Est-ce que Tiger Woods aura son terrain de golf à Chicago?

Mike Keiser construit des terrains de golf. Il aime le faire. c'est son gagne-pain, et il aime jouer lui-même comme un hack semi-pro. Il a récemment conduit de son domicile à Chicago jusqu'au milieu du Wisconsin pour superviser le début de la construction d'un nouveau terrain de golf dans l'État de Badger. "C'est un jeu d'enfant, de travailler dans le Wisconsin" Keiser a déclaré aux journalistes récemment. "Il n'y a pas de paperasserie à proprement parler. Mais ici, à Chicago, c'est une histoire différente! Keiser sait de quoi il parle. Il a été l'un des premiers à intervenir il y a plus d'un an, lorsque les médias de Chicago ont révélé que Tiger Woods, à la demande de l'ancien président Barack Obama, serait le concepteur principal d'un somptueux terrain de golf au sud du vent. ville. Le maire Rahm Emanuel était aussi sur le marché, prêt à le porter devant le conseil municipal et à pousser pour le financement et l'achat de domaine éminent nécessaire. Le quartier Lincoln Park où le cours devait être construit serait également la maison de la future bibliothèque présidentielle de Barack Obama. Ce projet avance. Mais le projet Tiger Woods ne fait pas de grands progrès pour le moment. Pourquoi? Les gens au courant disent que c'est parce que les formalités administratives et les nombreux départements municipaux et départementaux impliqués ont ralenti les choses. Bien que personne ne dise que l'entreprise est morte, la date d'achèvement a été repoussée à un niveau très indéterminé «au cours des prochaines années».

Headlines & Verse. Saturday December 16 2017.

Simplicity Was A Main Goal of Tax Reform. For Millions, It’s Not Happening

When Uncle Sam can simplify

Our tax code -- then hedgehogs will fly.

The PEP and the Pease

May vanish with ease,

but AMT still will apply . . .

MANY ELEVATORS IN NEW YORK STILL HAVE OPERATORS

In Britain they call it a lift.

Like here, it is not prone to drift.

To operate one

Might be kinda fun;

There’s never a call to be swift.

MetLife Discloses Failure to Pay Thousands of Workers’ Pensions

MetLife don’t pay much attention

To people who may have a pension.

Despite the distress

They lose the address;

Just what the heck is their intention?

To Recruit Workers, Manufacturers Go to Parents’ Nights

I hope my precocious young child

By factory work is beguiled.

Cuz blue collar toil

Will not then embroil

Us in student loans going wild.

Surgeon Who Etched His Initials on Patients’ Livers Is Convicted of Assault

I went into the surgeon for to have my liver saved;

Instead his darn initials on it he did went and shaved!

It only proves that sawbones like to advertise their wares

Even if it means they cannot bill me, but my heirs!

A Flocking We Will Go.

My father was not a sentimental man; to him, most holidays simply meant time off from work for a nap on the couch.

But one year he made an exception for Christmas. He decided that our Scotch pine should be flocked. And he decided to do it himself. This was a shock to my mother, who had to threaten him with a cast iron trivet just to get him to move the couch once a month so she could vacuum behind it.

What prompted this burst of holiday spirit on his part was a Sno-Flok kit that someone had left behind at Aarone’s Bar and Grill on East Hennepin, where he worked as a bartender. Fuddled patrons often left behind things like a bag of groceries or an overcoat, and my dad, as chief dispenser of suds, had first dibs. Freebies always inspired him with unusual energy.

The Sno-Flok kit, guaranteed by Good Housekeeping (which stifled any cavils from my mother), required the use of a vacuum cleaner and came with a dry powder packet to be mixed with water. Or so my dodgy memory recalls. This was back in the 1960’s.

