Thursday’s Theme Music

Thursday, April 27, 2023, was on the radar yesterday. It arrived in Ashlandia without fanfare, slipping in under night’s protection at midnight. The day and date has little baggage and comes well-stocked with sunshine and spring warmth. It’s already 58 F with intentions of plying the mid-80s, the weather heads tell me. Sunrise was between six and six fifteen. The butt end of the daylight hours will be seen after eight, if you’re looking.

So I have “The Heat Is On” in the morning mental music stream. We spoke about the song at our beer gathering last night. Some thought it was done by Foreigner. Others believed it was Don Henley. I and another were certain it was Glenn Frey. Getting home last night, I queried the net for confirmation. I like the song and employed it as theme music twice but I never researched it. I was surprised. Frey didn’t write it; didn’t play the music. He was selected as the vocalist after trying out by invitation. The Neurons said, “What?”

Here’s a Songfact excerpt:

“The Heat Is On” was written for the film by Harold Faltermeyer and Keith Forsey, and they needed a popular artist to sing it. The Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack album was on MCA Records, which Glenn Frey recently signed with. MCA asked several of their male rock singers to audition for the lead vocal for the song. At first Frey thought this wasn’t something “rock stars” did, but he decided to go along, just for fun, never thinking they’d pick him. Harold Faltermeyer was impressed by Frey’s vocal (the instrumental tracks were already recorded) and shocked Frey by using his version. It was Frey’s biggest solo hit, reaching #2 in the US…”

In other things learned, I’ve been told that young people don’t use the word straight as we used to normally use it. For example, they do not say, “Drive straight.” That, to them, I was told, is about sexual orientation and can be construed as a slight to others. It’s astonishing to me but, it’s another emerging culture, I guess. Words and their meanings and impacts change year by year by generation, geography, and society. Instead of driving ‘straight’, they say, drive forward. Not the same meaning to me but…

For today’s theme music, I’m going with a crazy theme and “I’ve Always Been Crazy”, a 1978 song by Waylon Jennings also rotating in the morning mental music stream. I have a history of being contrarian with friends and family, and this seems like an appropriate song for me and the day.

Stay pos. Hope your weather is treating you well. As we used to say, ‘have a nice day’. That’s looked down upon now as meaningless, trite, and superficial. Some even respond, “Don’t tell me how to feel.” Here’s the music. I’m off to the coffee machine. Cheers

The Floof Body Problem

The Floof Body Problem (floofinition) – In households with animals, the floof body problem is the issued encountered when an animal or floof is asleep or comfortable on an individual who needs to move.

In use: “Once they adopted two cats, Mel and Karla started encountering the floof body problem as the new boys found comfort on the humans’ laps, stalling efforts to get up to eat or pee, or just move because part of them had gone numb.”

The Bureau

Patrick felt like warmed-over crap. Aches gnawed his spine. Coffee tasted like tar in his mouth. Betrayed by coffee. How was that possible?

Squinting at the ceiling, Patrick loosened a long and heavy sigh. “God, universe, whatever, please, please, change my luck for me. I seriously need a change.”

A small person at a gray desk floated in front of him instantaneously. She was about four inches tall, seated as she was, in a pleasant black suit with a white shirt. As he gaped at her and backed away, the napping black cat arose from his desk and hurried over, ready to pounce on the newcomer.

“Control your cat,” the little pale-skinned female with short gray hair said. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

Grabbing Loki, Patrick asked, “Who the hell are you? How’d you get here?”

A little disapproving cluck came out of the little one. “Call me Hortense. I’m with luck prayer services. You prayed for a change of luck. I’m here to address your request.”

Meowing, the cat squirmed in Patrick’s arms while keeping hot green-eyed focus on the little floating agent. “I’m never heard of…what’d you call it?”

“Luck prayer services. I’m Hortense, your account manager. You asked for more luck. Unfortunately, you’re out of luck. In reviewing your account, I see that you were born with a great deal of luck. Intelligent, talented, white, male, born in the United States of good parents…minor issues with them…  No genetic issues. Yes, you were lucky. Unfortunately, you’ve used it all up.”

Tapping a keyboard, she leaned into the screen. “Several car accidents while drink driving in which you escaped unhurt and without legal repercussions. Tornados. Hurricane. Earthquake. Promotions. Stock purchases. Health. You smoked cigars for ten years and had no respiratory problems when COVID-19 struck. You realize how lucky that is?”

“I…yeah, yeah.” Patrick bobbed his head. “I know, I know.”

Loki broke free and leaped for Hortense. Something caught and held the cat in mid-air.

“Told you to control that cat, sir,” Hortense snapped. “If you don’t, I will.”

“I – sorry.” Patrick took Loki and put him in another room and closed the door. Hortense and her desk followed him throughout.

Turning and encountering her in the hall made Patrick jump. “Jesus, you.” He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. It sounds like you’re telling me that my luck has run out.”

“I am, sir.”

“That doesn’t sound good for me.”

“No sir.”

“Anyway I can get more?”

“Of course.” One thin eyebrow jumped on Hortense’s tiny face. “It would take more money than you now have but you can buy more luck.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“A deal with the Devil is highly rated.”

“Yikes. Don’t think I’m ready to do that. Isn’t there anything else?”

“You can try to create your own luck. Some people have luck with that.” Hortense chortled. “Or you can steal some.”

Loki yowled at the door and vigorously clawed it.

