Having Thanksgiving behind us means we’ve all jumped on the steep, Crisco-slathered slide to Christmas and the New Year. Better hold on to your tuque, eh.

The Blather clan made a quick 36-hour run to Oklahoma City for feasting and football. The venue was Mrs Blather’s mom’s and stepdad’s. The gratitude was running particularly high this year because last Christmas Pa-pa, as the girls call him, was in Baptist Hospital’s ICU and having a very, very hard time of it.

We spent the days right around Christmas taking turns hanging out in the ICU waiting room. Much less grim-itude for this holiday. He still has some battles to fight and win but it was good to see him smile and joke.

On the way out of town as we headed homeward Friday, I made the requisite stop at a Starbucks for a caffeine infusion. A few of my passengers wanted something as well, so I took orders and headed inside.

Note: What I tend to order at Starbuck’s always comes in at under $2. What each of my passengers tends to order, on the other hand, invariably obliterates all but a few tiny fragments of a $5 bill. Which is why I usually try to go there alone, but sometimes that’s just not possible.

With some embarrassment, I placed my complex, multi-faceted, frothy-frappy, soy-enchanted order with the guy behind the register and, before he could total it up, the “barista” working the espresso machine shouted out “18.27!” The register guy punched a few more buttons, hit “Total” and, lo and behold, the damage was $18.27. He laughed, shook his head, and said, “Amazing. He calls it every time.”

I feigned mild puzzlement and said, “So. . .your barista’s an idiot savant?”

He thought that was hilarious. Then he felt compelled to point out that in addition to his mad math skillz, the guy had recently won the Oklahoma state barista competition. Upon my return to the car, I let my passengers know their drinks had been made by the very best in Oklahoma. . . who also happened to be a high-functioning Rainman.

The consensus was that they tasted a little better than usual. The placebo effect in action, I suspect. But who am I to douse our first twinkles of holiday magic with the hose of reality?

I may be a grumbly Scrooge about coffee drinks. But I’m no Grinch.

Comedienne/actress Brett Butler was once asked why she had never had children. Her reply was: “I never want to be the object of that much ingratitude.”

Sure, kids can certainly operate in a high level of entitlement. (I know, I was one of those kids.) But you want ingratitude? Imagine what it is like for God.

God has a planet full of kids like me who go ridiculously long stretches of time without acknowledging all He has done.

The fact is, we all splash around daily in a heaven-sent shower of blessings, graces and mercies–with every single drop undeserved. Most of us have become so accustomed to the rain we’re oblivious to it. Instead, we’re frequently like the toddler who flies into a rage when a parent forcibly pulls him out of traffic or cries when the open bottle of Drano is taken away.

Perhaps that is why “thanksgiving” is such a prominent and potent word in Scripture. In the 100th Psalm we see that it is the key to the gates of God’s throne room. And in the New Testament we are repeatedly exhorted to mix thanksgiving with our prayers.

Could it be that gratitude is so spiritually powerful precisely because it is so exceedingly rare?

There’s a little exercise I have learned to do whenever I catch myself slipping into that bratty sense of entitlement and ingratitude. Would you like to learn it?

Take two fingers of your right hand and press the tips into the side of your neck. Find your your pulse. Once you’ve found it take note of one heartbeat and as you do, realize that it was a gift from God. Then note the next beat and note the same thing. And again. And again.

Now take a deep breath, feeling the life-giving air fill your lungs. Note that that breath was a gift of God. And the next. And the next.

It’s good to be alive.

Of course, I have so much more for which I’m profoundly grateful here on this Thanksgiving Day. A body that is whole and sound. A family that is, too. Useful, meaningful work to do. Friends, dear. Needs, abundantly met. And so much more.

Blessed? Oh, yes. Why look. . .it’s raining.

{image above by Shorpy.com}

What a great story. One hundred of American’s finest young men and women are sworn in to the Tennessee National Guard at halftime of the UT-Vanderbilt football game as 107,000 standing fans cheer.

Netscape co-founder and internet pioneer Marc Andreessen has blogged some thoughts about the current writer’s strike. An excerpt:

So imagine you’re a major media mogul, a captain of the film and television business, a shaper of global culture, one of the anointed few who can green-light major entertainment projects.

You’re faced with a massive, once-in-a-lifetime shift in mainstream consumer behavior from traditional mass media, including film and television, to new activities that you do not control: the Internet, social networking, user-generated content, mobile services, video games. It’s been snowballing since the mid 90’s, for like 12 years — 12 years of denial and obfuscation — but it’s really rolling fast now.

. . .Is this really the right time to pick a fight with the writers over royalties from DVD and Internet sales, leading to an industry-wide shutdown and massive economic pain for all sides in the world of traditional scripted film and television content?

Really?

Read the whole thing if the subject interests you.

Like celebrity deaths and Stooges, my blog posts on obscure topics seem to be running in threes. So, here’s the final installment of my Bonanza triptych. And as it happens, it’s about the number 3! (weird) 

Several years ago (as in 20-25) I recall reading a book in which the author put forth an interesting theory about television dramas. I can’t remember the book’s title or author, but I have never forgotten his assertion that most successful character-driven stories contain a symbolic family “trinity.” By that, he meant that if you looked, you’d find a “Father” figure, a “Mother” figure, and one or more “Child” figures—even if the cast was all-male, all-female, or all-adult.

In this view, A “Father” character is stern, authoritative, calm and reasoning. A “Mother” character is nurturing, healing and emotive. And a “Child” character is wild, willful and passionate.

Numerous obvious examples were cited. Most programs built around an actual traditional “family” (Leave it Beaver, Father Knows Best, Make Room for Daddy, The Brady Bunch) naturally fit this model.

