There are many times I question the “wisdom” of crafting blog posts for a blog that few* people read.
*4-6 folks, roughly, although that staggering number drops precipitously if you subtract relatives.
Any objective observer would consider it a waste of time and money. I should just buy a journal and write in that. Same readership, without the hassle and expense of maintaining a web presence. (Believe it or not, I actually have to PAY for the highly coveted, much-sought-after domain name of “dubbatrubba.com.”)
But then I get a note like this from my friend and co-worker:
Wow! So one of my trivial posts on my silly little blog actually played a very tiny role in helping kickstart something that will bring more gratefulness and joy into the world? I’m flabbergasted! (And flabby too… probably from too much time sitting on my butt blogging.)
Here’s more about the event:
Grateful Gatherings are monthly conversations with purpose, designed by Grateful Living and hosted by people like Harmony co-president Susan Jackson who have completed their training program. Each month we’ll be exploring the transformative practice of grateful living, using the resources provided by Grateful Living. Our monthly topics will include things like: Say Yes to Joy, Welcome Imperfection, Navigate Grief, Reimagine Rest, Awaken to Awe, and Act with Courage.
Suddenly all those countless hours spent blogging seem worthwhile. Especially if we’re grading success on the Emerson scale:
Susan’s first Grateful Gathering will take place on Sunday, April 28, at 10 a.m. at Moonflower Coffee Collective in Sharonville. Damn right I’ll be there! Because I’m forever grateful that Susan read some silly little blog post in the first place.
This is just the incentive I needed to continue with my blog posts! It’s so much better than the usual feedback I receive, which falls into one of two categories:
On Saturday evening, instead of watching March Madness, I met up with some old friends for a happy hour that stretched into the wee hours.
Yesterday afternoon, instead of watching March Madness, I provided a bit of constructive (I hope) criticism and writing tips to students who had entered their short films into a college film festival. Yes, me, the man who thinks this is the pinnacle of American cinema:
Last night, instead of watching March Madness, I went to a poetry reading. Yes, me, the guy who struggles to understand anything more complex than The Family Circus comic strip.
(The ghosts haunt me…)
My choices were based in part on the fact that Xavier didn’t make the Big Dance this year. But all three events were certainly more nourishing for the soul than watching a gazillion AT&T commercials. Oh, and let’s not forget the countless minutes of “official review” so the refs can add a tenth of a second to the game clock. Scintillating!
The Saturday happy hour was with some friends from my ad agency days. The traditional ad agency model is in a state of disarray. Too much consolidation, not enough creative freedom. But the folks I met and worked with during my agency days remain some of the most creative folks I’ve ever known. Writers, designers, artists, muralists, musicians. Big Idea generators, every one of them. They bring more beauty into the world. Yes, some of it is in service of commerce, but that doesn’t diminish the beauty… if anything, it makes it more admirable.
The student film festival gave me hope that the next generation of our “creative class” will be just as creative. The tools may change, but the ability to tell a compelling story will always matter.
The poets were folks who went to Xavier in the late 60s/early 70s and bonded over their love of the written word. To be able to portray beauty and convey emotions with an economy of words is a rare talent. And one well worth celebrating.
(excerpt above is from the book Also a Poet by Ada Calhoun)
The rise of technology — especially AI — has some folks thinking that our souls will be superseded by machines. But I know better. Flesh and blood, and human connection, are what will help us not just survive, but thrive.
A couple of weekends ago, I went to Washington, D.C. Ostensibly the trip was the see Xavier men’s b-ball take on Georgetown.
I could think of several reasons to NOT go:
Georgetown’s not a good team this year, and Xavier’s only marginally better.
Tickets to the game weren’t cheap
I was going to a concert in Cincy on Friday night, so my trip to D.C. would have to be super-short.
But these days, I’m trying to err on the side of “go” vs. “no.” And I could think of several reasons to go. Their names are Robin, Ronnie, Kevin, Tom, Sarah, John, Mike, Beth, Tim, George, Dan, another John, Kate, yet another John, Jason… the list goes on. Most are friends from my Xavier days (back in the Mesozoic Era), some are the spouses/significant others, one was a co-worker who is also a good friend. Many of them I hadn’t seen in years… decades even. And the most recent time I saw some of them was at the funeral for our friend Ned, one of my best buds from college. There’s nothing like losing a peer to remind you that life is short. Hence the “go” vs. “no” mentality.
I used SkyMiles for the plane ticket. The hotel room was relatively cheap by D.C. standards. The chance to reconnect with good friends was priceless. (Oh, and Xavier won the game on Saturday night… that certainly helped.)
Thoreau had it right:
It’s not about “stuff” it’s about enjoyment… and there’s nothing more enjoyable than spending a bit of time with good friends. Because friendships are precious. And so’s our time…
Here’s a suggestion for 2024: put down your phone, and pick up a book.
Yes, I know I’m the old man yelling at a cloud. You can’t fight the rising tide of the Facegram and the Tic-Tac (or whatever it is the kids are staring at for hours-long stretches these days).
But if it’s vicarious living that you’re looking for, drop your feed and feed your head a tome or three. In other words, trade the Kardashian sisters for The Brothers Karamazov.
