I finished a draft of a novel (working title: Gravity’s Emotions) right before going into my October ankle surgery. Then, reading novels, stuck in variations of being on my back with my ankle in a boot raised at about 45 degrees, I concluded, I dislike that ending. Too damn pat.
Muses flew in with suggested revisions. It’ll be work, they warned. We’re gonna need to go back in and cut several chapters.
Okay, I agreed. Sharpen the blades.
I read through the novel without making changes except for egregious typos, punctuation, or grammar. By the finish, I knew where to begin cutting and went in.
Next came writing the replacement parts. This presented significantly greater challenges. Writing the replacement scenes has been word-to-word combat. But with all my fiction writing efforts, it’s ultimately a satisfying mental exercise. Squeezing characters and concept to wring out the story and then developing it into something rewarding to read is fundamentally entertaining for me. I’d rather be doing this than anything else.
Chapter by chapter, I’m edging toward the terminus. I don’t know how it’ll end. I sense I’m close. I’m just going to let it sneak up on me and take me by surprise.
It’s a Trader Joe’s offering for the holidays. Basically, dark and milk chocolate is poured over pretzels, nuts, popcorn, caramel corn, etc. Some tiny pseudo milk-chocolate and dark-chocolate Reece’s Peanut Butter cups and faux M&Ms are thrown in.
Reading about it — a man bought fifty of the tins to give as gifts because he found it so good! — my wife thought that she would buy some for friends. But first, you know, being a good gifter, she thought we needed to try it out. We did that last night.
At first, yum. That’s good dark chocolate but what is it that it’s covering? We thoroughly tested and tasted, sampling everything. “Really sweet,” she said.
“It is really sweet,” I agreed. “I’m feeling a little sick.”
She nodded. “Me, too.”
I cut the sweetness with water and urge myself, stop eating. But the damn stuff was addicting. Finally, stomach in full rebellion against more, I ceased.
“I don’t think we’ll give that to anyone,” my wife announced. “It’s just too sweet for everyone we know.”
I agreed. Then I wondered, what are we going to do with the rest of a tin of Jingle Jangle?
I checked out the Borowitz Report. Andy has created his own Project 2025. Quoting him,
The Heritage Foundation has inspired me to create my very own Project 2025—and, unlike their 900-page dystopian fever dream, mine can be summarized in one sentence:
I’m breaking up with the oligarchs.
The following billionaires have cynically chosen to throw in with Trump. Consequently, they all deserve a boycott in 2025. (Note: I’m aware that there are many other oligarchs worthy of being shunned. Consider this a starter kit.)
Andy lists Elon Musk (a natural number one in this exercise), Mark Benioff, Jeff Bezos, and Mark Zuckerberg. It’s a worthy starter kit. I laud all of his choices.
I gagged over Andy’s comments about Benioff, though. Benioff, as Time Magazine’s owner, wrote in support of Trump as the Person of the Year: “This marks a time of great promise for our nation. We look forward to working together to advance American success and prosperity for everyone.”
What a tone-deaf idiot. The divisive Trump and his merry band of billionaires are going to advance ‘success and prosperity for everyone.’
Sure. Go sell that garbage on Mars. I know many unthinking Americans bought that cheap brand of recycled cheerleading but some of us have been paying attention. In true Orwellian fashion, Benioff has redefined ‘everyone’ as wealthy, white, and male.
People, you shoulda voted blue. You’re gonna reap what you sowed. Let me tell you, it ain’t gonna be ‘success and prosperity’ for everyone.
Today is Thursday, December 19, 2024. A temptation to change Thursday to Throughsday almost conquered my fingers. ‘Throughsday’ because the week is almost finished. I didn’t change it, as I’m disinclined toward misinformation and confusing people.
In other morning news, a crowd of zombies went through our town. Ha, ha, just kidding. It wasn’t a crowd. Just a couple.
Our weather today looks as if someone delivered elements of fog, clouds, sunshine, and rain. All were tossed together in a big blue bowl. Now they’re up there, waiting to be mixed and blended.
Just after observing and writing all of that, Papi the ginger blade floof, returned with a scouting report. He didn’t need to say anything. Fog had shut down the sunshine, clouds, and blue skies. 46 F out there, it ‘feels like 38’, with a high of 57 dangling over us.
I met with my beer buddies last night. Two new members joined us. She is a retired teacher and physician’s assistant. He is a retired electrical engineer. They have a daughter who works for NASA, and he was a big science fiction fan when he was a kid. Others told him that I sometimes write science fiction. He shifted over to sit by me later in the night and discuss the genre. Lot of fun remembering the novels we had in common which influenced us.
Today’s theme music arrives on the shoulders of a conversation I had with several women last night. They expressed deep disappointment and frustration that more women didn’t turn out to vote in the 2024 election. I didn’t have any insights into that and they couldn’t cite any stats. Young me from several different groups were the dissappointing difference to me. I read interviews with and stories about young black men, for example, who thought Trump would be better for the economy. That still makes me shake my head.
Anyway, after returning home with that conversation in mind, “American Woman” by the Guess Who from 1970 rose into the morning mental music stream (Trademark peeling) today. I always thought the song was about the United States, represented by a woman, seducing countries to be like the United States. The singer was resisting because the United States was a war machine filled with ghettos. The ‘colored lights’ referred to in the song was Hollywood glamor. Remember, the Vietnam War was underway and protests were taking place in the U.S. In light of that backdrop, my interpretation made sense to me. But different interviews with the Guess Who band members painted a different story. The songwriter and vocalist, Burton Cummings, said it was just a comparison of women from the U.S. and Canada.
“What was on my mind was that girls in the States seemed to get older quicker than our girls and that made them, well, dangerous. When I said ‘American woman, stay away from me,’ I really meant ‘Canadian woman, I prefer you.’ It was all a happy accident.”
I became fourteen around the time of the song’s release. It’s uptempo beat, rich bass, unique riffs, lead guitar, lyrics, and vocals all worked for me. Cummings sang it with an angry, contemptuous sneer in my opinion. That spoke to my own burgeoning contempt for how our world and society works. Ah, to be young and idealistic.
Coffee and I have negotiated arrangements and I’m taking advantage of that to warm my throat. Time to light the candle on another day. Here’s the music. Cheers
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.
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.
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 