The Travel Dream

Such a brief, sharp dream.

My wife and I were outside. Fat, wet snow fell, covered the ground, and blotted our vision. We were dressed for cold, so we were protected, and we were walking somewhere. A man said, “Hey, would you like some airline tickets?”

We laughed and scoffed. “Flying? Now? No, thanks.”

The man insisted, “It’s cheap and safe,” reassurances that amused me.


He seemed to miss my sarcasm and doubt. “Good. Where do you want to go? You can go anywhere for just three hundred and four dollars.”

“Anywhere? Can I go to Pittsburgh for that?”

“Yes, Pittsburgh, here you are.” He held out two tickets.

“Wait, is that three oh four each? Is it round trip?”

“Yes, yes.”

I was confused. “We don’t want to go to Pittsburgh. It’ll be cold there. It’ll be just like here.”

The man said, “You can go anywhere you want.”

My wife replied, “We want somewhere warm.”

“Yes, through there, those tickets will take you.”

Through where, we were asking him, ourselves, and one another. Then we glided out. A  broad, flat green land spread out at our feet. Spokes of waterways divided the land into wedges. A metropolis served as a hub. A golden haze bathed it all.

“Where are we?” my wife and I asked.

The man answered from behind us, “Wherever you want to be.”

Saturday’s Theme Music

Pulled a piece of bread out of a bag yesterday and sniffed it, then gave it the eye test. That bread had been in the basket for a while. The basket is the bread basket that’s won counter territory. Nominally for bready goods, bulk granola, nuts, Kind bars, and Lararbars often camp there, too. It’s the place to rummage when a food is trying to tempt you but you’ve yet to identify its song. A couple forgotten goodies are usually to be found.

I found two heels of Dave’s Bread yesterday. Dave’s Bread was, is, an excellent healthy, tasty, robust bread, even though an evil corp. bought Dave out. Two heels; I could slap together a classic PB&J. The bread passed the eye and nose test, yet doubts lingered. A feel test confirmed: yeah, this is stale.

Per habit, my neurological Alexa said, “Playing a song with the word stale in it.” Eve 6’s offering, “Inside Out”, gained volume.

But yeah, stale is an appropriate word for the sit. in the USA. Trump’s attacks, tantrums, finger-pointing, and whining are stale, as are the faux discussions about re-opening the economy, ‘safely’ playing pro ‘sports’, and sending children back to school. My weariness with it is stale, as is my disbelief (hey, what do you know, Roger Stone has been pardoned) and disappointment. It’s all gone stale.

Ja, a stretch for “Inside Out” (1998), a wondrous melodic blur of rhymes and images, but I’m going with it.

It’s in my head now.


Floofsnake (floofinition) – British hard floof rock (flock) band formed in 1978, who had a string of commercially successful albums.

In use: “Songs like “Here I Bark Again” and “Is This Food” became hits for Whitefloof, establishing them as a major flock band in the 1980s.”

A Few Things Friday

  1. Typing with one hand. Broke my radius and ulna on my left arm last Tuesday evening. (Yep, just two days after b-day 64.) Always appreciated having the requisite number of things in good working order. I appreciate two hands and arms afresh.
  2. Was a clean break. None of my wrist bones were damaged, and the wrist cartilage et al looked good. Broke this same wrist back in July, 1988. Required two pins to hold that in place till it healed. Having those pins removed at the end was an ordeal. One pin went through my hand bones, and the pin had become bent while residing in my bod.
  3. Time was passed at the ER by eavesdropping on others’ issues and complaints. Woman next door was 186 pound (hey, that’s what I weigh!), was less than five four (okay, a few inches shorter), and ninety-six years old (got me beat there). She was having problems breathing, her heart was beating too fast and out of rhythm. She also refused to wear a mask. They insisted: “Put it on or we cannot help you.” She was tested for COVID-19. Learned via a friend today that she was negative.
  4. Everyone was masked and social distancing was practiced, but one person wore it wrong. That happened to be my ortho surgeon.
  5. Didn’t require surgery. Lots of pain was involved in this (quoting my attending physician), “Gnarly trauma.” I was sedated, ortho doc reviewed the film, shoved my hand back in place, tweaked it some, splinted it, and put it in a cast. I’m on  a Percocet diet, one every six hours. Didn’t have any the first night, though. Not a comfortable night.
  6. Spent fours at the ER. Actual procedure consumed about four minutes.
  7. How’d it happen? Either it was a rock climbing incident, a doe defending her fawn, or something else. Yeah, it was a poor dismount from a high place at home while effecting a repair. Should be in the cast one to two months.

