Sunday, July 15, 2018

Dinosaurs -- The Handwriting on the Wall -- Children in ICE Shelters Are Having Lots of Fun



A fossil found in Argentina that is more than 200 million years old suggests the most giant of dinosaurs existed earlier than paleontologists believed.
NYT

When dinosaurs were awful big
I bet they couldn't dance a jig;
at least I bet they couldn't leap.
but on their fat legs had to creep.
If dinosaurs today did plague
our world, they'd go to Jenny Craig. 


Handwriting has lost its importance in society. Some schools don’t even teach cursive anymore. Yet studies have repeatedly shown that writing by hand can help you process and remember information far better than typing. A 2014 study found that when students typed notes, they tended to just transcribe whatever the professor said, while those working with pen and paper were mentally summarizing and paraphrasing, which led to better test scores.
WSJ


My handwriting is so unique 
it made my grade school teachers squeak.
In block or cursive, twas the same;
it looked like chickens walking lame.
When I take notes today, I fear
to no one else will they be clear.
I'll sell it to the FBI
as code to baffle any spy.



“I felt like a prisoner,” said Diogo De Olivera Filho, a 9-year-old from Brazil who spent five weeks at an ICE shelter in Chicago, including three weeks in isolation after getting chickenpox. When he got lonely and left his quarantined room to see other kids, he said the shelter put up a gate to keep him in. “I felt like a dog,” he said.
Washington Post

Happy are the children who
live in Uncle Sammy's zoo.
They are fed on crusts of bread;
when they cry are sent to bed.
Their folks broke our nation's laws --
we don't play no Santa Claus.
So they're traumatized a bit;
least they're learning how to knit,
cuz we need a brand new crop
working in the old sweatshop.



The Golden Wedge of Ophir


I will make a man more precious than fine gold; even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir.

Second Nephi. Chapter Twenty-Three. Verse 12.

How great the wealth of Indus, flowing out beyond the seas,
is past the numbers of the ever active honey bees.
Plundered and then hoarded, yellow wedges from the East
have builded many palaces and fueled indulgent feast.
But just one man, if he be just and righteous to the core,
is worth more than the Inca's gold piled up in Ecuador!
Rare, indeed, and precious, is the soul that lacks all guile;
and God has promised such a one His own timeless stockpile.


Saturday, July 14, 2018

The Saga of the Donkey and the Elephant


"I am not a member of any organized political party. I am a Democrat."
Will Rogers.



The Donkey and the Elephant were trapped upon a boat
that leaked so very badly it would not much longer float.
Although the worst of enemies, they prudently decided
twas better to stay nice and dry by working undivided.

And so they held a press conf'rence upon the sloping deck,
and told reporters they were yoked to stave off any wreck.
 Their smiling faces on Facebook were lovely to behold
(although most social media did label it 'fool's gold.')

The Donkey said they must proceed to search out ev'ry leak
and plug them to prevent a future that was wet and bleak.
The Elephant would not agree; he thought twould surely fail.
They ought to have great buckets and begin at once to bail.

The Donkey wouldn't budge an inch, insisting that the polls
showed the vast majority would rather plug the holes.
The Elephant was adamant that bailing was the cure,
and paid a printer to produce a hundred-page brochure.

They argued and made speeches on the ship, both fore and aft --
until the passengers decided they were truly daft.
Lowering the lifeboats, ev'ryone abandoned ship.
The Donkey and the Elephant ignored the heavy drip.

The Ship of State was foundering, and so the Pachyderm
 roared out to the empty decks that ev'ryone stay firm.
The Donkey said about the same, avowing that the State
of their sinking vessel only proved how things were great.

At last the boat gave up the ghost and sank beneath the waves.
The Donkey and the Elephant went to their watery graves.
But mariners who sail by night say you can hear them still --
just as loud and fractious as they were on Capitol Hill. 

Friday, July 13, 2018

Experts Meet on World Economy




"The only function of economic forecasting is to make Astrology look respectable."  
John Kenneth Galbraith  


Prospects were darkening; money was tight.
 Experts all gathered to brainstorm and fight.
They came from all corners, and started to riot
when they found out they were stuck at the Hyatt.

Poofle from Harvard, and Schmidlap from Yale;
Krumforst from Stanford and Cindy from Vail.
Bingle flew in from Locarno at noon;
Vidh Krissik distributed toothpicks of poon.

