where the creepers go

where the creepers go

I would like to go as well

to wave some green leaves

Njideka Akunyili Crosby -- James Bond -- Rude Politicians Gaining Acceptance from Men

Njideka Akunyili Crosby was painting in her high-raftered studio in Los Angeles in early 2017, when she got the text from a friend. Just a few years earlier, she had been selling works for $3,000 apiece. Now, one of her paintings had just sold at Christie’s in London for $3 million, more than six times its estimate.  WSJ

The price of art has me dismayed;

how can such giant sums be paid

for art still wet behind the ears

from painters in their early years?

Methinks the middlemen concerned

are looking for a gain unearned;

collectors, too, jack up the price

with bids as airy as puffed rice.

And I suspect the artist's cut

buys but one meal at Pizza Hut.

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

Now audiences watch — and often weigh in on — the entire filmmaking process as it plays out through news reports and social media postings. And that’s exactly what’s happening with the 25th installation in the James Bond franchise. Few movies demonstrate the sheer public nature of today’s blockbuster-making process better than the unreleased movie.  WaPo

Movies become such big news,

with so many long interviews,

that you just might think

we've come to the brink

of battle again on the Meuse.

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

But while three-quarters of women (75%) say it’s essential that political leaders maintain a tone of civility and respect in politics, men are 14 percentage points less likely to say this (61%).  PEW Research Center

Civility isn't essential

for those who would be presidential.

The polls are quite clear

that persons who sneer

find Capitol Hill residential.

Repartee

Come mourn with me the awful way

The world has lost its repartee.

A bright remark or rude contempt

Brings forth comments from wit exempt.

Banalities and cliches stale

Fall from dull lips like tepid hail.

And internet responses show

an intellect as thick as dough.

A vow of silence I shall take

While this world stays so damn opaque

the late summer fruit

the late summer fruit

is stubbornly hanging on

for a riper death

The Warehousing of America -- Michelle Obama's Million Dollar Book Tour -- Deepfakes Don't Blink

Amazon and its competitors are often blamed for the death of bricks-and-mortar retail, but the irony is that these online retailers generally achieve fast shipping by investing in real estate—in the form of warehouses rather than stores.   WSJ

Instead of malls and boutique store

a warehouse sprouts up right next door;

These depots of consumer lust

deliver fast (for more gold dust.)

This haste will be the major cause

of the death of Santa Claus;

for Amazon goes in high gear

while Santa comes but once a year.

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

Tickets to hear Michelle Obama and as-yet-unnamed moderators discuss her upcoming memoir “Becoming” ranged from $29.50 for perches in the nosebleeds to $3,000 for front-row seats and a package that includes a “pre-show photo opportunity,” meet-and-greet reception with Obama, a signed book and other perks, including an “exclusive VIP gift item.”   WaPo

A book tour with prices like these

is really employing the squeeze.

Michelle won't go broke

if she can so soak

such lettered diehards with her fees.

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

SALT LAKE CITY — After weeks of studying “deepfakes” — computer-generated videos that depict real people saying and doing things they never did — computer science professor Siwei Lyu noticed something eerie. Finally, he figured it out: while the characters looked and sounded like real people, they didn’t blink.  Deseret News

Trusting your own eyes no more,

finding the truth is a chore.

Ubiquitous fakes

are internet snakes

that slither right in the front door.

Remembering the Clinkers of my Youth

Until the early Sixties, parts of Minneapolis had alleys paved with clinkers.

The fused waste residue from industrial coal furnaces, clinkers are black vitreous pebbles pocked with iridescent blue holes. The city dumped fresh clinkers into our alleyway every other year then had a heavy roller crush them down and even them out.

I initially thought clinkers were tiny meteorites that a merry crew of astronauts dug up from some star-swept gravel pit to lay at my feet as a reminder of the strange grandeur of outer space. My mother was only too happy to set me straight about such an innocent fantasy:

"They're nasty leftover trash from the NSP plant" she told me kindly.

