Although for me, voting day was a couple of weeks ago. On a random Friday. The county where I live (Hamilton County Ohio) makes it super easy to vote early at their Board of Elections building. Short lines. Friendly staffers. No muss. No fuss.
And Ballotpedia makes it super easy to study the candidates and ballot initiatives in advance, so you can be an informed voter.
The voting location had a bell that first time voters could ring. Every time someone rang it (most of them were youngsters), the rest of us voters would clap for them.
They deserve a round of applause. I hope they vote in every election henceforth.
It’s easy to be disengaged. To say “what’s the point?”
It takes a bit more effort to be informed and to make your voice heard. But it’s worth it.
Voting doesn’t guarantee you’ll get the results you want. But not voting guarantees that you don’t have a leg to stand on if you want to complain about the people who won.
But this one was different. Because the band is different. Neil Peart — widely acknowledged as one of the best drummers ever — passed away nearly seven years ago. The surviving members of the trio (Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson) had been recording and touring with Neil since 1974, and he had been their primary songwriter. Playing without him just didn’t seem right.
But Geddy and Alex are no spring chickens. And over time, they warmed up to the idea of touring again. After all, they wrote the music that went with Neil’s lyrics. And touring again would be a way to pay tribute to “The Professor” (as Neil was known – they got his family’s blessing) while also once again experiencing the joy of playing together and bringing their beloved music to the masses.
They recruited Anika Nilles to play drums with them. A gargantuan task – not only was Neil one of the best, but Rush’s music is complex.
And Rush’s fan base is notoriously — almost comically — heavily male.
Would a female drummer be welcomed into the fold, especially following in the footsteps of a legend?
So it was a different band that I saw last week.
And it also was different because two of my kids joined me at the show. Gabriel plays drums and is into rock. Leah has become an avid music listener, with wide-ranging tastes.
I loved the show! Because Anika was given a hero’s welcome… and crushed it on drums.
Because Geddy and Alex were all smiles.
Because they paid tribute to Neil, and to their original drummer John Rutsey.
Because after more than 50 years, they still rock!
Because it put me back in touch with my 16-year-old self.
The first concert I ever saw was Rush, back on April 14, 1981, at Barton Coliseum in Little Rock, Arkansas. It was during their Moving Pictures tour. (I spent my entire weekly Piggly Wiggly bagger salary on that t-shirt in the photo above… totally worth it!)
Last Friday, Rush played every song off that album. And tons more tunes to delight hardcore fans.
But what I loved most was the fact that my son and daughter also loved it.
WHEN WE ARE YOUNG WANDERING THE FACE OF THE EARTH WONDERING WHAT OUR DREAMS MIGHT BE WORTH LEARNING THAT WE’RE ONLY IMMORTAL — FOR A LIMITED TIME
It will come as a shock to absolutely no one who reads this blog (all three of you) that I love music. To be able to share that joy with my kids was magical.
Neil’s gone, but the music of Rush carries on.
Someday I’ll be gone, but my kids’ memories of the Rush concert will carry on.
Time stand still — I’m not looking back — But I want to look around me now See more of the people And the places that surround me now Freeze this moment A little bit longer Make each sensation A little bit stronger Experience slips away
The dude in the middle is Owen Williams (a.k.a. “O”), lead singer and main songwriter of a Welsh band called The Tubs.
That’s my friend Ken on the left, and yours truly on the right.
Ken and I drove up to Cleveland from Cincy to see The Tubs at The Grog Shop. On a Monday. Because that’s what you do if you love music and are absolutely cuckoo about The Tubs.
If you know what type of music I like, then you’ll know why I’m so crazy about The Tubs after you read this description:
The band is known for a jangle-pop and post-punk sound influenced by R.E.M., The Replacements, and Richard Thompson, often characterized by self-deprecating lyrics and high-energy live performances.
Nailed it! And that’s pure catnip for this cat. R.E.M. The Replacements. Richard Thompson. It doesn’t get any better than that, in my book, and The Tubs live up to that standard. To my ears, Owen sounds just like Richard Thompson… not just his vocals, but also his lyrics.
“High-energy live performances”? I can confirm. If you’re keeping score at home, I’ve now made three pilgrimages to see The Tubs. I saw them at The Grog Shop last year when they were opening for The Wedding Present. And I drove to Detroit to catch their headlining set at Third Man Records.
