It is hard to find humor in much of anything at the moment. So maybe I’ll distract myself with a change of subject. (Thank God!, spare us if you please…)
All right, for a little bit…
In my Little Desk I have a catalog from Easton Press. They publish leather bound books. I love this catalog and I look through it often. There are drool marks on several pages. It is my one material fantasy, to own a library full of these books. The complete works of Jane Austen, Mark Twain, the 100 greatest books ever written. Science Fiction classics, the Poetry Library, Charles Dickens, Thoureau, Fantasy, Tolkein, CS Lewis, Anne of Green Gables, The Bronte sisters… Sigh. It would be lovely.
Just a minute, I’m getting the calculator.
Okay, to buy ALL the books I want from this catalog, it would cost about 18,000 dollars. Now when you think about it, that is about what you’d pay for a nice car. I’d rather have the books ! That’s as far into denial as I can go today. Into my fantasy library.
And speaking of books, I’ve been reading one from the library called, “Amusing Ourselves To Death” by Neil Postman. It describes the way people used to think and view their world when books were the main conveyors of information and ideas. He contrasts that with the age of television, well really beginning with the telegraph. I think I am finally beginning to understand why the world is the way it is today.
We have been conditioned to think in small disjointed blurbs by the nature of radio and television. Complex, nuanced ideas don’t play well on television. I remember some years ago, maybe 18 or so, when we had been without a TV in our house for several years. We finally decided to get one. We tried pretty hard not to watch things that were detrimental to the boys. But I remember watching the news one evening and hearing about some disastrous thing that was going on in the world. The newsman spent about 2 minutes on it and then off to something else he went. I can clearly remember saying out loud, “Wait a minute, that’s it ?” I mean it was like he had dropped a bomb in our living room, tipped his hat, and then tried to sell us a car.
I didn’t have enough information, and the information I had been given was floating, bodiless in a chaotic sea of uncertainty and questions. What was I supposed to DO about this disaster happening thousands of miles away? It reminds me of emotional hit and run. And I think this constant stream of partial story telling takes it’s toll on us. On our emotions, on our minds and our ability to think clearly and on our soul because we are given a lot of bad news that we don’t (or can’t) do anything about.
This can make us callous to the suffering of others. But to those of us who are not familiar with that famous river… “Denial”, this stuff backs up on us and makes us crazy. I wonder how much I have been affected by this kind of mind numbing disconnected information. Has it robbed be of some measure of critical thinking skill? Am I numb when I should be feeling? It’s all very distressing.
Anyway, I recommend the book. Shoot I recommend almost any book in place of the tube. And a nice leather bound book with beautiful illustrations would be even better.
Sorry to be so gloomy. Perhaps I should read some Mark Twain and see if I can coax my sense of humor into coming home. But to be fair, even our Samuel agonized about injustices and political things too. It wasn’t all fun and games to him either.
Ah, . . . I think too much. But at least I still think. I am going to go finish the book now. ( oh sure, go right ahead, we can hardly WAIT to hear about it…. Geeze, somebody give her a leather bound copy of a comic book or something, quick)