Robotic Repasts

Food manufacturers are combining advances in laser vision with artificial-intelligence software so that automated arms can carry out more-complex tasks, such as slicing chicken cutlets precisely or inspecting toppings on machine-made pizzas. At a sausage factory, more-powerful cameras and quicker processors enable robots to detect the twisted point between two cylindrical wieners fast enough that they can be cut apart at the rate of 200 a minute. WSJ

No robot ever made a meal

that had a lot of taste appeal.

They may be swift and quite precise,

but noshers pay an awful price

when automated butchers reign

and algorithms cook our grain;

'Spaghetti a la Fortran' reeks

of pasta bland served up by geeks.

And when my steak is android grilled

I do not think I'll be too thrilled.

I'm going to the woods to hunt

my venison, to be upfront;

so when I carve a joint or two

I'll know I will not find a screw.

A Letter from my Missionary Daughter Daisy in California

Hello all you beautiful people!!!

So sorry for not writing last week, all the libraries were closed because of the holiday, so I couldn't send out a big email. We're back this week though! 

This mission experience continues to be bizarre, wonderful, beautiful, crazy, stressful, difficult, glorious, and every other adjective you can think to include. I'm not sure why the following is true, but it is: the closer you get to the beach, the crazier the people get. I think homelessness is a growing problem here, but it is especially common near the beaches. We had a conversation with a sweet old homeless woman named Marjorie. She is a strong believer in God and has had many experiences to prove it. She had met missionaries before and would always say hi to them, she even has a Book of Mormon! One thing that surprised me was that she seemed perfectly content to be where she was and be who she was. She knows that God watches out for her and sends people to her like us, to help. All we did was listen to her, but I guess even something as small as that helps people sometimes. We invited her to church the next time she was in the area and she said she would come :) 

In church yesterday we talked about the law of sacrifice, which is devoting all of your time, talents and energy to God and his work, and how it really is a law of love. Sometimes we tend to fixate on how much we think we give up at certain points in our lives, and we don't think about the blessings that will come after the trial is over. In Romans 8:18 it says: 

18 For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. 

If we could see the blessings that are coming to us, we would have no fear or doubt. But I guess that's where faith comes in, right? We have to show God that we still believe he's there, even when we don't feel like he is. There will always be things that we have to sacrifice in order to be closer to God, but He always gives us ten times the blessings in return. Making those sacrifices, whatever they might be, show God that we love Him and are willing to give things up to know Him better. This life was never made for us to go through alone. It's made for us to learn how to turn to the only beings that can truly help us, our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. 

Sister Moosman and I have been working hard and we've seen that hard work paying off. We've been able to meet so many members who haven't been to church in a while, but who want to start making changes to come back. It takes a lot of work to be a part of the Lord's kingdom and some are not prepared to give what He asks, but He never leaves us to do it alone. That is something we will try and help them understand though. With the Lord, there's never "something for nothing". In the pictures below, you'll see a young man named Chris- in the middle of a group of missionaries- who just made the decision to be baptized and who we had the privilege of teaching. His father is a member, but he didn't grow up learning about the church very much and he took lessons from missionaries when he was a teenager, but they never really stuck with him. It wasn't until recently that he decided he wanted to really commit himself to God, so he made the decision to be baptised. He has been without work for a while, but found a job right when he made the decision to be baptised. It has been amazing to see how Chris has been blessed for that choice and for how much he has served his fellow men. A few days after our first lesson with him, he volunteered to help at a women's activity at the church and then a few days after that he helped someone in our ward move. Chris's greatest desire is to help people and for that I know God will bless him beyond measure. 

I am so thankful to be a part of God's work here in southern California! I know that this church is the true and living church of Jesus Christ on this earth today. He is at the head of it, and gives direction to a living prophet Russell M Nelson, who has been called of God. The Savior's Atonement works for all who will believe and come to him. I Am thankful for all of you and for your faith, prayers, love, and support! Have a wonderful week! 

Circuses and Bread Pudding

When I was 18 I joined Ringling Brothers Circus as a First of May, a new clown.

