ZZRussReelz

03/29/2025

Some of you might’ve missed this the first time around, but… I’m officially an author on Amazon.

Honestly, that still feels a little surreal to say.

The Integrity Journey: 20 Laws for a Purposeful Life wasn’t written because I had it all figured out—but because I didn’t. It came from years of learning the hard way, stumbling through real life, and choosing—over and over again—to try to be the kind of person I admire. Not perfect. Not polished. Just real.

These 20 laws aren’t rules. They’re reminders. Anchors. They’ve helped me find peace, meaning, and a little direction in a world that often feels upside down.

I put my heart into this. And if it helps even one person pause, breathe, and find clarity—then it was worth every word.

You can now find everything in one place on my new Amazon Author Page:
amazon.com/author/zzruss

Thank you—for reading, encouraging, supporting, and just being here.

This journey isn’t mine alone. It’s ours.

Follow Russell J. Anderson Sr. and explore their bibliography from Amazon's Russell J. Anderson Sr. Author Page.

02/26/2025

The internet is a wild place. It’s loud. It’s chaotic. It’s full of hidden dangers and unexpected discoveries. In many ways, it’s a jungle—untamed, unpredictable, and if you’re not careful, it can swallow you whole.

That’s not a new idea. Guns N’ Roses called it out in Welcome to the Jungle, their blistering 1987 anthem that became an instant classic. Axl Rose’s words still hit hard today:

“You know where you are? You’re in the jungle, baby! You’re gonna die!”

Okay, maybe a little dramatic. But the song nailed something real—the overwhelming, cutthroat nature of survival. Whether you’re navigating the big city or scrolling through endless headlines, the rules are the same: Pay attention, or get lost.

Back in the ‘80s, the jungle was LA—bright lights, big dreams, and a city that chewed people up and spat them out. The song, the opening track of Appetite for Destruction, rocketed up the Billboard charts, peaking at number seven. It became the anthem of a world that moves fast, where not everything is what it seems.

And if there’s one place where nothing is what it seems, it’s the internet.

Which brings us to a story—a story that, like many things online, sounds incredible but isn’t actually true.

Consider the tale of Itzhak Perlman.

Perlman is a legend—a violinist whose talent is unmatched. And according to a widely shared story, he once performed an entire concert after one of his strings snapped.

The way it’s told, he didn’t stop, didn’t miss a beat. He just adapted, reworking the music on the fly, proving that true mastery isn’t about what you have, but what you do with it. At the end of the performance, he supposedly turned to the audience and said:

“Sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

Powerful, right? It’s the kind of story that spreads like wildfire. And it did.

But here’s the thing—it never actually happened.

Snopes, the fact-checking site, dug into the story and found no record of it. No concert, no broken string, no famous quote.

But does that make the message any less real?

This is how the internet works. Sometimes, the most meaningful stories aren’t the ones that are true, but the ones that feel true. They strike a chord. They teach us something. And that’s why they keep getting shared.

Itzhak Perlman never played a concert on three strings, but his story still holds a lesson. Life doesn’t always go the way we plan. Things break. Situations change. And in those moments, we have a choice: Stop playing, or find a way to make music anyway.

Just like Welcome to the Jungle warned us, navigating the online world is no different from walking through a real jungle—you have to stay sharp. Misinformation spreads fast. Stories get twisted. And sometimes, things are not what they seem.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from them.

So the next time you’re lost in the jungle—whether it’s a city, a situation, or the infinite scroll of the internet—remember this: Keep your eyes open, take in what’s real, and make the best of whatever you’ve got left.

Now, in my jungle… Because cats eat like tiny lions: Ever seen 12 cats at dinnertime? It’s like feeding a pack of tiny, demanding lions. If you’d like to help keep the peace (and my furniture intact), drop a tip at ko-fi.com/zzruss.

02/25/2025

In a home bustling with the antics of numerous cats and the boundless energy of a 100-pound German Shepherd—who fancies himself as nimble as his feline companions—there’s an ever-present hum of activity. Amid this lively chaos, Millie stands apart. For years, she was the elusive presence, choosing solitude over the playful tussles of her peers. Her sanctuary was a cozy hutch, a personal retreat from the household’s commotion.

But recently, our connection deepened. Yesterday, wearied by the day’s demands, I dozed off in my chair. Upon waking, I discovered Millie perched gently on my knee, her vigilant eyes warding off any intrusions from the other cats or our enthusiastic Shepherd. Our eyes met, and in that silent exchange, I felt an unspoken bond. With her mission fulfilled, she gracefully retreated to her hutch.

