Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Footcat (Catfinition): A feline who likes to sit on people’s feet as a strategy for getting attention or rewards.
In Use: “Rocky, a handsome European blotched tabby, was a true footcat. Whenever Michael stopped, the hefty footcat would rest on Michael’s foot, as if he was an anchor to keep Michael from walking away from him until he was petted or given a treat.”
This is a more recent, mellow song. Its simple, repetitive chorus makes it easy to stream to myself as I walk along: “We don’t talk about it. Shouldn’t talk about it.”
I also enjoy his flat delivery of several stanzas, such as the first: “I want you by my side, so that I never feel alone again.” That delivery imparts a sense that he’s talking to himself while making a confession to another, a secret, internal conversation. The other parts strike me as an effort to bring the other around to his thinking.
After hearing the song a few times, mostly while driving around, I looked up the words. Getting the words to songs right is one of the big technological advantages of this century. We used to need jacket sleeves, which weren’t always included. Don McLean’s “American Pie” caused arguments about what he was singing, and then, what it meant.
Here’s Milky Chance from Germany and two thousand thirteen with, “Stolen Dance.”
I love it when I find something that surprises me by exceeding expectations.
It doesn’t happen often enough. Most of the time, when watching a television show, going to movies, reading a book, or trying a new restaurant or drink, my expectations have been set up to expect something pretty damn good. Too often, I’m disappointed. That’s why I’m not watching much on television right now.
Last night, while wandering through the TV wasteland’s Amazon region, I came across a movie called “The Girl With All the Gifts.”
“Oh, is this based on the book?” my wife asked.
I didn’t know. If it was, the movie slipped right past my notice. Slipping past my notice isn’t difficult. The cats do it all the time.
It turned out that “The Girl With All the Gifts” was based on the novel. With Glenn Close and Paddy Considine, we had hopes for the movie.
We weren’t disappointed. This isn’t a movie review, but we enjoyed the movie. Dominique Tipper, who we knew from “The Expanse,” was marvelous as Devani, sweetly delivering the courage, innocence, and intelligence demanded of the role. Featuring zombies, the movie had some damn grisly moments, but it was a fascinating twist on the zombie spin. Seeing Paddy reminded me of how much I enjoyed him in “Hot Fuzz,” and Glenn Close played Doctor Caldwell with focused energy. Like most zombie dystopian movies and television shows we encounter, it was fast-paced, and we were second-guessing decisions and tactics. They gave us a lot to second-guess. It was a lot of fun.
I would recommend the movie to you, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. I did enjoy it, though, but that’s just me.
I’m in the cross walk, crossing Siskiyou Avenue in Ashland, Oregon. Ashland is supposed to be a walker friendly town, but I walk this town a bit, using eighteen crosswalks a day on average. I expect, from experience, for drivers not to yield to a pedestrian at four to five crosswalks a day.
It’s worse in the mornings. I was caught between two cars in a crosswalk the other day. One was turning left. He ran the stop sign and ignored me in the crosswalk, giving me a jaunty wave as he missed me by two feet. Meanwhile, the SUV coming straight thought that I would be by, so he kept coming. But because I drew up to avoid behind hit by the other guy, he missed me by less than two feet.
Today, these five drivers didn’t yield. It wasn’t that they didn’t see me. Visibility was great, and there was plenty of time. In what seemed like they were giving me the finger, they sped up. Already exceeding the twenty-five miles per hour speed limit, they were zipping along at thirty-five to forty when they passed me, standing in the cross walk. I heard the lead white Ford F250 accelerate from the vehicle’s location thirty feet away. Felt its breeze as its mirrors whipped past my head. Saw the driver through his window two feet away as he went by.
It outraged me. I spun through the usual shit that I spin through when someone gives me the finger or blows me off. I know I’m not a perfect driver. Never have been, and never will be. But I try to minimize shit. I try to do right with others.
Others don’t always play nicely. That’s what it seemed like these five drivers were doing. For whatever fucking reasons going on in their heads, stopping to let someone cross the street wasn’t on their list of things to do.
After venting to myself, I thought about the more pragmatic impacts of a car hitting me. Yes, I know I would suffer an injury, the levels and extent T.B.D., but my friends and family can share multiple stories about the injuries I’ve endured. There wouldn’t be anything I could do about that.
Instead, I worried about my computer files. That’s my writing, dude. I’d neglected to back it up the other day when the reminder went off. I’d hit the snooze. When it went off again, I ignored it.
I imagined losing those files, and swore in a dozen different ways. The crosswalk encounter reminded me that the back up was required. Time to plug the zip drives back in and back up the files, because, hey, you never know.
Flurk (1) (Catfinition): A quirky cat.
In Use: “Michael watched Papi cross the back yard. You never knew what the little ginger flurk was going to do next.”
Flurk (2) (Catfinition): A cat that likes to lurk around areas; the actions or activities of a cat who lurks.
In Use: “Mirage flurks around behind the drapes, waiting for unsuspecting humans to pass by so she could leap onto their feet.”
Feeling like a rebel today.
At first, I thought, gimme some power chords. Nirvana came to mind, with “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” “Here we are now, entertain us.”
But, then, naw…”Rebel Yell” began streaming, and quickly segued into one of my favorite Billy Idol tunes, “White Wedding.” “It’s a nice day to start again.”
It’s cooler today, with a projected high of just eighty-eight under clear blue skies. Definitely a nice day to start again. Here it is, Billy Idol, from nineteen eighty-two, when I was just a wee man of twenty-six years. Boy, what would need to be sacrificed to be twenty-six again, hey?
I managed to achieve a goal of walking an average of seven miles per day for the last week, ending at 7.05 miles. It seems like so few in reflection.
My thirty-day and three month averages both increased, as well, to 6.95 and 5.82, respectively.
I remain dubious about the Fitbit’s accuracy, but it’s progress. I’ll take it.
Interesting, but it’s an old and worn bumper sticker on an old and worn Toyota. I wondered who was elected that they elected to put these words on their bumper?
I hope I can do,
Promise I will do,
Struggle with can’t do,
Resist that which won’t do,
And vow to just do it.
Then I spend days thinking of how.
Michael Seidel, writer 