Merry Christmas everyone.
I know I know, I am always protesting my adopted culturally Jewish identity, but I have great respect for the secular virtue of Christmas. Sure, the over-consumerism of it all can get a little overwhelming, but honestly, who doesn't enjoy presents? I know I do, and I made out pretty durn well this year, with the highlight being my ill-as-all-get-out iPhone--really the ultimate mass-produced tech gadget.
Anyway, while I am sure most of you, dear readers, are familiar with "Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus," I want to share it here for those who've not encountered it before.
~ ~ ~
Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]
"We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor—
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O’Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."
Merry Christmas y'all.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Unproductivity
I realized shortly before I fell asleep last night that in the week that I have been home since finishing up my Fall term of my sophomore year in college, I have done appallingly little to enrich myself. After chatting with someone who reads a great deal more and a great deal faster than I, I decided to try to do something about how poorly-read I feel I am this vacation. After tumbling out of bed at quarter past 11 this morning (great start, eh?), I splashed my face, brushed my teeth, and--eyes still somewhat crusty--went downstairs into our living room and plucked the "Comedies" book from the three-volume collection of Shakespeare's plays. I was pretty excited not only at the prospect of filling a critical hole in my 'Shakespearience' (I apologize; I had to do it) with A Midsummer Night's Dream, but also at the prospect of reading out of a book printed in 1886 (I've always thought that the best way to read something old is from as old a version as is obtainable). As perhaps the best-loved Shakespearean comedy I have yet to read, it was a no-brainer first choice play. And so I sat down at the table, caressed the tome open, and began...
And naturally, as soon as I tried to do something studious and intellectual rather than something unstimulating and couch-potato-like, I was distrcted by the latter to the detriment of the former. I had just made it into Act II when my mother came home and informed me that my sickly Motorola RAZR had been disconnected because my father had gotten me an iPhone 3G (really the only significant item I desired for Christmas, and one I am extremely thankful to have) earlier in the morning. And so much of the rest of the afternoon was devoted to hand-entering my contacts from my old phone into my new one. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I was fixing to return to Athens and Fairy-land, my mother informed me that a piece of software I had ordered (Age of Empires II Gold Edition, a very intriguing strategy game; just when you thought I could get no nerdier...) had arrived. And so I spent the remaining time before dinner installing and fiddling with it. So in almost nine hours, I have made it through 45 minutes of Shakespeare. Jolly good show, Tim. Jolly good show.
I believe I am ready to return to Mr. Shakespeare's play for a little while. I aim to opine in the near future about foxy Shakespearean ladies (ooh la-la!); so do stay tuned if you are so inclined.
Ta-ta for now.
~~~
P.S. I have recently become a Twitter-er, just for the heck of it really. But I have found a way to put my 'Tweets' up alongside my blog (for those of you who read it in its Blogspot form, as opposed to its Facebook Notes form). If you wish to follow me (usually a bad idea, but in Twitter-ing, I trust it's minimally detrimental), I am timgolf2002 on Twitter, as on AIM and Gmail.
And naturally, as soon as I tried to do something studious and intellectual rather than something unstimulating and couch-potato-like, I was distrcted by the latter to the detriment of the former. I had just made it into Act II when my mother came home and informed me that my sickly Motorola RAZR had been disconnected because my father had gotten me an iPhone 3G (really the only significant item I desired for Christmas, and one I am extremely thankful to have) earlier in the morning. And so much of the rest of the afternoon was devoted to hand-entering my contacts from my old phone into my new one. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I was fixing to return to Athens and Fairy-land, my mother informed me that a piece of software I had ordered (Age of Empires II Gold Edition, a very intriguing strategy game; just when you thought I could get no nerdier...) had arrived. And so I spent the remaining time before dinner installing and fiddling with it. So in almost nine hours, I have made it through 45 minutes of Shakespeare. Jolly good show, Tim. Jolly good show.
I believe I am ready to return to Mr. Shakespeare's play for a little while. I aim to opine in the near future about foxy Shakespearean ladies (ooh la-la!); so do stay tuned if you are so inclined.
Ta-ta for now.
~~~
P.S. I have recently become a Twitter-er, just for the heck of it really. But I have found a way to put my 'Tweets' up alongside my blog (for those of you who read it in its Blogspot form, as opposed to its Facebook Notes form). If you wish to follow me (usually a bad idea, but in Twitter-ing, I trust it's minimally detrimental), I am timgolf2002 on Twitter, as on AIM and Gmail.
Monday, December 08, 2008
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. "
I should be studying for my Aristotle final, so naturally I'm blogging instead. Funny how I'm most productive on this thing when I really oughtn't to be...
First of all, brownie points to he or she who can name the movie, character, and actor from which the title of this here post originates (without cheating, of course). But that's not the point (I may be a light poster of late, but I'm not so starved for ideas that I'd merely have a "quote of the day"-type thing going on in place of my actual Musings (though they be few and far between; apologies for that).
Anyhoo, what I'm really itchin' to say is that I find myself thinking that splendid quote oftentimes when I hear people speak. I am moved to give two examples of English language items--one written, one spoken--that make me think my title.
1. "Siked"
Ladies and gentlemen, the above is not a word. A phierce aphinity phor phonetic phonation is phriggin' goophy (sic, duh). Those of you who are guilty of its erroneous usage are looking for a homophone of that word: "psyched," meaning "excited" or "eager." Just an eff-why-eye.
2. "I could care less."
Some people get jolted by the scratching of nails on a chalkboard or babies crying. For me, it's the misuse of this phrase,which--if you pause for one fast second and think on it--is valueless. I daresay what you mean to say is that you could not care less about whatever you don't seem to care about. I hear this one at least every day. I hate being a jerk and pointing it out to people (and I heartily apologize to she to whom I did just that last night), so there y'all go.
Cheers.
First of all, brownie points to he or she who can name the movie, character, and actor from which the title of this here post originates (without cheating, of course). But that's not the point (I may be a light poster of late, but I'm not so starved for ideas that I'd merely have a "quote of the day"-type thing going on in place of my actual Musings (though they be few and far between; apologies for that).
Anyhoo, what I'm really itchin' to say is that I find myself thinking that splendid quote oftentimes when I hear people speak. I am moved to give two examples of English language items--one written, one spoken--that make me think my title.
1. "Siked"
Ladies and gentlemen, the above is not a word. A phierce aphinity phor phonetic phonation is phriggin' goophy (sic, duh). Those of you who are guilty of its erroneous usage are looking for a homophone of that word: "psyched," meaning "excited" or "eager." Just an eff-why-eye.
2. "I could care less."
Some people get jolted by the scratching of nails on a chalkboard or babies crying. For me, it's the misuse of this phrase,which--if you pause for one fast second and think on it--is valueless. I daresay what you mean to say is that you could not care less about whatever you don't seem to care about. I hear this one at least every day. I hate being a jerk and pointing it out to people (and I heartily apologize to she to whom I did just that last night), so there y'all go.
Cheers.
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