They met in a conference room by a lake;
the pine trees had beetles, the white swans were fake.
The buffet was spread with impeccable taste;
the shrimp was uncertain, the sorbet was paste.

 A tweet from the President left them in awe,
combining such ignorance with pure chutzpah. 
He told them the trade war was sound policy
and walls along borders would help spending free.

Turning their backs on such bumfuzzled lore,
the experts took turns on the convention floor.
Bingle reported that Brexit would rear
British austerity and watered beer.

Poofle declared that the only recourse
to stifle inflation was bring back the horse.
With gasoline neutered and saddles promoted
loans of all sizes and shapes could be floated.

And Schmidlap was certain that bumblebees could
be harnessed as nuclear power for good.
Although the technology still was quite crude,
he thought they'd perform better if they were stewed.

Krissik and Hu Hee and Zambunni, too,
all had the chance to add zest to this stew.
When they had finished their fiscal survey,
their great manifesto was posted this way:

"We feel it incumbent on us to declare
that financial matters demand too much care.
And so we submit to the world and its folk
that money and finances are a big joke."

"Bitcoin and Brexit and OPEC and taxes
ought to be chopped up with dull-headed axes.
Use tree leaves for money; pick onions in May.
Stop hoarding your gold and just give it away."

"Inflation's a bugaboo that don't exist.
Help out your neighbor without any list.
Fill all the banks with gunpowder and so
let kids with matches run strike the first blow."

Well, you can imagine how this was received.
Trump was astounded and Putin was grieved.
Merkel and May and Macron and Jinping
thought it a useless and insulting thin fling.

NATO deployed round the building with speed
and wiped out each one of that dangerous breed.
Now on the site they've erected a plaque
that says the world's safe from a further attack. 

Economists no longer gather in groups,
but travel as gypsies with small circus troupes.
They'll read you your fortune and sell you a charm,
but otherwise they cannot do the world harm.


*******************************************

In response to my emailing this poem to my Congressman John Curtis, I received this response:

Dear Friend,

Thank you for contacting me and taking the time to share your thoughts on this important matter.

Although I will be sure to send you a more detailed response, I simply wanted you to know that your opinion has been noted and your voice has been heard.

It is a great honor to serve as your Representative in Washington, DC. I am humbled to take on this responsibility and look forward to serving our great state and Nation to the best of my abilities. To better stay in touch, please sign up to receive my e-newsletter through my website: Curtis.house.gov.


Sincerely,
John Curtis
Member of Congress

Costco Removes Polish Dog from Menu -- The Internet Hears Everything You Say --



Kielbasa served up on a bun
Is not only tasty but fun.
Dripping with relish
It’s thoroughly delish --

And makes all my statins undone.


Add in the latest smart wireless headphones—Apple’s expected next-generation AirPods or competing ones from Bose or Shure—along with talking microwave ovens and TVs from Samsung, LG and others, and anyone at home or in an open-plan office could soon be within earshot of hundreds of microphones. Most of them will be listening for a wake word like “Alexa,” “Hey Siri,” or “OK Google,” just as our phones and smart assistants do now.
WSJ
That guy with tin foil on his head was not so very wrong;
the internet hears all I say, from burps to shower song.
They tell me it will not respond without some kind of key;
but science fiction teaches us that this is fallacy.
I don't know when or how or why my phone will give me lip,
but I'm prepared to dump it at the first sign of a quip.
God save us from intelligence that's artificial, since
it cannot differentiate tween pancakes and a blintz! 




Thursday, July 12, 2018

Investment Money Drying Up -- Do You Venmo? -- Are Women More Than Human?



Mr. Trump’s trade policies are beginning to chill Chinese investment . . . Those actions, combined with tighter restrictions by the Chinese government on money flowing outward, are stemming Chinese investment in the United States. It plummeted more than 90 percent between the first half of 2017 and the first half of 2018 . . . 
NYT

An entrepreneur in Detroit
had used Chinese funds to exploit
a splendid design
to have brakes align --
till nixed by that White House Dacoit.



With the rise of money-transfer apps such as PayPal Holdings Inc.’s Venmo, it’s never been easier for people to send money to their friends. It’s also never been easier to accidentally send money to a total stranger. Getting the money back is often far more difficult: Many digital payments are irreversible.
WSJ


I don't trust the internet, chum,
to send or recieve any sum.
Although it is brash,
I ask only cash -- 
my wallet's the best rule of thumb.