This gesture defies simple explanation; it’s a profound feeling that resonates deeply. Millie, once indifferent to my presence, has become my steadfast companion. While the other cats engage in their spirited escapades, Millie finds contentment either beside me or nestled in her hutch. I even bring her meals to her special spot, honoring her unique place in our shared world.

Our lives have intertwined beautifully. As I immerse myself in writing from my favored chair, Millie remains by my side, a testament to the quiet, unconditional love we’ve cultivated together.

I’ve entitled this “The Guardian of the Recluse.” I’m not sure which of these roles each of us play.

The other event that happened yesterday was an error of omission. Never. Ever. Under any circumstances — in the home of 12 felines and a large canine - should you EVER sleep through a feeding time. Just DON’T. It’s not pretty.

The Meow Mafia Needs You: The cats have unionized. They demand more treats, and I fear for my safety. Contribute to their snack fund (and my survival) at ko-fi.com/zzruss.

02/16/2025

I was raised in Streetsboro, Ohio—a place that, for better or worse, I still consider my hometown. Not just the town I grew up in, but the one that shaped me. The one that, no matter how far I go, still feels like home.

But here’s the thing—very few are left.

No family. Few old friends. So very few of the people I once knew so well that I could recognize them just by their silhouette. Streetsboro isn’t just a place of the past for me—it’s a town full of ghosts.

“Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town.”

Paul Simon’s “My Little Town” has never felt more personal than it does now. It’s not just a song about disillusionment or breaking free—it’s about looking back and realizing that sometimes, there’s nothing left to go back to.

The music itself is haunting, brooding, and deeply atmospheric, a stark departure from the softer folk-rock harmonies of Simon & Garfunkel’s earlier work. The track was released in 1975 as a rare reunion between Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, appearing on both Simon’s Still Crazy After All These Years album and Garfunkel’s Breakaway album.

Despite its dark, heavy tone, the song resonated with listeners, proving that not all hits had to be upbeat or nostalgic. It was a commercial success, peaking at #9 on the Billboard Hot 100, but unlike some of Simon & Garfunkel’s earlier anthems, it wasn’t a song people sang along to—it was a song people felt.

Instead of warm nostalgia, My Little Town is drenched in melancholy and tension, mirroring the song’s themes of disillusionment and emotional isolation.

It feels like a place that’s closing in on you. And in many ways, my little hometown of Streetsboro feels a lot like that.

Over the years, as Streetsboro has changed and grown, I’ve watched from a distance, and this song has remained the soundtrack to my memories.

Unlike Simon & Garfunkel’s usual pastoral, harmony-driven folk tunes, My Little Town feels cinematic, like a slow-moving storm. It’s not a song about escaping with hope—it’s a song about looking back and realizing that even if you escape physically, the ghosts of your past stay with you.

The music captures the cold, gray reality of life—where ambition fades, dreams stall, and the only thing that truly moves forward is time itself.

It’s a haunting feeling—standing in the middle of your hometown, looking around, and realizing that it’s not home anymore.

On the edge of my little town sits Evergreen Cemetery. That’s where my mom and dad’s remains have rested since Mom passed in 1986 and Dad in 1992. And they’re not alone.

One by one, the familiar faces I knew—the people who once filled the homes, the churches, the classrooms—are gone. Leaving only headstones and memories. I’ve watched the cemetery grow.

Respected adults. Teachers. A former mayor. My elementary school principal. The parents of my classmates and friends. And as time has passed, I now see friends I grew up with resting there, too.

The pandemic added a few more. And then there are the ones who reached their breaking point—who saw no way forward, and took their own life.

I remember a time when Streetsboro felt alive—or at least, it felt full. We had our high school football games, our local haunts, the small-town quirks that made it unique. There was a rhythm to life, even if it was simple.

But time has a way of stealing things right from under you.

First, you watch businesses go. Then, families move on. And before you realize it, your hometown isn’t really your town anymore.

I left home at 21. And after retirement, I left my home state of Ohio and moved to Iowa, where, ironically, I now live in a small town of just 500 people.

Upon visiting, I’ve driven through Streetsboro as an outsider. I see familiar streets, but the faces are different. The houses I once knew have new names on the mailboxes. The places where I spent my childhood barely recognize me anymore.

But still… it’s my little town.

It’s a strange thing—outliving your own hometown.

Or at least, the version of it that made it home.