I was paid $125.00 per week, out of which union dues, linen service, and roomette rental were taken. It also cost a quarter to take the show bus to and from the arena in each town. I had to provide my own food, costumes, makeup, and clown props. That left little to spend on wine, women, and song; just enough for a Dixie cup of seltzer while I listened to Tammy Wynette singing 'Stand By Your Man' on a jukebox for a quarter. 

When the show reached New York City in April of 1972 to play Madison Square Garden, I found the inflated price of a meal in the Big Apple to be pauperizing. The show would be at the Garden for the next 3 months, and it appeared likely that the wolf at my door would soon invite himself in as a permanent, nonpaying, guest.

Lucky for me an old clown, Swede Johnson, told me about the Greek Joint. Across the street from the Garden, by the old Post Office, it served a huge bowl of bread pudding for 75 cents. But you had to get there by eleven each morning -- otherwise it would be sold out. 

This bread pudding was heavenly. It had a yellow hue and was chock-a-block with buxom raisins;  a creamy white syrup, chastely sweet but not cloying, kissed the top of each serving. I got it to go each morning, and nibbled on it contentedly all through the day to assuage my hunger pangs. After the evening show a few of us First of Mays would share a taxi down to China Town for a tub of chicken chow mein -- divvied five ways, the cost of the ride and the meal was about two-fifty each.

That's how I survived my 3 months on $125.00 a week in New York City. I grew to love that Greek Joint. I'm sorry that memory no longer provides me with the name of the place. The counter was always crowded three deep, and the clamor was ear popping. Even though I yearned to sink my teeth into their souvlaki, oozing with yogurt cucumber sauce, my budget just would not allow it. But I never grew tired of that glorious bread pudding. Every season that we played New York thereafter I could be found each morning at the counter of the Greek Joint, elbowing my way to the front for an order of bread pudding to go. Sometimes the men behind the counter, big burly mustachioed specimens as brusque as snapping turtles, would take pity on my lean wolfish look and toss in whatever happened to be lying around extra on the counter -- a sour pickle, a plastic container of feta cheese, or a large scrap of fried loukaniko sausage. Those guys were all right -- they helped keep me from being able to count my own ribs at night. 

I've never found bread pudding as good as theirs anywhere else. It's mostly served at buffet-style restaurants like Golden Corral or Chuck Wagon out here in Utah, where I now live. A caramelized mess, drowned in a gluey brown syrup, I can barely stomach more than two or three helpings. Just for old time's sake, y'know . . .  

The Tweets of Trump -- Woodward; NBC; Obama.

The Economy is soooo good, perhaps the best in our country’s history (remember, it’s the economy stupid!), that the Democrats are flailing & lying like CRAZY! Phony books, articles and T.V. “hits” like no other pol has had to endure-and they are losing big. Very dishonest people! @realDonaldTrump

The Democrats would make you think

that economically we stink.

But truth will out, and I'll prevail

(if I can just stay out of jail!)

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

“It is mostly anonymous sources in here, why should anyone trust you? General Mattis, General Kelly said it’s not true.” @SavannahGuthrie @TODAYshow Bob Woodward is a liar who is like a Dem operative prior to the Midterms. He was caught cold, even by NBC. @realDonaldTrump

Even NBC agrees

that Woodward's hat is full of bees;

He couldn't write the truth if he

saw George cut down that cherry tree!

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

“President Trump would need a magic wand to get to 4% GDP,” stated President Obama. I guess I have a magic wand, 4.2%, and we will do MUCH better than this! We have just begun. @realDonaldTrump

I do have a magic wand, guy;

it lets me soar up to the sky,

where never a stat

looks grim or too flat --

and Pence brings me hot pizza pie!

a tide of brown leaves

Listen to the children

And now, he imparteth his word by angels unto men, yea, not only men but women also. Now this is not all; little children do have words given unto them many times, which confound the wise and the learned. Alma 33:23

When children teach their elders it's because the angels high

whisper in their tender ears that Jesus Christ is nigh.

The tiny words of children have a purity that slays

the top heavy pretensions of the pundits in these days.

To confound stiffnecked prejudice and make the heavens sing

listen to the children gathered 'neath His loving wing!

Fishing for Squid in the Gulf of Thailand

The municipality of Ban Phe is located on the Gulf of Thailand, and is mostly known as the gateway to Kho Samet -- an island two miles offshore with beaches of crystalline sand so pure and white it looks like sugar.

