For the world offers only the lust
for physical pleasure,
the lust for everything we see,
and pride in our possessions.
These are not from the Father.
They are from this evil world.
(1 John 2:16, NLT)
Earlier this month I happened across an article about a study looking at the impact the media has on health. The study was actually a consolidation of some 173 different research projects over the past 28 years that looked at lifestyle links to bad health in children and adolescents.
Media Bombardment Is Linked To Ill Effects During Childhood
Washington Post
December 02, 2008
In a detailed look at nearly 30 years of research on how television, music, movies and other media affect the lives of children and adolescents, a new study released today found an array of negative health effects linked to greater use.
The report found strong connections between media exposure and problems of childhood obesity and tobacco use. Nearly as strong was the link to early sexual behavior.
Researchers from the National Institutes of Health and Yale University said they were surprised that so many studies pointed in the same direction. In all, 173 research efforts, going back to 1980, were analyzed, rated and brought together in what the researchers said was the first comprehensive view of the topic. About 80 percent of the studies showed a link between a negative health outcome and media hours or content.
…
The average modern child spends nearly 45 hours a week with television, movies, magazines, music, the Internet, cellphones and video games, the study reported. By comparison, children spend 17 hours a week with their parents on average and 30 hours a week in school, the study said.
While the study was looking exclusively at children, this isn’t a problem exclusive to children, of course. The appeal of media is entertainment; entertainment attracts eyes and whatever attracts eyes is going to attract advertising, and advertising deliberately sets out to stoke our appetite for what feels good or looks good or that we absolutely have to have. And ever since Eve first cast eyes on that juicy apple our appetites have gotten us into trouble. There’s even an old saying about one’s eyes being bigger than his stomach, referring to someone who has bitten off more than he can chew, or has more on his plate than he can digest.
It is not an uncommon failing that our lust often outpaces our wisdom, which tags along behind like a troublesome little brother shouting, “Hey, wait up!” or perhaps like Boo-Boo timidly suggesting, “The Ranger isn’t going to like that, Yogi,” as our hero launches into another misadventure in quest of a “pick-a-nic basket!” Jane Austen would not be dismayed today to learn that “Sense” still outpaces “Sensibility”.
I’m not talking just about food, either. There’s hardly a “crisis” in our society today not caused by our unchecked appetites. We have an increasingly obese population packing on pounds as we pound down the pomme frites (believe me, I know whereof I speak); we over-extend ourselves financially choosing rewards over reason, all as the rate of sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) goes up every year while the supposed adults shrug their shoulders and say, “What are you gonna do?”
Now you didn’t need me to point out those things in the previous paragraphs, or to suggest that something’s just not right. We all “know better”, yet things always seem to get out of hand. Why? Because we’re living in an appetizer world and all too often wind up with our just desserts.
We like to think we’re sophisticated and impervious to the countless advertisments bombarding us everyday, yet this is the air we breathe and the water we swim in. Most of the media messages we see, and almost all of the advertising, is in one or more quadrants of the “You know you want it/gotta have it/deserve it/you can get it easy” matrix, driving a nearly insatiable hunger that goes beyond mere calories, rendering restraint as something quaint and to be ridiculed.
Well, self-restraint, anyway. External restraints are all the rage today as those who would scoff and say abstinence is unnatural and impossible will turn around in the next vote in the legislature and ban smoking and then cast their eyes on the grease merchants. Self-government is the highest and purest form of government and the hardest to achieve because it threatens all other forms of government and these fight back and they play for keeps.
Those who would seek dominion over us will tell us to have sex with whoever, whenever and however but we can’t be trusted with what we put in our bodies or how we spend our money and everyday “we” prove them right in our greed and excess because everyone else is doing it. Conservatives like to say that the government should learn to live within its means like the average family does, but how can that be when the average family itself is over-leveraged? I heard a speaker say recently that people aren’t using credit now for luxuries or splurges but to cover the bills for the necessities.
If we don’t govern ourselves someone else will be glad to do it and even be embraced for it, at least initially. Why is there always so much interest in the latest diet? Because we all want an easier way to lose weight other than eating less and exercising more and hope springs eternal that some outside agency, or eating plan, will come in with its rules and make us thinner or better over night. The mortgage crisis was created by programs that portrayed home values as a Big Rock Candy Mountain of paradise and finance as being nothing but whip cream and bon-bons — and then Hansel and Gretel are shocked when they wind up with a tummy-ache and find out they’re trapped. Then the government steps in and says, “Oh, you foolish children, look what I have to clean up” and we bob our heads sheepishly and say, “Yes, Mum” without asking who set the table in the first place.
