Meng Meng Da

Any nation that wears bean sprouts in its hair can’t be all bad . . .

My New York Times today had this fruitful headline:

Once Seed Was Planted, Chinese Headwear Fad Grew Like Weeds

And I quote:  Across China, grown-ups are sporting plastic decorations on their heads in the shape of vegetables, fruit and flowers. When the trend started a few months ago, it was usually just a humble bean sprout clipped to the hair . . . . .  But as the fad ramped up, especially during the current National Day holiday week when Beijing fills with visitors, it has escalated and diversified to include a riot of plastic vegetation. Now heads are bristling with clover, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, lavender, mushrooms, chilies, cherries, gourds and pine trees.

Slate Magazine is also featuring a photo album of Chinese wearing little green thingies that make them look like a vegan version of My Favorite Martian.

What’s going on here?

One minute the Chinese are hacking our brains out and building islands in the South China Sea so their stinking battleships can butt heads with our own fleet, and the next thing you know they are walking around balancing daffodils on their noggins.

Is this some kind of distraction, some misdirection or hocus pocus on the part of Xi Jinping?

I dunno . . .

Even CNN is running (or maybe plowing) with the story, and those people are hard to fool:

Zhou Delai, a vendor holding a tray full of clips, told CNN the trend started in Beijing about two weeks ago. He says he sells 200 clips every three to four hours.

“I have no idea who initiated the trend,” he said. “I stocked clips because so many people had wore them.”

Zhang sells two clips for less than $1. He said it was a cheap price to pay for joy.

“You only need to spend 5 yuan ($0.79) for fun!”

Of course, we Americans had the whole idea first.

Remember Flower Power?

It just didn’t go to our heads . . .



Those wily Chinese vendors have come up with a new tear;

sprouts and twigs and seedlings stuck into the people’s folk’s hair.

Strolling down the alley in Beijing or old Shanghai,

a girl sporting a corn patch you are bound to often spy.

In the office you are treated somewhat like a felon

if you come to work without a hat of bitter melon.

No one can explain this craze for botanical headgear.

(Perhaps it means the Second Coming of dear Mao is near!)

I understand the punishment for crimes and misdemeanors

is now to have your garden yanked, replaced with Ball Park weiners.

There are spirits deep in prison

There are spirits deep in prison past the foyer of the grave.

They, too, need a visit; their broke souls to seek and save.

That is why we should not mourn when saints depart this earth;

they have gone to help Jehovah give those prisoners rebirth.

Ev’ryone of us has dungeons, of the mind and of the heart,

and without the help of Jesus from our cells we’ll ne’er depart.

Escape may not be easy, but since the warden can be fixed,

it gives me joy to think that my life sentence can be nixed.

(Based on 1 Peter: Chapter 3, verse 19.)

Please consider this link: 



Summer in the nostrils

Summer in the nostrils has the tang of grassy snuff.

The pepper of a sidewalk weed, of thistles playing rough.

There’s sooty grease just wafting from stale embers; empty cans

of beer spread sullen pollen that attracts wasps by their clans.

August is miasma spread too thin on baked cement;

The essence of storm sewers, and the tail of all ferment.

This is an evaluation image and is Copyright Pamela Perry. Do not publish without acquiring a license. Image number: 0515-1002-2520-2500.
This is an evaluation image and is Copyright Pamela Perry. Do not publish without acquiring a license. Image number: 0515-1002-2520-2500.

The Butter Cow & Donald Trump

The New York Times reports a flock of presidential candidates have descended on the Iowa State Fair. They are kissing babies and shaking hands. Or is it shaking babies and kissing hands? I can never keep that straight.

But for my money, the Minnesota State Fair is the best in the Midwest. That’s the one I went to as a kid. I ate so many fried cheese curds that I’m still sneezing canola oil.

Curiously, the media and the candidates are silent on visiting Minnesota in two weeks, when their State Fair begins.

I guess one Midwest State Fair per campaign is about all any politician can stand.


In Iowa the Butter Cow draws crowds to the State Fair.

But many others come to gawk at Donald Trump’s fair hair.

Or perhaps for Bernie Sanders they will stand the heat;

it isn’t often you can see a mummy on its feet.

Mrs. Clinton made a speech, Empowering the Girl.

But she drew the line at riding on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

You can see a lot of things at State Fairs, yessiree. 

