We have time for a few questions from the audience.

A reader in Oregon writes, “Rhymes, you surely have solid irons in every antique shop in Georgia.”

A reader in Tooele, Utah, writes, “goodness, gracious, what a pair of glumps you two are, pat from big A and rhymes wit<><><>there has never been or will be greater music, and yes when i was in high school<><><><><><>><><><><<>><><<><><<>><><><><><><><><<>><><<><>”

A reader in Arkansas writes, “I think I have lost my marbles!”

A reader in Groningen (Holland) asks, “Are you okay Mr. RWP?”

Setting aside for a moment the very real question of whether I wish to be addressed as Rhymes, rhymes wit<><><>, Mr. RWP, or a simple “Hey, you!”, I now take pen in hand (figuratively, of course) and respond to your questions because your questions, even when they are not phrased in the form of a question, are important to us.

Oregon reader, no, I personally do not have solid irons in every antique store in Georgia, nor do I know of anyone who does. There must be hundreds of antique stores in Georgia, and that would be one humongous collection of solid irons, to my way of thinking. I would not attempt to guess the number of either antique stores or solid irons in Alabama, South Carolina, or Tennessee. Also, I do not know whether each and every antique store in Georgia would even want to have a solid iron, which is another question entirely. None of the irons, in any case, solid or otherwise, came from me.

Utah reader, according to dictionary.com (my favorite online dictionary), “glump” is not a noun, it is an intransitive verb meaning “to manifest sullenness; to sulk” (albeit colloquially), and I for one -- pat from big A can speak for herself if she wishes to -- can’t make heads or tails of what you’re getting at, if, in fact, you are getting at anything. You mentioned in another comment on the same post that you liked the music of “alll the b’s bach beethoven bocelli brahms,” but you neglected to mention beyoncé, bono, and dieterich buxtehude. The post in question contained a photograph of Elvis Presley performing “Jailhouse Rock” but your contention that “there has never been or will be greater music” is debatable. What about your own Mormon Tabernacle Choir there in Salt Lake City? Did you forget about them? Also, for a minute there at the beginning of your comment, you seemed to be channeling Jerry Lee Lewis. You kind of trailed off at the end, though, and I am not certain what it is, exactly, that you are asking.

Arkansas reader, I rejoice with you, as you seem very happy with the very real possibility that you have lost your marbles. I gleaned this fact from your use of an exclamation point at the end of your sentence. Had you used a question mark -- I think I have lost my marbles? -- I might have thought that some displaced Valley Girls had found their way to your fair region and influenced the local patois.

Which brings me to the final question, “Are you okay Mr. RWP?”

Groningen (Holland) reader, your decision to omit the vocative comma gave me pause. If you had included it (“Are you okay, Mr. RWP?”), I would have answered that sometimes I am and sometimes I am not, but that my not having blogged for a few days just meant I had nothing to say at the moment. My health is good; no problem there. Life is busy and full -- real life, I mean, not this computerized facsimile thereof. But I have taken your question at face value (that is, without the vocative comma), and after pondering a good deal over it, I have decided that I am both an okay Mr. RWP and the okay Mr. RWP. My goal in the time that is left to me, however, is to be the most magnificent Mr. RWP possible.

Speaking of alll the b's, my all-time favorite is this one, especially when she was poking fun at something dear to the heart of every Georgian (part 1) and (part 2).

Hello, I must be going, but I’m so glad we had this time together.

In honor of Carolina in Nederland

...or, to be more accurate, in honor of Nederland itself -- perhaps you call it Holland or The Netherlands, but its inhabitants call it Nederland -- where a cyberfriend and blogging buddy of mine named Carolina and her husband (Hubs) and her horses (Willem, Naloma, and Evie) and her dogs (Holle and Biggles) and her cat (Phoebe, who thinks she is a dog) happen to live. In Nederland.

A neighbor sent me a video clip entitled “Images of a Dutch Winter” in an email a couple of days ago. As much as I dislike the least little bit of winter around here, watching it made me think I actually might enjoy winter in Holland, er, Nederland. Here’s the clip:

Images of a Dutch winter (02:05)

We could sure use some of those skate-behind ice scrapers or snow blowers or mini-plows, or whatever they are called, around here. Somebody could make a mint. Seems a heck of a lot cheaper for a few industrious citizens to own them and then volunteer their time than for the county bigwigs to lay out a boatload of our tax money for a fleet of expensive trucks to sand and salt the roads once every five or ten years and then sit idle in the city parking lot the rest of the time. The trucks I mean, not the county bigwigs. Life in the American south being what it is, I felt it necessary to make that distinction.

In conclusion, ask not what roads your country can clear for you; ask what roads you can clear for your country.

It really doesn’t take much to make me happy.

