Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
My laptop’s keyboard has been giving me troubles, by Cat. ‘T’ and ‘G’ needed extensive pressure to make an appearance. The tab was stumbling and uncertain, and one of the control keys was not up to snuff.
So, since I was limited in movement, I sat down and cleaned the keyboard, key by key. The general filthiness found shocked me. It was amazing any keys were working. Now, they all do.
Kama Flooftra (floofinition) Ancient book composed by animals displaying positions used to scratch, pet cats, and sleep. Many animals study the kama flooftra in pursuit of living better. Origins: First noted in Mesopatamia in 600 BCE.
In Use: “Dixie was forever surprising her people with the positions they found her but they were unaware that she was a fervent fan of the Kama Flooftra, being totally unaware the book even existed!”
Mood: Coffpestuous
Overnight temps dipped us into the forties, so cool air, warm sunshine, and a dusty blue sky opened Friday, June 14, 2024. Happy Flag Day for the U.S. attendees today.
A pattern of frothy flat clouds dot Ashlandia’s blueways. Expect it to be like that all day as sprummer dips back toward springmer. 62 F now in the late morning, today’s high will stall at ’round 74 F. The surrounding hills are whole green shows. Cherries are ripening on the trees, and the peaches are swelling ever larger as they slowly shed their green tinge.
I hear on the news that heatwaves are striking other parts of the nation and that Florida has taken on flooding. Hope all is well with my fellow Americans in those zones and they survive and recover.
Last night, ’bout 12:30, I opened the front door to collect the cats. There, an on the grass at the end of the front porch, was a large, resting doe. Cats weren’t there, so I closed the door and let the doe be. She was gone his morning.
My injured foot swelled up in a big way yesterday, hindering movement and plans, and rendering my toes into small, fat, sausages. Spent the day RICE-ing away. After returning from the show, I elevated my foot and watched the swelling completely dissipate. Little swelling today that I see but I still try not to use it. When I do, it’s with ginger attention.
We attended the OSF Green Show last night with a group of friends and enjoyed The Rogue Suspects doing an Aretha Franklin tribute. Fanastic. Those women can belt it out, and the rest of the band are right up there, note for note and on time. It was a large crowd on blankets and chairs as the temperature dipped below 80 F and the sun slipped through the blue sky to coyly hide behind the mountains. There was a contingent of fans down there on the bricks beside the stage, singing and dancing in ages from two to 80 or 90. Lot of energy on display on stage and in the audience as the Suspects ripped though “I Say A Little Prayer”, “Chain of Fools”, “Pink Cadillac”, “Jumping Jack Flash” and others. Good times, brothers and sisters, good times.
Naturally, I thought one song would hook The Neurons. It did. The blighters brought the duet, “Knew You Were Waiting” with Aretha Franklin and George Michael. The Suspects did cover the song last night as well.
Time to fly. Be strong and stay positive and Vote Blue in 2024. I’ll do the same. Coffee has been consumed. Here’s the music video. Cheers
Mood: Slowed
Thursday, June 13, 2024, begins with a front’s impact. Chilliness rules the night and fends off the morning sun’s advances, rising through the fifties into the sixties, holding off on the seventies until afternoon. It sounds like I’m talking about decades or periods, but I’m referencing the temperatures in Fahrenheit. Right now, we’ve settled on a comfy 80 F.
While I’m still RICE-ing my right ankle, we plan to see the Green Show on the Oregon Shakespeare Festival bricks tonight. The performing band, Rogue Suspects, is one of our favorite. Through regular attendance of their shows, we’ve become friends with several of them. Can’t wait to enjoy their music tonight. They cover a wide range of rock, blues, pop. Sometimes they’re focus on a specific performer, like Aretha Franklin or The Eagles. Don’t know what we’ll get tonight, but they always give us a solid performance.
Some good news from the Supremes about the abortion pill, mifepristone, was read this morning. Naturally I thought, man, ain’t that good news. That thought triggered The Neurons into starting the Sam Cooke song, “Ain’t That Good New” from 1964, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark still legal). Had to pause a mo’ to reflect that this recorded performance was sixty years ago.
Be positive and strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s Sam Cooke. Cheers
Floofness (floofinition) – 1. The quality of being the epitomy of whatever species of animal is being represented. Origins: mid-17th century in France.
In Use: “Despite being a young female cat, Philo developed the floofness of a large dog, say a Pyrenean Mountain Dog, boldly confronting and chasing off any animal not part of the official household, unless it was another cat; other cats were welcomed and accepted as long as they behaved.”
2. Used as a title or address for an exalted animal or an animal held in high esteem. Origins: 12th century, France.
In Use: “Bella, the neighbor’s little Corgi, was always referred to as ‘Her Royal Floofness’ and carried herself as worthy of the title.”
