Postcards to President Trump

Recipe for Hearty Chicken Pot Pie

As more cooks turn to the internet to find and save recipes, the generations-old tradition of using paper recipe cards is disappearing.

WSJ  https://twitter.com/ellenbyron

HEARTY CHICKEN POT PIE

(from a recipe card found on a bulletin board in a coin laundry) 

take a mess of chicken, doesn't matter what the part.

use a drumstick or a thigh and don't ferget the heart.

chop it up with celery and tomaters if ya gottem.

stick it in a pie pan with a thick n greasy bottom.

add a can of mushrooms and a can of sweet young peas.

I always add an onyun but you can do just as you please.

my husband likes tobasco sauce, but I don't never use it.

he can pour it from the bottle (he sure does abuse it!)

now here's the secret that my grandmaw taught me as a child --

use a lot of ketchup and the table will go wild.

They'll think that it's eye-talian and as elegant as can be,

and mebbe they will come on time and turn off the TV.

add a can of corn if there is company a-comin'

or you're troubled with in-laws that never will stop bummin'

a dash of pickle relish I have learned will give it zing

careful with the pepper or your tongue may start to sting

don't worry bout the mayonaise -- the more ya use the better

it melts into a gravy (that can really stain a sweater)

that little dab of cranberry that's been around forever

can be thrown in and guests will say "Oh my, how veddy clevah!"

last of all a can of cream of chicken soup, if it's on sale,

otherwise a splash of milk I find will never fail

 don't bother rolling out pie crust for such a simple dish

just use some frozen biscuit dough -- which first you have to squish

bake it in an oven around three fifty or so

for a half an hour or until the juices flow

let it cool while chopping up some coleslaw for the gang

cottage cheese with pineapple completes the whole shebang.

there you have my dinner, and I hope it suites yer taste

otherwise just slop the hogs -- don't let it go to waste!

Young Lucy and the Devil

The rise of Asian skin-care products and rituals has fueled a resurgence in what had been an overlooked area of the beauty industry. Now the companies at the forefront of the skin-care turnaround are trying to maintain their following . . .  shoppers have begun protecting their skin at a younger age. U.S. skin-care sales rose about 15% over the past year, led by Japanese and Korean-inspired products, while makeup increased by 3%, according to NPD Group Inc.

WSJ   @_jaewonkang

There was a girl, a lovely girl, who wanted perfect skin.

And so she made a bargain with the father of all sin.

In return for skin so fine twould granite stones cajole,

she promised to old Lucifer her own unblemished soul.

Her name was Lucy, and she came from modest parents who

 hoped she'd spurn the lure of fancy lip gloss and shampoo.

That crafty villain sealed the deal by taking her away

to Eastern shores where dirty pores were cured in Mandalay.

They wrapped her face in tea leaves, with a touch of betel nut.
They bathed her feet in palm wine that was boiled with ripe corn smut.
While temple bells were plinking in the moist and tropic breeze,
those acolytes of beauty put raw jackfruit on her knees.

Her arms all wrapped in brahmi, Lucy had some second thoughts;
and they were not dispelled when she had to drink some noni shots.
At last they did unloose her from her herbage wrapping case
and gave to her a mirror to gaze on her glowing face.

Imagine her dismay when what she saw was rather horrid;
her cheeks bedecked with pimples and her chin a purple florid!
"You lied to me!" she wailed to that old serpent who stood by.
"Now, now" he soothed, "we'll have to give your face a second try."

In a trice he took her to the city of Chengdu
where specialists began to brush her face with soft bamboo.
They had her soaking in a tub of water chestnut broth
and beat in galangal until the whole thing was a froth.

They steamed her like a dumpling in a sling of pandan shoots
then laid her on a bed of pickled mashed up ginger roots.
And finally they washed her face with butter from a yak,
then rubbed in salted duck eggs that were smelly, cold, and black.

