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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
Episodes
Wednesday Jan 05, 2011
Wednesday Jan 05, 2011
CAR CRASHES
I was in six car accidents in the year after I got my driver’s license. I got smart after my high school car crashes and read a defensive driving book. I was a better driver, and the accident rate went down. I went six or seven years without problems until Debbie and I were driving up Little Cottonwood Canyon. A truck was pulled off to the side - the wrong side of the road - which meant it was facing us.
The fool in the truck decided to pull out just as we reached him. That meant we had two choices. Pull into the other lane or pull off the road. The truck was in my lane.
Then suddenly there was a car in the other lane. Both lanes are now full, and our only choice is the trees. This meant we had to pull off the near side of the road going about 35 miles per hour. We bounced along about 5 feet and then crashed hard into a tree. The tree limb hit the windshield and the Debbie's forehead hit the windshield. The glass from the window cut off part of her bangs, which took forever to grow back.
As I looked over to see if Debbie was okay I could see that she was bleeding. She put her hand up to her head to stop the bleeding, and I jumped out of the car and yelled at the idiots in the truck. The car in the other lane had stopped. I think they called EMS, and all I remember is the ambulance taking care of Debbie. I insisted that the guys in the truck stay, but the cop let them go while I was checking on Debbie.
Another wreck and I got to pay for it since the guy responsible was let go. My insurance was already high enough, and the guy responsible for the accident was off the hook. I wasn’t going to report it to my insurance, since that would only mean higher rates for the next few years. So I was blessed to shell out over $2000 to get the windshield replaced and weld on a new part of the frame. It was fixed in time for us to move to California, where I would be starting as a brand new teacher, and get another part-time life-risking side job – painting flagpoles.
I wish I could say I have had my last car wreck, but with my past experiences under my belt, I know I'll have to be extra careful. I'm getting to be so old that now I drive the speed limit on every road. It has a nice side effect. I no longer have to mash the brake when I see the police, and there is a nice sense of calm as you pass through the radar without a worry.
I only wish I had driven better earlier in my life. The same car that had the windshield accident was in two more before it was totaled. We were driving up the hill into Orem and it was snowing lightly. But it was snowing enough that I should have been driving slower. The Volvo in front of me had stopped in the road for some reason, and I didn't see it fast enough. I was able to swerve enough to get from behind the car, but not far enough to avoid a collision. We slid past on the passenger side, and both of the blue Volkswagen bumpers were cleanly sheared off, and we suddenly had half of a dune buggy. The impact pushed us sideways up over the sidewalk where we came to rest, and fortunately, no one was injured. I guess it's really true about Volvo's being a tough car, because when we went to inspect the damage to the other car, there was a small hole in the back panel, about the size of a dime. That was all the damage I could see. I was impressed. My insurance company was not. The company canceled me and I had to get insurance with another insurer.
I wasn't involved in the final accident of the Volkswagen, but I will describe its infamous ending, because it was one of the first times my daughter Tia got to go to the emergency room. Debbie was going to her folks house and as she pulled out at a four way stop only about 8 blocks from their house, some old guy ran the stop sign and t-boned them. Glass shattered all over Tia and she got to get checked out for cuts at the hospital. I was waiting for them in Ogden to celebrate Tia's first birthday. I guess that is one birthday we will never forget, although I doubt she remembers anything about it.
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Tuesday Jan 04, 2011
Tuesday Jan 04, 2011
Character Central John Wayne
Leo
Character Central, home of the formerly famous, this is Leo speakin’.
Dane
Could I speak to Marion Morrison please?
Leo
Who?
Dane
The Duke?
Leo
No dukes, here, buddy. Oh, you mean John Wayne!
Dane
Yes! Could I speak to John Wayne, please?
Leo
That’s gonna cost ya.
Dane
Could we put this on the Bill Gates card, please?
Leo
Oh, is this dat Abundance guy again?
Dane
Yes, this is Dane Allred.
Leo
No, that guy who is always talkin’ about all the good things he sees in life?