 Clinkers were hell on your pants when playing kickball, or with any other activity that required you to slide or get on your knees. With sharp obsidian-like edges, clinkers could rip open a pair of jeans at the knees in an instant -- and also leave a livid line of scrapped skin oozing blood.

My mother kept the iodine bottle handy all summer, as well as an assortment of knee patches, for when I would come keening into the house with a bloody knee.

The clinkered allway an important social haunt for boys during my young summers.

We not only played games in them, but hunkered down amidst the clinkers to speculate in privacy on the theory that all sisters were aliens in disguise getting ready to take over the world, al a The Twilight Zone. Or what the best bait was for catching carp down on the Mississippi. The consensus ran heavily in favor of a gob of Velveeta cheese mixed with canned corn.


We also went treasure hunting through the neighbor's galvanized trash cans in search of dull kitchen knives with broken handles, unstrung tennis rackets, racy paperbacks, and, best of all, empty whipped cream cans.

A discarded whipped cream can placed in a burning trash can is a pyrotechnic marvel to rival the Fourth of July. Back in those dirty unenlightened days each household burned its own trash in a metal barrel. The fires were lit by a responsible adult, who rarely stayed around until the flames went out. So when I and my cronies would latch onto a whipped cream can we quickly found an untended trash fire. We then hurled in the whipped cream can and sat back to await the fun. First a geyser of parboiled cream would come squirting out of the can. A few minutes later the can itself would explode with enough volume to rattle window panes while ashes and burning bits of trash rocketed up and then spread out over the landscape in a pyroclastic flow.

Needless to say, I and my pals would take to our heels as soon as the explosion occurred. Safely away from the mayhem, we'd stop to giggle hysterically and think of ourselves as invulnerable ruffians. Maybe that same puerile rush is part of the appeal to modern terrorists . . .

In the winter the clinkered alleyway was a dismal and forlorn place. The clinkers mixed in with the slush gave the appearance of a long ribbon of filthy gray slurry. It provided good traction for cars; much better than the cement pavement that replaced it. But that was of no concern to me as a boy. The trash fires smoldered so much during snowfalls that we couldn't enjoy tossing in our whipped cream hand grenades without the discomfort of asphyxiation.

Besides, in the winter we had the ice rink warming shed at Van Cleve Park. Redolent of damp wool socks and a kerosene heater, it was a place where boys could tie granny knots in their broken laces and talk shop about how many sticks of Bonomo Turkish Taffy a guy could actually stuff in his mouth before choking. At five cents a bar, it was a feasible experiment.
My own record was six sticks -- but I made the mistake of using banana. I think with chocolate I could have gotten up to ten, easy peasy.

No Tariffs on Chinese Knockoffs -- A Robot Wants Your Job -- Wall Street Feels Frisky

Knockoffs of famous brands — Coach, Kate Spade and others — are mostly made in China and arrive at U.S. shores through clandestine channels built to dodge authorities. The authentic purses and their components, also made in China, are shipped through official routes and will face Trump’s proposed new duties of 10 percent effective next Monday.

This all stacks up in favor of the counterfeit labels at every step of their illicit journey: from factory floors in China to street vendors in cities worldwide.  WaPo.

There was a young lass from Granada

who purchased a counterfeit Prada.

She also bit on

fake Louis Vuitton

for her cheap fashion armada.

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

In South Korea, there are more than 600 installed industrial robots for every 10,000 workers in manufacturing facilities. In Japan there are more than 300 and in the United States nearly 200. Profit maximization, and the relatively high cost of human labor, helps drive automation. The average hourly cost of a manufacturing worker is $49 in Germany and $36 in the U.S. The hourly cost of a robot is $4.  Pew Research Center.

I think it an awful disgrace

a robot will soon take my place

on factory floor,

thus making me poor,

and winning the vicious rat race.

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

The Dow Jones Industrial Average and the S&P 500 climbed to hit new intraday highs Thursday as expectations for another surge in corporate profits helped investors look past the latest trade sparring between the U.S. and China.   WSJ

They say it's a very good sign

the Dow Jones is over the line.

But I hesitate

to throw a big fete;

remember 1929?