The government is now our financial diet plan but rather than trying to restrict our intake it seeks to pour more money into the candy store, hoping that it is a rising tide that will lift all boats when in fact it is a a rising tide of obligation that levels, rather than lifts, all debts. The water rises but now all of us will be up to our necks.
Fairy tales are one of the oldest ways mankind has used entertainment to teach the value of good behavior and consequences of bad. Most tales at heart tell of a central character who does either good or bad and either triumphs in the end or suffers gruesome retribution (especially in the original, non-sanitized versions of the tales — not for nothing were the most famous compilers known as the Brothers Grimm.) Pure hearts received happily ever after and malefactors suffered blindings, beheadings and bloody reprisals. What a great set-up for a musical comedy!
In Into The Woods, Stephen Sondheim mixes together several familiar tales, adds in his trade-mark clever wordplay and weaves it all together into a fast-paced, two-act, Tony-award-winning musical with a light touch that covers some fundamental values and moral dilemmas. The long-running Broadway show was filmed for television in 1991, featuring the spectacular Bernadette Peters in the pivotal role of The Witch. (The DVD of this production is available from Netflix).
In addition to The Witch, the central characters are Cinderella, Jack from “Jack in the Beanstalk”, a baker and his wife, and a couple of handsome-prince brothers. All have something they greatly desire, expressed in the all-purpose and all-powerful motto of the show: “I wish.” There is also a “Mysterious Man” who’s motives in the first act are not clear, though it turns out he is the one who’s first transgression sets all the other plot wheels into motion.
The movie version is a delightful, hilarious romp for the whole family though it is a bit ribald in places with a lot of cleavage and an anatomically-correct Wolf (Hello, Little Girl), as well as some adult themes that are deftly and creatively handled. The message is that wishes lead to actions and actions have consequences, some of which may not be immediately realized. The first act of the show weaves each character’s story together as they interact with each other in their pursuit of their respective wishes, wrapping up in a “happy ever after” — or so you might think. Act 2 then goes into just how happy “happy ever after” can be if you haven’t really resolved who you are and what is truly important to you and in life. The cleverness and humor continues throughout the second act, but profound revelations and morals are in store. Here’s a summary of the character of the main characters:
Cinderella: gentle and kind, she spends a great deal of her hard life wishing for better things but especially to be able to go to the king’s festival. Her inability to decide what it is she really wants, however, leads to a number of complications.
Jack: a simple-minded boy with no father on the scene and a nagging but protective other, he discovers a fabulous new world with giants but his almost-innocent greed and suddenly discovered desire for adventure means complications are most definitely in store!
The Baker and his Wife: These are the characters on whom the story truly turns. A childless couple due to a curse the Witch put on the Baker’s household as a result of his father stealing beans from the Witch’s garden both ties the other stories together and carries the most complete moral dilemmas. The Baker also grew up without a father, and while his instincts are good and decent, he is easily swayed by his practical, ends-justifies-the-means (or beans) wife who’s situational ethics and strong personality add momentum to the causes and effects initiated by others. Ultimately, she is undone by another who’s situational ethics outmaneuver hers. The Baker, however, ultimately overcomes his timidity and realizes his weakness, ultimately leading to him becoming a better man.
The Witch: Somewhere I once heard someone use the line, “I’m not evil, I’m just efficient.” While that isn’t in this show, it describes the Witch. Ruthless, practical and powerful she has her weaknesses and is the character you can’t stop watching.
Little Red Riding Hood: a young girl, not as simple-minded as Jack, but immature and easily controlled by her own desires and indulgent impulses, she learns a hard lesson when she encounters the older, wiser Wolf but after her rescue has one of the most poignant songs in singing “I Know Things Now.” The last line of that song is that “Nice is different from Good.” Keep that in mind as this review continues.
