"Cotton Fields" written by Huddie Ledbetter 1885-1949

http://www.biography.com/people/lead-belly-395



"Them ole cotton fields" according to the lyrics, are "way down in Louisiana, just about a mile from Texarkana."  Hmm...   Texarkana is 30 miles north of the Arkansas Louisiana border in the state of Arkansas.


Contrary to the thoughts and imaginations of some, this was not a slave song sung sadly after the slaves had come in from the cotton fields after a hard day, but a blues song written and recorded by Huddie Ledbetter in 1940.


Why would he say it was in Texarkana was in Louisiana?  I'd say poetic license.  By the way, Arkansas was not a slave state.

Disturbing results of bread experiment

About two months ago I saw a video on Youtube about "The Rice Experiment."  It's a famous experiment first performed by a Japanese researcher named Dr. Masaru Emoto, and done by many others with similar results since.  The basic experiment was to test the effect of words upon rice.  

Rice of identical origins and cooking was put in three separate, sterilized jars, then a lid put on the jar.   One jar was given a label saying "love."  The second  jar was given the label "control." And the third jar's label was the word "hate."  The jars were put on a shelf at normal room temperature in a row with about two feet between each jar.  Each day the jars were spoken to individually, with the word love spoken to the love jar, the word hate spoken to the hate jar, and the control jar completely ignored.  

After several weeks the rice in the love jar appeared to be in perfect  condition.  The rice in the hate jar was moldy and spoiled.  The rice that was ignored was in the worst condition of all, and had completely rotted.  

One day I happened to have two slices of sourdough bread, commercially made, and decided to see what would happen if I put each one in its own ziplock plastic bag, with the word love written on one, and on the other the word hate.  I was sloppy with my experiment, and just put them on the table near each other.  I began the experiment about April 1st, really, more or less for a joke.  Every day I spoke to the love bread, not just repeating the word love a couple of times, but emoting to the dear little slice of bread about how much I loved it, and how beautiful and good it was.  Then I told the hate bread that I hated it, it was ugly, I was sorry it was in my house, and I was going to abandon it.  After about a week there was no difference in the two slices.  During the whole experiment the only change was that I put a plate on the hate bread accidentally and squashed part of it.  I had a hard time telling the hate bread that I hated it, and decided to just ignore it, and spend my moments with the love bread praising it to the skies.  

The result?  Today I ended the experiment, and except for the hate bread being squashed, both slices looked like they were just baked. I tore them up and threw them in the yard for the birdies.  

What bothered me was that the condition of both slices was nearly perfect after over six weeks.  It ain't natural.  This bread wasn't bread at all, but some chemical look alike.  It would not have gone bad had it laid on the table for a year.  

I think I will try again on rice.  

Swallowing human feces will cure disease, NHS says

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/05/19/swallowing-human-faeces-will-cure-disease-nhs-say/

Retailers begin to offer clothing in plus size

http://www.bloomberg.com/gadfly/articles/2016-05-10/plus-size-could-save-retailers

Student finds lost Mayan city by studying ancient charts of the night sky

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/05/10/canadian-teenager-discovers-ancient-mayan-city-lost-in-jungles-o/

Casey at the Bat

Casey at the Bat

by Ernest Lawrence Thayer    June 3, 1888

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:  
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play. 
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, 
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game. 

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.  The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that - 
We'd put up even  money, now, with Casey at the bat. 

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, 
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake; 
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, 
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat. 

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, 
And Blake, the much despis - ed, tore the cover off the ball; 
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred, 
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. 

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell; 
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; 
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, 
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.  

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; 
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face. 
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, 
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. 

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; 
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. 
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, 
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. 

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, 
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. 
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped- 
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said. 

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, 
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore. 
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand; 
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand. 

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; 
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; 
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two." 

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud; 
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. 
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, 
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.  

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate; 
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate. 
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, 
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. 

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; 
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light. 
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; 
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.