A Dickens of a Christmas Reflection

I was quite derelict in my Christmas blogging duties this year, so I thought I would let Charles Dickens shoulder some of the load for me. After searching Project Gutenberg for yuletide-related reading material, I came across a set of Dickens essays. Apparently the guy really liked writing about Christmas.

I'm not sure why, but the essay entitled "What Christmas Is As We Grow Older" struck a particular chord with me, so I offer my excerpt of it below. Warning: Dickensian English ahead. Proceed with caution and Merry Christmas!

Time was, with most of us, when Christmas Day encircling all our limited world like a magic ring, left nothing out for us to miss or seek; bound together all our home enjoyments, affections, and hopes; grouped everything and every one around the Christmas fire; and made the little picture shining in our bright young eyes, complete.

...And is our life here, at the best, so constituted that, pausing as we advance at such a noticeable mile-stone in the track as this great birthday, we look back on the things that never were, as naturally and full as gravely as on the things that have been and are gone, or have been and still are? If it be so, and so it seems to be, must we come to the conclusion that life is little better than a dream, and little worth the loves and strivings that we crowd into it?

No! Far be such miscalled philosophy from us, dear Reader, on Christmas Day! Nearer and closer to our hearts be the Christmas spirit, which is the spirit of active usefulness, perseverance, cheerful discharge of duty, kindness and forbearance! It is in the last virtues especially, that we are, or should be, strengthened by the unaccomplished visions of our youth; for, who shall say that they are not our teachers to deal gently even with the impalpable nothings of the earth!

Therefore, as we grow older, let us be more thankful that the circle of our Christmas associations and of the lessons that they bring, expands! Let us welcome every one of them, and summon them to take their places by the Christmas hearth.

Welcome, old aspirations, glittering creatures of an ardent fancy, to your shelter underneath the holly! We know you, and have not outlived you yet. Welcome, old projects and old loves, however fleeting, to your nooks among the steadier lights that burn around us. Welcome, all that was ever real to our hearts; and for the earnestness that made you real, thanks to Heaven! Do we build no Christmas castles in the clouds now? Let our thoughts, fluttering like butterflies among these flowers of children, bear witness! ...Shining from the word, as rays shine from a star, we see how, when our graves are old, other hopes than ours are young, other hearts than ours are moved; how other ways are smoothed; how other happiness blooms, ripens, and decays—no, not decays, for other homes and other bands of children, not yet in being nor for ages yet to be, arise, and bloom and ripen to the end of all!

Welcome, everything! Welcome, alike what has been, and what never was, and what we hope may be, to your shelter underneath the holly, to your places round the Christmas fire, where what is sits open- hearted! In yonder shadow, do we see obtruding furtively upon the blaze, an enemy's face? By Christmas Day we do forgive him! If the injury he has done us may admit of such companionship, let him come here and take his place. If otherwise, unhappily, let him go hence, assured that we will never injure nor accuse him.

On this day we shut out Nothing!

"Pause," says a low voice. "Nothing? Think!"

"On Christmas Day, we will shut out from our fireside, Nothing."

"Not the shadow of a vast City where the withered leaves are lying deep?" the voice replies. "Not the shadow that darkens the whole globe? Not the shadow of the City of the Dead?"

Not even that. Of all days in the year, we will turn our faces towards that City upon Christmas Day, and from its silent hosts bring those we loved, among us. City of the Dead, in the blessed name wherein we are gathered together at this time, and in the Presence that is here among us according to the promise, we will receive, and not dismiss, thy people who are dear to us!

Hear the Distant Music of the Hounds

I came across the passage below in a random Christmas Treasury book of essays that I found at my local library. The piece is entitled The Distant Music of the Hounds and it was written by E.B. White in 1949.

Despite being 60 years old, the text is eerily prescient of the way Christmas is so often perceived in our own times. It made me realize that the hectic distractions of modern life that I often assume are byproducts of 21st century living were just as present in previous generations--even if the distractions had different names and were less technological.

The passage isn't that long, so I really think you should read it and then try to live it:

"To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year. There was a little device we noticed in one of the sporting-goods stores—a trumpet that hunters hold to their ears so that they can hear the distant music of the hounds. Something of the sort is needed now to hear the incredibly distant sound of Christmas in these times, through the dark, material woods that surround it. “Silent Night,” canned and distributed in thundering repetition in the department stores, has become one of the greatest of all noisemakers, almost like the rattles and whistles of Election Night. We rode down on an escalator the other morning through the silent-nighting of the loudspeakers, and the man just in front of us was singing, 'I’m gonna wash this store right outta my hair, I’m gonna wash this store...'

