While I was in D.C. (see previous post), I spent a fair amount of time walking. I pretty much went wall-to-wall on the National Mall. From the Capitol to the Supreme Court to the White House (3 government branches in one stroll!) to the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.
My friend Kevin, who has lived in D.C. for 20 years, suggested I check out the FDR Memorial. I’m glad he did. It’s different from the other memorials, and was quite interesting and thought-provoking.
Though I’ve been to D.C. before, my previous visit was many moons ago, before the MLK Jr. Memorial was built. So I visited that powerfully moving site as well.
I also visited the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. It was a bit disappointing to see that most of the crowd was more interested in the Star Wars droids than in the displays on, say, transportation, or Hispanic women in broadcasting, but that meant more space for me…
And on a rainy morning, I spent a couple of hours at the National Art Gallery. I found a portrait subject who is a dead ringer for my oldest son Gabriel.
And I found a portrait of guitarist/singer Tommy Shaw of Styx (and Damn Yankees!).
At least, I think that’s who it was. Then again, maybe I spent too much time staring at Star Wars droids.
Of course, no visit to our nation’s capital would be complete without a visit to…. drumroll please… the Morgan Fairchild star on the sidewalk outside some theater:
Her hair alone should be a national monument.
And she’s given so much to this great nation of ours. Dallas. Falcon Crest. And the ultimate achievement: co-hosting Battle of the Network Stars XIV with Howard Cosell.
This short Paul Graham essay from 2007 should be required reading for every American. In fact, we should have to read it at least once a year. Maybe around spring cleaning time.
Stuff is an extremely illiquid asset… The only way you’re ever going to extract any value from it is to use it. And if you don’t have any immediate use for it, you probably never will.
Companies that sell stuff have spent huge sums training us to think stuff is still valuable. But it would be closer to the truth to treat stuff as worthless.
In fact, worse than worthless, because once you’ve accumulated a certain amount of stuff, it starts to own you rather than the other way around. I know of one couple who couldn’t retire to the town they preferred because they couldn’t afford a place there big enough for all their stuff. Their house isn’t theirs; it’s their stuff’s.
Stuff takes up space. Not just in your home, but also in your head.
And unless you’re extremely organized, a house full of stuff can be very depressing. A cluttered room saps one’s spirits. One reason, obviously, is that there’s less room for people in a room full of stuff. But there’s more going on than that. I think humans constantly scan their environment to build a mental model of what’s around them. And the harder a scene is to parse, the less energy you have left for conscious thoughts. A cluttered room is literally exhausting.
I’m certainly guilty as charged on buying too much stuff, especially when it’s a “bargain.”
But one thing that might work is to ask yourself, before buying something, “is this going to make my life noticeably better?”
Stuff sticks around. It can haunt you.
The purchase price is just the beginning. You’re going to have to think about that thing for years—perhaps for the rest of your life. Every thing you own takes energy away from you.
It’s better to free up some headspace for memories of life experiences, not stuff. Things like travel… or just time spent with good friends.
If I want to spend money on some kind of treat, I’ll take services over goods any day.
If you don’t take it from Paul Graham, maybe George Carlin can convince you:
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 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”)
I like listening to the Smartless podcast, and understand that a lot of the commentary among co-hosts Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes and Will Arnett and their guest is just for laughs. But John McEnroe went too far when he started whining (a longtime specialty of his) about Pickleball. And Will Arnett just piled on. Here’s the clip (warning: contains salty language):
Yes, whiffle ball is not the same as baseball. And pickleball is not the same as tennis. And that’s partly the point. I used to love playing tennis… that was before my arthritic knees and feet betrayed me. Tennis turned into a game of “fetch.” And if you’re spending more time walking over to pick up a ball than you are hitting the ball, it’s really frustrating. Pickleball changed the equation. Yes, it’s a more compact area. And yes, it’s a plastic ball. But there’s still plenty of movement, plenty of strategy and it’s a ton of fun.
I AM serious, Johnny Mac. There’s no need to get your all-white shorts in a wad over “some college player who didn’t make it in tennis,” because:
That guy is making six figures playing a sport he loves, and definitely having fun doing so.
I’d rather watch him play pickleball than watch you play it.
It’s not really about Ben Johns, it’s about the millions of Bens, Johns, and Joans who are getting exercise, making friends, and having fun instead of sitting on their butts.
And I found it funny (but not the way he intended it) that Will Arnett was calling out pickleball for being “trash” and an activity that requires very little movement when, in almost every episode of Smartless, he talks about playing golf. If you want to start the “lazy person’s activity” argument, let’s start there, Willie. Because pickleball is legit.
In a 2016 study published in Medicine & Science in Sports & Exercise, 12 middle-aged players burned 40% more calories during a 30-minute pickleball game than during 30 minutes of walking, increasing their heart rates to within the moderate-intensity exercise zone. A small six-week study of 15 people ages 40 to 85 who played an hour of pickleball three days a week showed improvements in cholesterol, blood pressure, and cardiorespiratory fitness.
Plus, regular practice can help improve balance, which is important in preventing falls as you age. Because pickleball requires both hand-eye and foot coordination, says Casper, “your balance, your movement, and your coordination all get better as you play more.”
You done said…