Dane
Yes, that’s me. Dane Allred
Leo
No, that ain’t right.
Dane
I do talk about 1001 things I’m thankful for.
Leo
That’s the guy. Mr. 1001 Thanks.
Dane
Yes, that’s me. Dane Allred.
Leo
No, that still ain’t right. But I’ll go get Marion.
(off-phone)
Johnny – Dukey baby. It’s Bill Gates on the phone for you.
Dane
No, it’s not Bill Gates. We just use the card I found…
John Wayne
This is the Duke speaking…
Dane
John Wayne!! It is such a pleasure to speak to you. I’ve really enjoyed every movie I’ve ever seen you in.
John Wayne
Well, I’ll tell you pilgrim, there are some things a man just can’t run away from.
Dane
You are a classic American icon.
John Wayne
I`m an American actor. I work with my clothes on. I have to. Riding a horse can be pretty tough on your legs and elsewheres.
Dane
Yes, that could be painful.
John Wayne
When you come slam bang up against trouble, it never looks half as bad if you face up to it.
Dane
You do have a great attitude. Thanks for sharing it with our listeners.
John Wayne
Well, I’ve always said, when the road looks rough ahead, remember the Man Upstairs and the word Hope. Hang onto both and tough it out.
Dane
That’s exactly the kind of thing I was hoping you would say.
John Wayne
I won’t be wronged, I won’t be insulted, and I won’t be laid a hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.
Dane
Another good piece of advice.
John Wayne
Get off your horse and drink your milk.
Dane
I’m sorry?...
John Wayne
Life is tough, but it's tougher when you're stupid.
Dane
Stupid?
John Wayne
Talk low, talk slow and don't say too much.
Dane
Am I talking too fast?
John Wayne
You can`t whine and bellyache because somebody else got a good break and you didn`t.
Dane
I’m sorry if you think I’m whining…
John Wayne
A man's got to do what a man's got to do.
Dane
Um, yes. Mr. Wayne, is there a way you would like to be remembered?
John Wayne
I would like to be remembered, well . . . the Mexicans have a phrase, "Feo fuerte y formal". Which means he was ugly, strong and had dignity.
Dane
Ugly? Really?
John Wayne
I have tried to live my life so that my family would love me and my friends respect me. The others can do whatever the hell they please.
Dane
Again, good advice. Any advice for the future?
John Wayne
Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday.
Dane
Very good. I hope we have learned something today. Any advice about women from the manliest man of American film?
John Wayne
I've had three wives, six children and six grandchildren and I still don't understand women.
Dane
Yes, Abraham Lincoln said a woman was the only thing he was afraid of that he knew wouldn’t hurt him.
John Wayne
Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway.
Dane
I guess there is no answer for the fear.
John Wayne
All battles are fought by scared men who’d rather be someplace else.
Dane
I can’t believe you only received one Oscar for Best Actor.
John Wayne
You can’t eat awards -- nor, more to the point, drink ‘em.
Dane
Hard living and hard drinking.
John Wayne
I never trust a man that doesn`t drink.
Dane
John Wayne, thank you so much for being with us today.
John Wayne
A man ought to do what he thinks is right.
Dane
That’s right, and again, thank you for speaking with us from Character Central.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Tuesday Dec 28, 2010
Tuesday Dec 28, 2010
This is the entire episode from Dec. 26th called Organization. The program "Abundance" included the following episodes: Colorblind -- a limerick A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred -- They're Not Mad at Us Character Central -- W.C. Fields, Forrest Gump and Leo Rules of Engagement -- Chemical Hazards Bright Space -- Work Literature Out Loud -- The Romance of a Busy Broker by O. Henry The Aged Aged Man by Lewis Carroll The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson Dane Allred's Partly-colored Dreamcoat -- Accepting Difference Full text of each piece with accompanying audio is available at this website. See grouped episodes for details.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Tuesday Dec 28, 2010
Tuesday Dec 28, 2010
Click here for a complete INDEX
The Aged Aged Man
by Lewis Carroll
I'll tell thee everything I can;
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
"Who are you, aged man?" I said,
"And how is it you live?"