Cinderella’s Prince and Rapunzel’s Prince. Two royal brothers and the apparent romantic ideal of any story, they are in fact driven by their competition with each other and their love of the quest and of obtaining that which appears out of reach. Once obtained, they lose interest, leading to heartbreak and devastation, though not necessarily for themselves. As one says when confronted with his faults, “I’m sorry, I was raised to be charming, not sincere.”
My favorite scene in the movie is in act two when the Baker, overcome by tragedy and fear, leaves his baby son with Cinderella and runs away, intending to abandon his son just as his father had abandoned him. In the woods, however, he encounters the ghost of his father (the Mysterious Man from act one) and gains an important perspective that helps move him past his own selfishness (click on the video below).
I like everything about that scene and the way it is handled, but I’m especially drawn to the father’s rationalization, as he confesses to the original theft of the beans that set everything into motion, “How was I to know? How are we ever to know?” Exactly — that’s the excuse just about everyone in the show and in real life uses at some point, but as I pointed out to the Fundamentals in Film class when we watched this, is that really true? Don’t we really know that certain behaviors are not going to turn out well, yet we blind ourselves to them anyway?
Another key lesson comes from the Witch in act two when the cast is confronted with a huge (literally) consequence for their actions and they try to establish the blame for what has befallen them, learning that they’ve each played a part in bringing this turn of events to pass. One way out is a ruthless and cold-blooded “for the greater good” decision, and of course the Witch is ready to act, to the horror of the others. Her response in the song “The Last Midnight” is apt, both for the situation and the lesson of the story:
You’re so nice.
You’re not good,
You’re not bad,
You’re just nice.
I’m not good,
I’m not nice,
I’m just right.
I’m the Witch.
You’re the world.
Ultimately, most debts are paid and lessons are learned and the surviving characters start a new life, not necessarily happier, but definitely smarter ever after.
Today is December 11, a date that has come to have special significance in our family. You see, it was on December 11, 1987 that my wife and I discovered we were pregnant with our oldest daughter, the Mall Diva. Now you might think that this was a happy day, but nothing could be further from the truth. My wife had had endometriosis and a tubal ligation in the past and wasn’t ever expecting or wanting children. To have seen the first ultrasound pictures of the Diva-to-be had been stunning to her in the same way as a sudden punch to the stomach. On top of that, when we got home that evening we discovered that my dog — the pup that had found me about a month after I started living on my own and had seen me through the first two months of my marriage — had died. A pretty emotional day all around.
No matter what we thought our life was going to be like, it was apparent that there might be another plan that we were unaware of. Fortunately we both more than recovered from the shock and were soon able to begin taking steps — physically, emotionally and especially spiritually — to prepare a path and a future for our unexpected miracle. Some 18 years later in 2005 we were making other plans for another special day, a double-ceremony at our church where my wife would be ordained and we would have a graduation ceremony in commemoration of the Mall Diva’s home-school and beauty school graduations. We consulted the family calendars and church schedule for an opportune date and settled on the second Sunday in December. It wasn’t until later the following week that I realized that we had had those ceremonies on … December 11. I thought that was kind of neat at the time, not realizing that something else had happened that day as well.
I had helped a young blogging friend of mine get a job with a guy from our church and I had invited the young man to come with his boss to this special service. Yes, that was the day that Ben, my future son-in-law, first set eyes on the Mall Diva.
I had no idea 21 years ago, or three years ago, where each day’s events were ultimately going to lead or what plans God had in mind for us. Nor do I have any idea of what He has yet planned for us. You will understand, however, if I can’t help but look forward in trust and anticipation!
Jon Favreau — head speechwriter for the Office of the President-Elect from the Non-Hating Party of Diversity, Tolerance and Equal Rights for All Women Who Support Abortion — was feeling the, er, love at a recent party as this Facebook photo shows (Favreau’s the one on the left, via PR Junkie and The Washington Post):
Hope and change, my friend. “Hope” you survive this and “change” your drinking buddies. While you’re at it, it might be a good time to ponder the dangers of “social media”. For example, don’t forget that the first part of the word Twitter is “twit”.
Last March the Mall Diva, Tiger Lilly and Ben went with me down to Missouri when I bought my dad’s truck from my mom. While we were down there we visited my mom’s 92-year-old mother, Grammy, at the assisted-living center where she had a small apartment. We ended up sitting in the larger common room that featured a piano and several hymn books. As we visited the Diva and Ben flipped through some of the hymn books and spontaneously sang the ones they recognized. By the end of our visit there were several residents casually sitting in the common room, not-so-casually inclining their ears toward the singers.
