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.”
Jim James is the lead singer of My Morning Jacket, a great band that started in Louisville, KY. He can be a bit “out there” at times, but the email he sent out to the My Morning Jacket mailing list yesterday is worth pondering as we flip the page to another year.
Maybe it’s a bit too “Successories posters” for you.
But there’s probably a nugget or three you can latch onto.
Be generous and compassionate. Pray for an end to all wars, an end to all violence and hatred. Work and pray for equality and love and universal human rights. Try to be honest and kind to everyone you meet – even if you are sad. Help someone along their way. Sing a simple song. Listen to the wind. Listen to the birds. Learn something new.
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.”
You never know what you’re going to find on Twitter* but it’s usually a hot mess.
*yes, I still call it Twitter – if the egomaniacal twit that owns it wants to pay me $8 a month, I will start using the new (lame) name.
Here’s a lovely Twitter post from Christmas Day – one that perhaps misses the mark by a country mile on the whole “spirit of the season” and “peace on earth, goodwill toward men” vibe:
Here’s a different image for you, Commissioner Gipson:
Thankfully the better angels joined the conversation to provide a bit of perspective for Gunnut Gipson:
Amen!
Hey, Commissioner, your Twitter bio lists “missionary” among your credentials:
Why don’t you make it your mission to quit pandering to a very small minority. This reply summed it up nicely:
You see, Commissioner, until people like you start showing some common sense, Santa’s just gonna keep bringing us more senseless deaths.
Atomic Habits author James Clear is crystal clear on carpe-ing the diem:
“The grooves of your daily routine become deeper and more established…” That’s a very polite way of saying you might be in a rut.
I like the solution from Mr. Clear (no relation to Mr. Clean) – don’t get into frantic mode, but rather look to eliminate some of that “busy work” to free up time for “deep work.”
So pitter, patter, let’s get at ‘er.
After all, as the band Rush said, “We’re only immortal for a limited time.”
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.
First let’s hear from the brilliant singer/songwriter Lucinda Williams:
Everything is goin’ wrong It’s not right anymore We can’t seem to get along The way we did before Sun is hangin’ in the sky Sinkin’ low and so am I
Then let’s listen to journalist/author/environmentalist (and Sunday school teacher) Bill McKibben in this article about LNG.
“The good Lord was kind enough to hang a large ball of burning gas 93 million miles up in the sky. We now know how to make absolutely full use of it, so we should give up on energy from hell and substitute energy from heaven.”
Back to you, Lu:
How’m I gonna lose These big red sun blues? Big red sun, big red sun Big red sun blues
Now over to the International Energy Agency:
Let’s lose the blues and go green with that big red sun.
The pandemic may be over, but it created another scourge that’s spreading like wildfire in the business world: the superfluous “out” used with “share.”
“We’ll share out the PowerPoint deck after this meeting.”
“I can share my notes out with the rest of the team.”
Here, let me help you:
“We’ll share out the PowerPoint deck after this meeting.”
“I can share my notes out with the rest of the team.”
There, fixed them for you!
“Share” — in this sense — implies a distribution.
And there’s not a “share in”… right? So there’s no need for the “out.”
I don’t think I ever heard “share out” before the lockdown started. Maybe because everyone was cooped up IN their basement office, the “out” represented a desire to break down the new barriers… but hearing it is like nails on a chalkboard for me.
I won’t rest until “share out” has been eradicated. And the only known cure is raising awareness. If you hear someone using the term “share out”… ask them to restate the sentence without the “out.” (They’ll hate you for being a pedant, but such is the price we pay for better grammar.)
Remember, just “share” is enough…
(Unofficial spokesperson for the committee to stop the use of “share out”)
Now you can get it for $4 at the thrift store. ($3 if you are age 50 or older on “Senior Sundays”… no, I didn’t buy it.)
As you gird your loins (i.e. change from your sleep PJs to your work-from-home PJs) for some CyberMonday shopping, keep this ol’ CB radio in mind. And read this New York Times opinion piece from Yvon Chouinard, the guy who founded the Patagonia brand, before you click “buy now.”
Cheap products, made poorly and thrown away quickly, are killing people and the planet.
from the article linked above
Obsession with the latest tech gadgets drives open pit mining for precious minerals. Demand for rubber continues to decimate rainforests. Turning these and other raw materials into final products releases one-fifth of all carbon emissions.
From the article linked above
Cheap stuff will wind up in landfills. The latest technology will get relegated to the thrift store faster than you can say “new iPhone.”
“Breaker one-nine, you got your ears on? If you don’t need it, don’t buy it. Over.”
It’s Small Business Saturday. It’s also Support Local Musicians Year. OK, the first one’s legit, and the second one is something I just made up. But if you go out to a locally-owned bar, restaurant, or club to see local performers, you’re supporting local businesses and you’re a patron of the arts.
Sure, you could drop a month’s pay on tickets to the next Taylor Swift stadium show. But for that same cash, you could support dozens of local musicians who are just trying to get by. Or doing what they love in the evenings while working a day job or three.
You don’t have to buy the merch… you can just drop some cash in the tip jar. Maybe it’ll help them put some gas in the van, or record their next release.
On Thanksgiving Eve, I went to Arnold’s Bar & Grill (Cincinnati’s Oldest Tavern) to see Maria Carrelli and her band play an album release party. The album was recorded live at Arnold’s back in the spring. The album artwork was done by my good friend Keith Neltner, who runs his own design studio. The record was pressed at MusIcol in Columbus. The record sleeve and jacket were printed at Otto Printing in Newport, KY. All small local businesses. (I need to note that the album giveaway was sponsored by Maker’s Mark, which is semi-local but far from small.)
“These aren’t just regular albums. There is a ton of work that goes into them. Releasing these Thanksgiving Eve albums for free has been a passion project for Arnold’s owner Chris Breeden and celebrated graphic designer Keith Neltner for over 5 years now,” the press release says. “They handle every aspect of this release from the vinyl pressing all the way to stuffing the records into the sleeves at the end. The project actually won multiple Cincinnati Addy awards over the years as well.”
From this article in CityBeat (a local news source)
The album went on sale yesterday at a bunch of local record stores:
Shake It Records, Everybody’s Records, Plaid Room Records, Torn Light Records, Phil’s Records, Hail Records and Oddities, Morrow Records, Black Plastic Records, Hey Suburbia Records, Three Feathers Records and Spiral Groove Records.
So before you go dropping a bunch of cash on “stuff”… think about spending some $ on the live, local music experience. It’s much more memorable, and much more rewarding.
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