Floofpede (floofinition) – A sudden rush of animals.
In use: “The doorbell rang, and the floofpede for the safety of other rooms was on.”
Floofarazzi
Floofarazzi (floofinition) – Photographer who take pictures and videos of animals.
In use: “Upon acquiring new cell phones, many people become floofarazzi, taking and sharing photos of animals (especially pets) looking cute, sleeping, eating, fighting, washing, etc., whatever they saw their pet doing, posting the results on social media.”
Warning Shot
It wasn’t as if he was doing this without meditation and forethought. A dangerous situation prevailed. This wasn’t just his opinion. He’d researched studies on the internet and sought validation by experts. It was only then that he formed his plan and executed it.
First, there was the gun, ammunition, and the ability to aim and fire it. Done in a thrice (an expression that he loved). Next he chose his location. Months of research were conducted. He wasn’t a marksman. A moving target wouldn’t work. Distance was also a premium.
It all came together on a bright and quiet Sunday morning. A guy driving a Prius rolled along, left hand holding his cell to his ear, dismissive of the person in the cross walk. Probably didn’t see them, too occupied with his cell phone. What was so damn important that he needed to drive and talk? Infuriating.
So it wasn’t hard to finally convince himself, do it. The blue car cruised toward him (a little over the speed limit, if he was to judge). He didn’t expect the Prius to stop at the sign. The driver nearly didn’t, but an elderly woman in an elderly green Subaru forced the issue (it was like God was helping him).
Stepping up to the Prius’ passenger window, he fired at the driver four times. Spinning around, he tucked the weapon into his pocket and walked away (calmly, at just over normal speed), defying his body’s urging to run.
Around a corner, he went into an alley where his vehicle was parked. Only then, after he’d gotten into the car, started it up, and driven it away, did celebrations begin.
He’d done it. Laughing, he hit his steering wheel. He didn’t know if he’d killed the man (a kill wasn’t required, the message was in the shooting), but he’d definitely hit him at least once.
Oh, the adrenaline, the feeling of exhilaration.
One down. More shootings were probably required before people got the message (most people were so stupid that they needed to be hit over the head). He’d send a letter to newspapers (that would take some doing to cover his tracks), explaining how and what he was doing. Talking on a cell phone while driving was dangerous. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He was saving lives by sending a message.
Nodding to himself, he halted his car at the corner stop sign and watched a police car speed by, red and blue lights flashing, siren screaming. Even if caught and convicted, he was sure he’d be pardoned. He was absolutely certain that his President would approve of what he’d done, killing one to save many. Why, he was just like the police.
Smiling again, he decided on a change of plans. He was hungry.
Time to celebrate.
Jigfloof
Jigfloof (floofinition) – 1. Animal who helps complete a jigsaw puzzle.
In use: “Once the pieces were put on a table, a jigfloof arrived to join the effort.”
2. An animal whose place in one’s life provides a sense of being whole.
In use: “She hadn’t been prepared for a dog, let alone a big dog, but her friend’s final words put the burden on her. He turned into a jigfloof, providing a piece to her life that she didn’t know was missing.”
Photo: Tucker, the house jigfloof, helping us put together a puzzle that came as a holiday gift. (He refused to to look up at the camera. It’s a principle thing. The first principle is that he’s a cat and doesn’t do anything asked of him. The second thing is that he can’t stand floofarazzi.)
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Yeah, out of the dream reflections about the party dream came Pink’s song, “Get The Party Started” (2001).
Not much of the lyrics have much to do with the dream except that others were present and urging me to party. It’s more that after I was thinking about it, I got up and moved onto other things, telling myself as I did, “Well, it’s time to get this party started.”
I was referring to the day so it gave me pause as I pondered new accidental insights into the dream. Then Pink’s music jumped the stream, and off I went.
Moving Targets
Quick updates on the writing and submitting fronts.
- I’d originally hoped to complete It Begins by January 15th. I’d begun it on November first. Writing had progressed to the point that I really thought I had a chance to finish it by the end of 2019. Now, though, I think it’s more realistic to believe that I’ll finish it by the end of January. Fingers crossed.