Listening to a man in power talk about how much he loves the women in his life is a moving thing that is actually pretty useless.
Washington Post

Although I love women, I too
have sometimes the opposite view.
They're pushy and vain
and often cause pain --
aren't all of us sometimes cuckoo?





Another Newspaper Bites the Dust -- Google Sends Up Delivery Balloons -- Inflation Eats Up Wage Increases



NPR
Newspapers lacking subscriptions
mostly go into conniptions.
They stop being inked
when ads are extinct,
and fade like the ancient Egyptians. 

SAN FRANCISCO — Google’s efforts to build delivery drones and internet-beaming balloons are no longer just science projects. Both ventures are becoming their own independent businesses within Alphabet, the technology conglomerate that owns Google . . . 
NYT
My packages come by balloon -- 
if they don't float off to the moon.
Jules Verne would delight
in such a grand sight,
and H.G. Wells no doubt would swoon. 

For a second month in a row, annual inflation fully offset average hourly wage growth in June, leaving workers’ real hourly earnings flat from a year earlier despite falling unemployment and a generally strong economy.
WSJ
Whenever I'm given a raise,
I watch with a mortified gaze
as inflation guts
my pay to peanuts --
and my savings slowly decays.

Neutrinos are so small that they seldom bump into atoms so humans can't feel them. They don't shed light, so our eyes can't see them. Yet these very qualities make them invaluable for conveying information across time and space, scientists say. Light can be blocked and gravitational waves can be bent, but neutrinos are unscathed as they travel from the most violent events in the universe into a detector at the bottom of the Earth.
Washington Post


It's something so small and discreet
that chances are you'll never meet
a neutrino chunk,
unless you are shrunk
to smaller than a microbe's feet. 


Wednesday, July 11, 2018

A letter to my daughter Madelaine



Hva er nytt, my little treacle tart?

I hope that all is well with you and the family out there in Virginia. Did Deisel get home safe & sound? Did you get your ac fixed at last? How's work going -- still want to guillotine most of the staff?

The even tenor of my quiet existence continues to both please and baffle me. Each day seems to blend seamlessly into the next, with little or nothing to demarcate one sunrise from the next. Even the weather is uniform -- sunny and hot. Every prayer I hear at church asks for rain -- but when you live in a desert isn't requesting a weather aberration kinda presumptuous? Me, I hibernate inside my snug little apartment with the ac cranked up nice and high -- I rarely leave my abode after 9 a.m. for anything less than an emergency craving for pickled herring. I don't even go out to have lunch at the new Thai restaurant on Center Street. I'll try them again this fall.

I always thought I'd be cursed with wanderlust all the rest of my days -- wanting to dash hither and yon in a mad quest for satisfaction. That's how I seemed to be hardwired earlier in my life. But today I rejoice in knowing ahead of time just about everything that is going to happen to me today and knowing just where I'll be going and what I'll be seeing. The thought of travel actually alarms me. 

My health is so-so; no better than before and no worse than expected. One new wrinkle is I've developed a rash over most of my body, probably from the heat. I use up a bottle of Calamine lotion every week to keep the itching under control. My skin is permanently streaked with pink.

I've been spending most of my time, when I'm not writing or reading or napping or watching Netflix, experimenting with food. Last week I made several batches of refrigerator pickles. My pickled green beans turned out well -- Sarah loves them and wants me to make her some more. My olive salad was a disaster -- I mixed several kinds of olives with onions and Thai basil leaves. I thought the mixture would be interesting -- it had an aftertaste of old typewriter ribbons. This week I am going to pickle some Thai eggplant and some Thai long beans. I get them at the Asian Store that is across the street from Fresh Market. I'm supposed to make a pasta salad to bring to Sarah's house this coming Sunday for dinner, but think I'll just pop a roast in the crock pot instead -- if I use pork it's just about as cheap as making a good pasta salad and takes much less work. 

Oh, before I forget. Here is my new motto for the town of Provo:

PROVO, A GOOD PLACE TO TAKE NAP. 

