Wednesday’s Bumper Sticker
The Cake Dream
Another anxiety dream, this one featuring cake.
Something had happened in the dream previous to this moment but its pieces are like sand in the wind. With the wind calming, I found myself in another place.
A younger version of me entered a hotel ballroom. Brightly lit chandeliers hung over the gathering. Everyone, including were well-dressed, with most (including me) wearing a black tuxedo with black tie.
Everyone milled around, as if waiting for an event to start. Lost when I first entered, I slipped to one side to get out of the way and figure out what was going on. Multiple tables were set with tablecloths and centerpieces featuring burning candles. On either end were tables. Seeing something on those tables, I went to them.
The tables were full of elaborate cakes. Seeing them, I became ravenous. I wanted a piece of cake but there weren’t plates, knives, or forks. How was I supposed to get a piece of cake?
Feeling nervous, I decided that I was going to leave. As I began turning, a woman in a shimmering silver gown approached me and announced, “There you are.” I thought she might someone else and tried stepping out of her way, but it was clear that she meant me. Even as she changed course and addressed me, I backpedaled, almost banging into the table full of cakes. God, what if I knock them all over, I worried, almost seeing the mess that it would make.
With the woman coming to me, others were coming my way, too. The woman was talking but I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. As she reached me, she took my arm in hers and asked, “What cake would you like?”
I said, “I don’t know, they all look good, but I don’t see any plates.” I was looking for plates, knives, and forks, and then, with surprise, saw that they were on the table. As I mused, how did I miss that, thinking they weren’t they before, the woman said, “It’s all for you. Take whatever cake you want.”
Distrustful of her (and leery of more people) (mostly men in tuxes crowding around me), I told her, “I think I need to go.” As I disengaged myself from the woman, a tall man stepped up and held out a plate of cake to me. “Just take the cake,” he said in a gentle voice.
I laughed because I thought he said, “This takes the cake,” but I was also confused because I didn’t know what he meant. Still holding the cake toward me, he said, “The cake is yours. Take the cake.”
The dream ended.
Good Floofmaritan
Good Floofmaritan (floofinition) – 1. An animal who assists other animals or people.
In use: “Many animals are being employed as Good Floofmaritans, service animals which help people cope with their shortcomings and difficulties.”
In use: “Grandpa Cat, as he was known, was an old street fighting tom who’d finally found a home, but surprised everyone with his Good Floofmaritan side when he helped orphaned kittens adjust by calming, comforting, and grooming them.”
2. “People who help animals.”
In use: “The Internet has helped raise the awareness about animals and their plights, resulting in the growth of many Good Floofmaritan organizations that take in orphaned and abused animals, help them recover, and find them permanent homes.”
3. A parable about an animal who helped other animals and people.
In use: “Floof 10:25-37 tells the Parable of the Good Floofmaritan, a lion who came upon an injured man stayed with the man, bringing him food and warming and protecting him for three days, until help arrive.”
Today’s Theme Music
“Creep” by Radiohead (1992) has flooded my stream this morning. Its presence was prompted by the query, “What the hell am I doing here?” when I paused in the kitchen, lost in what I was about to do. I then went through the mental checklist (fed the cats, let them out, let them in, fed them again, peed — oh, yeah, coffee.)
Many people dislike “Creep”, thinking it depressing. It is depressing. But I think its chorus captures what too many people sometimes experience:
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
I have felt like these words from time to time (yes, alcohol was involved) but it’s been a long while for me. Hope it’s been a long while for you, too, or better, that you’ve never endured that stream of thought.
Cheers
Floofsecute
Floofsecute (floofinition) – 1. Subject another animal or human to hostility, especially because of species or the belief that their territory is being invaded.
In use: “Seeing the other dog walk into the yard, Max arose with a growl and prepared to floofsecute the interloper.”
2. Term of endearment for a particularly sweet, cute, or pretty animal.
In use: “The way that the kitten regarded her melted her defenses. The newcomer (six weeks old, but orphaned, sole survivor from its litter) was definitely a floofsecute.”
Tuesday’s Bumper Sticker
I’m a kale fan. One of my favorite salads is kale with grilled chicken, olives, tangerine pieces, Kalamata olives, red onions, almond slices, and dried cranberries with a sprinkle of blue cheese. I love the clash of flavors.
Damn, now I’m hungry.
The Smells
Once again, we’re faced with some lies being spread. This time, it’s being claimed that Bernie Sanders said that he thinks black people smell.
First, WTF is off with our society that we carry the whole smell thing so far? We’re so aghast at gas from a fart, appalled by BO, etc.
Bad smells coming from somebody can be signs of things gone wrong, like emotional problems, economic strife, and health issues. Besides, as others have noted, everybody farts; everyone has odors. Eating black beans (which I love, damn it) (and pinto beans) will guarantee that I’ll fart. So will grapes (which I also love).
One lowpoint in my military career came about because of another’s body odor. A large white man working in another section and suffered from excessive sweating, which carried a pungent odor.
He came to me one day asking for advice, explaining his problem and breaking down in tears as he did. He’d been dealing with this, and with the taunting and bullying and looks that came with it, since he was a child. While talking with him about the multiple possible causes, I referred him to medical assistance. He’d already been there, of course.
The young officer who supervised him visited me a few weeks later, asking about the same problem. I pointed out at that time that the issue wasn’t really that the man had a sweating and odor problem, but that we had a problem dealing with it. I wasn’t forceful enough, though, looking back.
(Of course, our whole thing about smell is probably a defense mechanism carried to an extreme; smelling foulness off of another probably harkens back to diseases and are encoded in us.) (That’s just my speculation.)
Second, no one group smells more or less than another.
I’ve been with a number of races. None seems to smell better or worse than another to me. Nor can I declare that one sex or one political group or religion smells better or worse than another, as a group. It’s an individual thing. I, a white man who sweats often (and farts after eating certain foods) and walks several miles a day, can be the odor in the room, despite regular showers, clean clothes (well, they were clean when I put them on), decent health, and deodorant. Deal with it.
Third, Bernie Sanders never said that he thought black people smell. The race card is being played, once again, and it’s a lie, once again.
Flooflash
Flooflash (floofinition) – 1. A strong and adverse reaction by animals, especially in response to human behavior.
In use: “When he hurried into the bathroom and closed the door, the flooflash was quick as the dog barked and whined his disapproval, and the cat scratched and meowed her agreement with the dog.”
2. A shift of light caused by a animal passing by at amazing speed.
In use: “The cat was originally named Annabelle, shortened to Belle, but she became known as Flash after several flooflashes were experienced during her first week in the house.”