The curse of 2020 has gotten a little more personal.

Friday’s Theme Music

I was thinking about my muse, or muses. They were having a party in my head, a.k.a., a head party. Apparently, they’re feeling frisky. I enjoy their energy and company. Starting to learn some of their names. Won’t reveal that, per their dark request. (“Yeah, reveal our names and say good-bye, because we’ll be a word on the wind.”)

Anyway, here’s the song that was written about a muse, “Never Let You Go” by Third Eye Blind, January 2000.

Thursday’s Theme Music

‘Ow ’bout a little Bob Marley and the Wailers from 1973? Thinkin’ ’bout the high level of eligibles in ‘Merica who don’t vote. (Have you seen the numbers?) “Get Up, Stand Up” seems like a fittin’ song.

Get up, stand up: don’t give up the fight
Most people think
Great God will come from the sky
Take away everything
And make-a everybody feel high
But if you know what life is worth
You will look for yours on earth
And now you see the light

You stand up for your rights, jah!
Get up, stand up (Jah, jah)
Stand up for your right (Oh, hoo)
Get up, stand up (Get up, stand up)
Don’t give up the fight (Life is your right)
Get up, stand up (So we can’t give up the fight)
Stand up for your right (Lord, Lord)
Get up, stand up (Keep us struggling on)

We sick an’ tired of your ism-skism game
Dyin’ ‘n’ goin’ to heaven in-a Jesus’ name, Lord
We know when we understand
Almighty God is a living man
You can fool some people sometimes
But you can’t fool all the people all the time
So now we see the light (What you gonna do?)

We gonna stand up for our rights (Yeah, jah, jah!)
So you better
Get up, stand up (In the morning, get it up)
Stand up for your right (In the night)
Get up, stand up
Don’t give up the fight (Don’t give it up, don’t give it up)
Get up, stand up (Get up, stand up)
Stand up for your right (Get up, stand up)

Get up, stand up (Don’t be a nigger in your neighborhood, yeah)
Don’t give up the fight (Get up, stand up)
Get up, stand up (I don’t think that should be very good, Lord) (Get up, stand up)
Stand up for your right (Get up, stand up)
Get up, stand up (I said, don’t be a nigger in your neighborhood, yeah)
Don’t give up the fight

h/t to Metrolyrics

Wednesday’s Theme Music

After reading headline bullshit about more Trump lies (and other pols, but mostly the mano one) and general bullshit that’s out there, a 1984 Queen song entered the mental music stream.

I want to break free
I want to break free
I want to break free from your lies

You’re so self-satisfied, I don’t need you
I’ve got to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free

h/t to

“I Want to Break Free” wasn’t a big hit in the U.S., but I was travelling through Europe on mil biz that year, and heard it on their media. I thought the thingy ’bout the lies worked for this pandemic year.

Give ‘er an ear.



Synofloof (floofinition) – Other terms for an animal’s species, usually playing off their behavior or appearance.

In use: “Jamaal intoned, “Here comes Lord Floof,” indicating the little confident black kitten that walked into the room, using the synofloof that meant the kitten, named Kap, was already king of the house. Indeed, the dogs were already drawing back to make way for the fierce little feline.”

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