When The Tubs announced tour dates for their new album Hard Life, I quickly realized that my best chance to see them would be Cleveland on a Monday. I was already halfway there (figuratively). Then I saw that the opener would be Mopar Stars, a Philly band whose debut album Official Researchers of the NJ Devil is stellar.
Mopar Stars isn’t trying to reinvent rock ‘n’ roll. Quite the opposite. The band works with the same familiar building blocks everyone else has access to. The trick is that they somehow arrange them into songs that feel fresher, brighter, and more irresistible than they have any right to.
At that point, I practically HAD to make the trip. And my friend Ken agreed.
There were at best 60 folks in the audience. But what we lacked in sheer numbers, we made up for with unbridled enthusiasm.
I loved the sets from both bands. But I also loved the fact that when Mopar Stars were playing, members of The Tubs were right up front, enjoying it as much as we were.
And when The Tubs hit the stage, members of Mopar Stars were rocking along from the audience.
That’s how it goes at club shows, ideally. The bands support each other. A rising tide…
And, at a club show like that, you can talk to the band members before and/or after their set. Maybe even take a selfie with one of them. I’ll take a dozen club shows over an arena show any day of the week. Even on a Monday.
I may be old (check that, I AM old), but I’m gathering no moss. Here’s a brief overview of the Dubbatrubba social calendar over the past few weeks, and for the rest of Rocktober:
Tuesday, September 29: happy hour with an ad agency buddy.
Wednesday, September 30: Slice Night fundraiser for Cancer Care Advisors with my frieghbors (friends/neighbors) Whit & Barb.
Thursday, October 1: Modest Mouse Concert with my son Gabriel and daughter Leah.
Friday, October 2: Gabriel’s band The Collies (with my friends Phil, Darlene, Joyce, Patty and Jenny) at a local bar.
Saturday, October 3: Mr. & Mrs. Dubbatrubba watching college football and having dinner at a friend’s house.
Sunday, October 4: Watching the Bengals at a local bar, then seeing Ted Leo & the Pharmacists at an outdoor music festival, then seeing Lisa Walker & Elizabeth Nelson at an old church (The Columbia).
Tuesday, October 6: Lunch Club at The Mercantile Library, and happy hour/dinner with folks who have been with the company 20+ years (the boss paid!)…
… then meeting up with Mrs. Dubbatrubba and her friends at the BLINK! preview 5K after-party.
Wednesday, October 7: Carrie Brownstein “Words & Music” lecture at The Mercantile Library…
… followed by a sound check at The Columbia for the 10/10 97X event
Thursday, October 8: Monthly “hoppy hour” with my XU pals at Wooden Cask Brewing, followed by a wine tasting/tour with Mrs. Dubbatrubba and her friends at Revel OTR Urban Winery, followed by a mini-tour of the BLINK! displays in OTR/downtown Cincinnati.
Friday, October 9: Lunch with two former co-workers.
Today (Tuesday, October 13): Baseball Myth Busters lecture at the Mt. Washington library.
Tomorrow: Picking up a free tree at MadTree Brewing as part of the Cincinnati Parks Fall ReLeaf program, then seeing the McNicholas High School girls volleyball team. (My friend Phil’s wife Darlene is the coach, and his twin daughters are seniors on the squad.)
Thursday: Mercantile Library’s sold-out Science & Nature Lecture with author Zoë Schlanger at the Cincinnati Museum Center.
Still on tap for Rocktober:
10/19 trip to Cleveland with my friend Ken to see The Tubs and Mopar Stars at The Grog Shop.
10/20 concert featuring the band Sugar at MegaCorp Pavilion in Newport, KY.
10/22 trip to Keeneland with Mrs. Dubbatrubba and Whit & Barb (the aforementioned “frieghbors”)
10/23 concert (Rush!) with Gabriel and Leah at Riverfront Coliseum.
10/24 Xavier 40th reunion festivities.
Halloween weekend trip to D.C. to visit Mrs. Dubbatrubba’s cousins.
Yeah, it’s a lot. But it’s also a lot of fun.
I may be old, (check that, I AM old) but that’s all the more reason to get while the gettin’ is good. To quote Warren Zevon, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Or for most of my life, anyway. Please allow me to explain.
In my recent Ride Cincinnati post, I shared a photo of my sneakers with some initials on them – LJ and CJ for my dearly departed friend John (a.k.a. “LJ” – college nicknames are hard to lose) and Carol Jean, the mom of my friends Lisa, Drew and Jimmy. And on my right sneaker, GJ for my mother-in-law Gloria Jean, and just an “O” for my mother, Olga.