The miracle of Christmas is that, like the distant and very musical voice of the hound, it penetrates finally and becomes heard in the heart—over so many years, through so many cheap curtain-raisers. It is not destroyed even by all the arts and craftiness of the destroyers, having an essential simplicity that is everlasting and triumphant, at the end of confusion. We once went out at night with coonhunters and we were aware that it was not so much the promise of the kill that took the men away from their warm homes and sent them through the cold shadowy woods, it was something more human, more mystical—something even simpler. It was the night, and the excitement of the note of the hound, first heard, then not heard. It was the natural world, seen at its best and most haunting, unlit except by stars, impenetrable except to the knowing and the sympathetic.

Christmas in 1949 must compete as never before with the dazzling complexity of man, whose tangential desires and ingenuities have created a world that gives any simple thing the look of obsolescence—as though there were something inherently foolish in what is simple, or natural. The human brain is about to turn certain functions over to an efficient substitute, and we hear of a robot that is now capable of handling the tedious details of psychoanalysis, so that the patient no longer need confide in a living doctor but can take his problems to a machine, which sifts everything and whose “brain” has selective power and the power of imagination. One thing leads to another. The machine that is imaginative will, we don’t doubt, be heir to the ills of the imagination; one can already predict that the machine itself may become sick emotionally, from strain and tension, and be compelled at last to consult a medical man, whether of flesh or of steel. We have tended to assume that the machine and the human brain are in conflict. Now the fear is that they are indistinguishable. Man not only is notably busy himself but insists that the other animals follow his example. A new bee has been bred artificially, busier than the old bee.

So this day and this century proceed toward the absolutes of convenience, of complexity, and of speed, only occasionally holding up the little trumpet (as at Christmastime) to be reminded of the simplicities, and to hear the distant music of the hound. Man’s inventions, directed always onward and upward, have an odd way of leading back to man himself, as a rabbit track in snow leads eventually to the rabbit. It is one of his more endearing qualities that man should think his tracks lead outward, toward something else, instead of back around the hill to where he has already been; and it is one of his persistent ambitions to leave earth entirely and travel by rocket into space, beyond the pull of gravity, and perhaps try another planet, as a pleasant change. He knows that the atomic age is capable of delivering a new package of energy; what he doesn’t know is whether it will prove to be a blessing. This week, many will be reminded that no explosion of atoms generates so hopeful a light as the reflection of a star, seen appreciatively in a pasture pond. It is there we perceive Christmas—and the sheep quiet, and the world waiting."

via The New Yorker

That's right. My blog is the only place on the Internet where you can find a post as profound as this one preceded by Porky Pig singing Blue Christmas. You're welcome on both counts.

This Is Your Life--In Six Words

The next time you're at a social gathering and the awkward silence is about to overwhelm you, come to everyone's rescue by asking my favorite conversation starter: If you had to write your autobiography right now, what would you title it?

I don't know why I'm so fascinated with the idea of boiling down my existence to a few clever words (or even a single word of the year, as the case may be), but thanks to Smith, everybody's doing it now.

The online magazine recently released a book entitled Not Quite What I Was Planning, featuring the life stories of celebrities and Average Joes--summarized in six words. Here's a slideshow book excerpt:



Two of Smith's editors appeared on NPR last week to talk about the project and share more six-word memoirs. Many of the submissions are extremely witty or profound given the parameters, so the pressure is on to add your own two (er, six?) cents.

Here's mine. What's yours?

Which Scrooge is the Best Scrooge?

As an avid fan of all things Christmas, I consider myself to be fairly well-versed in the various incarnations of Dickens' immortal A Christmas Carol. As a child, it was my family's tradition (along with hundreds of other Chicago-area families) to see it performed onstage at the Goodman Theater. My Mom almost always managed to get front row seats, making the experience that much more enthralling and forever burning much of the Dickensian dialogue into my brain, which I can now unleash at will.

But the Goodman rendition is just one Scrooge among many. IMDB states that the old humbug has been portrayed in 68 movies from 1910 to 2009, when Jim Carrey will crawl out of whatever cave he's been hiding in and do the honors for a new Disney version. Bill Murray, Scrooge McDuck, Alistair Sim, and The Fonz are just a few of the disparate and desperate actors who have previously taken a turn.