Since then my grandmother has moved to a nursing home, one that also cares for my other grandmother, Elizabeth (or “Lizey”) who is 101 years old. When Grammy learned we were bringing Ben down for Thanksgiving this year she let it be known that she would be quite the impresario at her new home if Ben and the girls could come and sing hymns again for the group. Not a problem; a time was set for the Friday after Thanksgiving and we even recruited the Diva’s best friend and singing partner to come along on the road trip. Once in Missouri one of my nephews joined the choir as well and the youngsters rehearsed about a dozen hymns in and around the feasting on Thursday.
Earlier in the day I had gone to the nursing home with my mother to bring her mom back to the house for the holiday. Her room is right by the large, cheery common room and as we walked through it a man, presumably a preacher, was sermonizing to a group of residents in wheelchairs about how they should be thankful for their infirmities because these were what made them strong. Fortunately for him and the peace of the home he was at the far side of the room because I felt an overwhelming urge to smack him so he’d have something to be thankful for.
24 hours later we had our little choir set up in the same corner of the big room and a group of about two dozen residents arrayed in front of the kids and the electronic piano we’d carried in with us. My part, aside from carrying the piano, was to greet the assembly and introduce the singers and share a little of why we were there, mentioning that my grandmothers were among their fellow residents. I also reminded them that the Bible tells us that God inhabits the praises of his people and what are hymns but praise to God so they shouldn’t be surprised or concerned if they felt a presence during the singing.
It was a beautiful performance with everyone in fine voice and I stood to the side and watched the residents smiling and bobbing their heads; some even raised their arms over their heads at times during the music, and a couple of ladies wheeled themselves right up in front of the piano. The hymns were all old standards, “How Great Thou Art,” “There is a Fountain,” “It Is Well With My Soul” and more. After about 30 minutes I told the group that we were pleased and honored to be before them, and that I was thankful in this week of Thanksgiving for the godly example and prayers that my grandmothers, their neighbors, had sown into my life — even if, at times, it didn’t look as if they were having any affect. I also told the gathered men and women that while their bodies might not be as strong as they once were, I knew that their prayers were still as powerful as ever and that our informal choir was going to sing a Christmas song in honor of the one who came that our prayers might find their “yes” in him. I concluded by saying, “When the song is finished, each of the singers and my wife and I will move out among you and if there is anything you want prayer for concerning yourself or your loved ones, we will be happy to pray with you.” Then the Mall Diva and her friend sang “Oh Holy Night.”
Sometimes when you offer to pray for someone he or she will pull back a little, but from what I saw the group was eager and happy to receive whatever our little group could offer. I know there was no hesitation in the people I prayed with, including a woman who was very emotional over the death of her husband earlier in the week. Similarly, I felt none of my usual self-conciousness as I knelt or stooped by the ones nearest to me, and I certainly had little time for or awareness of the aches and infirmities of my own age, which seemed pretty minor in front of this congregation.
After I’d prayed for three people I saw that our group had reached everyone in the room, and I’d even received a request for the hymn, “Just As I Am”. I didn’t know the song, but our singers did so they re-gathered and sang that as well. Missing throughout the program, however, was my other grandmother, Lizey. She’s pretty much out of it most of the time now and sleeps as if the last century or so has left her worn out, which it likely has. We asked the attendants if it would be okay to go to her room and if the young ones could sing for her even if she was asleep. We were told to go right ahead.
My grandmother was asleep and I was a little anxious to see that her roommate, Wanda, was also asleep, though sitting up in a recliner with an afghan in her lap. Nevertheless my daughters, Ben, Casii and both of my nephews stood close together and softly sang through all the verses of “It Is Well With My Soul.” Grandma didn’t awake though her face seemed to relax. Meanwhile I was standing closer to Wanda and my mother and I saw her nodding her head and moving her lips during the song, though she never opened her eyes.
It was a great experience to be able to go in and do something like this, and to see the brightness in the eyes of those we ministered to. I confess to a bit of pride, as well, to see the talents and gracious hearts of my daughters who were so willing and ministered so easily.