As you can see, at the time I said my mom had no middle name. My older sister (one of three loyal readers) then sent me a text saying:
I don’t know if you knew mom’s middle name was Edith. I always thought it was unusual for an Italian.
Her text included a screenshot from Ancestry.com:
Before we unpack this mystery, let’s take a moment to savor that fuzzy photo. It’s my mom and dad on their wedding day… and the man in the background is my dad’s brother John, the Jesuit priest who married them. Happy times indeed back in 1960. October 15, 1960, to be exact.
First came love, then came marriage, then came a veritable conga line of babies in baby carriages*. Four kids in six years. OK, six years and 8 days, to be exact. And none of us were given middle names at birth.
*I’ve forgiven my older sister for breaking my leg in a baby carriage… that’s a tale for another day.
Then came leukemia. You can see the year of my mom’s passing listed in the Ancestry photo. 1968.
I was not quite four. Meaning I was not quite old enough to remember her. Try as I may.
Our dad, Herb, didn’t share a whole lot of stories about our mom. They were probably too painful to recall. But the story I remember (or mis-remember as the case may be) about why my siblings and I weren’t given middle names at birth is that because it was my mom’s call, and it was an Italian thing.
It’s a “tradition” that I held onto with our kids. No middle name at birth. To honor my deceased mom’s Italian heritage. Or so I believed.
Whereas my older sister thought we had no middle names because our last name was such a mouthful (11 letters, three syllables) that adding a middle name would be excessive. Which also makes total sense.
“Memory is a funny thing.”
I turned to the interwebs for help. The results were spotty, but there are some indications that the no-middle-name “tradition” in our family really was an Italian thing:
Clearly my mom had a middle name. But was it a birth name or a confirmation name? I have no idea. Heck, I didn’t even know my mom HAD a middle name until a couple of weeks ago. So I’ll probably never know the true reason why my siblings and I have no middle name. Most of the folks I could ask (my dad, Zia Rosetta, Uncle Remo…) are gone too.
Maybe it was Italian. Maybe it was our long last name. Or maybe both! Life’s a mystery, and this part of my life will be too.
I’m not trying to throw my own pity party. I’m just sharing this as a reminder that if you have parents who are still alive, be sure to capture their stories. And pass ‘em along to the next generation. So they won’t be living a lie. Potentially.
Fun fact from my research:
If my parents had adhered to that, my name would be Luigi!
Last night, my friend Dave and I channeled our inner Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.
Except we’re not kids anymore.
But we were just kids when we worked at 97X.
It was the station that played either weird music for weird kids or cool music for cool kids, depending on your perspective.
Dave and I have been doing a podcast about 97X since 2018. We’ve posted more than 120 episodes. That’s a lot of scheduling, recording, editing, posting and promoting.
But a couple of months ago, I floated the idea of doing a live event for the small-but-mighty crew of 97X faithful. We reached out to our friend and former 97X co-worker Julie Maxwell, who lives in Detroit but has a daughter living in Cincinnati, to see when she might be in town. Oct. 10th was a viable option. As fate would have it, another friend and former co-worker, Mike Taylor, also was going to be in town as well — from France!
Better yet, The Columbia – an old church that my friend Laura owns — was available that evening.
The fates were aligning. We HAD to do it.
So Dave and I cooked up the first-ever “97Xtravaganza.” A live podcast recording with Julie and Mike. Music trivia. Playing some old audio clips from the station. And just hanging out with old friends.
It should be noted that we had no idea how to actually record the podcast. Or how to set up the music trivia. And we had no idea if anyone other than Julie and Mike would actually show up.
But show up they did.
Better yet, they had a great time.
You can call us weird all you want. But I think it was cool that “the future of rock and roll” still means a lot to a lot of people, 22 years after it went off the airwaves.
Yesterday marked three years since my dear friend Ned passed away. In a few weeks, many in the Xavier graduating class of 1986 will be gathering for our 40th reunion. i really wish Ned could be there.
I’m not good at math, but if it’s been 40 years since we graduated, that means it’s been 44 since we started college. I didn’t really know Ned our freshman year, but I made up for it after that. We were suitemates our junior and senior years, and roommates with several other friends for the year after college. When I worked in Oxford, Ohio, Ned’s apartment on the West Side of Cincinnati was my weekend home. I can still smell the goetta cooking on Saturday mornings after a late night of revelry on Friday.
