m waiting to experience it the way Statham intended - in the middle seat of a non-refundable Spirit Airlines flight. But the Beekeeper did impressive numbers for a January release (152 mil global). All because Jason Statham — who has previously portrayed transporters, expendables, and mechanics shifted Earth off its axis by announcing he was now a beekeeper. Then came the David Beckham doc on Netflix. 20-somethings, who were in diapers during the better part of Beckham’s career, relived the Brit-pop x Man U cultural phenomenon that was David and Victoria Beckham. 20 minutes of that series were fully devoted to his March 2000 buzzcut and I fully support that decision. But in the final episode, it’s revealed that now-retired David Beckham is now also a goddamn beekeeper.
Coincidence? It could’ve been. But then at the Diamondbacks vs Dodgers game this week, a hive of bees descended upon the netting behind home plate. The game was nearly called off before, oh no - I THINK THAT’S THE BEEKEEPER’S MUSIC. Matt Hilton, the beekeeper, was carted onto the field like the fuggin Pope and took care of business. Hilton was met with a standing ovation as he marched up to the rubber and decided to throw the first pitch.
Everyone knew it once he threw off the mask. Matt Hilton had just worked the room like Billy Bean at the deadline. Moreso, he confirmed exactly what I was afraid of. All beekeepers are legends. How was the pitch? Didn’t matter. He locked up his legacy before the ball left his hand. So if you see a hive around your house, go ahead and make the call. Just make sure to keep your wife away from the beekeeper.
I honestly look forward to these very week, keep 'em coming!
Pajama khakis are OUT. Also your regimen needs a name... I too am tryna get Burt Reynolds ripped