Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Television, Roald Dahl



Speaking broadly, I am sick of television. It wastes my time. It does not awaken my brain. It lulls me. It bores me. It does not depict reality. It distorts values. It promotes vanity and selfishness.

This poem, by Roald Dahl (author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), details many of my feelings on the issue:

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,

Is never, NEVER,
NEVER let
Them near your television set –
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink –
But did you
ever stop to think,
To wonder just exacts what
This does to your beloved tot?


IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK – HE ONLY SEES!

"All right!" you'll cry. "All right!" you'll say,
"But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children! Please explain!"
We'll answer this by asking you,
"What used the darling ones to do?
How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?"
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:

THEY... USED... TO... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
TO READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and –
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole –
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The streams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks –
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something good to read.
And once they start – oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Patriarchal Blessing of William Henry Branch, Sr. (1820-1889)

The following is a scan of William Henry Branch, Sr.'s patriarchal blessing. As it is extremely difficult to read, I would be glad to email you a transcript of the blessing, which I obtained with the help of a professional handwriting analyst. My email address is elephantnavel@gmail.com.

Also, if you have any history or photos of him, would you please send them to me?

Thanks!

Patriarchal Blessing of Emily Cornelia Branch Brooks (1855-1929)

The following scans are of Emily Cornelia Branch Brooks's patriarchal blessing. If you would like a transcript of it, email me (elephantnavel@gmail.com) and I will send it to you. I also have some photographs of her that I could send to you. Direct descendants only, please.

Also, if you have any photos or history of Emily, would you be willing to send them to me? Thanks!

Patriarchal Blessings of Edward Lloyd Parry (1818-1906)

The following are scans of the three patriarchal blessings that Edward Lloyd Parry received during his lifetime. They are difficult to read, but if you email me (elephantnavel@gmail.com) I would be glad to send you the transcripts of them (which I obtained with the help of a professional handwriting analyst). I also have some rare photographs of him that I could email to you. Direct descendants only, please.

Also, if you have any photos or history of his, would you please send them to me? Thank you.




Thursday, December 24, 2009

Funny videos!

Silent monks singing "Halleluia" from Handel's Messiah:


Straight No Chaser singing "The Twelve Days of Christmas," along with anything else that drifts through their transom:


Nick Pitera singing both sides of "A Whole New World":

Monday, December 14, 2009

My Dearness Nearness Yearning You

My dearness nearness yearning you,
With hopeful shoulder nestle do.
Become, be with, be helping me;
Bespouse, bedraw, be make-me see.

Year turns a glass, year lives life by,
Year hopes to see thee by my side,
With emblems hid but still intact,
Rem-embers burn within God’s pact.

Cruise Control

The way cruise control ruins things,
turns off the mind, promotes numbness, reduces the wonderful stimulus of variety, stabs creativity, and eliminates the opportunity for wisdom.

Live life deliberately.

A Clay Thought Moves my Open Hand

A clay thought moves my open hand;
I shape it, round it, trim it, stand
And publish-throw it toward the skies,
Accessible to public eyes.

Some glide, fired, yet never truly fly,
A downward finger (gravity) rebukes their good-faith try:
Wingless clay pigeons ensured to surely die.
Others, praised, soar as the reader sings;
Such white doves ascend by angels’ wings,
Shed the earth that held them fast,
And flutter from a time-bound clasp.

Cease to worry,
Start to be —-
And hover in eternity.

Three Words for You to Circumscribe

Three words for you to circumscribe,
Three words to speak around;
To tell them sideways, navigate
The turn until they’re found.

Three words were said, by my desire,
To fan my wind, and cool my fire;
They weren’t said to find hitched grace,
Or mobile latitude their place.

For those three words escaped my lips
And slipped away from tongue;
They brushed my thigh and drained away;
What they were for I cannot say.

So recompense blows nightly wind
For seedstorms sown in haste;
We cannot stand, we can’t see them,
Their place has been displaced.

I am to trees what you surmise
Some others are to plants;
They grow; I watch; I knock; I wait;
The lesson moves at other gait.

And wisdom round the ring of rise,
Up-sun through melted golden skies,
I perjure up-word journey through
Undaunted by my eyes;
For they send messages ill-willed,
And journey to the end;
And bringing such I never will
See beauty for a friend.

Night Time, Right Time, Astro View

Night time, right time, astro view;
Remove the planks from off your eyes,
Remove the planks o’erhead;

Shaking dreams cobweb-in-bound,
To soak the night instead.
Fathoms deep, I fathom not
The debt that I’ve incurred;
I’ve barely started to believe
That I can reach the Word.