* * * *

Hometowns change, but memories last forever. If you’ve ever looked around and felt like a stranger in the place that once shaped you, you’re not alone. If my words resonate with you, consider supporting my work on Ko-fi. Every bit helps me keep sharing stories that matter. Ko-fi.com/ZZRuss

02/13/2025

As some of you will remember, last October, my wife and daughter were outside when they heard the unmistakable sounds of tiny meows. Four kittens, just wandering together in a little pack, as if they were on a grand adventure. No mom cat to be found.

Now, despite the fact that we already had eight cats, the cat distribution system had other plans. Clearly, it decided we needed four more.

So, naturally, my wife scooped them up, all four at once, and brought them to show me.

And I said no. Absolutely not. No. No. No.

And then, of course, she handed me one.

It was October, the temperatures were dropping, and there was no way I was leaving these little ones outside to fend for themselves. And just like that, our cat family expanded to twelve.

(Which, by the way, is a divine number—12 tribes, 12 apostles… you get the picture.)

Fast forward five months, and these once-tiny furballs have grown into full-fledged chaos machines. They are playful. They are energetic. And they are destructive.

Please meet our newest recruits:

Nala, the grayish tabby
Ringo, Freddy, and Simba, aka The Ginger Triplets—or as I often call them, The Trouble Triplets.

Now, I should mention—I can’t tell the three gingers apart. At all. Except for Ringo. Ringo has his little rings on his leg, so he gets a pass. The other two? No clue.

You’ll see why in the video.

No comments about my living room—I have twelve cats!

02/13/2025

In 1967, The Mamas & The Papas released “Creeque Alley” on their album Deliver. Written by John and Michelle Phillips, the song tells the story of how the group came together—the struggles, the broke days, and the journey to making it big. It became their last Top 10 hit, peaking at #5 on the Billboard Hot 100.

The lyrics paint a picture of the folk music scene of the early ‘60s, name-dropping artists like Roger McGuinn and Barry McGuire, all while chronicling the band’s rise from coffeehouse gigs to superstardom.

But what about the title? “Creeque Alley” isn’t just some catchy phrase—it’s a real place. It’s an alleyway tucked into the docks of St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands, owned by the Creeque family. The band spent time there in their early days, and those experiences eventually made their way into the song.

Though The Mamas & The Papas are best known for “Monday, Monday” and “California Dreamin’,” Creeque Alley remains one of their most personal and unique tracks. The group broke up in 1968, had a brief reunion in 1971, and then went their separate ways—but this song still captures the magic of their journey.

Let’s Step Back to the Folk-Rock Days of the ‘60s…

“And after every number, they’d pass the hat.”

For struggling musicians, this wasn’t just a lyric—it was real life. Playing for tips, hoping to make enough to get by, just trying to keep the dream alive.

Fast forward to 2025, and honestly? Not much has changed.

The life of a creator today is a lot like those folk-rock musicians of the ‘60s—or even the Troubadours of the 11th through 13th centuries. Those traveling musicians and poets went from town to town, entertaining, sharing news, and keeping stories alive.

So, in honor of Creeque Alley, The Mamas & The Papas, and the long tradition of storytellers who came before me, I’m adding my own verse to the song:

🎶
Russ keeps writing, keeps on-a postin’
Trying to keep the stories alive
Twelve cats screamin’, Duke just a-schemin’
Still just tryin’ to survive
In the writer’s chair, Russ just sat
And after every post, he’d pass the hat
Facebook and Reels keep runnin’ the deals
And Iowa, you know where that’s at…
And no one’s gettin’ fat except all these cats
🎶

So, Here Comes That Black Newsboy Hat Your Way…

If you’ve enjoyed my posts—whether it’s the history bites, the Duke saga, the cat stories, or just my general musings—consider dropping a few bucks in my Ko-fi tip jar. Every little bit helps keep the lights on, the WiFi connected, and the stories flowing.

💰 Ko-fi Link in the first comment

No pressure—just appreciation. The show goes on either way.

But hey, if Cass, Denny, John, and Michelle could pass the hat… I figure I can too.

Thanks for being part of my journey.

02/13/2025

He came into the world on this day—February 12, 1809.

A man ahead of his time. A thinker, a fighter, a leader who didn’t just go along with the crowd. He challenged the status quo, stood up for justice, and carried the weight of a divided nation on his shoulders.

And yet—despite all of it—he had wit. He had wisdom. He could tell a story that would leave a room in stitches, and when he spoke, people listened.

Growing up, I wasn’t just a fan of Lincoln—I was obsessed. If my school library had a book with his name on it, I read it. Biographies, history books, even those little illustrated ones meant for kids. Didn’t matter. If it was about Lincoln, I was on it.

