Jack Said

April 18, 2019 0

The Watery Dream

I’ll not include all the dream’s tedious details, instead focusing on the few scenes, person, and essence that cling to my memory.

Roger/Ronnie was there. Twins, they were my wife’s cousins. Born in Ohio, they adopted Georgia as their home, shooting as their mantra, and Fox News as their information source. They loved playing at being good ol’ boys.

Since I couldn’t tell them apart, one of them was in the dream. In the dream, there was trench full of muddy, milky water flowing through the middle of the house. We all accepted it as normal that it was there. The house itself was busy with people and activities but nothing that seemed significant. I could be wrong.

I went down to lower level in the house. It stank down there. I traced the smell to another body of water coming in through a trench in a wall. After more investigation, I figured that the upstairs water was emptying in such a way that it was sloshing back up this trench and into the house, where it pooled and stagnated.

Once I understood the cause, I went back upstairs. I knew something needed to be done about it and that I couldn’t do it alone. I needed help.

Here, I pause. I explained and showed people, mostly men, the stagnant water. I think I explained it to my late father-in-law. Mostly, though, I explained it to strangers, and Roger or Ronnie.

With Roger/Ronnie, they came in, took a deep breath and said, “Something stinks.” I told them about the water, and then showed it to them. They said, “You’re right.” I said, “We need to so something about that.” They said, “You’re right,” with a big grin, “but I can’t. I don’t have the time.” Feeling exasperated by that point, I decided that I was the only one that understood and cared, and that I would need to do something about it.

The dream ended.

I feel like my dream is addressing my restlessness and frustration. It’s bothering me multiple levels, and I understand exactly what it is.

April 18, 2019 2

Tareytons Are Better

Being part of this era of pop-culture and consumer living is wonderful. We witness the rise and fall of trends, and technology grants us visitation rights with what was then and how it was done.

I grew up in the cigarette culture. Born in 1956, the doctors and nurses were probably smoking when I was delivered. Everyone was smoking in the 1960s. Movie and television stars used cigarettes as props for being cool, sophisticated, and fashionable. Mom and Dad smoked while doing everything from working on the car (yeah, that was a thing, then, and it was probably not a safe thing) to entertaining guests. Children stole cigarettes and smoke in secret to be like their parents. A smoky haze filled bars, airplanes, and restaurants.

I didn’t smoke cigarettes. I smoke marijuana, a little hash, and then cigars and pipes, but never cigarettes (yea, me?). I never smoked much of any of it, and quit any smoking thirteen years ago. I have sometimes vaped some marijuana since then.

I was thinking about the cigarette smoking and their commercials, jingles, and slogans. Do you know about those days, when cigarette advertising was as dominant as medicine advertising now is? If not, you should learn about “Tareytons are better, charcoal is why,” and cigarettes that were made for women, or manly cigarettes like Camels and Marlboros, and the meaning behind LSMFT*.

We made fun of it all back then. Winston had a jingle about how good their cigarettes were. I’ve included that below. We sang a different song about Winstons.

“Winstons taste bad, like the one I just had. No filter, no flavor, just toilet paper.”

* LSMFT – Lucky Strikes Mean Fine Tobacco.

April 18, 2019 0

Floofxedo

Floofxedo (floofinition) – a housepet that looks like it’s wearing a tuxedo; housepet clothing ensemble that looks like a tuxedo.

In use: “The matching black and white dog and cat seemed to be wearing floofxedos. That would have been interesting by itself, but the house’s decor was black and white, with chrome highlights, and she was wearing a black and white ensemble with silver jewelry. It was over-the-top and unnerving.”

April 18, 2019 2

Floofdux

Floofdux (floofinition) – when a housepet does something, and then does it again; when a human does something for a housepet more than one time.

In use: “Trained to respond to treats, she demonstrated her cat and dog’s synchronized standing-on-their-hind-paws routine, treating us to a floofdux when others arrived.”

April 18, 2019 4

Thursday Theme Music – A Twofer!

Okay, don’t know why the stream introduced this song today. See, the stream works in mysterious ways. See, right there, the stream immediately wants to flow with another song. Therefore, we’ll have *drumroll* A THURSDAY TWOfer.

First up, we have a 1964 entry, the Rolling Stones covering “Time Is on My Side”. As I wrote, I don’t know why I’m streaming it. I was eight when it came out, but I’m familiar with the song because I have seven or eight Stones CDs, and it’s on one or two of ’em. I don’t think my dreams prompted this stream. Dreams were strange — of course, yeah? — and included muddy water and male relatives from my wife’s side of the tree. Nothin’ ’bout time was featured, but it’s stuck in me head and must be released.

The second, almost naturally, has to be “Mysterious Ways” by U2 (1991). You see how that’s all connected, yeah? Sure.

Let it rock, let it roll. (And that triggered a THIRD song, but we’ll stop now.) Hope one of them works for your theme song today. If you got another, get yer ya-yas out, and let me know.

April 18, 2019 0

What School? (Updated)

Once again, Stephen King has managed to irritate me.

I’d been busy writing, thinking, and brainstorming yesterday, capping off the final few minutes of an enjoyable writing session. (I know, I seem like an eternal optimist, don’t I? Truth is, I don’t share many of the dark days. I don’t like dwelling on ’em.)

MS Word froze. Hell, the entire computer froze. With an exasperated, “WTF?”, I sat back, sipping the last of my cold coffee, hoping to wait it out. A few things were attempted to break the hold. Not a damn thing worked.

Hard reboot, please. I was sore about it, nay, pissed. I wanted to bring the doc up to finish those last few thoughts and paragraphs.

Twelve minutes later – was I counting? Ya think? – the docs were up with some final paragraphs missing. Grrr. The excitement had fizzled, the energy had dried up, the thrill was gone. (Cue B.B. King.) So was my coffee and the allotted time to write. I made a note to myself, just a brief, slightly cryptic thing. I figured, I’d remember…

Twenty-four hours later, I don’t remember. Well, I remember three out of four that I’d thought. Damn it, that fourth one is plaguing me.

Which brings me to the eternal question, which school do you belong to? Are you one that writes copious notes, or are you of the “I’ll remember it” school?

I used to be the copious notes school. Then I read that Stephen King said that he doesn’t keep notes. He said that if it was important, he’d remember it. How sage that sounded! I would be like Stephen King. He can do it, so I can, too…right?

First, I lied. I am a copious note maker. I have documents of notes about the novel in progress, explaining what and why, because I know that I’ll probably get lost in the tangled tales and forget. I invoked the Stephen King clause yesterday in an optimistic fit. While I don’t remember it now, I’m sure that I will as I write today…or tomorrow…or…sometime.

I hope.

Got my mind juice, a.k.a., coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

UPDATE: I remembered the fourth as I began writing, and made a note of all four. Ah, the power of coffee.

April 17, 2019 0

Archfloofocese

Archfloofocese (floofinition) – the district for which an archfloofshop is responsible.

In use: “The pets established areas, an archfloofocese, if you will, where they liked to hang. In each archfloofocese, one pet ruled and kept order – a cat in the master bedroom, a dog on the patio, and the noisy bird in the living room.”