Both my parents were heavy smokers -- my dad puffed away at Salems and mom was never without a lit Alpine between her fingers. Our house was so thick with second hand smoke that the winter light streaming through the windows showed ghostly ropes of it wafting about the living room. But they thought that flocking the tree inside the house might harm my lungs, so dad set the tree up against the garage in the backyard and commenced flocking. On his own initiative he had added several drops of red food coloring for a pretty pink effect. Unfortunately, the effect gave more of a Manson Family effect. And when dad was done, the gory silhouette left behind on the white garage wall gave rise to all sorts of ghoulish gossip in the neighborhood about ‘those strange Torkildson people.’

Sad to say, dad’s efforts at DIY holiday decoration was a complete flop. And I do mean ‘flop.’ He apparently paid no attention to the mixing directions for the powdered flocking, and the stuff remained so sodden on the branches of the tree that lumps of it flopped onto our wrapped presents underneath all through the night. By next morning the wretched stuff had seeped through the paper and loose cellophane to permanently mar the screen on my Etch A Sketch.

And that is why, all these years later, I keep a very green Christmas. I use a pine sapling, which I will plant this coming spring, and all my presents are wrapped in corn husks -- so they can be reused for tamales afterwards. There’ll be no flocking under my roof, unless someone spikes the eggnog.

The History of the Atom

(Editor's Note:  This is a guest post by my grandson Diesel Torkildson. It shows how the poetic gene carries down through the generations.)

To start off I'll go in order of date
> Democritus is the first name I'll state
> He said some matter was indivisible
> That you couldn't cut it infinitesimal
> He called those little particles Atomos
> Back when people believed in chronic
>
> Dalton John is the next name I'll put out
> He discovered atomic theory that's for sure
> He said all elements are made of atoms even if they're not pure
> Atoms are identical and can't be created or destroyed
> Those were the ideas he deployed
> He also created the sphere model
> Let's move on, let's not dawdle
>
> The cathode ray experiment was done by JJ Thomson
> He said there were particles smaller than an atom putting Dalton in a coffin
> He discovered the electron that's where an atom's negative charge comes from
> He passed cathode rays by positive and negative sides
> They went to the positive from the negative they hide
>
> Thompson knew that atoms were neutral
> So he said positive and negative came together mutual
> Plum pudding was what his model was called
> But Milikan's ideas will leave you appalled
>
> Milliken determined an electrons exact charge
> Because before it had been at large
> He used the oil drop experiment
> To discover that electrons mass and charge weren't variant
> He sprayed oil into a chamber giving them a negative charge
> Which was used to decrease the speed or enlarge
>
> Ernest Rutherford determined that atoms are mostly empty
> What he laid down was pretty hefty
> The gold foil experiment was his
 Now let's get right down to biz
He shot alpha particles at gold foil
Some went through some bounced back and others slid off like oil
In Rutherford's model he said
That there were protons in the middle and electrons on the outside but the middle was dead
His model was called the nuclear model
Now let's get Niles Bohr's ideas out of the bottle
He determined that electrons traveled in orbits
And the energy was increased in the outer forces
He made The model planetary
With the electrons floating around like fairies

James Chadwick discovered the neutron
Enough of that now let's MoveOn

Let's look at the trio of Louis de Brogilie, Warner Heisenberg and Erwin Schrodinger
The quantum mechanical model they were the depositors
They said electrons were like waves and particles
And weren't in orbits not even partial
There are different shape energy levels
Now I bet they didn't teach you that at Beville!

Zeezrom

Zeezrom, asking questions, laying traps, and making mock,

Did earn a lively living with his supple snaky talk.

A prominent orator who could suborn any fool

With senum and with senine into breaking any rule.

One day he came across two men who challenged his opinion

That he could bend veracity and make of it his minion.

They spoke of God and Christ and sin, of living deep and well.

Zeezrom felt annoyed when they referred to death and hell.

Denouncing them as crackpots, he did offer one a bribe,

But found himself instead the focus of a diatribe

That claimed him as a child of Hell, a monster of deceit --

And suddenly proud Zeezrom saw himself as just a cheat.

