Teaching Baby To Read

Those "teach baby to read" programs that you see and hear advertised are not as new as you might think...

Here's a retro example i just spotted in a thrift shop: Glenn Doman's Better Baby Reading Program kit, produced in part by Encyclopedia Britannica. This kit dates to the 1980s; and there's evidence this all works. (Like everything else, though, moderation and not pushing are key.)

Survey Says My Family's Not So Strange After All

According to a national survey commissioned by SleepBetter.org and conducted by Ipsos Public Affairs, one in four Americans (23%) say that Goodnight Moon is their all-time favorite bedtime story. The study also says that moms are doing the bedtime story reading 3-to-1 over dads. But what's most surprising, to me anyway, is the fact that even more popular among young children (age 7 or younger) than bedtime classic Goodnight Moon are the stories that their parents make up themselves!

Now our family has a long tradition of making up stories -- not only at bedtime, but we share them at the breakfast table, and when we spend time with extended family (holidays, etc.) we spend time sitting around making up stories together: One person starts with the first sentence, the next person adds the next line, etc., and you go around the room with each person adding a sentence until the story is finished. (Warning: This is where family issues will be aired; the little brother will mock his sister, mom will mock dad, grandma will mock mom, etc. -- which is all in good fun, unless your participating teens are surly.)

Anyway, I just thought that our kids liked our stories and storytelling time because, well, frankly, because they were weird. ...Apples not falling far from the tree, and all that. *wink*

But it turns out, this sort of "weird" is in the majority -- making us all "normal."

Now The Bedtimes Stories Project is collecting these stories in their Sleepy Tales Book.

To encourage folks to submit their original family bedtime stories (all authors retain the copyrights to their stories), The Bedtime Project's got the incredible Betty White involved! (You know I adore Betty White!)

Not only has Betty even written her very own bedtime story, Sleep Better Snowball!, but she'll be reading from the Sleepy Tales Book -- and she may also read one of the submitted bedtime stories!

If you you want your story to be evaluated as one of the stories that Betty White will read from at the May 26th event in L.A., you need to submit your story by midnight EST Sat. May 22, 2010.

Also, by the end of the program in July, one story will be selected to inspire an illustration by noted artist Bill Nelson. The deadline for a chance to have your story illustrated by Nelson is midnight EST, Wednesday June 30, 2010.

So submit you family's story asap. Who knows, it could win a really cool honor! Stranger things -- like our kids liking our made-up stories -- have happened. *wink*

You Know Sex Ed Is Really Bad When...

Cosmo can't even get it right. In their instructions for Sex Position of the Day: Sensual Shower, their diagram for how to achieve erotic thrills literally misses the mark -- the genitals don't even line up.




I guess the abstinence folks will start distributing this sort of diagram to prevent copulation; but I'm sure, in their frustration, people will just assume the missionary.

For more help in accurately discussing sex with your kids, check out the marvelous Beyond The Birds & The Bees.

My Sock Is A Deadly Weapon

Smoking is indeed dangerous; but not exactly for the reasons we are pummeled with everyday.

I'll admit, I'm a spaz lighting a cig -- I can't wear gloves to do it, and in this weather, that makes the forced-to-go-outside-and-smoke thing a real bitch. God I hate the weather here.

But I had no idea that having part of my cherry fall onto my acrylic sock could be so painful. No, it didn't burn me -- but it did melt that part of my sock on which it landed into a hard plastic bit. I paid it no mind -- until that night, in my sleep, I used the top of my foot to rub the dry itchy skin on the back of my calf.

I did that scratching rub in my sleep really -- because this miserable weather makes your skin so dry, you get used to itching it in your sleep. But woke up to pain as the formerly melted spot hardened into a razor-sharp bit of plastic which cut my leg. And, in case you think I'm an exaggerating whiner, here's the resulting gash on my leg.



Not only is it nearly 4 inches long, but this photo was taken two days after it happened.

Of Happy Madmen & Radio

(Hubby, unbeknownst to me until I was set to publish this, has already posted his thoughts on this -- but I'm not about to scrap my work! Plus, he has his own comments; and they're really only on part of the article.)

