Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
One of the great things about the modern net is the ability to make friends. I have friendships with people I’ve never met. As I enjoy their social media posts and their blogs, I wonder what they’re really like. I’d like to be able to sit at a table with them and get to know them.
Conversely, I worry about them. Some are in Australia dealing with a cyclone. Are they okay? Some are in Ukraine, and I worry for their safety, sanity, and nation. Some of these friends are at risk for mental health or physical health. I worry about them if they’re absent from the net for a few days.
So, nice having friends around the world. I hope they’re all okay.
PINO Trusk’s Regime suggested that with egg prices increasing, people should just get their own chickens.
Trump Admin Says Americans Should Farm Chickens to Combat Egg Prices
Let’s address this as if we’re seriously thinking about it.
One, getting a chicken. My understanding of the current dynamics is that the price of eggs is high and going higher because of avian flu. Birds have died from this, and birds have been killed to prevent the disease from spreading.
The Trusk Regime may not be aware of this, but chickens are birds. As such, they’ve been killed by millions. That means there are fewer of them. If I understand elementary supply and demand, having fewer birds available makes the price increase, especially if demand increases. This is the essence of inflation. Buying an egg-laying chicken might not be as cheap and easy as the Trusk Regime lays out.
Two, raising a chicken. As any backyard gardner will tell you, raising your own food isn’t cheap. With chickens, you’d need to provide feed, have a place for them, protect them, and keep them warm and safe. These supplies and materials all add up…quickly.
Three, back to the beginning and why the price of eggs has been rising and is expected to go higher: avian flu. It’s killing birds. And birds are being killed to prevent the spread. So, if you have a chicken, it may succumb to avian flu.
Thus, buying your own chicken to raise your own eggs might not be the genius idea some people perceive it to be.
At least, in my opinion.
I read aloud.
“Hello, old man! If you’re reading this letter, then you made it: you’re 100 years old! Congratulations to you.
“Or, congratulations to me, I should say. I set you up for your success, right? Come on, give me credit. I’m the one who signed the contracts, took the money, made the payments.
“Yes, there are some downsides. You should be 100 years old but you’re probably not living on Earth. Part of the agreement, right? I have no idea which planet you ended up settling, either. That’s one reason why you’re getting a preserved paper letter. If you’re reading this, you remember all of this. It’ll be as real to you as it is to me. And you know all the details. Hell, biologically, you’re younger than me now, because they gave you a new body, assuming they lived up to their end of the agreement. You should now be 25 biologically, which, yes, you know. Yes, you’ll be another color; you won’t be white. Small price, right? They weren’t sure whether you would be blue or green. Said both of those were possible with our genes. Wish you could write me back and tell me.
“Hard to write this. I know things but you know them, too. But I write to think, to make sense of it all. I never expected the things to happen which did. The war. Getting frozen. Sent to storage in space, then returned to Earth. I mean, as you know, I know these things, but it’s all abstract to me. Happened to me but I wasn’t conscious of it. Not this version of — well, yeah, you know.”
I stopped reading then. I knew what the letter said. I just wrote it yesterday. Realizations were creeping up. I’m a slow thinker but I usually get there.
So I took in the shimmering individual standing before me. Gorgeous guy. Blue. Azure. Well built. So tall, his thick, glossy black hair brushed the room’s ceiling.
“You’re me,” I said. “But you don’t look anything like me.”
He snorted. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen myself and I see you now, along with the old photos of you. They gave me options to change my appearance and I took them.”
“I see.” I smiled.
“I mean, wouldn’t you?”
“I probably would. Well, I did, because you’re me and…anyway. So, you made it. I made it. We made it.”
“Oh, yes. It’s quite a future, so improved over this. And you wanted to know what color we’d be, so….” He shrugged.
“You came back to show me.”
He grinned. “Bingo. Well, mostly. I also came back to thank you.”
Stepping forward, he offered me his huge hand. “I don’t want to get mushy, but thank you. Thank you for having the fortitude to persevere. Thank you for the decisions you made and supporting the science. Thank you for trusting it.”
Setting the letter I’d written to my hundred-yead-old self onto the desk, I stood and shook his hand. “You’re welcome.”
We’re rockin’ into a new work, children, hustling toward spring in Ashlandia. It’s Munda, March 10, 2025. Sunshine highlights clouds stretched thin and silvery against a weak blue sky and misty green mountains. 38 F now, but 60 is possible. We poked 66 yesterday, and it was lovely. Air felt fresh but cool, and the sunshine offered a warm counterbalance.
Called Transitions, which is the place coordinating my custom-made compression socks. The right one still hasn’t been received so I wanted to see if they can provide any tracking info or insights into why. Ordered 2/19/25, my physio expected it by Feb.’s end. We’re in limbo with my treatment until that puppy comes in. Basically, I’m done with the massage therapy when it is received, as this is a ‘maintenance’ sock to help my body cope with lymphedema. The Transitions individual responsible for my case is out so her pleasant, accomodating supervisor took the info, passed it on, and told me to expect a call back tomorrow.
Today’s song comes from a 2023 television series. I’m re-watching The Last of Us. Bella Ramsey and Pedro Pascal star in this dystopian series about a zombie issue. Twenty years after the breakout, he’s taking her across the depleted U.S. because she may have the answer to a cure/vaccine, as she seems immune.
Yesterday’s episode introduced us to Bill, played by Nick Offerman. Bill is a misogynistic prepper. Living alone, intelligent and well armed, he’s set up a compound where he can live free from zombie attacks and outsiders. After a few years, along comes Frank (Murray Bartlett), a survivor trying to make it to Boston. Bill feeds Frank and the two become lovers and a couple. It’s such a sweet, sweet story, and my favorite episode.
A Linda Rondstadt song, “Long Long Time”, is the couple’s song. The Neurons appreciated the 1970 song and kept it alive in the morning mental music stream.
Hope you have someone who helps you carry on through the days.
Coffee has met my taste buds and our daily romance continues. Have the best day possible. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 