We enjoyed the rest of the day with my family and drove back to Minnesota on Saturday. Sunday my mother emailed me with the news that Wanda, who had moved her head and lips during the song, had begun to struggle on Saturday and was taken to the hospital. She passed away Sunday morning.
My mother ended her email: “It’s a good thought that maybe the last thing she comprehended and responded to was the kids’ music.”
The total cost of the 2008 bailouts compared to past government programs, via The Lumberjack, with numbers from Boing-Boing:
I’ve got a couple of hundred dollar bills and I’m going to go get in line for the color copier at Kinko’s. Sure, they won’t be exactly like the ones the government is printing, but they’ll be worth the same. The only question is, can I print enough? Good thing Kinko’s is open 24 hours, and they take credit cards!
It’s been a hectic couple of weeks but I’m looking forward to posting several pieces this week as a lot of weighty notes and ideas have been piling up in my Drafts queue.
For the moment, however, I’ll feed you this fluffy bit of blogging folderol that I saw on The Wide Awake Cafe the other day. It’s something better-suited to Friday foolishness but last Friday was far too busy for foolishness, so here it is now: What Gender is your blog? The Gender Analyzer website will scan the writing on a blog and use its arcane tools to project the gender of the writer. It’s formulas might be a bit suspect since it guessed that the Wide Awake Cafe — sole proprietor Laura Lee Donaho — has a 69% probability of being written by a man. Running the Night Writer blog through the black box results in the following: “We guess the Night Writer blog is written by a man (55%), however it’s quite gender neutral.” Well, given that three of the four regular contributors here are women, I think it tells you something that 25% of me is still enough to deliver a 55% manliness rating.
We have strong indicators that Hammerswing is written by a man (96%). Well, that’s a relief since that blogger is my future son-in-law. I think he lost 4% for writing in French occasionally.
We think Pair o’ Dice is written by a man (73%). That computer better be smiling when it wrote that.
We think Shot in the Dark is written by a man (77%). Two men, actually, but one frequently rides a bicycle and I understand that can be really harmful to the testosterone levels.
We think Bike Bubba is written by a man (80%). I may have to reconsider my previous hypotheses.
We think The Kool-Aid Report is written by a man (73%). Hmmm. Perhaps the computer was having a hard time putting all the references to “boobies” and “poop” in context. Given that, it’s surprising that the analyses didn’t say “We think The Kool-Aid Report is written by an adolescent.”
We guess EckerNet is written by a man (59%), however it’s quite gender neutral. No real surprise here. Despite all of Kevin’s swearing and gun references he really can’t disguise his gentle and caring nature which is most often demonstrated by his threats to dismember my daughters’ boyfriends.
We think Mr. Dilettante is written by a man (66%). You’d think that with a clue such as “Mr.” in the title the computer would have had a higher masculine rating. Still, the word “dilettante” does sound a bit limp-wristed.
We think Martin Andrade is written by a man (76%). The computer may have considered the Twin City Burger Guide to be a cookbook and the holiday gift guide to be a shopping list.
We guess Nihilist in Golf Pants is written by a man (58%), however it’s quite gender neutral. Use the comment section below to list your Top 11 ways that Nihilist can appear more manly.
We think Residual Forces is written by a man (78%). Nothing says “man at the keyboard” like a bunch of typos and misspellings.
We guess James Lileks – The Bleat is written by a man (56%), however it’s quite gender neutral. As the name would suggest, this is written by a man. It is clear, however, that years of prolonged exposure to the StarTribune’s editorial board has had an emasculating effect.
We have strong indicators that The Art of Manliness is written by a man (92%). Ya think? What was the first clue?
What about the distaff side of my blogroll?
We think Through the Illusion is written by a man (75%). Fooled me at first, too. This woman knows way too much about how a man thinks.
We think Fritinancy is written by a man (74%). Very, very wrong. Perhaps it’s because Nancy owns a kayak?
We guess Plain Simple English is written by a man (53%), however it’s quite gender neutral. Wrong again, but when Buffy posts first-person excerpts from her fiction the character is often male.
We think Michelle Malkin is written by a woman (66%). They got that one right (though the name could have been a big clue). The Kos-kids would likely disagree, however.
We think Our House is written by a man (81%). Posts about birds, gardening and Mexican soap operas? This blog is primarily written by Margaret Martin, with some contributions from her husband, David Strom — and yes, we have seen both of them in public together.
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