In fact, here are 14 ways:

When you open your mouth to speak, say:

sub-siddy-ary, NOT sub-sidder-ary (for subsidiary)

puh-riffer-uhl, NOT puh-riffy-uhl (for peripheral)

in-sendy-ary, NOT in-sender-ary (for incendiary)

nu-klee-ar, NOT nu-queue-ler (for nuclear)

vak-you-um, NOT vak-yoom (for vacuum)

dye-uh-mund, NOT dye-mund (for diamond)

joo-uhl-ree, NOT jool-er-ee (for jewelry)

joo-uhl-er, NOT jool-er (for jeweler)

ree-uhl-tor, NOT real-uh-tor (for realtor)

ih-tal-yun, NOT eye-tal-yun (for Italian)

ear-ock, NOT eye-rack (for Iraq)

ear-ocky, NOT eye-racky (for Iraqi)

ear-ahn, NOT eye-ran (for Iran)

ear-onny-uhn, NOT eye-rainy-uhn (for Iranian)


There, that wouldn’t be so difficult, would it?

Or you could just include every one of those words in a comment. You wouldn’t even have to say them out loud.

A B C D goldfish? L M N O goldfish! O S A R...C M?

The end of the world is upon us.

This surprising story made the news yesterday on television stations hereabouts.

I am appalled. One teacher of English to Middle School students (ages 11 to 13) was actually heard to say that “students prefer to use printed block letters rather than the broad strokes that characterize cursive.”

Well, that settles it, then. Let’s give the little dears what they want. Let’s not even consider giving the little dears things they might need to function in society.

If they wanted to cavort in the nude at recess, would we let them? If they wanted to carry rifles and bayonets to school, would we let them? If they wanted to eat candy until their teeth rotted out, would we let them? If they wanted to set their school on fire, would we let them?

Unfortunately, some people exist who would probably answer every one of those questions in the affirmative.

That chart up there shows how cursive writing is taught in the U.S. these days. The style is called D’Nelian Script.

Back in my day, during the Dark Ages, we were taught the Palmer Method. Here is a demonstration, complete with Gregorian chant.

In the nineteenth century, people were taught to write in a style with more flourishes, toots, bells, and whistles called Spencerian Script. Sorry, no Gregorian chant this time.

And even earlier, people could write so as to be noticed. Here’s a famous autograph of one of those people:

The same students who are being told today that handwriting is unnecessary may be asking tomorrow, “Who was John Hancock and why should we care?”

This just in: The end of the world may not be upon us, but you can see it from here.

O S A B I C M 2....!!!

“There he goes again.” (Ronald Reagan, speaking of Jimmy Carter)

If the shoe fits, wear it.

I don’t know whether the rest of the world understands the utter distaste many, if not most, Americans experience seeing scenes like the one above, but bowing (and scraping) is not something the citizens of this country think the President of the United States should be doing. He bowed to King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia. He bowed to Emperor Akihito of Japan. Now he has been caught bowing once again, this time to the leader of the People’s Republic of China. Yeah, that’s what it’s called, as though the people had anything to do with it.

“But he’s just showing respect,” some will say. I say let him show respect some other way. A firm handshake ought to be enough.

If we truly believe, as our Declaration of Independence states, that all men (yes, and women too) are created equal, there is no reason for our elected leader to appear subservient to another country’s leader.

Not to Saudi Arabia’s. Not to Japan’s. Not to China’s. Not to anyone’s.

I’m not saying we’re above them. I’m just saying we’re not below them.

From my lips to God’s ears.

She may grow up to be the Queen of Femininity

This year’s Miss America Pageant, held last Saturday night in Las Vegas and carried live on ABC-TV, was so bad that this contestant not only won the talent portion of the competition but was also named Miss Congeniality.

I’m kidding, I’m kidding. That was actually Bette Davis singing “I’ve Written A Letter To Daddy” from the iconic film Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? and I wonder, what is it about a film that makes people call it iconic? Joan Crawford was the first runner-up and won the wheelchair races hands down easily. Oops, no, sorry, I’m thinking of the Paralympic Games. Maybe the actresses were iconic and the movie was only a travesty.

For the record, I do think Miss Arkansas, a yodeling ventriloquist, was robbed. And since we’re asking questions (well, I was), what kind of stupid moron producer instructs the camera operator to take a close-up of THE MOUTHS OF THE DUMMIES? (and yes, I am shouting at this point.)

You should watch the final couple of minutes of the program just to hear Bert Parks sing “There She Is, Miss America!”

I’m pretty sure his song was pre-recorded, as Bert died in 1992. That may be why he mentions Atlantic City, which is in New Jersey, when the pageant has been held for several years now in Las Vegas, which is in Nevada. And setting aside the question of talent (Miss Nebraska's was so bad I’m not even going to torture you with it), do you see what I mean about Miss Arkansas?

I knew it was going to be a long night when the male host was from ABC’s The Bachelor, the female host (hostess?) was from ABC’s Dancing With The Stars, and one of the judges was Joy Behar from ABC’s The View.

As they used to say down in Texas, beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way to the bone.

Better late than never

Last Saturday -- a whole week ago -- Elvis Aaron Presley (January 8, 1935 – August 16, 1977) would have been 75 years old, and nary a word about it did I hear. Must have been pre-empted by all the William and Kate specials.

One of the people in the preceding paragraph will be king, God willing, but one of them already was.

(Photographs by Mario Testino)