A patriot out in Missouri

". . .  I am tired of being told by him and others that I am not quite a genuine American because I did not vote for Trump or because I live on one of the coasts"

by Richard Cohen in the Washington Post

A patriot out in Missouri 

spoke of the East coast with fury:

"Those folks are elite

and ought to be beat

into a compliant Trump slurry!" 

Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning

"Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning"
Luke 12:35 

The lights are burning in the homes of all who worship Christ.
They glow a warmer welcome for the hallowed Sacrificed.
No dozy fireside for dotards is this choicest flame,
but a sturdy blaze a savage world to clearly tame!

So let our loins be girded as we take this Light without
to all the earth that nations may rejoice and sing and shout.
For such a Light cannot remain within our hearts today;
it must be shared with others, making darkness flee away! 

Like the lightning bolt that rips across the purple sky
is Salvation come to all who heed the soft reply:
"Rejected and exploited though my light may often be --
it shines to lead the unmixed heart directly back to me!" 

En Strengen av Perler: Why it's important to remember the difference between Anusol and Ambusol

In 2003 I took an eight week course at TEFL International in Thailand to become certified as an ESL teacher. The class went well and I had a good time with my fellow students, although a certain amount of confusion occurred on one occasion, as noted below in a blog I posted at the time: 


I ran out of hemorrhoid creme this week, so went to the local Ban Phe drug store for some. The only brand they sell is called Anusol. At the same time I was bothered something fierce by mosquito bites. Cat, the Aussie gal who up and left her apartment in Peking when she saw the concertina wire going up around the apartment building next door, and on whom I'm rather sweet, gave me some Australian mosquito repellent, called Ambusol. 

The sun being out in full force the last few days, I haven't gone out much, so I forgot all about the mosquito repellent. But the hemorrhoid creme has been very helpful. 

At breakfast this morning Cat sat next to me while I was wolfing down some rice porridge. 

"How did it work, luv?" she asked me. 

"Whah?" I sputtered, hastily wiping gruel off my chin. 

"Y'know, the Ambusol." 

"Oh, that. Well, I used it this morning after my shower and haven't had a bit of itching since." 

"Yeah, it's wunnerful stuff. I use it when I go to the beach, put it on right there." 

"Are there bathrooms down at the beach?" 

"What for? I slap it on as I'm walkin' along." 

I worked a piece of cilantro loose with my tongue that was caught between my teeth while I considered her statement. 

" I suppose you could actually put it on while you're in the water?" I hazarded weakly. 

"No, luv. I just sit in the shade of a gingko tree and slather away -- sometimes I 'ave one of the other girls from school put it on me backside." 

"That seems rather . . ." I stopped; my mind jumped away from any further conjecture. 

"The bugs still show up, of course, but they just lay there kicking their bloody legs." 

I pivoted uneasily in my chair several times. My face must've shown some distaste. 

"What's the matter, Tim? Stone in the porridge? Those buggers never are very careful when they cook the rice. Why don't you come down to the beach with me before class today -- we'll 'ave a nice swim. Water's as warm as milk, y'know. I've got some Ambusol with me -- you grease me up and I'll grease you up!" 

She gave me a winsome look. But I only managed to blanche and stammer out something about homework and writing to my grandmother's paisley shawl before fleeing to my room. Where I remembered the difference between Anusol and Ambusol. 

From now on I'm only buying Preparation H.

Restaurant Review: El Gallo Giro. Provo, Utah.

Located at 346 North University Avenue, I liked everything about this place except the incessant Christmas muzak they blared out at hungry patrons -- all of it in Spanish. You haven't lived until you've heard a mariachi band doing Silent Night . . .
So let me just get it off my chest right here and now: Holiday music should be confined to funeral homes, churches, and kindergartens. Anyplace else that plays it should be fined and the owners should have their ears cropped.

The service is sure friendly enough. I like being kowtowed to; it warms the cockles of my heart when the peasantry genuflect in my presence. I ordered the pork enchilada special, with fountain drink, for $9.84. Their menu, which is up above the cash register, offers specials for BYU students at $6.00 a plate. This is the only place in Provo so far that I've seen doing this. I wonder why?

The food came fast, was hot, and very filling. There were no culinary surprises or improvisations -- and I'm thinking in just a few more years we can get this same exact quality from a microwave frozen dinner -- so I hope places like El Gallo Giro can come up with something more intriguing so they don't go out of business. Plus, they have a good salsa bar. So I rate it Three Burps. It's a good place to bring the family for Family Home Evening, or to bring a date.

The Spotlight

Don't wish upon the spotlight;
renown is just a sweet.
No nourishment it offers;
tis not a healthy meat.

The light we should be seeking
from Christ the Lord proceeds;
it warms our understanding
and answers all our needs.

My breakfast for Sunday morning

I opened a can of Bush's Baked Beans, added two cut up wieners and a long pour of maple syrup, then simmered for an hour. I'll eat it with some Triskets and goat cheese. Only bachelors get to do this.

There was a young man who would fritter

 "But as soon he'd get the cash in his pocket he'd fritter it away . . . "

Nurith Aizenman on NPR 



There was a young man who would fritter
all of his money on glitter.
Then came the sad day
when he had to say:
"There's nothing to fritter but litter!" 