But when he tried to eat his words and make the crowd desist

From threatening those prophets, they turned on him and hissed

“Are you another simpleton like these two? Then begone!”

“ We vow they’ll never live to see another silver dawn!”

Zeezrom, a pariah, banished from his native haunts,

Searched in vain for surcease from his follies and his flaunts.

Brought low by burning fever, he collapsed upon his bed,

Fearing cold damnation just as soon as he was dead.

But Alma and good Amulek were sent to his bedside

And when they saw his budding faith they stemmed the deadly tide.

Zeezrom leapt upon his feet, proclaiming Christ’s command --

And ever after preached the Gospel throughout all the land.

Headlines & Verse. Wednesday December 13 2017

Naples Celebrates as Its Pizza Makers ‘Conquer the World’

There isn’t a pizza they make

That ever has been a mistake.

A dish so sublime

That even a mime

Would cry out “Tis better than steak!”

Nearly 5 Million Americans in Default on Student Loans

A graduate of Texas Tech

Did promise to mail in a check.

It never arrived

Until they contrived

To send someone to wring her neck.

Want to Predict the Next North Korean Missile Test? Try Studying Its Library of Verbal Insults

With insults of such epic scope

Northern Korea must grope

For greater abuse

Lest they call a truce,

And have their mouths washed out with soap.

A Minnesota Christmas: Pickled Herring

Growing up in Minnesota in the 1950’s and 60’s, I had very little access to seafood. Being Catholics, we had fish sticks every Friday. They were not a pleasant treat. I’m not even sure they were actually fish of any kind. Mostly breading and salt. Of course canned tuna was endemic, but as a young boy I regarded it as an inedible affront that mothers felt compelled to force on their young for the pure sadistic pleasure of it.

Only at Christmas was the tang of the ocean carried into our home. That is when my dad inevitably brought home a one gallon bucket of Elf pickled herring.

It was a red plastic bucket, I remember, that lurked in the back of the refrigerator from around December 20th through January 5th. It was the exclusive domain of dad and his brothers, who came over nearly every day to eat it with Ry-Krisp crackers and squat brown bottles of Hamms Beer.

Cracking open the lid of pickled herring not only unleashed a rich and tangy odor throughout the house, but also unleashed a continuous and irritable murmur from my mother -- somewhat akin to the endless murmur of waves crashing upon the Baltic shore. She found everything about pickled herring, and those who relished it, to be repugnant. It smelled up the house; it gave one tremendously evil bad breath; and once dropped upon the carpet, it left a greasey stain that even Mr. Clean could not fully eradicate. To her, it was a yuletide curse.

As an inquisitive and intrusive little boy, I was naturally curious about what all the fuss was for. So I asked Uncle Jim for a taste one Saturday afternoon. He was well on his way to finishing up his fifth or six bottle of Hamms, and was only too happy to oblige his nephew. I gave the proffered hunk of pickled herring a few perfunctory chews and then swallowed it. The taste was very . . . well, after all these years I really don’t remember the taste so much as the subsequent reaction -- all over the living room carpet. Such a household felony usually meant the firing squad, but mom took pity on my outraged digestive system and merely sent me to bed without any supper -- a moot point anyways, since the thought of food for the next twelve hours sent my gorge to Himalayan heights.

Over half a century later, with mom and dad and the beer swilling uncles sleeping quietly in their plots at Sunset Memorial Park, I am spending the Christmas season with some of my own kids and grand kids, benignly overseeing the decoration of spritz cookies and the mixing of non-alcoholic eggnog (the kids found an internet site that claims nutmeg is the best thing in the world to prevent catching a cold.) And when no one is looking, I furtively go to the fridge to pull out an 8 ounce jar of Elf herring in wine sauce for a quick nibble. Like my father before me, I eventually discovered it is the perfect Nordic comfort food for the holidays. It no longer reminds me of the tang of the ocean -- I’ve lived on the beach in Thailand -- but the tang of vinegar, after too many heavily decorated spritz cookies, is a welcome change of taste.