So Ned and I were friends for 40 years. And over that time, there are 1,001 Ned stories. Some involving bowling balls and/or TV sets being launched from dorm windows. (Do not try this at home – unless you want to get kicked out of the dorms.) Shopping cart demolition derby. Sleeping in Ned’s Chevette on Spring Break in Ft. Lauderdale (don’t try that either – “too close for comfort”). Basketball games – watching our beloved Muskies or participating in intramural games where we rarely won but always had more fun than our opponents. (Long live “The Flying Dories.”) Late nights at Dana Gardens and Eva’s. Early mornings at The Woods. Fireworks in close quarters. Punctured milk containers. Peanut butter ears. Brillo pad hair. Harold the deer head. Fossilized fish. “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” Chicken ravioli burnt to a crisp. Wrestling singlets. Elf costumes… I could go on and on.
As the years rolled past, the memorable moments became less frequent, but more powerful. Weddings. The birth of our kids. The “hurricane years” as our friend Vinnie calls them as we raised our families. But whenever we got together, it was nothing but laughs, just like back in the day.
Ned made those laughs happen. Long before the movie Elf was ever made, Ned was a real-life version of Buddy the Elf. Pure of heart. Innocent. Fun-loving.
A million thanks for the 1,001 stories, Ned!
Below are my posts about Ned from previous years:
SMILES > Sadness (from Oct. 2025)
Sorry for the ouroboros-like post today. It’s been two years and one day since the passing of my friend Ned. Just like last year, I’m reposting my blog entry from October of 2023, and adding a few new thoughts on life and death (you know, just a couple of light topics).
It’s hard to believe it’s been two years. Maybe some of that is due to the fact that time seems to speed up as we age. But for me, I think a big part of it is because the pain, the sting, the overwhelming sadness of Ned’s passing diminishes over time, and yet the smiles, the joy, the love that Ned gave to all of us is still just as strong, just as vivid, just as real. His death was a punch to the gut that sent all of us reeling. But it had no lasting impact on our hearts. If anything, we love him more, because his absence gives us a greater appreciation for what he meant to us.
The sadness doesn’t go away, but it dulls over time. And the smiles are as fresh as today. Or yesterday. Or two years and one day ago.
Be Like Ned (from Oct. 2024)
One year ago today, we lost our dear friend Ned. (The “we” in this case includes the countless people Ned befriended during his too-short time on earth.)
I’m reposting my tribute to Ned from last October below. And adding a few more thoughts:
Be kind to everyone you meet, from the cashier at the supermarket on up, like Ned was.
Be caring, like Ned was. Ask others how they are doing.
Be faithful, like Ned was. A devoted husband, a proud parent, and a true-blue friend.
Be open to adventure, like Ned was.
If we could all be a bit more like Ned, the world would be a much better place. And to those of us who were lucky enough to know Ned, our part of the world IS a better place than it was before he came into our lives.
Photographs and Memories (from oct. 2023)
Back in my college days, if we needed someone to get swung around like a helicopter blade during a party, Ned was there.
If we needed someone to dress up like an elf, Ned was there.
Getting handcuffed to a loft? Ned was there.
Beer bongs? Ned was there.
For all of our Spring break adventures, Ned was there.
If we needed someone to man the grill, Ned was there.
At all those parties — in the dorm rooms, in the quad, and at the bars — Ned was there.
Whenever you needed a friend, Ned was there.
After college, when some folks from our gang got married, Ned was there.
At all the memorable moments over the past 40 years , Ned was there. Always.
Then, this past Monday, out of the blue, Ned was no longer there.
Suddenly — You were gone From all the lives You left your mark upon
Ned had a stroke back in May of 2020 – it caused all sorts of health complications. But his departure still came as a shock. Now he’s in another “there” and we’re still here.
Tried to believe But you know it’s no good This is something That just can’t be understood
Every one of us has a special place in our heart for the guy who was good-natured, sweet, kind, caring, smart, attentive, funny… and always up for a good time. Ned is still there. He always will be.
Don’t let the title of this post fool you. Even if it IS Spooky Season.
This has nothing to do with pumpkins (or David S. Pumpkins).
But it IS about strangers inside our house.
They show up when I host a house concert. Which has been roughly once a year since 2017.
This is all my friend Joe’s fault. He’s the one who — way back in 2017 — told me that Craig Finn (lead singer of The Hold Steady) was looking to book a house concert in either Cincinnati or Louisville to promote a new solo album.
