Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Looky-floof (floofinition): a housepet who likes to follow people and spy on them.
In Use: “Papi is a classic looky-floof, following us around the house, close at hand to observe whatever we’re doing – washing, dressing, eating, reading, it doesn’t matter.”
Call me cynical.
I believe people reside on a personal spectrum of being fucked up. Where you appear to reside depends on several factors:
You can be aware that you’re fucked up, but then your attitude kicks in. You can decide:
Of course, some people lie to themselves about anyone or anything being fucked up. They’re the scary ones.
This song reminds me of being fucked up. I’d just returned to America after a four year plus tour of Germany for the U.S. Air Force. The evil Soviet empire had ended its reign, so much of what my military career was about, launching nukes against the evil empire and spying on them, was no longer a factor. While others turned their attention to Southwest Asia and Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, I wasn’t allowed to participate, being deemed as mission critical for the now defunct mission of spying on the Soviets. I couldn’t participate in local activities to help the ‘war effort’, either; while my company grade officers who were pilots and navigators and junior NCOs and airmen were busy helping to erect tent city in the mud of Rhein-Mein Air Base, or working in the post office or chow hall, it wasn’t acceptable for me as a senior NCO to do such menial tasks. My offers to help were denied, then I was rotated back to America.
This all left me feeling pretty isolated and frustrated. I remember listening to this song in nineteen ninety-one while sitting in traffic in Peninsula traffic on Highway 101 in the SF Bay Area during a rain storm and having a mini-breakdown. The song is an introspective ode to self-pity, loss, realization and acceptance, so it was perfect for that era of my life. Although outwardly, I was fine by all the normal social measurements, I was an internal mess, drinking too much and having marital problems.
All the factors and your attitude about being fucked up are usually fluctuating. I’m still pretty fucked up, but I know I can shift my attitude a few points in either direction with fluids such as beer, wine and coffee, and activities like writing and walking. I’ve never been so desperate, angry and frustrated about being fucked up that I’ve contemplated suicide or killing others to make everything better, nor have hard drugs or an outlaw life attracted me. That doesn’t change my basic issues of being an arrogant, cynical, egotistical asshole with emotional problems, but it does adjust my attitude toward myself and the world.
Yet, I love this song. Here’s Gary Moore with “Still Got the Blues (For Your),” from nineteen ninety. He was such a talented guy. R.I.P.
Flooflepuncture (Definition): A cat’s application of claws in a burst of purring pleasure, typically done while kneading, and apparently, “inadvertently.” (Arguments persist whether anything cats do is “inadvertent.”)
In Use: “Michael abruptly awoke when Quinn flooflepunctured Michael’s bicep with his unsheathed, pointy little daggers called claws.”
Catserve (Definition): Feline’s ability to see or watch without being seen, while exercising minimal movement. Cats typically catserve by only opening their eyes or moving their eyes. Catserve is sometimes used in error in the place of floofserve, but the two words are not synonyms.
In Use: “At the sound of the door opening, Pogo, sleeping in the counter, turned one ear toward the sound.
It was, at once, the most innocuous and the most affecting dream I’ve recently had.
I dreamed it was a cool predawn day. I was climbing a mountain. I don’t know what mountain. I went alone. Wearing the hiking boots and shorts that I often wore back in the early nineteen nineties, I mostly walked, but sometimes I had to crawl, or pull myself up. Sparse, large pine trees were sometimes encountered, and the wind sometimes blew, but it was silent.
The sun was rising. I grew hot and sweaty as I climbed, sometimes pausing to rest and look around. I don’t know why I climbed, but I reached the peak at sunrise, and stood, looking around. The wind blew more sharply. The rising sun illuminated some storm clouds to the east, and was warm on my face, while I saw the final stars of night to the west. Now what, I wondered.
When I awoke, I felt like I’d been crying. It wasn’t relief, pain, happiness or sorrow. The tears felt more like…tension.
Like I’d been expecting something else, and still waited.
Remember the 1980s. Oh, fer sure. Like, totally, unless you were, like, spaced, or an airhead, you know.
Yes, the lingo, influenced by Valley Girls living in the San Fernando Valley, spread across the country until it kinda, like, gagged you with its syntax and mindless expressions. Frank Zappa captured the essence of valspeak in his nineteen eighty-two hit, “Valley Girl.” “Valley Girl” was a big departure to Zappa’s music for me. I’d grown up on dishes of Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. His songs carried a hard satirical commentary about American values and commercialism. That’s why I dug him.
Here’s “Valley Girl,” featuring Frank’s daughter, Moon Unit.
Floofstreak (Definition): A mark left by a cat dragging its butt across the carpet.
In Use: “Having some issue, Jade dragged her rear across the carpet, leaving a floofstreak as evidence.”
Crowds. Traffic. I dislike these things, and try avoiding them.
I’m also thin-skinned, dislike criticism, and try to avoid it. I also try to avoid attention of any sort, preferring to be on the sidelines, even as I attempt things that draw attention to me. Yes, I’m your standard, complicated human mess.
These predilections drive me to choice. I usually perceive the negatives – the negatives of trying and failing, or going to parties or festivals, and enduring crowds, or the negative of attempting something new and doing a poor job that will give others opportunities to mock me. But those choices, hemmed in by the possibility of being a negative experience, fence me in.
Aware of all of this, I’m trying. I try to be more positive and open. I try to armor myself against criticism, and go for it. I probably fail at both aspects more than than half the time.
This thinking brings me to today’s theme music. Fat Boy Slim’s “Weapon of Choice,” from the year two thousand, featured Christopher Walken dancing in a hotel. I’ve always thought it was a pretty cool video, which was directed by Spike Jonze. The words repeated throughout the song include, “You can go this way, you can go that way.”
That’s about it. We all make our choices and endure the results. We can go this way, or we can go that way.
Michael Seidel, writer 