Confronting Racist Objects

Millions of racist objects sit in the homes of everyday Americans. 

from the New York Times

This story apparently bugs
all those who believe only thugs
would keep cookie jars
or bottles in bars
that follow the old Toby mug.

The History of the Doorknob

We do not know who invented the doorknob.  Our distant Neanderthal ancestors had no need for doorknobs because they had no doors. They lived up in trees or in caves.  Some of them may have had time-share condos, but were ashamed to admit they had been rooked.   

The first doors we have record of were already being knocked on by salesmen during the Dorian ascendancy in the Mediterranean around 3000 B.C.  We can only assume that these wooden doors had doorknobs attached to their doors, although Von Schleerpuss, in his epic study of Dorian culture, “Das  Siebentausendzweihundertvierundfünfzig”,  postulates that the early Dorians may have simply shut and bolted their doors at night and then in the morning smashed them to pieces in order to get out again.  This required a new door to be built every day for the average household, thus explaining the lack of forests on the Ionian peninsula by the time of Socrates.  But then, Von Schleerpuss was known for making things up, especially when it came to his income tax.  To this day students of ancient history are divided between the Knobians and the Anti-Knobians.  If you care to know more about this fascinating controversy we recommend you take a cold shower.

By the time of Chaucer the doorknob was a revered institution, at least in England.  Made of brass, it was often the most expensive item in the entire household, and was taken out of the door at night and put under a mattress for safekeeping, and then reinstalled in the morning.  In Elizabethan England great fortunes were made by bold mariners, who sailed the seven seas in search of golden doorknobs to bring home to their sovereign.  The great Malay Door Latch from the temple in Rangalang is on display at the Thames Museum in London.  It is studded with jagged, uncut diamonds.  The Rangalangians were glad to get rid of it, since every time they turned the knob it sliced their hands to ribbons.

American ingenuity brought the world the glass doorknob in the early 1850’s; the French introduced elegant ivory doorknobs in the 1870’s; the first plastic doorknob was installed at the Palmer House Hotel in Chicago, Illinois, in 1899; and in 1920 all the rusty, decrepit doorknobs in the White House were replaced by shiny new stainless steel doorknobs made from ore mined at the Mesabi Iron Range in northern Minnesota.  (We wanted to add a joke here about how Congress is still full of rusty old doorknobs, but the editor wouldn’t let us.)

Today the digital doorknob is rapidly replacing traditional doorknobs everywhere except in Japan, where bamboo doorknobs are so ingrained in the culture that they are passed down from generation to generation as family heirlooms.

If you would like to know more about the history of doorknobs we suggest you see a psychiatrist.  You need one. 

How to Save Money

 With the aftermath of Brexit, the Boer War, and Bollywood, and a bull market that is so historic it makes the Hindenburg crashing into an iceberg seem like a walk in the park -- well, all I can say is that this sentence has run on to ridiculous length and had better come to a stop before somebody gets it in the labonza . . . 

Which brings us to the subject of how to save money.

For most people, earning money is easy; they get a job, collect a paycheck, and then try to hide it from Uncle Sam by depositing it in a cheap brass spittoon bought on eBay for $1.99, plus shipping and handling.

But saving money, now that is a horse of a different kettle of fish, and no mistake. 

As wise old Justin Timberlake once said: "Money doesn't grow on trees unless you prune it with golden shears." Which only goes to prove that Timberlake is about as dumb as a sawdust brisket.

The first thing to do if you are sincere about saving money is to quit reading this article right now and go looking for diamonds in the south of France. You won't find any, but the bouillabaisse is very good and I won't have to write another word, since I'd rather be out trout fishing on the Provo River.

Oh, I see. You wish to continue reading . . . 

Fine. Be that way. 

The next thing to do when you are determined to save some of your hard-earned mazuma is to open an overseas bank account. Or take up the accordion. Either way people will hate you passionately.

Next you should invest in something you can either eat, yell at, or sleep on when you retire. Because, believe me, by the time you stop working the banks will all be convenience stores and Wall Street will be nothing but an alley where pushcarts hawk second hand cardboard.

Once the above steps are achieved, you will find a sense of peace and purpose descend upon you. This is known as 'Knox's Senile Reflex', and can be treated effectively with syrup of squills or a dose of Carmen Miranda.

Experts agree that you should start saving when in your twenties. But what do they know? The experts also said red wine was good for your heart, but forgot to mention that it makes your liver burp in French.

The question of accumulating Bitcoin has bedeviled savers for quite some time. The best advice, as always, comes from a complete stranger I met on the bus. He said "You can't go far wrong with a barrel of pickles."  How true.

It should be self evident that a penny saved is a penny earned. Put another way, take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves. (Some more Timberlake malarkey, no doubt.)

Put some of your savings in warp coils, video cassettes, and powdered kambucha; they all will increase in value. They have to, since they're worth nothing right now. 

And finally, always pay yourself before you pay anyone else. That way, when they repossess your house and car, you can rest easy because in forty more years you'll have your own timeshare dumpster on the beach.