Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The barista and I chatted when I ‘ordered’. Ordering wasn’t needed; my order was known and delivered before I reached the counter.
During our chat, it was somehow revealed that the barista was 20 years old. Then it came out that her father was three years older than her when he became a father (she was the oldest), and she couldn’t imagine that. She was nowhere ready to be a parent, herself.
I, meanwhile, did the math, and made that her father was probably about 43 years old. Meaning, he wasn’t born when the Stones song I listened to on the car radio on the way to the coffee shop was released (“Wild Horses”, 1970). Curious, I asked her if she knew who the Stones were. Yes, she said. She knew them because Dad was a fan. His older brother had introduced him to them after their parents introduced the Stones to the older brother. All this made me think that her grandparents were probably just a few years older than me.
And all of this is so right and fine, and amusing.
Mood: coffeebitious: a hopeful state of mind fed by coffee consumption
Thursday, February 29, 2024, has touched down. The month ends tomorrow, leaving just ten months of 2024 remaining.
I let Papi out at 6:06 this morning, the usual time that he begins crying to leave us. There was enough light that I let him out, suspecting he’d be returning in 20 minutes. Yes, at 6:30, I answered his call to come back in. I noticed it’d been raining and went by Alexa* to inquire about the temperature.
“It’s 44 degrees in Ashland,” she answered. “Today’s high is 44 degrees.”
Oh.
That’s all Fahrenheit, though she didn’t mention it. An hour later, letting Papi back in again, I discovered snowflakes big as silver dollars falling and accumulating. I checked with Alexa about the temp: 34, she told me.
It snowed for an hour more. The northern mountains and ridges were covered down to 3000 feet while the southern view had sparse snow sprinkled over the dark conifers. Now, about 11 AM, a smattering of snow remains but it’s dwindling. The temperature is back up to 41 F. No sun has broken through the sky’s uniformly off-gray cover, but the clouds are thin enough that the sun is almost breaking through. Light rain keeps windshield wipers busy.
Now to the asterisk. Current days, I find myself consulting five different weather sources, including Alexa. I have a home system that seems moderately accurate, but I constantly seek verification of its accuracy. Southern Oregon University has a weather station set up that I also check. A mile away and fifteen hundred feet lower, it’s not good for my location but it features a nice set of historic data for comparisons. A friend has set up a Wunderground station for his house, but he’s on a higher elevation and almost two miles away. Surrounded by trees, living on a mountain’s northern side, his weather varies from mine, but it’s nice to note what another part of town is experiencing. The other two are online offered by browsers and are usually fed by Weather.com. They’re not as accurate for me but they have nice forecast trend models which present some idea of what the weather will be beyond today.
Dreams swarmed my mind last night. At the final dream’s end, I found “I Remember You” filling the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). Written in 1941, I know the song well because I heard it often by different performers while navigating my teens in the 1960s. The song has been covered a lot. Most did it as a torch song. Even the Beatles did it. But the version I best knew was sung by a woman to an up-tempo arrangement. I cannot find that version and don’t know who it was singing it. Nor does Mom know.
That let The Neurons down some, but as I was searching, I came across other interesting songs. One was “I Remember You” by Skid Row, a 1989 power ballad not anything like “I Remember You” with Johhny Mercer’s lyrics. I remember hearing Skid Row’s song on the radio as I drove around to and from work and all that. While searching, I also slid sideways into “Remember (Walking in the Sand)”. The Neurons dished both the Shangri-Las and Aerosmith versions into the MMMS. More interesting to me was Lena Horne singing a song written in 1933, “Stormy Weather”. I knew that song well, too, and her voice and style mesmerized me. So that’s today’s theme music. Although several videos exist of her giving tremendous performances in her youth and middle age, I went with one when she was 80. BTW, it sounds like the guitarist supporting her might have been George Benson. Seems like his style.
Stay strong, lean forward, be positive, and vote, yeah? I’ll do the same, as best as I can. Coffee helps, and I have had a cup so I raring to go. Have a good one. Here’s the music. Cheers
Schefloofule – (floofinition) – An animal’s timetable about when things should be done.
In Use: “Many animals demand that their schefloofule be obeyed, with dogs and cats doing things like beating on their food bowl when they’re supposed to be fed.”
In Use: “Many people often complain about their cat’s schefloofule because it includes things like playing or being fed at a time when the human wants to be asleep.”
In Use: “Dogs thrive on routine, and when changes are forced into their schefloofule, they need an adjustment period.”