And his answer trickled through my head
Like water through a sieve.
He said, "I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men," he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread,
A trifle; if you please."
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!"
And thumped him on the head.
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said, "I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar-Oil,
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."
But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:
"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,
"And what it is you do!"
He said, "I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.
"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of hansom-cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"By which I get my wealth,
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's noble health."
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know,
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo,
That summer evening long ago
A-sitting on a gate.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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Tuesday Dec 28, 2010
Tuesday Dec 28, 2010
Click here for a complete INDEX
The Romance of a Busy Broker
by O.Henry / William Sydney Porter
Pitcher, confidential clerk in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker, allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually expressionless countenance when his employer briskly entered at half past nine in company with his young lady stenographer. With a snappy "Good-morning, Pitcher," Maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap over it, and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting there for him.
The young lady had been Maxwell's stenographer for a year. She was beautiful in a way that was decidedly unstenographic. She forewent the pomp of the alluring pompadour. She wore no chains, bracelets or lockets. She had not the air of being about to accept an invitation to luncheon. Her dress was grey and plain, but it fitted her figure with fidelity and discretion. In her neat black turban hat was the gold-green wing of a macaw. On this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes were dreamily bright, her cheeks genuine peachblow, her expression a happy one, tinged with reminiscence.
Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in her ways this morning. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she moved over by Maxwell's desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence.
The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a busy New York broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs.
"Well--what is it? Anything?" asked Maxwell sharply. His opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. His keen grey eye, impersonal and brusque, flashed upon her half impatiently.
"Nothing," answered the stenographer, moving away with a little smile.
"Mr. Pitcher," she said to the confidential clerk, “did Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?"
"He did," answered Pitcher. "He told me to get another one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this morning. It's 9.45 o'clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pineapple chewing gum has showed up yet."
"I will do the work as usual, then," said the young lady, "until someone comes to fill the place." And she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place.
He who has been denied the spectacle of a busy Manhattan broker during a rush of business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. The poet sings of the "crowded hour of glorious life." The broker's hour is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps and packing both front and rear platforms.
And this day was Harvey Maxwell's busy day. The ticker began to reel out jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, viciously, excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's face relaxed into something resembling animation.
On the Exchange there were hurricanes and landslides and snowstorms and glaciers and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances were reproduced in miniature in the broker's offices. Maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe dancer. He jumped from ticker to 'phone, from desk to door with the trained agility of a harlequin.
In the midst of this growing and important stress the broker became suddenly aware of a high-rolled fringe of golden hair under a nodding canopy of velvet and ostrich tips, an imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beads as large as hickory nuts, ending near the floor with a silver heart. There was a self-possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and Pitcher was there to construe her.
"Lady from the Stenographer's Agency to see about the position," said Pitcher.
Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and ticker tape.
"What position?" he asked, with a frown.
"Position of stenographer," said Pitcher. "You told me yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning."
"You are losing your mind, Pitcher," said Maxwell. "Why should I have given you any such instructions? Miss Leslie has given perfect satisfaction during the year she has been here. The place is hers as long as she chooses to retain it. There's no place open here, madam. Countermand that order with the agency, Pitcher, and don't bring any more of 'em in here."
The silver heart left the office, swinging and banging itself independently against the office furniture as it indignantly departed. Pitcher seized a moment to remark to the bookkeeper that the "old man" seemed to get more absent-minded and forgetful every day of the world.
The rush and pace of business grew fiercer and faster. On the floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which Maxwell's customers were heavy investors. Orders to buy and sell were coming and going as swift as the flight of swallows. Some of his own holdings were imperiled, and the man was working like some high-geared, delicate, strong machine--strung to full tension, going at full speed, accurate, never hesitating, with the proper word and decision and act ready and prompt as clockwork. Stocks and bonds, loans and mortgages, margins and securities--here was a world of finance, and there was no room in it for the human world or the world of nature.
When the luncheon hour drew near there came a slight lull in the uproar.
Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and memoranda, with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly strings over his forehead. His window was open, for the beloved janitress Spring had turned on a little warmth through the waking registers of the earth.
And through the window came a wandering--perhaps a lost--odor--a delicate, sweet odor of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment immovable. For this odor belonged to Miss Leslie; it was her own, and hers only.
The odor brought her vividly, almost tangibly before him. The world of finance dwindled suddenly to a speck. And she was in the next room--twenty steps away.
"By George, I'll do it now," said Maxwell, half aloud. "I'll ask her now. I wonder I didn't do it long ago."
He dashed into the inner office with the haste of a short trying to cover. He charged upon the desk of the stenographer.
She looked up at him with a smile. A soft pink crept over her cheek, and her eyes were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one elbow on her desk. He still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above his ear.
"Miss Leslie," he began hurriedly, "I have but a moment to spare. I want to say something in that moment. Will you he my wife? I haven't had time to make love to you in the ordinary way, but I really do love you. Talk quick, please--those fellows are clubbing the stuffing out of Union Pacific."
"Oh, what are you talking about?" exclaimed the young lady. She rose to her feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed.
"Don't you understand?" said Maxwell, restively. "I want you to marry me. I love you, Miss Leslie. I wanted to tell you, and I snatched a minute when things had slackened up a bit. They're calling me for the 'phone now. Tell 'em to wait a minute, Pitcher. Won't you, Miss Leslie?"
The stenographer acted very queerly. At first she seemed overcome with amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering eyes; and then she smiled sunnily through them, and one of her arms slid tenderly about the broker's neck.
"I know now," she said, softly. "It's this old business that has driven everything else out of your head for the time. I was frightened at first. Don't you remember, Harvey? We were married last evening at 8 o'clock in the Little Church around the Corner."
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Monday Dec 27, 2010
Monday Dec 27, 2010
Bright Space
Work
by Dane Allred
As we work side by side
Trying to get back to that Bright Space
We all shared
We organize ourselves to do our best
We try to experience all there is
So when we go back we will know all there is to know.
I circle in my sphere
Completing my tasks
And you complete yours
While circling in your sphere
And sometimes our paths cross
When we meet in this way we find we are doing the same work
Working in our own way
But accomplishing the same thing.
We recognize that Brightness for a moment
And remember that we must remember all of this
So when we are together again
We can share all that we have learned.
You must do those things you are to do.
I have my list as well.
But unknown to us is how our works
Will complement each other
When all is done that must be done.
You and I will have many stories to share
And we will remember the time our spheres connected
For a moment
And we recalled the Bright Space
That Bright Space we left to be here on our own
When all we had ever known was being together.
We came here to find out what we could never know together
And will return to share
And again we will be all there ever was, ever is, or ever will be.
Pay attention to those moments when our worlds coalesce
Remember that Bright Place which still connects us.
And then we will go our separate ways again.
You work in your place
I work in mine
But the work is important
It all works together even though it seems random
It might seem unimportant
It is the most important thing we can do.
Though there seems no order in what we do
Though chaos seems to dominate all we see
Our plan to find out all we ever could
Brings us closer to being together in that Bright Space again.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Monday Dec 27, 2010
Monday Dec 27, 2010
CHEMICAL HAZARDS
I guess one of the reasons I don't take my injuries too seriously is that I have seen real suffering up close. Anything I have been through is nothing compared to the pain and stress of cancer treatment. I don't think I could put on as brave a face as my wife when she had cancer fifteen years ago.
The bone cancer was discovered. She went through two major surgeries and the recovery process, and was now missing parts of three of her ribs. But the worst was yet to come.
Chemotherapy is designed to kill cancer cells lurking in your body, but it almost kills the patient, too. She was on a special protocol designed by the top doctors in the world, and after the first treatment she was so sick she almost quit.
We called the doctors and they decided she could probably get by on a reduced dose, but she would still have to go through six courses of treatment.