Delicious Night, So Sweet to Me

Delicious night, so sweet to me,
I’m packaged for eternity;
The winds may blow around my head,
But I decide when I am dead.

There is no glutton for my eyes,
When sugar spins to my surprise;
like cotton, floating wisps away,
I can’t consider tooth decay;
And brine and spit, naught with ease,
Are blowin’ through my soul disease.

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Thoughts on Max Hall and forgiveness

Thoughtful article from Deseret News writer Amy Donaldson on 11/29/09, in regards to BYU quarterback Max Hall's postgame comments:

"Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret."
— Ambrose Bierce

Somebody did Max Hall wrong.

He says it was the University of Utah. He also said it was the BYU fans who doubted and criticized him.

"I don't like Utah," said Hall after he threw the game-winning pass to Andrew George in BYU's 26-23 win against Utah in overtime Saturday. "I hate their program. I hate their fans. I hate everything."

He hates everything?

I don't know Max Hall, but I hope that is not true. Unfortunately, that is the treachery of anger and hate. You can't isolate those toxic emotions. Eventually, more quickly than you realize, they contaminate everything around them — including your own heart.

"Consider how much more you often suffer from your anger and grief, than from those very things for which you are angry and grieved."
— Mark Antony

For more than year, he apparently swallowed bad feelings about an incident involving his family. He said Ute fans threw beer on them during last year's game at Rice-Eccles Stadium. It was, indeed, a disgusting act that apparently ate him up inside.

And then there were the critics.

Apparently he listened to what they had to say about him — his inconsistency; his inability to win big games — and he hated them for it.

Life isn't fair. People do bad things and they get away with it. If these are your adversities, Mr. Hall, fall to you knees in gratitude.

"Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned."
— Buddha

It happens a lot in sports. Talk of revenge, pronouncements of redemption. Winning, it seems, makes everything right. The end, too often, justifies the means.

Saturday night, after being carried on the shoulders of teammates and fans, Max Hall proved that is an illusion.

Winning doesn't change the past. It doesn't erase anything. It doesn't make you a better human being.

He got his revenge. He beat the "classless" Utes and disappointed their "classless" fans.

The win won't change what his critics believe. It won't change the unpleasant experience his family had last year. It certainly will not engender thoughtfulness in those prone to call names and throw beverages.

What winning can do is show the benefits of hard work, discipline and teamwork. It can take you in a new direction and it can offer you hope and joy.

Max had a moment to praise his teammates, to thank his coaches, his family and those fans who believed in him, even when statistical evidence didn't support him.

Instead, he used his moment to belittle players who are, in reality, not that different from him.

"He who loses control, loses."
— Det. Frank Pembleton, Homicide: Life on the Street

Max Hall won.

It wasn't the perfect game for either team, but it was important for them in many ways. And he was blessed with a win.

Seeing him throw that pass, watching Andrew George hold up that ball in the end zone was a moment of triumph. It was pure joy. They earned one of those historic wins in fairytale fashion.

Instead of allowing himself to bask in happiness, in gratitude, he chose to spew venom at his perceived enemies.

Please don't tell me this is part of sports. Do not try to convince me that anger and hatred are motivating.

They are debilitating. They are corrupting. They are not what sports, especially college athletics, is about. Every single football team is filled with young men trying to earn an education, hoping to represent their schools well, praying they won't let their teammates down.

They are not the enemy. This is not a war, and there is no place for hate.
"Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die."
— Malachy McCourt

Sadly, his comments will cause a lot of people to believe athletics are not a good place to learn integrity, dedication, commitment and hard work. The games are the best place to learn these things because you are not always expecting it.

Each game is a new opportunity. An opportunity to test yourself, your preparation, your abilities and your skills.

Life is just a string of opportunities. Some of them will come on football fields, some will come on a freeway when someone cuts you off and then flips you off. Will you respond in kind? Will you allow their anger to contaminate you? Or will you be who you are, even in the face of unprovoked, undeserved anger?

This is another opportunity. Max Hall can teach us all a lesson. We can learn from it, or we can rationalize it. He can learn from it. Or he can hate everyone who tells him he's made a mistake.

Max Hall really was betrayed. But it wasn't by strangers in red. It was, instead, his own heart that led him to a place of pain.

Forgiveness, someone once told me, really is a gift you give yourself.