Without A Net

I was without a net last night. For about two and a half hours (nine twenty to eleven fifty), I couldn’t jump on the net to look up information, check on the Zuckerberg Machine (trademarked by J.R. Handley), or find the weather. More, I don’t have cable or satellite T.V. All my television is either O.T.A. or streaming. Without the net, streaming wasn’t available.

To the O.T.A.! That was an interesting experience. Infomercials, religious information centering around Jesus Christ, and old movies and television series saturate commercial airwaves that I can receive (about twenty). Circling through them, I found an episode of the original Star Trek series. It was “The Enterprise Incident”, and involved the Romulans.

The Roumlan commander was a female. I didn’t recall seeing the episode before, but I expected her and Kirk to start a romance. That’s how it used to go, wasn’t it? I was surprised that it was Spock who became intimate with her.

The opening credits said the episode was written by D.C. Fontana. Chances are, if you watched a popular television series between 1960 and 1999, you probably know her work. More important to Star Trek, I recalled that Fontana is credited as a strong early influence on fleshing out the Vulcan culture. A clever writer, she’d probably already seen the trend toward Kirk romancing women and had deliberately thrown this twist. I’m just guessing.

It was fun throwback viewing. The ST franchise has come a long way from those early Romulan costumes.

The Help Dream

I awoke from this dream scoffing at my subconscious mind. Yes, I saw its point, delivered through a dream, but I wasn’t buying into it. Not yet, at least. Maybe after more thinking…and dreaming.

This dream found me in a large and busy city. My mother, wife, and sister-in-law (my wife’s sister) were with me. We were discussing my writing and selling books. While showing me what they’d done, the female triumvirate was telling me that they’d taken my books’ sections and created covers for each one. As I was looking at the foot-high high stack and what seemed like twenty books about three quarters of an inch thick each, they (I don’t know which, as they were rotating between explanation duties) said, “And then we combined them in one big book.” They showed me how they’d done that. The final cover was a blank, slightly shiny, tin piece.

Ummm.  I wasn’t appreciative. “Why?” I said, trying to look for other words. It wasn’t the sort of help I’d been looking for, and I didn’t know why they’d done it.

‘They’ continued explaining, “That way, people can take them apart and pass the books around.”

“How will that help?” I asked. “They’ll just buy one book, take it apart, and pass pieces around.”

“They’ve already bought two,” one of them said as people going by paused to look at the book.

I was shaking my head about the whole thing as the dream agenda shifted, with a change of scenery. Now located at Mom’s house (not any house that she’s ever lived in, BTW), in the basement, I’d come up with something. I don’t even know what it is now that I’m awake. In the dream, I called it a grill sometimes and a screen sometimes. It looked like a bed’s headboard, but none of us ever called it that. The others in the dream referred to it as a grill. I’d made them and painted them, and then added a saying. I’d done two like this. When I showed it to Mom and the other two, they were pleased and excited, going overboard with their enthusiasm. Could I make more? Of course, and I would.

Then they left me alone. I busied myself with other things. Mom came down to check on me. “You’re not making more sayings, are you?” she said. “We want to be there when you make more sayings.”

It exasperated me because she was hijacking my process and results, even though I’d done it for her (from what I understand). Plus, I preferred working alone. Always have. I was a bit short with her in my response.

Off I went to do other things.  When I returned, Mom proudly announced that they’d been helping. She led me along to show me the result. They’d painted grills that I’d already made. The results looked terrible. The paint was sloppy and incomplete, but had many runs and was too thick in many places.

I was horrified. Yet, I knew that expressing that would hurt her feelings. I said, “Well, thank you, but I think some of that has to be redone.”

She was saying, “I know,” but was meanwhile leading me to where my nieces and nephews were hard at work painting more grills. I felt helpless in the face of such a proud effort to help. My wife and sister-in-law came by, endorsing what was being done while I stood in the middle and wondered how I was going to regain control.


Sunday’s Theme Music

This morning found me awakening with a song streaming in my mind. How unusual! I don’t believe that’s ever happened before (*snark*).

The theme du jour was being delivered by Sammy Hagar on vocals as part of the amplified group called Van Halen. The song, “Why Can’t This Be Love”, was released during my formative years. 1986 found me moving from South Carolina to Germany.  I was a wee lad of thirty years old, and full of wide-eyed wonder and innocence. My new friends introduced me to this interesting musical genre called rock. That changed my thinking forever.

I really associate this with Randy, though. After Germany, my next assignment took me to California, where I met Randy. Now dead of cancer at fifty-nine, he was a huge Van Halen, Boston, and Atlanta Braves fan. Go to his home, and it wouldn’t be unusual to find him on the patio smoking, windows open and drinking coffee or beer, with Van Halen, Boston, or the Atlanta Braves on.

Crank it up. You know Randy would.


Ménage à floof

Ménage à floof (catfinition) – a domestic arrangement of two or more cats living in a loving and supportive relationship.

In use: “She’d always been a unifloofian because of Flash’s attitude, but Flash took to the two new fosters and a ménage à floof resulted.”

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