His birthday wasn’t just another day for me. One year, I even had a cake for him. While other kids were blowing out candles for superheroes, I was slicing into a cake for the 16th president of the United States.

And then there was Dress Like a President Day. The moment my teacher announced we’d get to pick a president to portray, I launched out of my chair like I’d been shot from a cannon. No way was anyone else taking Lincoln.

Why? Because he wasn’t just some distant historical figure to me—he was a real man. A man who taught himself law, fought through depression, and somehow held this country together in its darkest hour. The more I learned, the more I realized Lincoln was more than the legend. He was the kind of leader we don’t seem to make anymore.

And beyond the speeches and the stovepipe hat, Lincoln was a guy full of surprises.

Here are a few things they don’t always put in the history books:

• He was a champion wrestler. Nearly 300 matches, and he only lost once. (Yes, he’s in the National Wrestling Hall of Fame.)

• He held a patent. The only U.S. president to do so. He designed a device to lift boats over sandbars—but it never got made.

• His voice didn’t match his size. At 6’4”, you’d think he had a deep, booming voice. Nope. It was high-pitched and reedy. But when he spoke, people still hung on every word.

• He almost fought a duel. In 1842, a political rival challenged him. His weapon of choice? Broadswords. (He figured his height would give him an advantage.) Luckily, the fight was called off.

• He had a soft spot for animals. Lincoln was an animal lover through and through. He once pardoned a turkey that was supposed to be dinner—a tradition that stuck around long after him.

We sure could use a guy like that today. Someone who stood firm in a crisis, put people above politics, and had the humility to laugh at himself.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Lincoln. You’re still the GOAT.

02/12/2025

On this day in 1924, George Gershwin waltzed into history with Rhapsody in Blue, premiering at Aeolian Hall in New York City. And by “waltzed,” I mean he probably rushed in, slightly out of breath, because he famously wrote the piece in a last-minute frenzy—finishing much of it in just three weeks. (Procrastinators, take heart. Sometimes, greatness is born out of sheer panic.)

Commissioned by bandleader Paul Whiteman for a concert called An Experiment in Modern Music, Gershwin blended classical music with jazz in a way that made critics clutch their pearls and music lovers lose their minds. That famous opening clarinet glissando? Totally improvised during rehearsals. The clarinetist just slid up the notes as a joke, and Gershwin—being the genius he was—said, “Yeah, let’s keep that.”

A century later, Rhapsody in Blue is still one of the most iconic American compositions, proving that a little bit of jazz, a little bit of classical, and a whole lot of last-minute magic can create something timeless.

What’s your favorite George and Ira Gershwin tune? I Got Rhythm? Someone to Watch Over Me? —let’s celebrate their legacy together!

02/12/2025

Two years.

It’s been two years since my family’s life was turned upside down. Two years since my dog—just being a dog—set off a chain of events I never saw coming.

Some of you have been here since the beginning. You watched it unfold in real time, post by post. Others have no idea what I’m talking about.

I’ve spent a long time processing it all—every frustration, every injustice, every impossible decision. And now, after two years, I’m finally putting those thoughts into words. The full story—raw, unfiltered, and honest. Seven chapters are already roughed out.

For those unfamiliar with what happened… let’s just say it started with a vindictive nextdoor landlord, escalated to a police visit and a viral video that divided a city, landed me in front of a kangaroo city council that had already made up its mind, and ultimately forced my sweet, intimidating German Shepherd, Duke, and me into exile—desperately searching for a place where my family could be whole again.

But this isn’t just a story about bureaucracy, drama, and injustice—though there’s plenty of that.

What it’s not: It’s not a vindictive, finger-pointing jab.
What it is: A story of survival, resilience, and faith.

Despite the intense pain and hurt endured, I’ve forgiven them all. But here’s the thing—forgiveness was never meant to be served with a side of forgetting. Lessons were learned. Pain had to be processed. Because sometimes life is cruel, and sometimes, divine forces allow hardship to move you forward—not as punishment, but because something bigger is waiting down the road.

What meant the most? The friends who came together in ways I’ll never forget.

I’ll be sharing more soon. Whether you’ve followed this journey from the start or you’re just now hearing about it—stick around. The story is far from over.

02/12/2025

When I was 16, working my first real job at McDonald’s, I used my first paycheck to buy my own music. Instead of a rock classic, I chose Chuck Mangione’s An Evening of Magic: Live at the Hollywood Bowl. It came on two 8-track tapes, and I wore them out! The bass player, Charles Meeks, was phenomenal—especially on The XIth Commandment. I still love it to this day!

What was the first album you bought with your own paycheck?