A few years ago, Kelsey Grammer starred in a made-for-TV musical version, based on the Alan Menken musical that used to run at Madison Square Garden every year. The music is pretty good, but the supporting cast is composed almost entirely of current and former stars of NBC TV shows. Frasier Crane as Scrooge is just a bit too distracting for me and Jason Alexander as Marley makes it even worse. I half-expected Niles to show up as Scrooge's nephew ("Care for some sherry, Scrooge?") or for Jerry Seinfeld to cameo as Tiny Tim ("What's the deal with these crutches?"). I didn't mind the presence of Jennifer Love Hewitt so much, but that's beside the point.

Yes, nearly every version of A Christmas Carol has some shortcomings, but perfection has been reached once--by the Muppets. That's right. The greatest interpretation of Dickens' work is The Muppet Christmas Carol. I still remember seeing this one at the movie theater way back in 1992 and I've seen it almost every year since. To put it simply, Michael Caine is The Man. Even if he wasn't surrounded by Muppets, he would still be the best Ebenezer Scrooge ever to grace the silver screen. He's completely believable as a "tight-fisted hand at the grind stone" at the beginning of the movie and you can practically see his heart melting as he journeys to his past, present and future. Caine's Cockney accent alone is worth the price of admission, but his ability to act convincingly and affectingly alongside Kermit and Gonzo borders on Oscar-worthy.

And unlike A Very Frasier Christmas Carol, the supporting cast in this version only adds to the experience. It's Bunsen Honeydew! (as a charity collector) It's Statler and Waldorf! (as the Marley Brothers) It's Fozzie! (as--wait for it--Fezziwig) Best of all, it's hilarious in the classic Muppet style, while still surprisingly true to the literary language of Dickens' original text.

Jacob Marley: Why do you doubt your senses?

Ebenezer Scrooge: Because a little thing can effect them. A slight disorder of the stomach can make them cheat. You may be a bit of undigested beef, a blob of mustard, a crumb of cheese. Yes. There's more of gravy than of grave about you.

Robert Marley: More of gravy than of grave?

Jacob Marley: What a terrible pun. Where'd you get those jokes?

Robert Marley: Leave comedy to the bears, Ebenezer.

The true testament to this film's success, however, lies in the fact that it makes me weep like an old woman. To be honest, it seems that this is a common problem for me when I watch Christmas movies. It used to just be a few tears at the end of It's A Wonderful Life, but now my usually stoic sensibilities evaporate far too easily and last weekend I found myself once again choking up at the sight of a coughing cloth frog on crutches.

But don't take my word for it, go out and rent it (or order it on NetFlix, you crazy kids with your crazy technology). You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll sing along:

The World As I Know It

Jeez, a guy doesn't write in his blog for a week or two and the whole world turns upside down in his absence. The following facts have recently come to my attention: Stephen Colbert is running for President of the United States, the Medill School of Journalism wants to change its name, Dumbledore has been gay all along and beloved Northwestern mascot Willie the Wildcat now looks like a soulless black dog. Let's tackle these burning issues in order of importance.

Willie the Wildcat now looks like a soulless black dog.
I've got to admit it--I've always liked Willie. Compared to his fellow overgrown stuffed toys in the Big Ten, he is particularly stellar. Willie doesn't offend anyone, he isn't wearing a skirt and he doesn't look like he's recently been stung by a bee. But something is different now. The cuddly-yet-fierce symbol of purple pride has received a horrifying face transplant for the 2007 season. It's ironic that this should happen at a time when the Cardiac 'Cats are actually playing some decent (if consistently inconsistent) football and are one win away from bowl-game eligibility. Nevertheless, I submit the following photographic evidence:

Old Willie

New Willie

With a jersey change and a few minor adjustments to fur color, Willie's entire demeanor has been altered. Once a simultaneously friendly and ferocious mascot, he now appears confused, with lifeless eyes and a slack grin. He also seems to be in desperate need of a bench press to work off those cat boobs. (The picture really doesn't do them justice...they're probably D cups.) His hands have also been changed from the standard four-fingered gray cartoon grip to a strange new black claw. While this makes sense anatomically, it doesn't make sense for a mascot. I just don't understand why Willie had to evolve. Maybe it's just me. But enough about that...There's more news to discuss!