This past weekend, on our way back home from Wisconsin, hubby and I bought a stack of vintage Radio Guide issues. This is the story of just one article...

Happy Madmen, by Lorraine Thomas is the "sensitive" 1938 "educational" piece published in the weekending October 15, 1938 issue of Radio Guide on the how the "modern miracle" of radio is working wonders for America's 400,000 mentally ill.



It begins:

You don't say "insane asylum" any more. The polite and proper term is "state institution." But call it what you like, the fact remains that there are 400,000 or more patients in America's 397 homes for the mentally ill.

So first Lorraine tells us what's polite and proper -- then, with, "call it what you like," she dismisses any need to do so.

Four hundred thousand men and women, some violently insane, some merely teetering on the thin straight line between sanity and the lack of it -- but all of them hopelessly caged, locked up, barred from all but the remotest contact with "the world outside"! Four hundred thousand people living out their lives in rigid routine, living by a clock that has no meaning for them, marking off the endless days on a calendar that has no hope -- that's the picture.

(Wow. There's some compassion!)

But perhaps I shouldn't have said that. It used to be true, but things have changed a little.

Yup, because of radio.

:Pause:

One wonders if "a little" change means anything to people so hopeless, to people who find no meaning in clocks...

But the article asserts radio does wonders.

Lorraine does not.

She tosses out phrases like "mysteriously unbalanced people," and expresses such contempt I, at least, have to wonder if she is capable of any compassion at all. But then maybe that's why she was sent to survey the (as she says) self-described nuts on their radio program favorites. Perhaps cold and removed helps one facilitate surveys. Or maybe I'm to believe that the "several hundred patients" she interviewed drove her to her demeanor.

Some notable quotes:

"Most of the patients like Gracie Allen, all right -- but not because they feel any strange bonds of sympathy or understanding. They think she's nuts, and very, very funny."

"Very few patients like Amos 'n' Andy, and even fewer like Major Bowes. According to this critical census, Amos 'n' Andy are monotonous, dull, old stuff. As for Major Bowes, he's insincere, he's mean to the amateurs, he's not polite about ringing the gong, and he always says the same old thing in the same old way. 'All right, all right.'"



Radio Guide's Survey Of Sanitaria Reveals That People Who Are Mentally Distressed Favor The Following Programs:

Burns and Allen (CBS), H.V. Kaltenborn (CBS), and Guy Lombardo's Music (CBS).

I guess we know what the "C" in CBS is for.

While this article is supposed to extol the virtues of radio programming for the mentally ill, some of the stories seem more than a bit misplaced. Even crazily so.

While the story of Mrs. Diggs has its, "Oh, aren't the crazy charming!" value, it leads to a different place...

Take a look at Mrs. Diggs. Mrs. Diggs is a Negro, a man, who considers himself the most beautiful white woman in the world. He says he has letters from President Roosevelt, Will Hayes, Lindbergh and Joe Louis telling him so. What's more, he's the mother of all the white people in the world. "Mrs. Diggs" has other delusions too. At times he thinks he's Henry Ford, Rockefeller, and Edison rolled into one. He always insists he's the richest person in the world. About radio he was at first a bit dubious, until I pointed to a receiving set. Then he smiled knowingly, and acknowledged, "Oh, yes, the radio. I invented it."

You mightn't think such a delusion could be very dangerous, but that's where you are wrong. One can never tell about such things. There's another patient in this same hospital who had an even more fantastic delusion. This patient knew a lot more abut the radio than the case just quoted. This man was a radio fan. He wrote letters applying for a job to all the Hollywood radio stations, and once he even won an amateur contest. One morning, while listening to KHJ, he heard one of the popular songs of that period, "There's a Ring Around the Moon." To most of us, that song is no more important than any other -- but to Mr. Radiofan "There's a Ring Around the Moon" carried a very special and important message. Mr. Radiofan considered himself uniquely gifted person, and one of his secret talents was putting rings around the moon. Therefore KHJ's broadcast of the song could mean only one thing: they were sending out an SOS to him -- KHJ needed him to come down and teach them how to put a ring around the moon. Mr. Radiofan lost no time. He ran up a $27 taxi-bill going from Santa Ana to Los Angeles. Asking the taxi-driver to wait, he went into the studio. Soon talking with the secretary of the man in charge of employment, he asked for his job -- the job that was waiting for him. Impatient at the questions he was asked, he suddenly took out a knife, opened it, raised his arm and stared menacingly at the terror-stricken girl. She screamed, an announcer ran into the room -- and was stabbed in the throat. Before the maniac was finally overpowered, another bystander's scalp and clothing were in bloody shreds, and the announcer had bled to death. The real tragedy in this story is that the boy's death was so unnecessary: Mr. Radiofan was a paroled patient from a midwestern institution.