My wife I were with others in a tall white office building. The rest of the people were strangers. We were there for testing but kept segregated in different rooms, so I had no idea how many people were present.
The way the testing went is we’d be called into the testing room in groups of six at a time. The test administrator was a tall white woman, brunette, in a lab coat, carrying a clip board, wearing glasses, a scientist stereotype. Several younger people, mostly men in their early twenties, assisted her.
Of the actual testing, I know nothing. In the dream, I’d see the door, enter, and then return. That’s it.
While milling around after the fourth test, rumors began spreading about grades. Someone, they said, scored 95. 95 was unheard of. The usual recorded high was in the upper eighties, and several were in that zone. Another person then came to me as I circulated, waiting for the next round, and said, “You’re the one who scored a 95.”
I dismissed that as rumor, pleased, but also sure that it wasn’t me with that score. I didn’t want to get my hopes up only to be let down.
Then the final two test blocks were finished and testing was completed and the head verified I’d scored a 95 and lauded me for the achievement. finishing by presenting me with a trophy.
Well, cool, I liked that but disliked all the attention. With the whole thing over, the staff began cleaning up. I rushed to use the restroom before leaving but one of the male assistants, apparently realizing what I wanted to do, rushed ahead and blocked restrooms so they couldn’t be moved. I thought was a dick move and confronted him. He and I argued. I ended by shaking my head and saying, “Your organization rewards me because of what I achieved, and then you go and pull this shit. Just shows how little that trophy and recognition really means.”
Dream end
Floofucable (floofinition) – Open to, fit for, or able to share space, expecially homes, with one of more animals. Origins: 1834, United States
In Use: “For Brad and Ken, one of the best reasons for buying a home meant that they could share their space with dogs, cats, birds, and other creatures, without worrying about apartment management.”
In Use: “Many times, animals must look at people and assess if they’re floofucable before agreeing to joining the people’s household, because being wrong can mean a world of hurt.”
In Use: “When his daughter asked her father for a puppy, he wrestled with how floofucable she was as a five-year-old still coping with her mother’s death.”
In bed. Eyes closed. Cool breeze serenading me.
Then, “thumpa thumpa thumpa thumpa”.
Helicopter, my amused Neurons told me but opening an eye showed Tucker the thumper over by a wall, where his back leg hit as he scratched.
Sounded just like a chopper to a sleepy mind, though.
Mood: smooottthhh
Sprummer still thrives in Ashlandia in southern Oregon. Clouds have departed again, leaving our June 12, 2024, coated with blue. Temperatures sitting a 65 F, they’re getting ready to stand and take us into the low to mid 80s. Windows are open and a winterish zephyr is snaking through our Wednesday, depositing chill pockets. It’s fresh, invigorating, and pleasant.
I’m hanging about the house with a bum ankle. RICE is the recipe – rest, ice, compress, and elevate — so I’m nixing my coffee shop routine. Writing at home as much as possible around interruptions. No beer with friends tonight, either.
I enjoy music and read several posts each day where they incorporate music. ‘Classic rock’ tops my list but I enjoy other sounds beyond that. I’m always surprised by how often people will say that a song isn’t to their liking.
Then I get reflective about what I mean about that. Many songs exist that I enjoyed at one point which know doesn’t work for me. Part of that I suppose is because my tastes have changed, or it could be that at some point I was overexposed to the song and became sick of it. “My Sharona” is one of these songs which now make me change the station. Several other syrupy songs are on my perpetual do-not-play-change-channel-list, like “Sugar Sugar.” Woof. But the whole process led me down a road where I wondered, am I just not discriminating about music?
Today’s song was called up by The Neurons because I was waiting for several phone calls. I’d earlier decided to slow down and take it easy, encouraging The Neurons to plug up the morning mental music stream (Trademark lazing) with everything from Frank Sinatra (“Nice & Easy Does It”) to The Eagles (“Taking It Easy”), Foreigner (“Walking Slow”), and “Slow Ride” (Foghat). But then, checking the time and wondering about the calls had The Neurons bring Blondie and “Call Me” from 1982 storming in. So that’s le music du jour.
Looking for a video to share, I found Deborah Harry performing with an orchestra at something called “Night of the Proms” (Rotterdam, Netherlands, 1997). It was fun and energetic performance. Hope you find it as fascinating as moi.
Meanwhile, looking up “Night of the Proms”, I discovered holy smoke, this is a pretty big, serious dealio in Europe. It even happens here in the U.S. Color me embarassed by my ignorance. After that, I watched a half dozen more “Night of the Proms” videos.
Stay positive and test negative (COVID is rising again) and Vote Bleu in 2024. Coffee has been swallowed, calls have been received. Time to make like a banana and slip away. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 