Even getting ready for the chemotherapy involved surgery. She had to have a sub-dermal catheter which would stay in her body for the course of treatment. It looked like a doctor's stethoscope end, and they buried it under her skin just below her right clavicle. It was a bump about an inch around, and when they wanted to administer the chemotherapy, they would strap a fanny pack full of the chemicals to her hip and run a tube from it to her catheter. She would then go back to school and teach the rest of the day as the chemical coursed through her body.
Here's the strangest thing anyone said to us during the chemotherapy ordeal. Since she would be carrying around the treatment with her during the day, the oncology nurse said, "Don't get this on your skin."
The nurse was worried she may spring a leak during the day and have the chemicals get on bare skin. Now think about this for a moment. During chemotherapy you are pumping deadly chemicals throughout your body which are not supposed to get on your skin?
It made us both laugh out loud. It seemed so insane that this was the way where you could kill cancer, by almost killing the patient.
Getting the chemo was the easy part. Enduring the effects was so hard that Debbie wanted to quit several times, and almost couldn't make it through the entire treatment.
After the first treatment, her hair fell out. It would come out in clumps into her hand, and she just tossed it into the garbage can. By the end of the week she was mostly bald. The hairdresser shaved off the rest.
Guys can have a bald head and no one thinks anything about it. But as soon as I see a bald woman I now think chemotherapy. I even think this if I see a woman wearing a scarf which completely covers her head. But the good news is that Debbie has a beautiful bald head.
The chemotherapy treatments would so devastate Debbie's body that sometimes she would need to go to the hospital for fluids and monitoring. She would also sometimes need to get Nupogen treatments to boost her white blood cells.
Here's a strange medical twist. If you are getting chemotherapy, you can't get the treatment if your white blood count is too low, which is one of the purposes of chemotherapy. So if the chemotherapy is working, your white blood count goes down. But if it gets too low, you can't get the treatment.
So cancer patients get a treatment to raise their white blood cell count, so they can go back in later and get chemotherapy which will lower their white blood count again. There must be an easier way to do this.
One time Debbie had an especially bad reaction to the fourth or fifth treatment. She was in the hospital in a lot of pain, and I think the staff had given her too much morphine. She was struggling to breathe, and several times she stopped breathing.
I would gently shake her and tell her to keep breathing. There was equipment in the room which would have alerted the nurses if I hadn't been there, but it was one moment in this miserable process when I felt like I was actually helping.
About the only other thing I could do was give her ice chips when she was in the hospital, which ended up being 10 or more trips. The doctors and nurses did a great job, organized and prepared in a way which is truly amazing to see.
When I think about the advances in science, medicine, and technology, I can’t wait to see what the future will bring. Join me as we journey into a future of possibilities.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Monday Dec 27, 2010
Monday Dec 27, 2010
Leo
Character Central, this is Leo speakin’. Who you lookin’ for?
Dane
Could I speak to W.C. Fields please?
Leo
Just a minute. W.C.?
Forrest
You need to go to the bathroom?
Leo
No, not the water closet, you moron. Go get W.C. Fields.
Forrest
Okay Lieutenant Dan.
Leo
Stop calling me Lieutenant Dan! Just go get the old drunk.
Forrest
Yes sir, drill sergeant sir!
Leo
That nut is goin’ drive me crazy. Can I tell Mr. Fields whom is calling?
Dane
Yes, I’m Dane Allred calling for Abundance.
Leo
Abundance? You ain’t gonna get no abundance here, pally.
Dane
No, the program is called Abundance.
Leo
Oh yeah, that crazy guy who goes on and on about all the good t’ings in life.
Dane
Yes, that’s me, Dane Allred.
Leo
Well, I got your Abundance right here! Who is dis being billed to?
Dane
Can you use the same card as last time?
Leo
Let me look. Abundance, abundance, use Bill Gates lost credit card?
Dane
That would be fine.
Leo
Gotcha. Here’s W.C. Fields. But don’t talk too long cause I ain’t gonna stand here and prop him up. He’s pretty wobbly today.
Dane
Okay.
Leo
And thank you for using Character Central, your source for the formerly famous. Here’s the phone, you old booze-hound.
