Which is true but can be construed as intimidating, and has been by several citizens. The real question is how appropriate is it for an elected official who is armed and charged with protecting and serving the community to basically post an intimidating speech?
Sure, it’s free speech. Not much thinking seems to be attached to it. He refers to Vice President Harris as a “laughing hyena.”
Of course, he insists that his doxxing was misunderstood. He claims, “I am a Law Man…Not a Politician!” He notes that he is sworn to protect ALL citizens, but after this sort of inflammatory posts and opinions, doubt about his willingness to protect all citizens has been sown. A thinking person would have understood that.
I suspect from all of this that Bruce Zuchowski is a Trump/Vance supporter. His views, insults, and characterizations certainly fit their hateful and divisive mold. Portage County deserves better, and I hope that he’s voted out.
Floofzantine(floofinition) 1. A complex animal. Origins: first noted on the Internet in the early twenty-first century.
In Use: “Little Serenity was a floofzantine, one moment a peaceful sweetheart, twisting into yowling destructor without even the benefit of a three-second countdown, making it difficult to engage with her for more than fifteen minutes at a time.”
2. An intricate or complex arrangement for animals.
In Use: “Living with fifteen rescued cats, a floofzantine structure was set up for the cats’ entertainment — which also entertained the homeowner.”
A long and greatly involved dream in three parts entertained me last night. It seemed like it was about hopes, expectations, and relationships.
Part 1: the Catholic family.
In this, Mom had to go away. Although I was an adult, she worried about where I was going to stay and what I was going to do, standard concerned Mom reactions to change. I ended up with an offer to stay with a childhood friend’s family. Neighbors. Haven’t seen the guy in almost fifty years, but here he was, in my dream, along with his parents. His parents have passed away some time ago, BTW.
In this dream, they had a huge home. I wouldn’t deem it luxurious but enormous with a byzantine layout. Some rooms were like huge cement auditoriums or gymnasiums; others were small but with multiple levels.
My friend’s mother told me, “Do whatever you want here. Just act like it’s your house. We’re happy to have you here.”
While I appreciated the sentiments, I was leery of making myself an unwanted guest, so I tried being circumspect. Weirdly I wore off-white pajamas with narrow blue pinstripes the entire time. I thanked her, of course. After casual exploring, I found a large room with a small student desk, the kind seen in elementary school, where I set up my computer and sat down to write.
After I set up, she came by with her family. Only she spoke, though, telling me, “We’re going out. We’re going to be gone a while, so the house is all yours.” It felt like a huge responsibility, almost a burden, but I thanked her for her trust and hospitality. They left; I kept writing.
At some point, I grew aware that it was pouring rain and the onset of dusk outside. I decided to leave.
Part 2: the Porsche rally and restaurant.
I went into my hosts’ garage and found a car. A small and older sports car of some kind, I knew it as mine.
I drove out into the rain and down a driveway to a busy, winding multi-laned urban street. Small sports cars were passing, dropping revs and downshifting, and sometimes sliding, drivers catching spins as the car’s back end swung out on the slick asphalt.
I recalled then, that’s right, the town was hosting a Porsche Rally, with special emphasis on older Porsches and the Porsche Spyder.
Well, that explained it! I also saw a circa 1970 Lotus Elan go by. I wondered if they’d allowed it to participate in the Porsche event, or if serendipity had brought it to this time and place.
Pulling out into the driving rain, I drove carefully, wishing I had a Porsche like the stylish little cars I saw. As I came up one hill, I needed to slow substantially because a Bugatti Veyron had spun across the middle of the road. I wondered, what is an expensive exotic like that doing here? I then saw three more going by in the rain.
Bugatti Veyron from the net — not my car.
It was almost dark and I reached my destination, a crowded old restaurant where I was meeting friends. The menu was American-Immigrant fusion. I began with pasta with tomato sauce and meatballs, and then switched to chicken fried rice. We stood as we ate, and my food tasted sensational.
As I ate, a tall, thin man walked by. “Guess what,” he loudly said, “I saw jars of Ragu in the kitchen. You’ve been tricked! This sauce is not made here.”
My friends and I shrugged it off. Wherever the food was from, it was awesome.
