Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
It’s been recommended for children.
Telephloofny (floofinition) – A person who speaks to animals in conversation as if they’re having a phone conversation with them. Origins: Oregon, United States, 2024.
In Use: ‘Taylor didn’t now when she became telephloofny — was it because of her mother — maybe — but as she went through the house, dressing, eating, cleaning, she spoke with her cats, dog, birds, and fish, telling them her plans, rejoicing over a change of the weather for the better (“Sunshine and blue skies, and look at you all, already in position to enjoy it”), finishing by asking each, “Do you have any special plans for the day? Digging up a plant? Just floozing?”‘
There’s been a weather shift. From nowhere predictable (or, shall we say, it wasn’t predicted), sunshine and blue sky burst in on Ashlandia. Clouds flee like birds chased off by a cat.
Woo hoo, sunshine! Its warmth pushes the digits to 56 F. 56! I stand in a blaze, face up, sucking in fresh air and imagining sunblessed vitamin D pouring into me. Although…
The sun is the sun, even if it’s winter, almost solstice. I used moisterizer on my face. (Excuse me, I’m not a barbarian.) But does that moisterizer have any SPF rating?
Unable to recall my moisterizer’s nuances and protection, I hasten out of the sun.
This is modern life.
I should just stay away from the news because it’s just pissing me off.
AOC set out to be the ranking Democrat on the House Oversight Committee. Gerry Connolly, 74, with cancer, won. Because one obvious takeaway from the 2024 elections is ‘old is good’. Seriously, Connolly won because money talks and he brought in more, another lesson gleaned from the 2024 elections: yes, stay the same old, same old. That’s what the voters signalled they wanted, isn’t it?
There’s a load of extra-spicy morning snark in that paragraph. But it’s this kind of shit that torpedoes my faith in the Democratic Party and their future. They continue making the same tone-deaf decisions that led to the Blue Wave in 2024. Yes, that was more snark. All they’ve done is cemented the impression that they haven’t changed and won’t change.
Turning to Crooks & Liars, they provided a happy spark by pointing out what a fucking idiot Trump is by citing what he says about groceries. First, they quoted him from an interview about his promise to lower prices.
“Look, they got them up. I’d like to bring them down. It’s hard to bring things down once they’re up. You know, it’s very hard,” Trump told Time, admitting to what many of us knew months ago.
Then they offered this:
On Thursday, Trump offered up a perplexing story about “an old woman” buying three apples at a grocery store and taking “one of the apples back to the refrigerator” because the price was too high. (Apples are not usually stocked in refrigerators.)
snip
This past Sunday, during an interview on NBC’s “Meet the Press,” Trump said, “I won on groceries. Very simple word, groceries. Like almost—you know, who uses the word? I started using the word—the groceries. … I won an election based on that.”
My gag reflex kicked in. “I started using the word — the groceries.” Like, oh my cat, this is what stirred people to vote for Trump? Such a wise people they are, following such a wise man. They should have voted for me. I’ve been using the word groceries since like the 1960s.
I’m trying to be a more positive person and look forward. Get through this winter and reach a new spring for democracy in the U.S. But I’m used to reading the news, trying to make sense of the world. It ain’t working for me.
Think I’ll just shut down and go read a book and drink coffee.
Mood: eeeeeaaaaaauuuuuuuuuahhhhhhhh
Just tired today, you know? Like I’m an inflatable man with a slow leak. Bent over as I sit, air seeping out, growing smaller, more flaccid, more bent.
Haven’t had coffee and brekkie yet. That might change the self-impression.
It’s Wednesday. December 18, 2024. Almost 50 F out, a wind mutters and sings like it doesn’t know all of the words. Sometimes it remembers most of the chorus. It rained in the early morning. It’s to begin raining and keep raining for most of the afternoon. A sun is been pasted into the sky among the pillows of unwashed clouds. Peeks of blue sky skittishly open and close, an amateur fan dance. Gonna get to 53 F. Not bad for the verge of winter.
Some news begins like an ugly joke. Hear the one about the bear falling on the hunter? But it’s not a joke. It’s a stupid slash of life. Bear was treed. Had been shot by the hunter and another hunter. And it fell on the hunter, who died. I’m happy for the hunter, who after all, died doing what he loved: killing other creatures. Lester Clayton Harvey Jr.
The friend turned out to be a son, and there was a group, hunting and chasing that bear. And the son, yes, says, Dad died happy.
“Dad was doing what he loved most, bear hunting with me and some of his good friends when he was injured,” his son wrote in a post on his Facebook page Dec. 11. The post included photos of the group hunting, with a bear in some of the shots.
They don’t mention if the bear died in the story. That omission speaks volumes as they praise the hunter. Caption showing a picture of the bear accompanying the article says, “A black bear climbs up a tree. A 58-year-old Virginia man is dead after a bear fell out of tree and struck him during what appears to be a hunting accident in Lunenburg County Dec. 9, 2024.”
Which isn’t what happened. Look at they shade that tale. The man died when he shot a bear in a tree after he and a group chased the bear into the tree. Reacting to its wounds, the bear fell out of the tree, killing the man.
I notice my computer is slow today. As if it’s affected by the same low-key blahs afflicting moi. Maybe it’s a December thing. The Neurons have picked up some cosmic playing which eventually unfolds and refolds into Cream playing “Crossroads” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark pending). Ah, that’ll do.
Off to make coffee and brekkie. Find something for my spirit and body. Have a better one. I believe I’m sinking down. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 