W.C.
Thank you my good man. It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast.
Dane
Is this W.C. Fields?
W.C.
Speaking. And how can I help you my good man?
Dane
Well, today on Abundance we are talking about organization. Do you have any organizational tips for my audience?
W.C.
Ornamentation? I’m in favor of it.
Dane
No, organization.
W.C.
Oh, organization. That reminds me, a woman drove me to drink and I never even had the decency to thank her.
Dane
So you’re suggesting making a list of people to thank? Any other suggestions?
W.C.
I never drink water because of the disgusting things fish do in it. Water; that’s the stuff that rusts pipes. Excuse me for a moment, I must have a drink of breakfast.
Dane
You don’t drink water at all?
W.C.
I never drink water. I’m afraid it may become habit-forming.
Dane
Well, speaking of habits, do you foresee a time you will ever stop drinking alcohol?
W.C.
Now don't say you can't swear off drinking; it's easy. I've done it a thousand times.
Dane
You have quit drinking before. Was there an organized program?
W.C.
Yes. Once during Prohibition, I was forced to live for days on nothing but food and water.
Dane
Any other times you’ve quit?
W.C.
Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water.
Dane
Do you have any other preferences you’d like to share with us?
W.C.
On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.
Dane
You don’t like living there at Character Central?
W.C.
No. Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch.
Dane
But, really, Philadelphia. I’ve never heard you speak well of that town.
W.C.
I once spent a year in Philadelphia. I think it was a Sunday.
Dane
Seriously?
W.C.
Oh, yes. Last week, I went to Philadelphia, but it was closed.
Dane
So, Mr. Fields, any other advice for our listeners about trying to get organized?
W.C.
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no point in being a damn fool about it.
Dane
Well, that is sound advice. Thank you W.C. Fields for speaking with us today on Abundance.
W.C.
I thought we were talking about ornamentation.
Dane
No, we’re focusing on organization on the program called Abundance. I believe in celebrating the abundance all around us.
W.C.
A man’s gotta believe in something, and I believe I’ll have another drink. And like I say, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull. Good day to you, Mr. Gates.
Dane
No, its Dane Allred, we just use this card I found…
Music interruption.
Dane
Thanks to Mr. W.C. Fields who joined us today on Abundance from Character Central.
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Sunday Dec 26, 2010
Sunday Dec 26, 2010
Colorblind
by Dane Allred
So organizing’s over-rated
What if my pants and socks aren’t mated
Green, lemon, red, scarlet
Grey, crimson, violet
Aren’t colors equally created?
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Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
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Romeo And Julia
by August Strindberg
One evening the husband came home with a roll of music under his arm and said to his wife:
"Let us play duets after supper!"
"What have you got there?" asked his wife.
"’Romeo and Julia’, arranged for the piano. Do you know it?"
"Yes, of course I do," she replied, "but I don't remember ever having seen it on the stage."
"Oh! It's splendid! To me it is like a dream of my youth, but I've only heard it once, and that was about twenty years ago."
After supper, when the children had been put to bed and the house lay silent, the husband lighted the candles on the piano. He looked at the lithographed title-page and read the title: Romeo and Julia.
"This is Gounod's most beautiful composition," he said, "and I don't believe that it will be too difficult for us."
As usual his wife undertook to play the treble and they began. D major, common time, “allegro giusto”.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" asked the husband, when they had finished the overture.
"Y--es," admitted the wife, reluctantly.
"Now the martial music," said the husband; "it is exceptionally fine. I can remember the splendid choruses at the Royal Theatre."
They played a march.
"Well, wasn't I right?" asked the husband, triumphantly, as if he had composed "Romeo and Julia" himself.
"I don't know; it rather sounds like a brass band," answered the wife.
The husband's honour and good taste were involved; he looked for the Moonshine Aria in the fourth act. After a little searching he came across an aria for soprano. That must be it.
And he began again.
Tram-tramtram, tram-tramtram, went the bass; it was very easy to play.
"Do you know," said his wife, when it was over, "I don't think very much of it."