Ban Phe is also a major squid fishery. For miles up and down the coast gutted squid are laid out on bamboo racks to dry in the sun. They are occasionally sprinkled with sugar and crushed chili peppers during this process, and, since they are not screened off from insects, thousands of flies also land on 'em to add their own inimitable tang. The end result is a savory squid leather that is either run through a mangle to allow for easy mastication, or cut into small pieces and fried in palm oil until it plumps up into an exquisite appetizer, or even a main dish when served with sticky rice and a bowl of fish sauce mixed with lime juice and sliced mouse shit peppers (the literal translation of their name 'prik khii neuw.')

An English teaching job brought me to Ban Phe back in 2007. I had a room at the school, which was literally half a block from the beach, so I could spend the early morning hours luxuriating in the milk warm water as the tropical sun exploded over the misty blue waves. Then I walked up from the beach to a thatched hut that served freshly caught shrimp and crab sauteed with mung bean noodles and a fried duck egg on top. For just seventy-five cents. That was my breakfast. My life there was, in fine, an equatorial idyll. 

One fine day my Thai girlfriend Joom suggested we go in with several other couples to hire a fishing boat for a night of squid dipping. It not only would be romantic, she purred with an arch look, but we could buy a portion of the catch for a few satangs and dry them ourselves. (There are 100 satangs in a Thai baht.)

No sooner said than done. Joom was a very sociable creature and she rounded up five other couples for a night out on the Gulf of Thailand. The boat we hired was called 'Water Sprite' and looked about as sea worthy as the 'Minnow' from Gilligan's Island. The captain had a villainous scar across his cheek -- no doubt from a buccaneer's cutlass slash -- and his crew were a sullen lot who grumbled in a continuous monotone until several cases of Chang Beer arrived to be put on ice. Then they brightened up considerably. Since most of the men passengers on board that night were British expats they used most of the beer (that part which the crew failed to extract first) to make shandy -- a popular English tipple that consists (in Thailand, at least) of half Fanta Orange and half beer. I wouldn't touch the stuff with a barge pole -- but Joom enthusiastically lapped it up with the rest of the passengers until they were all as jolly and sloppy as frat boys at a hazing.

We unmoored just before midnight and chugged out into the inky black for several miles, then dropped anchor and prepared the spotlights. You don't use a hook or a large net for squid. You just shine a bright light down into the water and they rise up by the thousands, thinking it's the moon and so time for some frenzied mating. Then you just dip your net down into the spawning slimy hugger mugger and bring up a few dozen at a time. We were hauling them in like gangbusters at first -- until several sharks showed up. Then the squid, which up until then had been content to thrash demurely around in the water, decided that our boat offered a better chance of survival; they flung themselves out of the water by the hundreds and lay flopping and expiring around us like a translucent and funky carpet. Ironically, I was the only one who couldn't keep on my feet -- all the shandy swilling Brits kept their heads and navigated the deck with cool competency, while I did circus pratfalls by the dozen. By the time we got back to Ban Phe the sun was just breaking through the early morning mist, and I had to be helped off the 'Water Sprite' by a giggling Joom, who gave several hearty nautical belches in response to our fellow passenger's farewells. When we got back to my bungalow I greased up with a camphorated Tiger Balm that had my black and blue skin tingling agreeably, and then went to bed. 

Joom offered to stay and cook me some fresh squid with kaffir lime and coconut milk. I didn't like the tone of sly pity for my landlubberly behavior that I detected in her voice, so brusquely told her to just take the doggone squid to her brother's farm house and set 'em all out to dry. 

Glowing with anger (and several large contusions) I was not about to be cajoled by her coy looks and insistence that some fresh squid soup would help me feel better. But at last, just to get her out of my thinning hair, I acquiesced. As she began puttering around the kitchen I shouted at her from under my silk coverlet --

"And don't put any mouse shit peppers in it, either!" 

seedlings in the grass

seedlings in the grass

waiting for the rain and snow --

such slipshod timing

shriveled rose flower

shriveled rose flower

stands proudly above green leaves

as summer retreats

Sunday morning

a Sunday morning

with a solitary bird

that watches my walk to Church