“I consider reading the greatest bargain in the world. A shelf of books is a shelf of many lives and ideas and imaginations which the reader can enjoy whenever he wishes and as often as he wishes. Instead of experiencing just one life, the book-lover can experience hundreds or even thousands of lives. He can live any kind of adventure in the world. Books are his time machine into the past and also into the future. Books are his “transporter” by which he can beam instantly to any part of the universe and explore what he finds there. Books are an instrument by which he can become any person for a while—a man, a woman, a child, a general, a farmer, a detective, a king, a doctor, anyone.
Great books are especially valuable because a great book often contains within its covers the wisdom of a man or woman’s whole lifetime. But the true lover of books enjoys all kinds of books, even some nonsense now and then, because enjoying nonsense from others can teach us to also laugh at ourselves. A person who does not learn to laugh at his own problems and weaknesses and foolishness can never be a truly educated or a truly happy person. Also, probably the same thing could be said of a person who does not enjoy learning and growing all his life.”
A few days ago, Cincinnati Magazinesent out an email touting their most popular stories of the year, with a three-pronged qualifier:
I’m not sure if they consider “pro wrasslin'” a sport. Doubtful. But I’m going to convince myself that they DO consider it a sport. How else could you explain the fact that the photo essay I wrote back in June didn’t make the list?
OK, I won’t delude myself any longer. Heck, I won’t even dupe myself into thinking that the “essay” part was the main event – Grant Moxley‘s photos were the real stars of the show.
But honestly, I wouldn’t care if the article was the least popular one of 2023. If you had told 10-year-old Dubbatrubba “in the future someone will pay you to attend a low-budget wrestling event, interview some wrestlers, and write a brief story about it” I’d have been so happy that I would’ve given you a celebratory Brainbuster. Or maybe a Camel Clutch. Or a Figure Four Leglock.
As a wee lad, the highlight of my rural Arkansas Saturday mornings was tuning in to professional wrestling on one of the two TV stations that we could get via our crappy rooftop antenna. (If you’re keeping score, they were the NBC and CBS stations out of Little Rock, a good 100 miles away. The ABC affiliate’s signal wasn’t as strong, thus I was denied a chance to see Happy Days in its prime. Talk about deprivation!)
I loved watching old-school pros like Dusty Rhodes, Andre the Giant, Ernie “Cat” Ladd, Sugar Ray Candy, and the Iron Sheik. I knew it was mostly an act, but it was a great escape from the challenges of everyday life. (And growing up poor in rural Arkansas, there were plenty of those!)
So when Cincinnati Magazine editor John Fox — an longtime friend of mine — asked me if I could write a photo essay about a minor-league wrestling organization based in town, I was ecstatic.
I loved the chance to connect my childhood avocation with my current vocation. It was an absolute blast!
I may never be a world champion in writing (or even win the “intercontinental belt” whatever that is), but at least I’m in the ring, taking my best shot.
P.S. having attended a Northern Wrestling Federation event where one wrestler did a backflip off the top rope and landed on another wrestler outside the ring, with only a thin piece of plywood protecting them from the concrete floor, here’s my response to anyone who tries to tell me that pro wrasslin’ is “fake.”
The past couple of weeks have been kinda wacky. My social calendar — usually a barren wasteland — has been crammed chock full o’ gatherings:
A Cincinnati Public Library writer-in-residence event – because who wouldn’t want to hear Manuel Iris read beautiful poems like this one?
Then the monthly “Hoppy Hour” with my Xavier besties. We’ve gathered each month for the past three and a half years. Always a good time.
Then meeting up with an old radio buddy at the home of another music head.
Happy hour with my friend Mark, with whom I worked for 17 years until he retired last month.
A holiday party with some pickleball pals.
A Xavier basketball game with neighbors and two of my sons.
A pub crawl organized by one of my best friends from work. Because who wouldn’t want to hang out at a bar with this guy?
(True story: at the end of the evening, the Uber driver who came to take him home wasn’t familiar with Christmas Vacation characters and was a bit hesitant to give “Cousin Eddie” a ride.)
A “planning session” (read: happy hour) for a New Year’s Eve party with friends I met when our kids were in grade school together. (I can’t make the NYE party, but I can “plan” with the best of them!)
Last night was happy hour with a couple of ad agency pals.
Today is lunch with pickleballers, and happy hour with neighbors and friends.
My liver is going to go on strike (actually I didn’t drink at a few of these gatherings). And honestly there were days were I was tempted to skip out on the festivities. But I’d rather err on the side of going. Most of the folks I’m meeting up with are friends I haven’t seen in weeks or months. It’s crazy that everything gets crammed into the two-week window before Christmas, but seeing old friends (and meeting new co-workers on a pub crawl) is good for the soul.
I don’t need stuff. I just want connection. That’s the gift that keeps on giving. Keep your presents… and thanks a million for your presence.
Susan Jackson on Grateful for the Chance…: “You make a difference just by being you. (Yes, that sounds like a Mr. Rogers quote, probably because he’s my…” Apr 9, 10:48
Kevin Sullivan on Age vs. Rage: “Damian, presenting facts is always good. When you and I and we don’t speak we suffer. The Orange Menace must…” Mar 9, 12:58
LJ on At Your Service: “Matt is right on the mark when he states the world is a better place with Damian Dotterweich in it..” Feb 11, 09:47
Maynard on Home (Court) is Where the Heart is: “A beautiful tribute for a great friend! Our journey through life is full of these wonderful moments, especially when we…” Jan 20, 14:15
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