Seated on a throne of jade, she gazed into a mirror;
and this time gave an anguished howl of horror and of fear.
For now her eyebrows were all gone; her lips a ghastly white.
Green blotches on her forehead made her lose her appetite.

"If at first you don't succeed, and your face still is pocky"
said the devil, "then perchance we'll go to Nagasaki!"
So saying, on his velvet wings he lifted her aloft
and took her to a winsome place where people all talked soft.

And there they sprayed her face with soy sauce and liquid sushi,
and made her eat of radish cake until she felt quite slooshy.
They beat her cheeks with hollyhocks and rubbed her with tofu.
They sprinkled her with essence from the glands of kinkajou.

Enveloped in a cloud of powdered kudzu root, her face
at last took on the glow of beauty, virtue, and full grace.
And so her skin was perfect in all sight and many parts,
and thus she started breaking all the Japanese male hearts.

The devil, with ferocious grin, then took her home again.
He rubbed his hands together like the best of businessmen.
"Your skin is such perfection that I doubt" he said with joy,
that you would have to worry about Helen, her of Troy!"

"So now I'll take your lovely soul, as we agreed upon."
But Lucy stopped him cold by saying "Halt, you evil spawn!
I am a stout Republican and you're an Asian tout.
I've called the Immigration and they're gonna throw you out!"

"You cannot peddle Eastern wares -- the tariff still holds true. 
Your bargain is illegal and it isn't worth a sou."
The devil was deported to the island of Taiwan.
And Lucy used her golden skin to happily get on.

Postcards to President Trump

The Case of Rosa Martin

The shutdown has not only resulted in thousands of cancelled court hearings but also generated chaos for everyone involved in the immigration system.

Most judges have been furloughed and those who remain are working without pay. Lawyers have cancelled flights for out-of-town hearings and, absent direction from the Justice Department, continue to meet filing deadlines imposed by courts that aren’t open to accept them.

WSJ  @andreamcastillo

Justice for the poor is slow, for strangers it's a lie;

like trying to dice cotton candy with an old necktie.

Lawyers have no time to spend with clients who can't pay,

and bailiffs will not give outsiders just the time of day.

For example take the case of Rosa Martin, now;

who came into this country as a child, no matter how.

Law abiding, conscientious, working day and night,

to support her household and pursue her own birthright.

She went to Immigration for to set the record straight,

to show them that she was determined to cooperate.

The clerks gave her such paperwork to sign it made her sigh;

the marshal came around next, acting just like Captain Bligh.

He threatened her with jail time as he huffed and puffed and snorted --

and added that for jaywalking he'd soon have her deported.

She meekly bowed her head and did not give the big ape room

to charge her with the least offense or send her to her doom.

But now the courts became involved; the wheels of justice started

moving at a pace that one could only call 'halfhearted.'

In the dusty halls where jurisprudence held its sway

Rosa sat around on wooden benches ev'ry day.

(She gathered up such splinters she could build a Swiss chalet.)

The judges were not paid and lawyers didn't like pro bono;

they all were on their cellphones with complaint and bitter groan-o. 

Poor Rosa was ignored; she could have set off fireworks,

and no one would have noticed, not the bailiffs or law clerks.

And when the courts shut down she had no clue what she should do.

She waited at the entrance feeling anxious and quite blue.

Her boss was understanding, but to work she never came;

he had to give her job to someone else -- a dirty shame!

And then by some great miracle the courts again revived,

ready to give justice to anyone who had survived.

When Rosa went before the judge at last, he only laughed;

and told her that because he was so broke and understaffed

she'd have to wait a dozen years before her case was viewed,

and that is when our Rosa really knew that she was screwed.

Although to start all over would most certainly be rocky,

she fled to Canada -- and now her sons are playing hockey.

Postcards to President Trump

Postcards to President Trump

Photographic Still Life

Sticky rice and mango. 2019. by N.D. Bangkok, Thailand.

