Ponder and wonder were different by only one letter. So were wander and pander. He wondered and pondered about the wonder of that as his thoughts wandered, pandering to his laziness and procrastination.
Floofalize (floofinition) – To make animals central in scope or application.
In use: “With more pets being added to households, homes continue to be floofalized with additions such as catios and kennels, and pet rooms with their own flooficated furniture and televisions.”
My wife wanted to see “Spirited” last night. I shrugged. Okay.
If you don’t know, Spirited is a movie streaming on Apple which was written by John Morris and Sean Anders, directed by the latter. It may be in theaters or streaming elsewhere. I don’t know.
It’s campy. Will Ferrell, Octavia Spencer, and Ryan Reynolds star, and it has a strong cast beyond them. Will Ferrell plays a meek, mild fellow while Reynolds is a PR barracuda and Spencer is Reynold’s assistant. Set in New York, the thing about the movie is that it’s a musical, kind of sort of sometimes, with an ongoing joke, “No, not another song, it’s not needed.” The second thing is that it’s a holiday offering based on the ideas presented by Dickens in A Christmas Carol that there are ghosts and supernatural beings out to change folks using some time-travel. Naturally, Spirited contains a modern twist or two.
It’s a neat and fun idea. I liked thinking about how the idea may have evolved, finding it a clever application of the basic premise. To understand more, you need to watch it or read actual, thorough reviews of it.
I did enjoy it, especially the take on the expression, “Good Afternoon”. Again, you’ll need to watch it. The singing and dancing was energetic and well-executed. Some of the songs had a sameness to songs from other musicals by the musical power behind Spirited, Pasek and Paul, sending my wife to google what other works they’d done.
Yeah, not much of a review, other to say it entertained and diverted me, but I prefer not to give more away. If you have a problem with that, well then, good afternoon to you.
Dreamed I was writing a book. Sitting at a small, ancient personal computer, beige and tall, I wore a tee shirt and shorts and worked at tiny desk, just me in a chair by a tall and narrow window.
But I was being helped. I learned through my elderly uncle (my father’s younger brother and alive) that many family members were helping me with it. That list included some who passed on. As I typed, I could see them elsewhere, arranging and editing. Sometimes I could see some of their work and the changes they made because it was in bold.
I was working on a deadline. My uncle knew this and would come by to tell me what was transpiring with the other group and check on me. As I finished, I told them that they needed to finish as well. They did, dropping off the work with my uncle. They left without saying anything to me.
Finishing, I collected my work and went to say bye to my uncle. He presented what the others had prepared. I was grateful and thanked him. Then I hastily changed clothes and got into a small, light green sedan, something older made by BMW. I drove once around the block, which was tree lined, with old trees, and well-paved streets. I saw the others and waved to them, laughing as they waved back. I called out my thanks and they shouted back, “You’re welcome.” Then I drove on.
Weirdly, as this dream fell away, I heard the Thompson Twins singing “Hold Me Now.” The song stayed in my head when I awoke, along with the shadows from the dream.
Get out your cards and markers. Time for daily bingo.
Wednesday. November. Thirty. Twenty twenty-two. Sunrise. Seven nineteen. Forty-one degrees F. Forty-six degrees F. Sunshine. Clear skies. Rain. Sunset. Four forty.
We have a bingo. Congratulations, sir. Here is your coffee.
Winds are blustering like a lying politician trying to distract everyone from their crimes. Our backyard flowering pear is shedding its golden leaves by the binful, turning the back land into a golden carpet. All around town, the leaves in the trees are switching to the same brown shade, beautiful in its own manner. Naked tree branches stretch toward sunshine and spring’s promise as a November day full of autumn hails the oncoming winter.
A dream provided The Neurons with today’s morning mental music stream selection. “Hold Me Now” by the Thompson Twins was released in 1983 and became a hit in many places. It also was used to end a dream last night. So, it comes up now as today’s music selection.
I have my coffee, thanks, courtesy of winning daily bingo. Stay pos, test neg, etc. Try to live a good life. Make moments count. Here’s the tune. Cheers
He accompanied his wife when she went clothes shopping. As he followed her, he began to consider what he’d wear and how he would dress as a woman. It felt like the swath of options and challenges for them are much greater than they are for men. Of course, many demands on women and how they dress are thrust on them by society and shaped by their bodies and coloring. After five minutes, he decided that it was just as well that he was male and didn’t need to think about all those things, starting with bras.
My wife and I had been traveling together but stopping to stay in a town, I went off on my own to visit with friends.
Now I was returning at dawn. I was staggering with exhaustion, having been up all night driving and walking.
I was a little lost. Things looked somewhat familiar but each turn had me pause to frown and figure out where to go.
At last I was in a little blue car. I came out a parking lot and began turning right. A huge red pickup truck went by, just missing me. A second came by and almost hit with both of us swerving at the same time. Both of those vehicles had been on the wrong side of the road. Quick as that, as I’m cursing the other drivers, I remember, this is a one-way street, and it goes that-away. I snap the wheel around to go in the right way, grateful there weren’t more cars coming because that could have been disastrous. Parking behind the two trucks, who simply pulled off, I walk up to apologize to the drivers. The second truck’s driver is a large elderly man, a white fellow with short silver hair, wearing a light blue short-sleeved flannel shirt. He’s walking up to the red truck. Its windows are all blacked out. I can’t see its driver.
I shrug off apologizing. I’ve reached the hotel where my wife and I are staying. I traverse a little alley and enter the rear of an aircraft to cut through to the hotel. People have spread mattresses and blankets across the aisles, and they’re sleeping. There’s also a huge Great Dane sleeping under one blanket. It wakes, sees me, and gets up and moves out of my way. The sleeping people and another little dog, small and white, awaken and see me, and laugh at the situation. I carefully get up on the mattresses and pick my way to the other end of the plane, out and into the lobby.
It’s a light blue lobby, with a coffee shop to one side. A middle-aged dark-haired woman with short black hair and brown hair greets me. I’m exhausted. I ask for coffee and then go to use the restroom. In there, I see myself in the mirror. My hair is dark brown, full and thick, matching my beard and mustache. I look like a wildman who just returned from living in the jungle. I’m wearing pale blue shorts. They’re not mine. I check my pockets for my wallet; it’s there. Finding a brush, I style my hair, beard, and mustache. That instantly transforms me into a really good-looking guy.
Okay, back out at the counter, light blue Formica, I find a glass mug. It has thin brown fluid in it, which might be weak tea, along with ice and a lemon. I sip some as a woman comes up. I realize it must be hers and apologize for drinking her drink but figure, I’ll continue, since I started. I ask for coffee to add to it.
Leaving there, I head for my room. It’s either 126 or 124. I can’t remember and chastise myself for not asking at the desk. The rooms are like little cottages but they’re stacked side by side.
I pull a key out of my pocket. It’s a bizarre skeleton key. I have no idea what it’ll fit, but it’s not a room key. It has a square, almost baroque wire design, with a short skinny portion for the lock. WTH? I have no idea where it came from so I return it to my pocket and then continue to look for the room where we’re staying.