Month: July 2019

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Hump day. It’s become embedded in me.

I don’t work nine to five. I write seven on seven, breaking for some sickness, some holidays. Mostly I write, following the words the muses strew along the paths, trying to connect the story that I glimpse.

Though I don’t work Monday through Friday, the weekend remains the week’s end, and Wednesday remains the middle, the hump that I gotta get over. All psycho, innit? Yeah, a marriage of mental, physical, and emotional energy that started when we were in school in the U.S., and then carried on through employment.

I’m going to get through it with a little Dire Straits, cause I’m doing the “Walk of Life” (1985). It’s a good walking song to stream. “Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies, bebob a lula, baby, what I say?”

The video is a fun look back at sports and hairstyles…

 

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Floofhole

Floofhole (floofinition) – 1. An obnoxious pet who seems deliberately contrary and unruly, often bothering and annoying others. 2. A pet who seems insatiable.

In use: “A big dog, he ate with gusto and ran with energy, a floofhole who seemed to swallow cans and bags of food without noticing, trying to eat everything else within reach, too. Nothing was safe.”

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Today’s music is owed to a cat. I opened a new can, put it in his bowl, and set it down in front of it. He took a step toward it, bent his head, sniffed it, looked up at me, and meowed.

“Looks fine to me,” I said. “Whatcha see is whatcha get.”

That naturally triggered the 1971 Dramatics’ song, “Whatchat See Is Whatcha Get”.

I gave another cat the rejected food. The other cat wolfed it down and then washed itself. The first cat, Boo, found kibble in the always there kibble bow.

Thinking about the song, I thought that it’s not only effective for telling the cat this is his breakfast choice this morning, but can hold to our politics with Trump. What you see, an ignorant, self-absorbed person and known cheat with a first-graders’ maturity level, and nursery-school knowledge of history and the U.S. Constitution, is what you get. That seems fine with the Trumpettes, but the rest of us are not pleased.

The song’s first words:

Some people are made of plastic
And you know some people are made of wood
Some people have hearts of stone
Some people are up to no good

h/t to Genius.com

Yes, I think that’s apropos for Trump and the Trumpettes.

 

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Tollfloof

Tollfloof (floofinition) – housepet who blocks a common passage such as the stairs, a doorway, or hall, and doesn’t let others by without payment.

In use: “Dobie and Gillis were both tollfloofs. Both liked getting tolls paid on the top stair. Dobie offered his beagle belly for a rub as a toll. Gillis, though, turned on her amber-eyed target acquisition system and swatted anyone who dared to pass, but with her claws withdrawn.”

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The Disconnect

He walked through the neighborhoods of circa 1940 and 1950 bungalows and craftsman houses. The newer neighborhoods were ranches built in the 1960s and 1970s, larger houses with smaller yards.

Throughout were large oak, sycamore, and maple trees, along with cars and RVs filled with belongings parked up against the curbs. Some cars had people sleeping inside. Others had windows or doors open with people lounging by their vehicles, smoking cigarettes, talking to others, listening to music, or reading books.

Churches occupied every third block, churches with an acre or more of vast asphalt for parking with signs stating, “Church Use Only. All Others Will Be Towed.” 

Somehow, seeing those cars and RVs of homeless parked on the streets and the vast empty church parking lots, he thought there was a disconnect, but he just couldn’t connect it.

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Floofarchy

Floofarchy (floofinition) – social organization marked by the pet’s supremacy in a household or family.

In use: “His love of animals was apparent, and his social posts suggested that he supported a floofarchy, allowing his pets to do anything (or so it seemed) while treating them like England’s royal family.”

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Not the Same

“I don’t believe in the Holocaust,” he said with a challenging, simpering smile. 

“What’s that mean?”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know that it happened.”

“It’s a well-documented historic fact. Millions of people died.”

He waved that away. “Papers. Photographs. That can all be faked.”

“And bodies in graves?”

“They can be faked, too. I wasn’t there, so I can’t confirm that it happened, and I don’t believe it did. Just like slavery. I don’t think it happened, either.”

My mouth fell open. “So you need to be there to know if something happened.” As he nodded, I said, “Are you a sports fan?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How do you know that a game took place if you weren’t there? You can’t watch every game on television. Even if you could, that can be faked.”

He laughed. “Oh, that’s different, because I’m alive now. I’m experiencing it.”

“You were born, when, the early seventies?”

“Exactly nineteen seventy.”

I set my cup to focus on him. “The Moon landings began the year before, nineteen sixty-nine. Do you believe in those?”

“No, I don’t. There’s a lot of evidence that the entire space program was faked.”

“Then World War II was probably faked, too, right?”

“No, because my grandfather fought in World War II in the Pacific. He confirmed it was real.”

“But only in the Pacific, right? He didn’t serve in Europe.”

“But he had friends and other relatives that fought in Europe.”

“But not you.”

“Of course not. I’m too young.”

“Then you must not believe in Jesus Christ. You weren’t there when he was alive, were you? Or the first SuperBowl or any of the other football championships? You must not believe in Babe Ruth, either, or Columbus coming to America, right?”

He was shaking his head. “No, no, you’re wrong. Fake news to control the people is a modern pracitice that the United States government developed. Things that happened hundreds of years ago are true because people told the truth in that time. See, it’s just not the same.”

 

 

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