I’m on vacation. Away from home. Know what that means? Of course, you immediately reply, “It means that your bank will no longer recognize your computer.”
I wanted to ensure certain deposits had been received. They were due from the Federal gubmint. Due to my distrust of this current direction of said gubmint, I just decided to allay concerns, log on, and check them.
“We don’t recognize this device,” the bank’s website exclaimed. “We want to send you a code to your email address attached to this account. Enter the code here.”
Sigh. Okay. I’ve been through this sock hop before. Go log into the account, which is actually my wife’s account. Can you guess what happened?
“We don’t recognize this device,” the email’s website exclaimed. “We want to send you a code to your other email address you listed. Enter the code here.”
Oh, bother. Logged into the other email account, which is also my wife’s. Note: all this was being done in the name of the joint account which we designate as belonging to my wife.
“”We don’t recognize this device,” the email’s website exclaimed. “We want to send you a code to your other email address you listed. Enter the code here.”
GRRRRR and double-GRRRRR. Screw it, I told The Neurons. This will wait until I get home next week.
It’s a foggy Yachats morning. Inspired by cool ocean air, the temperature is hovering at a cozy 59 F. The land is expected to slip out of the fog at about 11 AM and jump to 65 F. Meanwhile, I’m happily wandering around in a fog.
Lively post dinner conversation last night revolved around Trump’s arrogance, lies, and continual power grab. How will it all ultimately unfold? There’s hope that the people will rise up. There’s worry that Trump will shrug that off, and, braced with the Roberts Court’s stance and GOP governors providing national guard troops to subdue We the People and our rights.
We were also introduced to a game called Mexican Train which involves dominoes. I was pretty damn leery of playing but it was fun and addictive. I look forward to playing more. We also walked for miles, with me accumulating ten miles.
Today’s music arrived via last night’s sunset. Of course. Waiting for it to arrive, my group started singing snippets of songs about sunset. The Neurons jumped into the routine and, lo, here I am this morning, with Gordon Lightfoot singing “Sundown” in the morning mental music stream.
Coffee has arrived in my body and The Neurons are doing the coffee dance. May grace and peace find and keep you. Cheers
Greetings from Yachats (which is pronounced just as it appears, with a silent ‘c’: ya-hots — which isn’t how it appears), where a relaxed but busy Pacific studies the land and plots their moves under a light marine layer. Presently 56 F, it’s gonna be 66 F and sunny.
I have the dining room to myself so I’m typing away while I can. Everyone else is asleep, save my wife, who is down in our room doing her dressing and hair thing. That takes some time. Three couples are sharing a huge place. I think two more couples could stay here and barely be noticed. But while the house is big, with three floors, bordering on fancy and luxurious, it needs some updating and repair routines. That big fancy stainless steel frig doesn’t deploy ice and water as it should. The heating controls are hit and miss. The oven and stove top are ancient and wonky. We have an ensuite arrangement but the tub can’t hold water. Then there’s the dealio of utensils and cookware; there’s barely enough to prep and serve one meal. Like, WTF? Serious feedback is being compiled. It is all first-world whining, of course.
Read, of course, about Trump’s continuing overreach, sending in more troops to DC as he and the GOP make like strongarm dictators. I think the jackasses are overreaching, myself. I’m sure Trump hopes to cut off the voting apparatus so he can ignore the midterms, but we the economy trashing, the Epstein Files hanging over his head, his increasing grift and lawlessness, that ridiculous dog and pony show with Putin, his whining to the Nobel committee, and his dictator moves, I think the majority of U.S. citizens are already ready to cancel the season on this mango clown.
Haven’t heard much about Trump and Epstein today but haven’t been deep into the news. I can’t believe that Trump has already forgotten his BFC (best fucking criminal). I’ll post a photo to remind everyone.
Today’s music comes from vintage shopping. My wife loves going into used good places. St. Vincent’s, consignment store, Goodwills, etc. She can cruise those aisles, eyeing those things all day. I’m ready to depart the door in seven point five seconds. Anyway, as I walked around, trying to be patient in one of those places, up comes the Marshall Tucker Band with “Heard It In A Love Song” from 1977. The Neurons excitedly shouted, “We know this song!” So did everyone else in the store. Amazing how many folks were humming along or softly singing that chorus. The Neurons were so taken with the display that they kept the tune playing in my head for many more hours, and refreshed it in the morning mental music stream. Recognizing the situation, I know the only way to get The Neurons to release it from their grubby little hold is to put it out to the world and infect others. Once I, the carrier, do that, then the song leaves my head. I don’t know why; that’s just how it works.