“Are you seriously suggesting that I steal someone else’s luck?” As he asked, Patrick amended his thinking. “Can I choose my victim?” He was thinking, Tucker Carlson and Donald Trump both seemed pretty damn lucky. Or Soros. Gates. Musk.

“You can but that rarely works out. Hard for most to differentiate between good and bad luck. You might accidently pilfer their bad luck.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want that.” Patrick felt resigned, which oddly made him feel better. It was like, this wasn’t in his control. Knowing that relieved him of responsibility. Nothing he could do about it. “Is there anything else?”

“Well…yes. According to your records, you are eligible for employment.”

Patrick went still with thought. “Go on.”

“If you work for us, you can be compensated in good luck.”

“Who is us?”

Hortense smiled. “We just call ourselves The Bureau. Capital T, capital B.”

“You’re recruiting me.” Patrick suspected a setup. “So I do a job for you and The Bureau pays me in good luck.”


“I assume whatever it is won’t be easy.”

“They’re normally not. But let me tell you. With your luck, if you don’t take this offer, you’ll be dead in a year.”

That’s how Patrick’s career began. Hard to believe but now he was about to start his tenth mission.

He’d need all of his hard-earned luck to stay alive.

Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

He thought changing browsers had resolved his WordPress issues. Not so. Longer posts still struggled with the autosaving function. It was like Schrödinger’s WordPress. Never knew what was going to happen.

He was in the coffee shop so it could have to do with their bandwidth or his net connection. Whatever it was, there was no fix. Just coping the post onto a doc, break the connection, start again.

Once it went was into the autosaving hang up, there was no saving it.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

No snow! Again. It’s like days in a row. The weather at last feels like an Ashlandia spring. We’ll pop up to 80 F today. Low in the bottom 40s. Sunrise quarter past six. Sunset after eight in the evening. This is what Daddy likes.

It’s April 26, 2023. Sad news that ispace lost contact with Hakuto-R. Latest theory they’ve put out is it unexpectedly accelerated and crashed on the moon while attempting its approach. Back to the drawing boards.

I’ve always been a proponent of exploring space and trying to reach other planets. Curiosity of what’s out there drives me. I know, many argue that we’re already screwing up Earth and have demonstrated ourselves to be poor caretakers of our home planet, so why should we ‘be allowed’ to go somewhere else. Also, space exploration is a little pricy. Cost more than my annual coffee budget. And we have so many problems in our society, unintended consequences of systems, practices, laws and technology. So much we have here we need to fix.

But I’m an optimist. I hope that going to space more will lift our spirits and encourage us to change. I know, I know but space travel and exploration opens possibilities, and fires hope and optimism. Of course my background is white male. American, sure of food and shelter. I know in an intellectual way that it’s way different for others in ways that I struggle to fully imagine and comprehend. I try. I try to empathize and sympathize and help. And I want for others to have at least the levels of comfort, security, access to equity, and opportunities that I’ve experienced.

Had a plethora of dreams again. Some involved Dad and painting. I’ll explore that more, I think.

Thoughts of space impelled Les Neurons to fire up “Rocket Man” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin 1972. Found a lovely video of John in concert with the song in 1972. Just fifty plus years ago, hey?

Stay pos and don’t let your fuse burn out. I’ve got some coffee if you need it. Maybe we can pass the cup.

Here’s the music. Enjoy. Cheers

Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

A college-aged woman entered the coffee shope as he was walking toward the door to leave. Seizing the door, she held it open from inside, pushing it out — or tried, as the door slid closed, mocking the angle and effort she made. Besides that, she was inside, which didn’t leave much space for him to pass in the narrow space.

But he appreciated the effort and sprang forward, catching the door’s edge, relieving her of the duty, smiled, and said, “Thank you,” because that’s how it was all done.

But he wondered, what were doors like in the past that people make such an effort to hold them ajar for one another? Must have been massive, heavy beasts. It was another matter to research.

The Writing Moment

Eighteen percent of The Light of Memories remains to be edited and revised in the third revision session. Small percentage but over a hundred pages. Once it’s done, another round of reading it through will begin. Figure I’ll read and edit until I reach the point that I’m not confused by anything I’m reading, that it reads smoothly and fully, that I’m not pausing to make corrections.

Then I’ll offer it to others. So, maybe this century. If not, the next.

Through the Years

1973 found me living in West Virginia, having moved there the previous year, after moving to Ohio from Pennsylvania, and a high school junior. Yeah, changes were underway.

1983 – an adult, in the military, married, stationed on Okinawa with trips to Korea, China, and Japan that year

1993 – still married and in the military, in Sunnyvale, California

2003 – retired from military but still married, living in Half Moon Bay, California, working for IBM

2013 – married and in Ashland, Oregon, still with IBM

2023 – Ashland, married, retired from everything except writing

Different places and careers through the years, but the same marriage since ’75

Coin, Flipped

Ron delivers again.

Scrambled, Not Fried

Coin, Flipped

I had a dream: I murdered her husband
and she showed up at his funeral
in his all-time favorite red dress.

“But you should wear black to funerals,”
everyone kept telling her. I agreed, as I
offered up my insincere condolences.

“I know; I know,” she told me, adding
“But he loved this red dress so much 
and I’m saving all my blacks for you.”

“For Me?” I responded, waking suddenly
when my front doorbell sounded and I
found her there, gun in hand, waiting.

Tuesday Twiglet #322
you wear black  ~
Writer’s Digest P-A-D #25
Dream / Reality  ~

twigletwriter digest

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