That house concert tour was booked by a company called Undertow, which helps all sorts of artists book similar shows from coast to coast. They’re good people doing a great service – helping artists go the DIY route and play intimate shows attended by (and hosted by) enthusiastic fans.
Since that Craig Finn gig in ’17, we’ve also hosted Eric Bachmann, Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker of Wussy (four times – including one trio show with their Wussy bandmate Mark Messerly), Jason Narducy, and last Thursday’s show featuring Lisa Walker and Elizabeth Nelson of The Paranoid Style. (On a tour they’ve jokingly called “Walker Nelson Overdrive” or WNO for short.)
(Jason’s show wasn’t via Undertow, he goes full DIY – but he knows and respects the Undertow folks.)
Some people think I’m crazy for letting 25-40 strangers into our house. (And my wife sometimes falls into that category.) But the folks who attend these sorts of shows are not beer-swilling hooligans. (They swill beer – shows are BYOB – but they aren’t hooligans.) They’re true fans who appreciate the opportunity to see artists they love up close and personal. They’re not going to mess that up by creating a ruckus (or stealing the silverware).
Last Thursday’s show included an audience member who lives in Florida but has clients in Ohio and Michigan. He planned a sales trip around the show! And another super-fan brought a cake to celebrate the start of the tour.
No, not the YA book series. The kind on your skin. Every show provides multiple goosebump moments, when the singer (or better yet, singers) play a favorite tune of mine, and you’re right there, and the moment feels magical.
Goosebumps!
It’s well worth the extra effort to rearrange the living room furniture once or twice a year. Speaking of which, a huge hat-tip to Mrs. Dubbatrubba for making the house clean-clean instead of just Dubbatrubba-clean, and to our son Peter for being an unpaid employee of Dubbatrubba & Sons Moving & Storage.
I rode 30 miles in the Ride Cincinnati event on Saturday. Although according to my Garmin watch, it was only 28.72 miles. (I paused it at the turnaround, and didn’t restart it until I was underway on the return.)
Riding 30 miles on a glorious Saturday morning was the easy part. (Especially with police helping us through the tricky intersections before we hit Route 8 in Kentucky.)
But if you contributed to my fundraising efforts, that’s the tough part. When gas and grocery prices are sky high. When you have so many worthy causes asking you for your hard-earned dollars.
But together, WE did it. We helped fund cancer research, education and care. To the tune of $4540.
We make a great team.
And there were others like us. Riding. Donating. Cheering. It all adds up.
I put some initials on my shoes to help remind me of why I was riding. My dear friend LJ. Carol Jean, the mom of my friends Lisa and Drew. Gloria Jean, my mother-in-law. And my mom, Olga (no middle initial). All gone too soon. All no doubt approving of OUR efforts.
“Starting on day one, we will end inflation and make America affordable again, to bring down the prices of all goods.”
— Donald Trump, (NBC Montana, Trump Rally in Bozeman, MT, YouTube August 9, 2024).
“Energy is going to bring us back. That means we’re going down and getting gasoline below $2 a gallon, bring down the price of everything from electricity rates to groceries, airfares, and housing costs.”
— Donald Trump (NBC News, Trump Addresses Economic Club Of New York, YouTube September 5, 2024).
How’s that working out for us?
That’s just gas. What about groceries?
But things will get better soon, right?
So much for those “Day 1” promises.
Who is responsible for this mess?
Not Sleepy Joe. Not Critical Race Theory. Not Antifa. Not drag queens. Not immigrants. Not street gangs. Not communists. Not socialists. Not election officials. Not the “deep state.” Not the “fake news media.” Not the “radical left.” Not China. Not Canada.
Nope there’s one person that caused all this misery.
Kevin Sullivan on 43-3=1,001: “Reading while listening to Keith Jarrett, “Guess I’ll Hang Out My Tears To Dry”, good good stuff Damian, thanks.” Oct 3, 09:29
Thomas Kuhl on We did it!: “Well done! Good and Honorable man!” Sep 29, 01:29
Thomas G Kuhl on Get on the bus!: “I am glad that bus keeps circling………” Sep 8, 03:37
Kevin Sullivan on The full-brain workout: “Yep, keep writing .. in your voice. https://www.nytimes.com/2026/08/04/opinion/artificial-intelligence-ai-writing.html?unlocked_article_code=1.4VA.JFCf.Lr_UK5tlpBRR&smid=url-share” Aug 10, 10:57
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