Recent Use: “Videos and stories on social media have surfaced show how floofs have adopted their people’s routines as their schefloofules and are adamant that they be followed to the minute when it comes to feeding or going to bed for the night.”
Mood: variable as the weather
It’s the next to last day of February – Wednesday, 2/28/24. Sunshine came through when I went through the house opening the blinds. The furnace was running. Alexa told me it was 30 F out and the high today would be 57 F. Snow collected like dcorators had spray painted the mountains’ shadowy green firs and pines. A few minutes later, clouds had supplanted the sunshine and the trees had lost their lacy white clothing. This is Ashlandia weather. It’s Oregon weather.
Winter storm warnings are out. Rain is coming. Colder temperatures. Snow, depending on your elevation, but the weather people claim we’ll probably get snow on the valley floof. Certainly folks located at 2,000 feet, like our place, will see some.
The house floofs are unconcerned. Tucker has sacked himself in front of the office space heater that my wife uses to fry herself. Papi, being young, is in washing and wandering around. He just peeked in around the door to see what I was doing, gave his belly a few tongues lashes, and left. Guess I was boring to him.
On Tucker’s part, he’s on meds to get his hyperactive thyroid under control. Dental surgery is planned for him at the end of March. He suffers from stomatitis gingivitis. He’d already lost two of his fangs; I found a third one on the bedroom carpet this week. Only one remains. My poor buddy.
I have Linkin Park’s song “In the End” in my morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). The Neurons were inspired to play it for me after reading that the song is RIAA Diamond Certified. Released in 2001, they’ve now sold over 10,000,000 copies. Well done, gang. I enjoy the song, about trying hard, time, and how life is affected by your effort.
A word on Sen. Mitch McConnell stepping down from his GOP leadership position. One, about damn time. Two, yes, well he is 82. Three, he’s leaving behind a rich legacy of obstruction and hypocrisy, and can claim some ownership of the mess the GOP has become under his leadership. History will have a sharp tongue about him.
Stay positive, be strong. Lean forward. Vote. And have a coffee. I am. Here’s the music. Cheers
Mood: ambivasense.
‘Brrr’ cold covers Tuesday morning’s description. It’s February 27, 2024. Feb 31 is just around the corner (not really). Spring is too, in theory, but winter is saying, put me in, coach. 30 F when I slunk out of bed, our temperature eventually chugged up to the mid-forties but it didn’t feel warm. Even comfortably furred floofies said no thank you to the scattered clouds and tepid sunshine owning the morning. Returning to the inside, they situated themselves in comfortable warm places, said good night to daylight, and went to sleep.
My wife and I went running around this morning. A late morning breakfast at the excellent Sweet Beet Station in Talent, Oregon, and then over to Quality Paperbacks, where we picked up another half dozen books, because the waiting to read pile can never be too big. Then to a few stores for a couple items, and here I am, starting my writing day in the mid-afternoon.
The floofs inspired The Neurons’ song choice this morning. As they clamored for their morning meal, I told them to take it easy, I’d be with them in a minute, but some things were needed to be done ahead of time. These things TBDone including mixing up Tucker’s medical slurry. While I was doing that, West and Petty’s electrified guitars lit up the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks).
In truth, I think the song was lurking beneath my mind’s covers, waiting for a chance to leap up. After all, Petty sings about an “American girl raised on promises.” This is an era of promise and denial in America IMO. Like, yes, being told that women have equal rights under the Constitution only to have those rights stripped away by a right wing trying to force its religion on the rest of us. I’m talking about abortion, of course and the Dobbs decision overruling women’s right to take care of themselves in favor of something growing inside them. It may be 2024, but the logic of 1984 is gaining strength. Take Texas, for example.
Sorry, politics just keep bubbling up in my thinking. I’ll try to keep it contained.
BTW, “American Girl” was the last song Tom Petty performed in concert before he passed away.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote, please. Here’s the music. Cheers
Bowltending (floofinition) – 1. Tendency among animals to stay by the food bowl.
In Use: “The new puppy named Romeo tended toward bowltending, often sleeping in it after eating his share, keeping other animals from eating.”
In Use: “Small but fierce, Barry bowltended, snapping and growling at the others who tried to eat some food.”
2. Habit among animals to closely monitor what people are eating.
In Use: “Eating at his computer, Matt had to defend his food against Max as the big floof jumped up into bowltending mode.”
Recent Use: “With assiduous bowltending and heavy doses of cute, housefloofs are often able to eat whatever their taste buds desire.”
Michael Seidel, writer 