Stephen Colbert is running for President of the United States.
How do you get young voters to care about the 2008 election? Have their favorite comedian toss his hat into the electoral ring! I've got to hand it to Colbert--this is brilliant. It's hilarious, it's free publicity for his new book (which also seems hilarious, based on my 25-minute skim in Borders) and it might actually have some sort of effect on the polls, at least in his home state of South Carolina. At the same time, doesn't Colbert's shenanigan make you just a little bit sad for American democracy? On the one hand, it shows that presidential politics is completely dominated by a few powerfully rich people, not one of which has yet captivated the political imaginations of a majority. On the other hand, the class clown can now make a mockery of the process the same way he did during the student council elections back in high school. But don't get me wrong...it's still hilarious. I can't wait until he starts showing up at debates.

Dumbledore was gay all along.
OK, JK Rowling, I think you're done. Wasn't having the best-selling children's book series enough for you? Do you really need more publicity? When it comes to literature, I'm the biggest advocate of the fact that the author knows what they meant when they were writing the book. Nothing drives me battier than listening to a room full of English majors debate the psychological reasons as to why Hemingway decided to use a semicolon instead of a comma. The words on the page have a certain meaning to the author and a certain meaning to the reader. There doesn't have to be a consensus. However, I do not support an author who returns to her text and changes things after the fact, elaborating on plot points and character development that she didn't include in the actual book. Dumbledore's sexual orientation has little to do with this: If you want to tell us what the characters did or thought or felt and why, then write another book! Don't change the course of your published works during a Q & A session in New York City! How weak is that? As for the outing of Dumbledore, the fact that she was answering a child's question and decided to go that route shows a tremendous lack of tact and a pathetic need for the limelight. Why does there have to be a pall of social controversy over something that was so well-written and entertaining to so many people? It's a shame.

Medill wants to change its name.
When this story broke in the Daily Northwestern, the Medill alumni listserv sprang into action, with various well-informed Medillians pontificating (do we ever do anything else?) on the pros and (mostly) cons of a name change to our beloved alma mater. My diplomas will always say "Medill School of Journalism" and that makes me happy. As to whether or not the name needs to change to reflect the marketing wing of the school, I'm staying out of that rumble. There have been many suggestions for new names, but I doubt the NU Board of Trustees will approve anything too outlandish. The Medill brand will remain, no matter what configuration of words ends up following it. I think Joey Medill can rest in peace.

How Far Will You Click For A Cheaper Taco?

As I attempt to continue ramping up my new media skillz, I've been reading a book called Don't Make Me Think by Web usability guru Steve Krug. Before the phrase web usability makes you lose total interest in this post, let me assure you that the book is far from boring. Krug is a good writer and the easy-to-read book talks a bit about the psychology of Internet users and how they are motivated to make choices when they view a Web site. It's fascinating! Read Chapter 2 and you'll see what I mean.

The book has forced me to think about the normally unacknowledged decisions I make whenever I surf the Internet, such as where I click on a site, how I find what I'm looking for and how quickly I give up and try something else. The knowledge in the book is extremely timely, as I think there are many Web sites out there today that prioritize Flashy content over ease of use. A recent example (and by recent, I mean last night):

My family was craving Taco Bell for dinner (cheap greasy slop, but I can't get enough!) and a phone call to the local store told us that there were coupons on the Taco Bell Web site that would make the cheap greasy slop even cheaper (alas, no less greasy). When you go to Taco Bell's Web site, however, you are greeted by ridiculously Flashy and utterly confusing hot sauce packet navigation. "Click A Sauce Packet and Let the Fun Begin!" the site goads. All I want to find are some coupons, but there is not a link in site that appears to satisfy that need. In a fit of confusion, I click on the sauce packet labeled "A Little Help Please?" Unfortunately, that takes me to another Flash-based "Dress the Sauce Packet" activity. I hesitate to call it a game, because I'm not sure who would derive fun from putting a Hawaiian shirt on a Taco Bell hot sauce packet. People looking for coupons certainly don't.

I continued to methodically click around the sauce packets and found myself in the backseat of a Flash-powered cab. While the effect was cool, the cabbie couldn't drive me to Coupon Town, so I quickly went back to the Taco Bell home page. My odyssey continued for a few more minutes and a few more useless clicks. None of the navigation along the top of the page led me anywhere useful, but at least there is a custom music player on the site, so I can enjoy a nice "lounge mix" while I fail to find what I'm looking for.