I think the real tragedy is Lorraine's article.

PS Searches returned nothing on such a murder at KHJ; but I did find this 1931 KHJ aircheck of Bing Crosby.

Babbling About Black Pets

Hubby found this article at MSN on "black dog syndrome" a supposed phenomenon in which black dogs are often the last to be adopted from animal shelters. Surprisingly, having spent years of my life working animal rescue (both pet and wildlife), I'd never heard of it.

I concede that photographs of all black animals are less impressive or moving due to lack of detail and, especially, contrast & exposure of their eyes -- a most imploring neotonous feature. But as most of my rescue work was before the use of the Internet for animal placement and adoption, there was little use of animal photography to place animals.

I won't dispute the evidence of what other animal workers say, but "black dog syndrome" was surprising to me.

However, I do have a story about black animals in pet rescue.

Every Halloween the folks who ran and worked with cat rescue were loathe to let black cats be adopted for fear they'd be used for satanic rituals. Being somewhat 'pagan' myself, I found the fear most irrational; I'd yet to see any evidence of any animal killings, ritual or not, around Halloween, let alone black cats. But for many cat shelters, black cats were kept away from public viewing from September to November based on fearful rumor or old stories.

One lady I worked with was so terrified of such things that any black cats which came into the shelter were adopted by her -- and only her. She was the only one to be trusted. (And I'll admit after a few years of her out-spoken fear and numerous -- over 30 -- black cats made me feel a bit suspicious of her myself; doth she protest too much?)

In truth, I saw many who desired black cats for their 'additional' mystic qualities; a solid black cat is rather special and rare, even if you aren't into any 'dark arts' or have no icky ideas.

Does animal lore does have its affects on people looking for animals? The MSN article spoke of some of those regarding black dogs:

In British folklore, such as stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sir Walter Scott, the black dog is a creepy, spectral figure that haunts cemeteries and is an omen of death. (Non-lit geeks who've never heard of those stories have at least seen "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," in which a big black dog called the Grim stalks Harry.) Another Englishman, Winston Churchill, battled serious bouts of depression which he called "the black dog."

Personally, like the black cats 'mystic' appeal, most animal lovers I've known wouldn't believe such stories mean the cute puppy or dog before them was evil -- but they might be tempted to find such 'mystic lore' appealing.

My guess would be that animal lore adds to the relationship with the animal. Like a secret shared. And what pet owner doesn't already create or 'see' more in their pet and their special relationship? Such stories only tend to make people feel more bonded, more spiritual in connection, than just having a 'fur baby'.

I wonder, just a bit, if there isn't something about this smaller adoption rate of black dogs which has to do with those working with the animals themselves...

Are they at all guilty of somehow feeling the need to protect these animals from the ones most drawn to them because they fear the desire for a black pet is akin to belief in 'bad' animal lore? Do they, however unconsciously, fear a black dog is destined to be harmed?

Flashed From BBC Headlines

Straight out of the Flash Gordon episode where Aura and Terek find they are drawn to each other... they are about to kiss... when Flash bursts in telling them to stop because they are brother and sister, comes this story from the UK.

I know, I know; mock me for watching Flash on Friday nights... but what else is there late night on Fridays but the Sci-Fi channel? It's campy deliciousness.

I Live Where Water Catches On Fire

You know I often mock where I live (most recent example)... But come on, when the water is flammable, well, even hubby has to mock it!