- More dismaying, I had a target of three hundred pages for the first draft. I’m on page 292, and I can see that it’ll be more than three hundred pages. I’m hopeful that I’ll finish it with less than three hundred fifty pages. I can then edit it down.
- I responded to the agents who requested more material on the last novel, April Showers 1921. After I finished editing it in October, I’d submitted it to agents. I’ve had some response but, knowing how long it is before one says yes or no, I decided to submit to more agents. I kicked it out to ten more. I have good feelings about several of the agents, but I tend to be an optimist.
Those are the main things. For background, the completion target of January 15th was simply a spur of the moment decision, a whim to provide focus, grab my attention, and stimulate my discipline. It seems to be working.
The page count was a more practical matter. I tend to write long books (or books that turn into a series of books). April Showers 1921 is six hundred pages and one hundred eighty thousand words. Incomplete States, the series that I completed at the end of 2018, is five novels and four hundred twenty-eight thousand words. I felt like I needed to write something smaller.
It was another excellent day of writing like crazy. Let me give credit to the muses; I couldn’t do it without them.
About the only detail that marred it was that I had to work at a counter in the coffee shop, sitting on a stool. I don’t like sitting on stools. Nothing personal against stools, but I can’t get comfortable on them. Due to that, I ended up standing for most of the writing session. Now my dogs are barking (an expression that I’ve always enjoyed).
Time to call it a day. One, there are other things to do. Two, the coffee cup is empty. Three, I’m very hungry.
Golden Floof
Golden Floof (floofinition) – 1. An animal colored or shining like gold.
In use: “Sunshine bounced off the five retrievers, making them seem like golden statues sitting on the lawn in the still morning air.”
2. Annual award presented to animals representing the best in multiple categories.
In use: “Dieter was pleased and proud when his tiny terrier took home Golden Floof Awards for loudest bark in a small dog and most dramatic bark, validating his belief that Rodger’s bark (he was named after the quarterback) was different.”
3. (slang) Expression to refer to an animal that seems to do things right.
In use: “He was lucky with Penny, his copper and black calico. Unintrusive, confident, friendly, and loving, she seemed like a golden floof.
Monday’s Theme Music
It seems like my mind is determined to turn back time in my dreams. It’s also making all these song connections. (Like, boom, Cher has begun singing, “If I could turn back time.”)
The dreams were crazy chaos, leaving images like flashes of sunlight off of windshields. The dreams’ theme was ‘anything goes’. That theme conjured up the show tune from the musical with the same name, “Anything Goes”, which, let’s see…came out twenty-two years before my birth, but the movie did come out the year I was born.
Out of this throwback, go-go sense came the song that’s haunting the morning’s stream (now I have this image of a musical urine stream…oh, boy. (“I heard the news today, oh boy.” Yeah, the Beatles.) It’s from a 1964 movie, so I was eight.
The song is “The Monkey’s Uncle”. Although the Beach Boys perform it with Annette Funicello singing it, it’s written by the Sherman Brothers. Yeah, I looked it up. I knew the first two pieces but not the third. The Sherman Brothers were prolific songwriters. You should check out their list. I can tell you that one of their other songs, “It’s A Small World”, has entered my stream.
Meanwhile, the monkey’s uncle idiom amuses me. In one of those flashes in the dream, someone else says it in what feels like a sitcom moment. I’m looking at the guy when he does. Canned laughter kicks in, and then the song begins.
I don’t hear people say, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” that often any longer. I think it was dying out as a popular saying even when I was young, sputtering along in movies and television where caricatures of old folks say it.
That frenetic dream activity left me felt energized, like it was a storm blowing out my mind’s systems. Anyway, the long and short of it (had to throw that in, it was in dream), is “The Monkey’s Uncle” is today’s theme music.
Feel free to sing along, or if you’re like me, laugh along, with the video.
Michael Seidel, writer 