Home Sweet Airbnb

Marriott International Inc. is starting a new home-rental business, aiming to take on Airbnb Inc. and other home-sharing companies in one of the lodging industry’s hottest segments.

WSJ

Ev'rybody's doing it, so I will do it too;

I'll rent a room to tourists -- they'll be standing in a queue!

Of course it's really not a room, not even just a bed --

it's only my recliner where they'll rest their weary head.

But they'll get peace and quiet cuz it's in the basement dark;

I wouldn't call it elegant, more like an earthy stark.

And boy won't I just charge 'em all a fee so big and tall

that when they get the bill upon the floor they'll surely sprawl.

My unreported income will mount up until the day

I can flee to Thailand so no taxes I need pay.

And there upon the rosy beach I'll live in palm frond shack,

while on a bowl of shrimp fried rice I shall so cheaply snack.

Chinese Spies Threaten USA

Chinese spies are increasingly recruiting U.S. intelligence officers as part of a widening, sustained campaign to shake loose government secrets.

Senior U.S. law enforcement and intelligence officials have escalated their warnings characterizing Chinese espionage as the single most significant long-term strategic threat, encompassing both spycraft intended to steal government secrets and the sustained heist of intellectual property and research from the corporate and academic worlds.

WSJ

Tonight before I go to bed

beneath the cot I'll bow my head

to look for Chinese spies that might

be snooping on me through the night.

No secrets will they get from me;

I'm silent as an old mummy.

Of course, if they should wave some cash,

I've got some fibs that they can cache.

The Chinese say they want our trade,

and our suspicions they upbraid;

Between the Russians and Chinese

America sure feels the squeeze. 

Movies aren't getting better, they're just getting longer

It has been decades since American movie theaters regularly had intermissions. But when word of the latest Avengers film’s length got out earlier this year, it prompted online pleas from some fans for a break in the action. The filmmakers shot the idea down, and American theater chains have publicly responded to tweets from moviegoers to make clear that, no, there will be no built-in moment to buy or dispose of their Coca-Colas.

NYT

Movie going has become a challenge nowadays.

The films are getting longer and my eyes begin to glaze.

My foot's asleep, I gotta go, the popcorn is all gone;

but the movie isn't ending until close to dawn.

Dare I miss five minutes while I take a bathroom break?

Will a plot point be resolved while water I do make?

Though it's loud and violent, my head begins to nod.

I feel like an Avenger who's been beaten by a rod!

If Hollywood won't give me intermissions as a sop,

I hope their next big opus is a terrifying flop.

I will stay at home with Netflix or the old YouTube,

enjoying my own breathers instead of chewing on jujube.

Cardboard Hangers

The textile/fashion industry has generated about 380 million metric tons of plastic—more than other individual sectors such as electronics or consumer and industrial products or building and construction . . . Plastic goes into polyester, which is used to make leggings, athletic wear and other garments. It is in polyvinyl chloride, or PVC, which gives clothes and accessories a glossy finish. And it goes into hangers, shopping bags, bubble wrap and other packaging material. Clothes made with plastic can take decades to decompose and the tiny fibers, or microplastics, they shed during laundering can end up polluting water streams.

WSJ

Fashions change with lightning speed,

but there's always plastic bead

in your dress or shirt or shoes --

which into the oceans ooze;

winding up in fishy gut,

or so says the scuttlebutt.

Plastic hangers for our clothes

in the landfill quickly goes.

Bubble wrap, while fun to pop,

sows pollution as a crop.

Paper suits and fig leaves must

now become our faddish thrust.

The Drive-In

(Inspired by an article in the WSJ by Chris Kornelis.)

A child of the 1950s, as well as of deep freeze winters in Minnesota, the coming of summer meant drive-in movies. I write this not as a piece of fond nostalgia, but as further proof of children's second class status back in those Bad Old Days.

First of all, I never got to pick what movies we went to see at the Valli-Hi Drive-In. When I meekly suggested a fun-filled evening watching "The Brides of Dracula," I was firmly told that such movies were not for little boys (not so little, really; I was 7 years old in 1960) and that the family would attend "Lover Come Back" starring Doris Day and Rock Hudson. That kind of romantic dreck was an insult to any red-blooded American boy, but my parents ate it up.

Which brings me to my next point. On a warm summer's eve, a young boy's thoughts turn naturally to salt, sugar, and grease. My dad always seemed to manage to park right next to the shack where they fried up the hamburgers and french fries, fricaseed the popcorn, and displayed a fascinating little contraption that pulled taffy on a series of ascending and descending bars. The place smelled like heaven to me. But do you think my folks would indulge my lust for a burger and a Coke? Which, I might add, I distinctly remember as costing a mere 75 cents. Not on your life! Mom brought along a banana or an apple for me, and there was a thermos jug of cherry Kool-Aid to quench my thirst. As Rock Hudson and Doris Day cavorted on the screen, and patrons lined up six deep at the shack for their cholesterol fix, I suffered alone in agony -- disconsolately peeling off and putting back on the Chiquita Banana tag.

