Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Dreamed that I was at this outdoor location that focused on the National Football League. Not the only one there, it appeared that thousands of other people were present. While the awakened me has scant grasp of what was going on, dream me was there and ready. Names were being issued for a very special honor, so I was listening with anticipation.
My name was announced. Pleased and proud to be selected, I went to my assigned position beside a large sculpture. The sculpture was of Steelers players. Ben Roethlisberger, number seven and the current quarterback, was the main figure but there were others. My job, as explained to me, was to explain the history of the Pittsburgh Steelers, with emphasis on their championship seasons. Then, from a special bowl, I was to select the future Superbowls that they’d win.
Other presentations began. I eagerly awaited my chance. The Green Bay Packers were right before the Steelers. Suddenly, as their presentation ended, something happened to disrupt the gathering. People began departing and the agenda was abandoned.
I refused to leave, hoping that I’d still have a chance. At last, though, acknowledging that I wouldn’t be presenting, I said, “I guess that means the Packers will win all of the rest, because no other team had been given a chance.
I don’t know what any of it means.
I think today’s ancient rock song speaks to human history. Listen, and let me know if you agree. A sample verse:
Neon lights, a Nobel Prize
When a leader speaks, that leader dies
You won’t have to follow me
Only you can set you free
You gave me fortune
You gave me fame
You gave me power in your God’s name
I’m every person you need to be
Read more: Living Colour – Cult Of Personality Lyrics | MetroLyrics
Here’s Living Colour’s 1988 song, “Cult of Personality”.
I spread the good news to my friends. “Hey, the local WalMart supposedly has the latest manscaping products in stock, and it’s supposed to be the best!”
They, twelve retired professionals ranging in age from sixty to eighty-five, responded.
“What?”
“WalMart!”
“Manscaping.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I was not put off. I’d already talked to them about anal bleaching. They often overlook these fine points of pop-culture. I’m the chosen one to educate them.
Many immediately said, “We don’t shape at WalMart.”
I said, “You might need to change your ways, if you want the latest manscaping products suitable for urbane gents such as as yourselves.”
Bill laughed. “Manscaping! I don’t have the eyesight for that kind of thing. I’d be afraid of what I’m clipping.”
“Get your wife to help you,” I suggested. “You can make it a romantic evening.”
“A romantic evening of manscaping?” Joe asked.
“Yes. Light some candles and have a few glasses of wine, and then strip down, lay back on the bed, and let her groom you.”
Bill roared. “That’d be a bloody mess. Her eyesight is worse than me.”
Andy nodded. “Enough said. No one sees me naked and I’m not interested in landscaping myself just for the joy of it.”
“Someone change the subject,” Chris said.
“Hey,” I said, “did you hear about the new waxing place in town, just for men?”
Today’s song popped into my stream as I was walking and remembering my dreams. It’s a fitting rebellion song for teenagers, husbands, wives, dejected voters…whatever.
Dredged up from 1984, here’s Twisted Sister with “We’re Not Gonna Take It”. Sing out, dance out, flex, break out.
What do you want to do with your life?
Floofwork (floofinition) – Specific tasks at home related to having housepets, such as cleaning litter boxes and brushing animals’ fur coats.
In use: “Leaving the bedroom for the kitchen, she paused five times along the way to pick up clumps of fur. Five times. She was incredulous. She’d just picked up fur when she’d gone into the bedroom not three minutes ago. Floofwork never ended.”
He was reading Big Sky by Kate Atkinson, and enjoying it. His laptop was on in front of him on the desk, and the television was playing an old movie, Jumanji. Sunday evening multi-tasking at his finest, in his opinion, reaching for another piece of Colby and a cracker.
His shifting position let him see her in her armchair to his left. She was giving him a look. Having been together for fifty years, he’d developed insights into her looks. Although many would see it as outwardly little different from her other looks, small clues in lips, eyes, and her head’s posture led him along a diagnostic path that finished, she’s about to register a complaint.
A bright smile was flashed her way. “What’s up?” The cheese and cracker found his mouth. It was so good, he reached for more.
“You need a haircut, babe.”
He shrugged, prepared to return to his book. “You’re probably right.” She was, but he wasn’t going to be so bald about it.
“I don’t understand your attitude toward your hair. Have you seen yourself ? Your hair is an unkempt mess.”
“Unkempt mess, as opposed to a kempt mess? Is kempt a word? I should google that.”
“You look like a homeless bum.”
“Isn’t that redundant? If you have a home, can you — ”
“Don’t change the subject. My point is that your hair is a mess. What’s with you and your hair?”
“Well, my philosophy is simple.” Raising a glass of pinot noir in her direction, he smiled. “Hair today, gone tomorrow.”
She was not amused.
Michael Seidel, writer 