It’s a lovely illustration by a lovely person, my friend Damjana. She’s from Slovenia. I’m from Mars (a.k.a. Arkansas). I met Damjana and her friend Mija in Ireland 33 and 1/3 years ago, and we’ve stayed in touch ever since (as also chronicled in this post from 2020).
I can’t help but smile whenever I see Damjana’s dancing snowman. Which is why I’ve printed it out and taped it on a wall of my “home office” (a.k.a. dingy basement). It’ll help me get through the dreary months ahead.
Real artwork, done by a real live human being – accept no substitute. Even in the age of AI.
As a WordNerd™ who has zero talent in the design/illustration department, I’ve always admired amazing artwork. As someone who worked at ad agencies for more than a decade, I’ve been lucky enough to cross paths with some of the best artists around.
AI-generated art is nothing more than a synthesis of the handiwork of folks like them, and millions more flesh and blood artists.
If you’re just an inept artist like me and looking for an illustration for your puny little blog, sure, go ahead and use Dall-E 2, Stable Diffusion or Midjourney. But if you’re working on a commercial project, enlist a human being. You’ll get art with heart. Art that creates connection. Art that will make you smile. Totally worth it!
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.
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
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