Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
NYTimes article today:
Pundits Said Harris Won the Debate. Undecided Voters Weren’t So Sure.
“She still has to impress me,” said Ms. Ali, 19. As someone who recently moved into her own place off-campus and has had to buy groceries for the first time, Ms. Ali said she wanted to hear Ms. Harris speak more about housing costs and inflation. “I’m still deciding,” she said as the debate neared its end.
Seriously? And she heard something from Trump that reassured her?
Keilah Miller, 34, who lives in Milwaukee, grew intrigued by Ms. Harris too. Ms. Miller said she had voted Democratic in past presidential elections but decided to stop voting altogether about a year ago. Her own situation, and that of other Black women in Milwaukee, had not improved, she said.
On Tuesday, she felt nudged unexpectedly toward Mr. Trump.
“Trump’s pitch was a little more convincing than hers,” Ms. Miller said. “I guess I’m leaning more on his facts than her vision.”
Facts? Trump’s pitch? What facts, what pitch? Project 2025? The fake narrative that immigrants are eating pets in Ohio, or the false one about “abortion after birth being legal in six states”?
Mr. Henderson, who voted for President Barack Obama and then for Mr. Trump, allowed that Mr. Trump “came off as crazy,” but he was no different from his appearances at rallies and in interviews.
His answers on Ukraine were weak, he said, but Mr. Trump successfully attacked Ms. Harris on the border and immigration. While the vice president gave better answers on abortion and race, he said, she did not get into specifics about her tax plans for parents or small businesses.
As he watched post-debate commentary on cable news, Mr. Henderson said he bristled at the pundits who widely panned Mr. Trump’s performance. Had they watched the same debate, he wondered?
Yes, did this man, this undecided voter, watch the same debate as the rest of us? He acknowledged that Trump acted crazy but seems to be okay with a crazy president.
I just don’t get their logic. It seems like they’re trying hard to come across as thoughtful and impartial, but I end up seeing them as short-sighted, misguided, and uninformed. Fer instance, Mr. Henderson, did you know that a bi-partisan bill for the border had been worked out and that Trump ordered it nixed because he didn’t want Democrats to be successful?
Sigh. Moving on.
The barista yesterday asked, “How’s it going?”
“Going well, thanks. You?”
“I’m looking forward to lunch. I have leftover mashed potatoes and chicken.”
“Ah, comfort food,” I responded.
She grinned. “Exactly!”
Well, you can imagine what I ended up having for dinner: mashed potatoes, chicken, and brussies. Comfort food.
Right on.
Mood: Precipitized
Autumn was hulking against the house by the back door, sometimes gently tapping to come in. I opened the door. A lush gush waltzed in and danced around the room.
I’ve decided that I like autumn better than summer and winter. Winter and summer are fickle about their temperatures and weather offerings. Autumn seems more relaxed and straightforward about it. Yes, warm days will come, with some soaring temperatures which somehow complements a view of autumnal foliage against a blue sky. Mostly, though, memories of autumn has me anticipated a level stream of gently declining temperatures as tree shed their leaves and winter begins gracing us.
It’s Wednesday, 9/11/2024. A moment to remember that morning, seared into so many of our brains, sharp-edged memories formed as our daily routines were put on hold and we watched our televisions.
It’s 55 F at my house. My wife was up early to get ready for her exercise class. She told me after I got up that she came in and whispered to me, “It’s raining,” but I was deeply asleep and did not hear.
A little later, Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), shouted, “It’s raining and I’m hungry and get up and feed me.” Which I did.
Ah, rain. Small drops, lighty falling, wetting everything, and releasing gases that waft up to us and awakens rain memories. The smell is so rich.
Our air is so clear and fresh this morning. Purple has the readings around me in single digits. Airnow.gov has us at 25.
Today’s high will be in the upper sixties.
I’m looking forward to having something done about my injured foot. Although I wear my brace when I’m out and about, strange complaints and sharp pains will jump out. “Hey, don’t bend me that way,” it yells. “Watch where you’re stepping. You want pain, I’ll give you pain.” I know, it’s a very small thing to endure compare to what many others suffer. I’m just a whiner.
I’m not going to comment much on the debate last night. I will say that my personal confidence and hope that Kamala Harris becomes POTUS number 47 pole-vaulted into new levels.
With the debate and the rain and season shift, The Neurons have plugged a Steve Perry song into the morning mental music stream (Trademark gone). “Oh Sherrie” was released in 1984. I don’t know why it’s in my head this morning. I can’t trace a relationship to anything that I thought, did, or dreamed. It’s just there as I walked into the office, coffee cup in hand, swallowing the last of a fig, and gazed out the window at the green mountains, flat gray sky, and cautiously falling rain. The Neurons work in mysterious ways.
Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue in 2024. Coffee is half gone. Here’s the music video — Steve Perry with Journey playing his hit single. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 