Restaurant Review: Bam Bam's BBQ. Orem, Utah.

I've passed this place on State Street dozens of times since moving back to Happy Valley four years ago. But since I'd eaten at some of the best BBQ joints in southern Virginia prior to my arrival, I felt not urgent need to dig into the smoked meats again. But today my daughter Sarah took me to the Walgreen's for some orthopedic supplies I need for my chronic plantar fasciitis, so in return I offered her a free lunch anywhere she wanted. She wanted meat, and lots of it -- so we wound up here.

I ordered us a half pound of brisket, a pound of ribs, a sausage link, and sides of beans, potato salad, and mac & cheese. We drank water. Total cost:  $34.97. Sarah left the tip -- she used to be a waitress, so she likes to leave a generous gratuity.

Now you may hear a lot of flummery about the best way to eat BBQ -- but I'm here to tell you that there is only ONE way to eat it right, and that is with the meat in one hand and a slice of white bread covered with raw onion and dill pickles chips in the other. Take a bite of meat,and then a bite of the open faced sandwich, and then repeat. Until full. Or dead -- whichever comes first.

My grand son Lance spurned everything but a slice of white bread, on which he vainly attempted to spread a pat of frozen butter. By the time he gave up, the bread was smooshed beyond recognition and the butter had fallen on the floor.

The sausage was disappointing; very gristly. The brisket was fine. And the ribs were to die for. I recommend the dark red bbq sauce on the tables -- rich and sweet. The other kinds on offer are thin and vinegary. This place gets 4 Burps. Just stay away from the sausage and you'll do fine. But eating on a picnic table does not count as Fine Dining, so don't bring your wife here for your anniversary.

Money spent on eating out with family is a better investment than Bitcoin or Wall Street.

Headlines & Verse. Tuesday December 12. 2017. Having lunch with Meryl Streep

Alabama Senate Race: Four Things to Watch

The state of Alabama is most noted for one point:

Thugs and creeps the populace does casually anoint.

Piously elected through constituent rapport,

They crucify the nation with the likes of ol’ Roy Moore.

The West Faces Up to Reality: China Won’t Become ‘More Like Us’

The Chinese are self-satisfied.

The Western world they can’t abide.

We ask them to please

Don’t be so Chinese --

They tell us to stick to fluoride.

A $1 Cup of Coffee in NYC? Fuhgeddaboudit

In New York the coffee is steep.

They trim you like you are a sheep.

And asking for cream

Is just a pipe dream,

Like having lunch with Meryl Streep.

Arizona newspaper owner says he was poisoned

It could not have been his own staff.

The thought of it makes me just laugh.

Reporters agree

That owners are free

From handling them like riffraff.

Millions of People Post Comments on Federal Regulations. Many Are Fake.

Fake names on the internet grow

Like yeast working through a warm dough.

Most comments are sham;

Just fuel for a scam --

Identity ain’t apropos.

‘Fake News,’ Trump’s Obsession, Is Now a Cudgel for Strongmen

Dictators now take great delight

In claiming that ev’ry sound byte

That questions their views

Is nasty fake news --

And so to truth-telling, good night!

Be kind to the Philly Eagles fan. The Ballad of Carson Wentz

For Eagles fans, an injury to Wentz is a painful way to be reminded of this fact. There’s a silver lining somewhere in here, that numerous players have recovered from ACL injuries, and that Wentz’s leadership intangibles will probably be sharpened by the perspective of lost time. But that’s not great consolation amid a Philadelphia season that looked outrageously promising—until, suddenly, it doesn’t.

Be Nice to Philadelphia Eagles Fans

Be kind to the Philly Eagles fan;

They are a sad and morbid clan.

Just when they think that life makes sense,

They go and lose their Carson Wentz.

So buy them coffee, donuts, booze --

Cuz on the field their team will snooze . . .