Part 3: the Revolution
I piled into a car with four other men. One of them was driving. One was armed with a gun which was part of his head. I could see that it was loaded with one round bullet, like something you’d fire from a musket. I was pondering the intricacies of how you’d aim a gun like that, especially if the target is moving.
We parked and entered a small, dim theater. A small stage was set up on the far end in front of rows of padded metal folding chairs. About twenty people, mostly men, were present. All were early middle-aged or older, and all were white. I milled with a few people, chatting for several seconds, and then one man began talking. They were there to overthrow the government.
Well, hold on, I thought, uneasy. I’d been invited to this gathering, and it’s not what I thought it was going to be. Something about the way they were addressed struck me as a religious group. I eased myself to one side, thinking, how am I going to get out of here?
At that point, the man with the gun head fired. He pointed it somewhere else and not at me. I watched the round ball leave its barrel with a plume of white smoke.
Those of a certain age may recall the saga of New Coke. Once upon a year, Coca Cola changed its soda drink recipe and announced with a blaze of commercials that they’d changed Coke, and wanted you to drink this New Coke. Turns out many had been happy with old Coke, which quickly became framed as ‘Classic Coke’. My wife and I don’t drink soda except for root beer once in a while, so we witnessed the battle of New Coke vs. Classic Coke from the side.
I was thinking of it this morning because of Dawn. Dawn is a dishwashing liquid soap. We use it at our house. I bought a new bottle the other day and saw today that it has a label declaring that it has a “New Clean Smell.”
After smelling it, I wanted the old dirty smell. The new smell has a chemical scent that annoys me. Could be that the hyperbole just irritated me.
If they had said nothing, I’d probably wouldn’t have noticed. But since they called my attention to it, give me the old scent.
Sunshine jumped over the hills and in through the windows, lighting up the trees against a blue sumumn sky. Although we’re ranging through the mid fifties now as the sun’s air kisses the air, we’ll be striking the mid to upper 70s by day’s end.
Cut the grass yesterday. We have one large section of it which is something called clover. Bees were busily jumping from clover to clover so I left that nine square feet uncut so they could do their thing. I’ll cut it once they’re done. Not a big deal to cut the grass, as I use an old mechanical push motor. No gas or electricity needed.
At 6, we headed to the OSF Green Show to see one of our favorite local bands, The Rogue Suspects. The sun was dropping and the tempertures was sifting through the low 70s, providing a wonderful venue for enjoying music. As expect, per usual, they put on an excellent show, featuring songs from the Pointer Sisters, B-52, Journey, Huey Lewis and the News, and other bands and performers out of the last century.
Today The Neurons have “Fix You” by Coldplay going in the morning mental music stream (Trademark broken). Weirdly, I have featured this song twice before, both times in September. Must be a September song, right? Curious, I checked; released in September, 2005.
Papi drew the song into my head this morning. The other night, he was acting listless and uninterested in his food. That’s unusual for the feline known as the ginger blade. Six times out of ten, he comes in and heads right to the food bowls. Three other times, he’ll come over to me for skritches. Once, really less than one time out of ten, he’ll come in due to weather, loud noises, or something else disturbing his force, and head into the bathroom to chill.
This time, he came in and went over to a corner and settled. I took food to him. He sniffed as if interested but passed.
Okay, this is a cat who experienced a life-threatening bout with triaditis before. I informed my wife about my concerns and we made plans to keep him in overnight and keep watching him.
Later that night, he wanted out. No, I told him, not until I see you eating. I checked the food bowls put out for him: untouched.
I fed him the next morning. He showed some interest and ate a little. No vomiting, and he was acting closer to normal. A Churru was given him, and he lapped that up. After drinking water, he came to me and purred. His tail rose a bit, more like his normal self. I made him some kibble slurry — warmish water with kibble. Starting hesitantly, he lapped up most of that.
Anyway, to finish, he’s jaunting around with his tail up today, eating in his normal style, and meowing and purring per usual. Talking to him after he ate all the breakfast provided him, I told, “I’m happy we were able to fix you.” Lo, Der Neurons cranked it up.
Be strong, stay positive, lean forward, and vote blue in 2024. I’m doing the same. Coffee has been warming my innards. Time for the music, with Michael Fox joining them. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 