I wonder . . . is it only corndogs gives me dyspepsy? 


In the USA, A Woman Earns 81.9 Cents for Every Dollar a Man Earns

Women earned 81.9 cents for every dollar a man earned in the second quarter of the year, 2015.

Labor Department data out this week showed the pay gap between men and women but little changed, or even taking a step back. Full-time women workers earned almost 84 cents for every dollar a man earned in the second quarter of last year,2014.

Overall, median weekly earnings of all full-time workers were up 2.7% from a year earlier to $801. Men got bigger paychecks, with wages and salaries going up 3.4% from a year earlier to $886. And for women, the increase was a more modest 1.4% to $726.

One item that hasn’t changed much recently is the difference in pay between genders. Women have been slowly closing the pay gap with men, and by some calculations may need another twenty years to achieve equal pay. The problem has caught the attention of the White House.

(Wall Street Journal)


Men get more than women; that is a fact of life.

It isn’t very decent, and causes lots of strife.

If women want more money, they ought to act like men —

crow just like the rooster and not lay like the hen.


How Does YOUR Garden Grow?


I buy my navel oranges from California farms;

the smell of citrus/diesel is just full of sunny charms.

My lemons, too, I like to purchase from those greasy climes,

where acetone envelops all the kumquats and the limes.


And nuts from California — well, I hardly need explain —

provide me with an oil change when I let them simply drain.

Recycled oil field water for the vittles that I eat

probably produces a combustible winter wheat.


The drought in California’s getting drier by the hour;

but I’m not picky how they water fruit or grain or flower.

And wouldn’t it be nice if bottled water from the scene

could substitute, in part at least, for costly gasoline!

from an article in the LA Times

A Project to Turn Corpses Into Compost


Don’t lay me in alfalfa pellets when my life is o’er!

I’m not a pile of compost like some rotten apple core.

I want a casket sturdy and a grave with concrete lined

Where I await the resurrection comfortably confined.


I am not crazy to be processed for my children’s terrace,

Nourishing a rose bush for an ever-loving heiress.

There’s nothing much organic you will find in my cadaver,

So let us not continue with this ghoulish-type palaver.


Of course I know the body to the worms eventually goes,

But let it happen gradually through summers and long snows!

Don’t rush me into potting soil to grow your garden salad;

You’ll find I make the lettuce far too bitter and quite pallid.  

based on a story in the New York Times

The butcher and the baker and the barber and barkeep


The butcher and the baker and the barber and barkeep

Are running now for president – Republicans all weep

Because so many people want the Oval Office bad

Within their shattered party, so it almost is a fad.


 Ev’ry doctor and Hispanic with Tea Party ties

Is after the brass ring as their quite legal, lawful prize.

The field’s so thick with runners that they trip each other up

On their way to snatch Barack Obama’s loving cup.


The only smart one is McCain, who on the sidelines sits;

Happy to let younger blood deal with conniption fits.

If I were a Republican I would be running too;

I could use the PAC money to visit Katmandu.   

Giuliana Rancic

Giuliana Rancic

(Inspired by a story from the LA Times)

I am so very sorry for the comments that I make

(although some women’s hair cannot be combed except by rake.)

The things I say are pleasantries, not meant to cause dismay

(But if Charlize is truly blonde then I am Tina Fey!)


Please style your hair in any form that pleases you, I beg.

(And take it to the dry cleaners for treatment, my dear Meg.)

Some women wear their hair like it’s a spiky crown of thorns.

(And others tease it high so they can hide their devil horns.)


Sweet Hillary has gotten hers both bobbed and slightly sheared

(Either way it shows off that amazing Clinton beard.)

I love the way Michelle is wearing hers, so distingue.

(A wig could do her wonders if she wore it ev’ry day.)



Alma; Chapter One.


When the Judges started reigning in the Nephite lands

Men and women for the most part toiled with their own hands.

Nehor and his followers, who preached for gold and glory,

Were quickly made irrelevant to the Nephite’s story.


Instead the members of the Church, under the direction

Of Alma tended their own fields and lived in great affection.

Equal with each other, they did not put on grand airs;

They shared with all their neighbors as they bore each other’s cares.


While those who stayed unchurched indulged in worldly revelry;

They paid themselves with folly from the devil’s currency.

Murder, rape and bondage came to them without surcease,

Because their hearts were not attuned to hear the Prince of Peace.