My other food project this week has been vichyssoise, which is a chilled potato soup. I have a friend from my swim class at the Rec Center, Bruce Young, who teaches English up at BYU. His wife has left him all alone for the summer so she can go play humanitarian in the Congo. So I feed him about once a week. Since he lived in France for several years, I decided to make him something French and easy. Nothing easier than cold potato soup. You just boil some potatoes and onions in chicken broth until they fall apart, then whip them in a food processor, add cream and refrigerate for several hours. Serve with crackers and cheese. And the beauty part is that when you let it sit overnight it tastes even better the next day. I'm going to start making it every week, I think, for myself, until the heat goes away in September. Today I had a big bowl of Bush's Baked Beans, with sliced hot dogs thrown in, with a fresh onion bagel, for a late breakfast, and I doubt if I'll eat anything substantial again today -- probably some ramen noodles tonight. Beans really fill me up. I even have a piece of cheesecake sitting in the fridge that I haven't wanted to eat for the past two days.  My appetite ain't what it used to be -- and yet I stay so fat. Life just ain't fair.


Your mother was here last weekend, I forget why exactly. She came over to visit and we had a pleasant time. Not at all like when she ripped me a new one back on Memorial Day. It's a strange thing, but whenever your mother is nice to me I fall back in love with her and pine for her company. But it's a foolish wish; we can only manage to be pleasant to each other at long intervals of time and when we both know we don't have to be around each other very much. I would like to fall in love again, but I'm afraid I have grown too eccentric and selfish (and fat) to ever please another woman, no matter how complaisant. So I spend my evenings listening to the symphonies of Sibelius. Not a bad way to end my life, I guess. 

I wanted to write another mini-memoir today, but am just absolutely out of inspiration and ideas. Is there anything in particular YOU want to know about my young life? Just let me know and I'll turn it into another family memoir.

Well, my snowy egret, I guess I'll wrap things up here. A long afternoon stretches ahead of me. But the ac is working well (in fact I'm thinking of turning it off for a few hours) and I have  the Salterton Trilogy by Robertson Davies to read. So why complain?

Adieu,  dad.

Pfizer Lowers Drug Prices -- A Garden is Revived -- Parental Leave for Men.





Pfizer Inc. said Tuesday it will defer some recent drug-price increases, reversing course after President Donald Trump criticized the company. The New York-based drug maker, one of the world’s biggest pharmaceutical companies by sales, had faced criticism from Mr. Trump and others after raising the prices of more than 40 drugs last week.
WSJ
A bully sometimes is of use
to stop a commercial abuse.
A big stick, when swung
can knock out the dung
that companies like to produce.


The garden, as Westerners know it, survived the Dark Ages because of monasteries. Given these traditions, it was natural for the founders of the Franciscan Monastery of the Holy Land in America to count on a small farm when in 1897 they purchased 100 acres of open land in Northeast Washington.
Washington Post

There's something 'bout a garden sweet,
so full of bugs and blooms and beet,
that makes the heavy toil seem worth
the sweat I drop on Mother Earth.

It is part of God's plan, I'm sure,
to spread thick layers of manure;
what of my aching back and knees,
if I am one with droning bees?

The years, they push upon me now
like a stubborn blunt snowplow;
and though for fresh produce I pine,
I'll order all my meals online . . .



Many men say they remain reluctant to take advantage of parental-leave policies. In a recent Deloitte survey of more than 1,000 U.S. workers, one in three male respondents said they worried that taking time off to tend to a newborn would jeopardize their careers, and more than half of the men said they felt using parental-leave benefits available to them would be seen as a lack of commitment to their jobs.
WSJ

A father who worked down at Ford
went home to his cute little horde
and, covered with grime,
asked for overtime -- 
He claimed it was for the landlord.



The dust of the earth



And now I ask, can ye say aught of yourselves? I answer you, Nay. Ye cannot say that ye are even as much as the dust of the earth; yet ye were created of the dust of the earth; but behold, it belongeth to him who created you.
Mosiah. Chapter Two. Verse 25.

I am a boastful speck of dust that floats on prideful air.
I think I am the master as I drift from bed to chair.
A powder blown by willful breeze, I yet pretend to be
the ruler of my universe and my own destiny.

This loftiness of spirit is a ludicrous mistake;
I am no more the master than a piece of birthday cake.
To recognize that God alone is guiding me along
can give to life a meaning that makes even dust be strong!