But the two examples that really stood out in my mind were Star Trek and Bonanza. That’s right. Star Trek. And Bonanza.

With Star Trek, he posited that Spock was the “Father” (logical, detached, knowledgeable); Dr. McCoy “Bones” was the “Mother” (healer, emotional); and Captain Kirk filled the “Child” role. I have to tell you, I never watched a rerun of Star Trek the same way again.

I’m sure you’ve already run out ahead of me on Bonanza. The author argued that Ben Cartwright “Pa” was obviously in the “Father” role.  And the “Mother?” That was Hoss. And you have to admit, he could be a tender, sensitive fellow for a big guy. The wild and willful “Child” was obviously “Little Joe.”

Oh yes, I remember one more example. I think he mentioned “Three’s Company” with the brunette (whatever Joyce Dewitt’s character was called) filling the “Father” role, blond “Chrissy” as the “Mother” and playboy “Jack” as the “Child.”

Ever since, I have tended to find myself analyzing successful, long-running series to see if that triangle of role-relationships is discernible.

For example, right now I’m finally getting around to watching the first few seasons of LOST and, with such a large cast, there are actually several Father-Mother-Child triangles present simultaneously within the show. You can actually categorize the entire cast along these lines.

And as in the other shows mentioned, these roles defy gender. For example, Jack is a “Mother,” I think. Kate is a “Father.” Throw in Sawyer as a “Child” and you have one of the triangles.

Food for thought here on a Friday night. What do you think about all this, dear readers? 

This Internet thing is amazing. It may really catch on someday.

A few days ago I made some goofy comments, as is my penchant, {say it with the French pronunciation}, about a certain 1960s-era cover of “16” magazine {16-mag-cover.jpg}.

One of the headlines was “Landon vs Parnell: Scoop on the Big Bonanza Breakup,” and I made some smarty-trousers conjecture about “creative differences.”

To my delight, that post quickly generated a comment from someone who clearly has an astonishing depth and breadth of knowledge regarding Pernell Roberts’ departure from Bonanza.

“Debby” wrote:

Thought you might want to know that Pernell Roberts departure from Bonanza had nothing to do with Michael Landon or any of the other actors on the show.

Mr. Roberts’ dissatisfaction with Bonanza had to do with the overall compromises in production quality that come with doing a weekly television series (lower budgets, lack of rehearsal time because of tight filming schedules per episode, etc.), his general boredom with playing the same character over a long period of time, the basic premise of the show (three grown men still living under their father’s roof and constantly checking with their Pa about almost every decision) that had quickly become absurd in his eyes, and the fact that the filming schedule for Bonanza greatly impeded his ability to accept other job offers particularly work in theater productions. Pernell Roberts asked to be released from his contract early and the Bonanza executive producer, David Dortort, and NBC refused his request so he completed his contractual obligations and then left the show.

All of these issues were raised publicly (and obviously discussed in alot greater detail) by Pernell Roberts in a number of magazine articles including a very lengthy article about Bonanza, which included interviews with all four stars of the show and the show’s executive producer, in the December 1, 1964 issue of Look magazine.

Pernell Roberts’ disdain for working on a weekly television series did not change over the years even though he did return to television in Trapper John M.D. years later. He was very blunt about it … he said he did the new series to make sure he had enough money saved for his retirement.

Wow! That’s some serious passion and knowledge about a 42-year-old event. And I geniunely do appreciate having an old headline illuminated. But it makes me wonder of “Debby” is Mr. Roberts’ agent.

All the best to him in any event.

 . . do go here and read this post on Hugh Hewitt’s site about this soldier and the tiny girl whose entire family was executed.

.

Especially since you won’t be reading about it in the mainstream media or in Private Beauchamp’s war diaries.

And understandably so. From his radio program.

That’s the term James Lileks coined this morning to describe all the early Baby Boomer scolds and blowhards like Garrison Keillor and Frank Rich. (I would definitely add Bill Moyers to that list.)

Though he promises not to use the term anymore, it will henceforth and forever be a part of my vocabular arsenal. Check it out.

An excerpt:

Here’s the odd thing: most of my compatriots and contemporaries – guys who came along in the shadow of the ur-boomers – look fore and aft with more pleasure than the founding boomers. Maybe they expected less, and got more; maybe we were sold so much gloom we checked the aftermarket for optimism. Maybe we watched too much Star Trek. I don’t know. I do know that there’s a certain swath of American culture – well-educated, well-off, well-situated, well-read, well-spoken – who seem to think we live in mud up to our nostrils. They can’t look back except to praise the Brave Few who made the unimaginable artistic and intellectual bounty of the late 60s possible (coff); they can’t look at the present without cursing the Perfidious Cabal that makes the foolish electorate go to Wal-Mart on Monday and War on Tuesday, and can’t look forward without bewailing the ineradicable damage wrought by whatever the New York Times is fretting about today. They’re the champions of Man, but give them a minute and they’ll quote Mencken and grin about the booboisie. Well, the booboisie of the 20s had lots of kids, and they were the ones who volunteered to kick Hitler. Someone did something right.

More than two million American men went to war in France during World War I.  Would you like to know how many of them are alive today?

Meet Frank Buckles–The lone surviving American veteran of World War I. (free registration required)

It’s an excellent essay. Here’s the final paragraph:

It’s hard for anyone, I imagine, to say for certain what it is that we will lose when Frank Buckles dies. It’s not that World War I will then become history; it’s been history for a long time now. But it will become a different kind of history, the kind we can’t quite touch anymore, the kind that will, from that point on, always be just beyond our grasp somehow. We can’t stop that from happening. But we should, at least, take notice of it.

Yes we should. Read the article.