Floofnorant
Floofnorant (floofinition) – People who are oblivious of animals and animal behavior, except for the barest awareness that animals exist.
In use: “Many of the floofnorant sniff and make disdainful noises that animals are dumb, don’t have emotions, and don’t feel pain. People who live with animals have a much different view.”
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Dawn broke the darkness at 7:39 AM. Its light had been stealing in like a child sneaking up to take a cookie that they weren’t supposed to take. But it officially came at 7:39. The backside comes at straight up 5 PM.
Today is January 11, 2022. This will be the only day this year with that date. Make it a special day in honor of its uniqueness. Our temperatures remain warm, 40 F at dawn, 52 now, on our way to 58 to 60. A faded winter sky overlooks a fusion landscape of fall and spring, bare trees and new growth.
I have Steve Winwood’s 1988 song, “Don’t You Know What the Night Can Do?”, parading through the morning’s mental music stream, a reflection of a night of vivid dreams and contemplations about spectrums — the spectrum of time, life, and biology. How the night can change a mood is impressive. One can fall into sleep, awaken a zillion hours later and feel fantastic. Not what the night can do, per se: don’t you know what a good night of sleep can do?
In other news, scientists are using the idea of warm balls as a possible male contraceptive. There are some limits: “In the hotter tests of the experiment, however, the balls atrophied, and in some—depending on how much iron oxide was injected, and how hot the nuts got—showed “distinct black discolorations” and the testes were “severely damaged at 7 days.” If they were cooked above 113 degrees, the balls didn’t recover.” Imagine contraceptive underwear being offered for sale at Target as a holiday stocking stuffer.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax and boosters. Excuse me, I’m gonna refresh my coffee. Here’s the music, with a little Letterman and Schaffer. Cheers
Apple Diet After Math
The three-day apple diet was endured. Yeah, not bad, except in maddening fits when habits drive hunger. Like relaxing, watching television or reading in the evening invites a food companion. Not anything big but the apple slices weren’t satisfying in those moments.
That was rare, though. I’m satisfied with results. I suffer from edema brought on by Amlodipine taken to manage my high blood pressure. Apples only for three days had a dramatic impact. Likewise, as I’ve aged, mild bloating plagues me. That disappeared. And I felt damn fine. I’d recommend it to others.
Rising yesterday morning, I wasn’t hungry and ate breakfast a little later than usual. Energy level was high. I didn’t have any dramatic urges or desires to stuff myself. For dinner, we enjoyed fish with seasoned boiled potatoes, steamed broccoli, and a salad.
The cats rose up. “Fish! Real food. At last, we have been delivered from our suffering.” They charged my plate, leaping up onto the table. They know they’re not allowed on the table.
My response: “Get down. Back. This is my food. You don’t see me going after your food.”
They all jumped down and scattered back a few feet. The head floof said, “You can eat my kibble any time you want. I’ll trade.”
I told him I’d passed. He walked away, muttering to himself, tail swishing.
I don’t think he was happy.
Michael Seidel, writer 