Vidhi Doshi, of the Washington Post, responded to the above with his own limerick:

has everyone forgotten the crash?

of '08 when we all lost our cash

maybe im grim

keepin it trim

maybe its time for a big splash

Life Insurance Scams -- License Plate Lunacy -- Care Providers in Cahoots to Keep Costs Sky High

Universal life was a sensation when it premiered, and for some years it worked as advertised. It included both insurance and a savings account that earns income to help pay future costs and keep the premium the same.

The result of dead interest rates is a flood of unexpectedly steep life-insurance bills that is fraying a vital safety net. Some find they owe thousands of dollars a year to keep modest policies in effect. People with million-dollar policies can owe tens of thousands annually. Some retirees are dropping policies on which they paid premiums for decades.  WSJ

My policy bought long ago

is bleeding me of all my dough.

My tragic surmise

is that swift demise

would now be doggone apropos.

For a fringe of American drivers, having a fine car isn’t enough. They must have low license-plate numbers, too, and they’re fueling competition for the tags that can be relentless. In Delaware, a decades long obsession over tags with few digits has given rise to a vibrant private market.  WSJ

When license plates cost more than cars,

there ought to be folks behind bars.

Such fripperies show

that people who blow

their wads on such things must see stars.

Dominant hospital systems use an array of secret contract terms to protect their turf and block efforts to curb health-care costs. As part of these deals, hospitals can demand insurers include them in every plan and discourage use of less-expensive rivals. Other terms allow hospitals to mask prices from consumers, limit audits of claims, add extra fees and block efforts to exclude health-care providers based on quality or cost.   WSJ 

I went to the hospital sick,

and wanted a cheap stay to pick.

But doctors and clerks

just acted like jerks --

my wallet came out anemic.

Nearly half of all cellphone calls next year will come from scammers, according to First Orion, a company that provides phone carriers and their customers caller ID and call blocking technology.  WaPo

The IRS is closing in,

and Immigration wants my kin.

My student loans are way behind;

my car insurance is declined.

It seems to trouble I am prone,

according to my damn cell phone.

But all is well and fancy free

if I just pay a little fee

with money order or gift card,

to avoid some jail time hard.

So scammers, come and get your cash --

and hear my blunderbuss go 'crash!'

3 Stories from the LA Times -- #1 Stormy Daniels -- #2 Are California School Kids Dumber than Average? -- #3 Japanese Billionaire to fly to Moon

The British newspaper The Guardian obtained a pre-release copy of Stormy Daniel's book, titled “Full Disclosure.” In the passages they share, the former pornographic film actress writes in salacious detail about her encounter with Trump, which she writes was "the least impressive sex I’d ever had."

A prostitute writing a book

has got an immediate hook:

vast fortunes are paid

to see who gets laid --

while the authoress cocks a rich snook.

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

When students enter school in California, they learn at a pace on par with — if not better than — those in other states.

The problem is that they arrive far behind their national peers, and they never catch up.

A child in the Golden State crawls

into the public school halls

at such a slow pace

that their future place

is clerking in large shopping malls.

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

Japanese e-commerce billionaire Yusaku Maezawa will be the first paying customer to travel around the moon on SpaceX’s yet-to-be-developed BFR rocket, the company announced Monday night.

In a presentation at SpaceX headquarters in Hawthorne, Maezawa — who is worth $2.9 billion, according to Forbes — said that his flight will occur in 2023 and that he wants to invite six to eight artists to accompany him.

It would be mankind's greatest boon

to send billionaires to the moon,

but keep their cash here

to purchase good beer

to share in a drunken monsoon. 

Google's Smart Reply --

Originally launched as an app-only feature to help smartphone users avoid the hassle of typing on their phones, Smart Reply has become ubiquitous since Google began defaulting its 1.4 billion active accounts to the new version of Gmail in recent weeks. By next month, the feature—which uses artificial intelligence to scan incoming emails and predict possible responses—will become a default setting for all Gmail accounts.   WSJ

I do not like Smarty Reply.

It's like a vexatious magpie.

There's no thought behind

the phrases streamlined;

another abuse of AI.