The final iniquity on those long ago summer evenings that should have been so cozy and happy was that both my parents were heavy smokers, and as soon as the huge white screen in front of us flickered to life dad lit up a Salem and mom lit up an Alpine. Even with the windows down, the whole car soon filled with a nicotine miasma. Hindsight, of course, tells me that all that second hand smoke is responsible for my annual bouts of bronchitis today. But more to the point, way back then it was considered cool to smoke, and so when I was ten or thereabouts and we were at the drive-in I summoned up the courage to ask my dad for a cigarette. I thought the old man might go for it -- he'd already let me have a sip of his Hamm's Beer one night during a backyard barbecue. But his only response was:  "Shut up and eat your banana."

PG&E Pulls the Plug on California

PG&E Corp. can’t prevent its power lines from sparking the kinds of wildfires that have killed scores of Californians. So instead, it plans to pull the plug on a giant swath of the state’s population.

No U.S. utility has ever blacked out so many people on purpose. PG&E says it could knock out power to as much as an eighth of the state’s population for as long as five days when dangerously high winds arise. Communities likely to get shut off worry PG&E will put people in danger, especially the sick and elderly, and cause financial losses with slim hope of compensation.

WSJ

When the wind begins to blow

utilities cut off the flow

of juice to customers right quick;

so folks had better buy a Bic

to light their way in blackest night,

because their bulbs will not work right.

And if you fall and break your neck

do not expect a hefty check

nor any real apology

from any big utility.

Their service plan is rather plain;

They take your dough, you wait in vain

for services that ain't secure,

like Bangladesh -- and that's for sure!

Photo Essay: Aftermath of a Spring Hail Storm

My Life is but a Rerun

Netflix Inc. may soon have to contemplate life without its No. 1 show. It’s “The Office.”

Three of its biggest programming suppliers—AT&T Inc.’s WarnerMedia and Walt DisneyCo. in addition to Comcast Corp.’s NBCUniversal—are entering the streaming-video arena. After licensing rerun content to Netflix for years, happy to cash its checks, they are looking to take their hit content back to feed their own platforms.

WSJ

My life is but a rerun; an old sitcom, if you will.

With daffy situations that show little writing skill.

As I sit in my recliner with my laptop on my knee

I watch again "The Office" or some other potpourri.

My vegetable existence -- ne plus ultra for a clod --

is waiting for revival (where oh where is "The Mod Squad?")

There is no balm in Gilead that matches watching "Friends,"

and if I don't binge watch some more I'm gonna get the bends!

If I could but imagine life without my Netflix fix

perhaps I'd have an intellect that wasn't all toothpicks.

Can I afford the fees for streaming channels by the score?

I can, I guess, if it will bring me Mary Tyler Moore.

Pence's Tax Returns, Like President Trump's, Stay Out of Sight

WASHINGTON—Vice President Mike Pence has filed three tax returns since taking office, but he hasn’t publicly released any of them.

As Democrats fight with President Trump about his unreleased tax returns amid a key deadline Tuesday, the vice president’s decision to keep his own recent tax documents under wraps has gotten far less attention. It is just as much of a break from his predecessors: Going back to Walter Mondale in the 1970s, all have disclosed their returns. 

WSJ

You can see my driver's license, or my pinky ring.

I'll even let you gaze upon my balls of twine and string.

Not a problem if you need my library card to see --

but tax returns are sacred (or at least they are to ME.)

I'll show you photo albums and diplomas by the score.

Test results and shopping lists; and what is even more,

my x-rays are an open book, my bank statements are too --

but what I file with Uncle Sam will never come to view!

I am a public servant and as such should be immune

from nosy parkers who would see if I am a tycoon.

I'll even show you my tattoos (my chest has got a doozy.)

But when it comes to tax returns I'm gonna be quite choosy!

Is Netflix a Romance Killer?

A 2017 paper in “Archives of Sexual Behavior,” which revealed that Americans were having less sex, on average, than they did three decades ago, offered streaming video as one possible culprit.

WSJ

An evening full of romance is a treasured memory

to many an old geezer, and I certainly include me!

Those nights of passion with my spouse; those were the good old days.

We didn't have the internet to tempt us with delays.

And so our fam'ly grew apace; the kids just kept a-comin'.

It was our way to keep the GNP up high and hummin'.

I guess that's 'chauvinistic' now; unpopular and trite.

But let me tell you, buddy, we looked forward to each night!

But nowadays with Netflix and those other streaming views,

couples sit around at night and wind up in a snooze.

No wonder that our birthrate is in nugatory zones,

what with ev'ryone addicted to that "Game of Thrones."

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More to come