Coffee is applying its black magic to my bod. Time to drift out toward the ocean. May peace and grace find you today and on all days. Cheers
Lousy photo from a lousy phone from our third-floor balcony.
Good morning from the Oregon coastal town of Florence. It’s just an overnight stop for us. We’re moving on to Yachats today.
It’s Munda, August 18, 2025. We’re sitting at sunny and 58 F with aspirations for the mid 60s. It’s 8 AM now. An hour ago, four people and ten dogs were on the beach Now, one lone walker marches alongside the rambunctious waves. Breakfast is first on our agenda. No sooner had we finished dinner last night when my wife pulled out the hotel’s breakfast menu and asked “What’s calling you for breakfast.” I find that what are we going to eat, where are we going to eat, and when are we going to eat, are often topics while on vacation. After eating, it’s to the beach for a walk, Old Town for shopping, and then we point the car north for the main vacation piece.
Seeing fishing boats out on the water, The Neurons were weakly inspired to put forth songs about sailing. While a number of song snippets rotated through the morning mental music stream, “Come Sail Away” by Styx won. I think it was by pure volume.
Coffee is sailing through my body. Hope fair winds bring you peace and grace today and every day. Cheers
Early morning’s bruised sky promised rain in Ashlandia. Within an hour, that threat evaporated. With sunshine, we were still buried in the 60s F. At that point we were packing the car. Papi brought his floof skills to the scene, silently inspecting every movement and bag. The floofsitter arrived on scheduled at 10 AM. Watching her come in the house, Papi watched her from the living room’s far end. After we exchanged greetings, she said with happiness, “There he is. There’s Papi.” Papi stood, stretched, and left the house. We left a few minutes later.
About four hours of driving had us at last on the Oregon coast, cruising into Florence in the mid-afternoon. Traffic was light although an aggro driver had us exchanging commentary and watching this tailgating driver diving in and out, cutting people off to get one vehicle ahead in a parade of vehicles. Stupid stacked on stupid. Once to Florence, we enjoyed hot sunshine and warm, cloudy day.
Other than discussions about Trump meeting Putin and more signs that the economy was heading downhill with increasing speed, it was a news free day. Now we sit in our room, watching the tide come in, waiting for sunset. What time will sunset be? One source pegs it at 8:02 while another says 8:18 and a third declares sunset will be at 8:30, all in PM. They do agree that high tide is coming in at 8:02 PM. We sit and watch and wait, me with a beer in hand.
Today song comes from discussing the tide time. Once The Neurons heard me think ‘tide’, they summoned Blondie’s 1980 new-wave cover of “The Tide Is High” to the mental music stream. I’m not familiar with the original offering.
Beer has breached my body and I’m turning to the mellow side. May the mellowness find and hold us all. Cheers
Labor and community are planning more than a barbecue on Labor Day this year because we have to stop the billionaire takeover. They are converting the government into their private slush fund and just passed the largest wealth giveaway in the history of the US. The money they take from working families, they put in billionaires’ pockets and set aside to fund a private army of ICE agents.
What companies are particularly Trump friendly? The New Republic has an article about the Trump regime rating companies. In a classic pay-to-play move that corrupt governments like to employ, Trump rates companies as strong when they’re willing to support Trump and do his bidding. Some of those companies: Uber, DoorDash, United, Delta, AT&T, Cisco, Airlines for America, and the Steel Manufacturers Association, according to Axios.
BFF (floofinition) – Shorthand for ‘best floof friend’ or alternatively, ‘best fur friend’. Origins: Internet circa 1999.
In Use: “Pogo and Scheckter, aka the infamous OrangeBoiz, were not just brothers but BFFs, hunting, sleeping, eating, and playing together through all cycles of day and night and all seasons of weather.”
In Use: “It’s not uncommon for a human to become a BFF. That was certainly the case with Merlin, who cared not a paw for other animals, but adored his BFF, Shirl, shadowing her in all endeavors.”
I’m infatuated with the expression, “It’s really raining.” It’s like we were challenging the assertion that rain is falling. “No, no, it’s really raining.” In this context, though, ‘it’s really raining’ means precipitation is falling at a heavy level.
Anyway, accompanied by my floofguard, I came in from the covered patio and traveled through the house to where my wife was sitting in the snug. “It’s really raining,” I said.
“I know. I told you that a few minutes.”
“Really? I didn’t hear you. It must have ricocheted off my ear without getting to my brain.”
“You weren’t in the room. I don’t know where you were. I said it twice, thinking that you might pick it up.”
“Well, I didn’t.” I shook my head. “I guess reception was bad.”
Michael Seidel, writer 