It takes a heap of money from the bank to buy a house

California accused one of its own cities of blocking the construction of enough affordable places to live, filing a lawsuit Friday that signals an aggressive approach to the state’s housing crisis by the new governor, Gavin Newsom.

Huntington Beach, an upscale coastal city outside Los Angeles, is “standing in the way of affordable housing production and refusing to meet regional housing needs,” according to an announcement from the office of Mr. Newsom, a Democrat elected in November.

WSJ

It takes a heap of money from the bank to buy a house;

through the sun and shadow mortgages are like a louse --

perhaps you will grow used to one and soon forget to pay,

and that will be the end of you as you are dragged away.

A house is what we dream of when we think of livin' good;

a thick green lawn, two car garage, in some rich neighborhood.

With kids upon the swing set and a dog sniffin' the fence,

a patio with gas grill and much more -- hang the expense!

But jobs are such a song and dance that one can never know

when the layoffs might begin and finances grow low.

The smell of roses round the porch will cloy your hopeless brain,

cuz second mortgages don't come as quick as April rain.

I wonder what "affordable" means to Re/Max agents now?

Half a million dollars is the lowest they'll allow.

Without a push from government a house I'll never own;

a cardboard box will likely be my castle and my throne.

Low cost housing still costs more than I can e'er afford.

And renting an apartment keeps me permanently floored.

I think I'll move to Thailand so I can live upon the beach,

and build myself a wikiup from palm fronds that I pleach.

Are Christians Too Loud?

Houses of worship have featured live music for centuries. In recent years many have been plugging into rock-style sound systems and cranking up the volume. The effort to appeal to more and younger churchgoers is splitting opinions—and ears.

WSJ  @estherfung 

Way up in the heavens, where the cherub choirs sing,

heads were being shaken and pure hands began to wring.

It seems that here upon the Earth a problem had occurred

that irked celestial councils and great bitterness had stirred.

In churches scattered round the globe the music was disturbed;

twas loud and harsh, metallic, and it left some folks perturbed.

The soothing hymn, the chanting plaint, that once rose up to God,

had been supplanted with a racket like the riot squad.

Pastors who viewed empty pews as personal affronts

decided that the young folks wanted heavy metal stunts.

And so they brought in singers who split eardrums with great ease,

that played electric instruments at levels that shook trees.

Younger members of the church responded very well;

but older folk thought that the noise came straight from down in --

well,

they simply didn't like it and they wanted it to stop.

But they were superseded (and they couldn't call a cop.) 

So young folks came while old folks frowned, and deafness crept on in --

was energizing membership quite worth the awful din?

The problem was of such import that in the Heavenly City

angels formed an earth-bound team in choler and in pity.

Gabriel would lead the crew to find the reason why

mortals were so crazy all their hymns to amplify.

Invisible they wafted down to Earth to take a gander

and find out if the hubbub was real music or loud slander.

Into chapel, into church, they floated to observe

the piety, or otherwise, of those who played with verve.

They looked at congregations that in fervor oft arose

to chant along while clapping (wearing earmuffs made by Bose.)

It soon became apparent to the otherworldly squad

that quietude was deemed a lack of loyalty to God.

Silence was not golden, and parishioners believed

that stillness made the holy spirit very much aggrieved.

Gabriel decided that the Earth was close to nearing

a catastrophic loss of faith and probably of hearing.

He and his angelic band resolved right then and there

that mortals should all lose their ears -- to save them from the blare.

And so it came to pass that ev'ry nation, class, and creed,

lost their hearing handles with no pain but lots of speed.

Eyeglasses were tied around the back of people's heads;

otherwise they'd fall off and be trampled into shreds.

No longer in the thrall of noise, church services resumed

their quiet introspection while the members were illumed.

The world became a better place for all mankind betimes --

and this was most of all so true for street performing mimes.

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

Bread in Myanmar, by N.D. January 2019.