The husband, quite depressed, admitted that it reminded him of a barrel organ.
"I thought so all along," confessed the wife.
"And I find it antiquated, too. I am surprised that Gounod should be out of date, already," he added dejectedly. "Would you like to go on playing? Let's try the Cavatina and the Trio; I particularly remember the soprano; she was divine."
When they stopped playing, the husband looked crestfallen and put the music away, as if he wanted to shut the door on the past.
"Let's have a glass of beer," he said. They sat down at the table and had a glass of beer.
"It's extraordinary," he began, after a little while, "I never realised before that we've grown old, for we really must have vied with Romeo and Julia as to who should age faster. It's twenty years ago since I heard the opera for the first time. I was a newly fledged undergraduate then, I had many friends and the future smiled at me. I was immensely proud of the first down on my upper lip and my little college cap, and I remember as if it were to-day, the evening when Fritz, Phil and myself went to hear this opera. We had heard 'Faust' some years before and were great admirers of Gounod's genius. But Romeo beat all our expectations. The music roused our wildest enthusiasm. Now both my friends are dead. Fritz, who was ambitious, was a private secretary when he died, Phil a medical student; I who aspired to the position of a minister of state have to content myself with that of a regimental judge. The years have passed by quickly and imperceptibly. Of course I have noticed that the lines under my eyes have grown deeper and that my hair has turned grey at the temples, but I should never have thought that we had travelled so far on the road to the grave."
"Yes, my dear, we've grown old; our children could teach us that. And you must see it in me too, although you don't say anything."
"How can you say that!"
"Oh! I know only too well, my dear," continued the wife, sadly; "I know that I am beginning to lose my good looks, that my hair is growing thin, that I shall soon lose my front teeth...."
"Just consider how quickly everything passes away"--interrupted her husband. "It seems to me that one grows old much more rapidly now-a-days, than one used to do. In my father's house Haydn and Mozart were played a great deal, although they were dead long before he was born. And now --now Gounod has grown old-fashioned already! How distressing it is to meet again the ideals of one's youth under these altered circumstances! And how horrible it is to feel old age approaching!"
He got up and sat down again at the piano; he took the music and turned over the pages as if he were looking for keepsakes, locks of hair, dried flowers and ends of ribbon in the drawer of a writing-table. His eyes were riveted on the black notes which looked like little birds climbing up and down a wire fencing; but where were the spring songs, the passionate protestations, the jubilant avowals of the rosy days of first love? The notes stared back at him like strangers; as if the memory of life's spring-time were grown over with weeds.
Yes, that was it; the strings were covered with dust, the sounding board was dried up, the felt worn away.
A heavy sigh echoed through the room, heavy as if it came from a hollow chest, and then silence fell.
"But all the same, it is strange," the husband said suddenly, "that the glorious prologue is missing in this arrangement. I remember distinctly that there was a prologue with an accompaniment of harps and a chorus which went like this."
He softly hummed the tune, which bubbled up like a stream in a mountain glen; note succeeded note, his face cleared, his lips smiled, the lines disappeared, his fingers touched the keys, and drew from them melodies, powerful, caressing and full of eternal youth, while with a strong and ringing voice he sang the part of the bass.
His wife started from her melancholy reverie and listened with tears in her eyes.
"What are you singing?" she asked, full of amazement.
"Romeo and Julia! Our Romeo and our Julia!"
He jumped up from the music stool and pushed the music towards his astonished wife.
"Look! This was the Romeo of our uncles and aunts, this was--read it--Bellini! Oh! We are not old, after all!"
The wife looked at the thick, glossy hair of her husband, his smooth brow and flashing eyes, with joy.
"And you? You look like a young girl. We have allowed old Bellini to make fools of us. I felt that something was wrong."
"No, darling, I thought so first."
"Probably you did; that is because you are younger than I am."
"No, you...."
And husband and wife, like a couple of children, laughingly quarrel over the question of which of them is the elder of the two, and cannot understand how they could have discovered lines and grey hairs where there are none.
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