Ultimately, I gave up and did what I should have done in the first place--kneeled before the altar of Google and asked for "Taco Bell Coupons." Apparently Taco Bell has another site for coupons called My Local Taco Bell, but there is seemingly no link to this from any hot sauce packet or navigation bar on the main Taco Bell site. I guess they just really want you to pay full price.

At the end of the day, I used my coupons, stuffed myself on cheap(er) tacos and vowed to adhere to every single word of Krug's book in any future Web designing that I am a part of. I also vowed that, Hawaiian shirts or not, there will be no sauce packets on my site.

"Either he's dead or my watch has stopped."

With the hubbub surrounding the 30th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death last week, there has been little mention of the 30th anniversary of the death of another legendary entertainer--Julius Henry Marx.

Groucho Marx was one of the greatest--if not the greatest--comedians of all time and his influence continues to be seen in today's best comedic efforts. I dare say (and others dare say along with me) that there would be no Woody Allen, Jerry Seinfeld or Family Guy if not for the comedy of Groucho Marx and the Marx Brothers. I wrote a paper in college to that effect and, trust me, the similarities between Groucho and "modern" comedians are endless and obvious.

If you've never had the pleasure of viewing a Marx Brothers movie, you really need to fix that. Overall, the movies themselves are not Oscar-worthy. With paper-thin plots and a few annoyingly dated operatic musical numbers, these movies serve as complete vehicles for Groucho and his brothers' unique blend of sharp wit and outlandish physical comedy. The cream of the Marxist crop is the stretch of flicks from 1929's The Cocoanuts to 1937's A Day at the Races. Monkey Business, Duck Soup and A Night at the Opera are the standout gems.

I first saw these movies when I was 10 years old and I remember being overwhelmed by the cinematic mayhem. The films are a constant stream of one-liners and non-stop gags, so if you don't get one of the jokes, just wait three seconds for the next one. Groucho was my immediate favorite of the troupe and I admired his quick wit to no end. There's a big difference between being funny and being witty. Witty is much harder to do well.

A couple summers ago, I read a biography of Groucho that outlined his career and troubled personal life. It's a strange and recurring irony that the world's greatest artistic talents are often some of the world's most insecure and depressed individuals. They can bring laughter to so many others, but it's never enough to satisfy themselves.

The bio was also an interesting read because Hollywood was such a different place in Groucho's heyday. The Marx Brothers continued to make mediocre movies well past their prime, just because they needed to pay the bills. They were superstars, but that didn't have the same financial connotations that it does today. Fortunately for us, it doesn't really matter. Just pop in the DVD and laugh it up. Or just Google him and read some of his inspired quotes. This stuff is timeless.

"A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five."

Muggles at Midnight

Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil the ending. I couldn't even if I wanted to--I'm only halfway through the mammoth book myself. I'm currently living in fear that someone is going to accidentally reveal the ending or let slip the name of another main character who dies. The body count is already pretty high by page 388 though, so I'm not really sure if anyone is going to make it to page 759 without a mortal wound.

While a small minority of people are too cool or too crazy to catch Potter fever, the rest of us have savored nearly ten years of great books, decent movies and constant speculation about how the series would wrap up. There's something reassuring about the fact that, in the 20th Century, people around the world are still able to take pleasure in something as simple as reading a good book. At midnight on Saturday morning, we stood in a 40-minute line in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble. We put on our complimentary glow-in-the-dark Harry Potter glasses, cheerfully paid $44 for two copies of the book (thanks for the 40% discount, B&N!), and cracked it open as soon as we got home. Millions of other people shared the exact same experience this weekend and I think that's pretty cool. It's nice to see that good, clean fun has not yet completely vanished from the Earth.

Although I'm not exactly the target audience, I can honestly say that the Harry Potter books are among the most absorbing and suspenseful that I've ever read. I'm extremely picky about my reading material and a book has to grab me pretty quickly if I'm going to stick with it. The number of books that I've started and never finished is growing at an alarming rate, so it was nice to have seven books that I could rely on to give me the excitement-induced thrill that comes from wanting to read faster than you physically can. That's a feeling I've been craving since my days with the Hardy Boys.

So what's next? Sure, there are two Potter movies left to get excited about, but the book series has run its course and Muggles the world over need a new literary hero to root for. Any suggestions?