Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Magna cum Floof (catfintion) – with great cat.
In use: “Moving into her new home was a procession. She was at the head, magna cum floof, with a giant orange Maine Coon resting in her arms.”
Editing Note: Had to do it because, you know, some people are confused by the word, cum. We can’t allow ignorance like that to continue to survive.
Let’s pop back to 1997.
The scene is San Jose, California. The group is Smash Mouth. They were the summer’s rising flavor. One song that caught on was a little ditty called “Walkin on the Sun”.
It ain’t no joke I’d like to buy the world a toke
And teach the world to sing in perfect harmony
And teach the world to snuff the fires and the liars
Hey I know it’s just a song but it’s spice for the recipe
This is a love attack I know it went out but it’s back.
It’s just like any fad it retracts before impact
And just like fashion it’s a passion for the with it and hip
If you got the goods they’ll come and buy it just to stay in the clique
It’s just a song, but it something to help you think. Cheers
Yes, I’m wearing orange today.
I don’t belong to a political party. I support those who will speak truth, and support freedom, justice, and equality for every person. Neither the G.O.P. nor Democratic Party does that well in America in recent years. The Green Party and Libertarian Party try, and they have some good ideas, but lack the political will.
I like what America’s founders set out to do. The Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights are fine documents, with great aspirations for what we as a nation can be. It is not a perfect document. Neither were the people who wrote and ratified it. As the Preamble says, “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”
They were forming a more perfect union. It wasn’t perfect, and it isn’t perfect. It was not meant to be never changed, for the founders recognized they weren’t creating a perfect union, and built several mechanisms for change into it. They recognized that not many ideas or plans begin as perfect. You do the best you can to give yourself a place to start. If you want for the perfect plan, you’ll probably never begin.
I support the idea of a more perfect union. I want to secure the blessing of liberty for ourselves and posterity. To achieve this, we can’t support or give in to lies, fear, or oppression. To continue the pursuit of a more perfect union began over two hundred years ago, we must continue to address wrongs and injustice, and change and adjust without abandoning the basic premise that everyone is equal, and have certain rights that others cannot abridge nor abrogate. Until that level, we continue to seek a more perfect union.
Which is why I wear orange today.
My wife and I were just moving into a beautiful new home that was on the beach. Leaving the living room, I entered a courtyard that was part of my home. Cross it and go out a gate, and I was on the beach, about two hundred yards away from the waterline. I was quite happy with it.
Early parts of the dream were involved in moving in new power supplies. My wife had never heard of them. I had to explain that the small, red devices that I was sitting up in different places would supply all the electricity we needed. About the size of a plug-in air freshener or a night light, they had an innocuous small body. I was setting up two per room.
Besides that, we discovered a litter of kittens in our courtyard. We went to meet them. They took off in every direction, but we coaxed them back. Soon they were coming into the house to visit us.
Our new neighbors invited us to a party at their house so we could meet everyone in the neighborhood. They were ebullient and friendly people. Introducing themselves, each invited us for tours of their homes. We soon discovered our neighbors were wealthy and accomplished people.
I became envious of their places. While our house was nice, their houses were better. No one ever said anything, though, and they were all eager to meet me, the gifted writer, and talk to me. One in particular was a Jeff Goldblum look-alike. Telling us, “I want to spring some ideas on you, and hear your ideas, so we can partner together on some things,” he invited us to his house.
We met in his courtyard. It seemed huge, to the tune of about five thousand square feet. Filled with furniture that formed dining areas and conversation pits, the courtyard was attached to his large, red house. It looked like it was four stories tall.
The J.G. doppelganger was cordial, friendly, and energetic, but he had a weird affliction. Sometimes, he would stop and burst out in uncontrollable laughter. It was strange to see. Once I became used to it, it was okay, but it really bothered my wife. As we sat with the J.G. double drinking on his deck, I decided, I wanted a bigger and better house.
The dream ended with me telling myself that.
Yesterday developed into a sensational writing day, one of those joyful experience that has me shouting, “This is why I write.” I then want to tell everyone about it, but there’s no one to tell. They wouldn’t understand without extensive background explanation, anyway.
But this is my blog, so I’ll go into some of that here.
Essentially, I’d reach a cross roads. I was calling it a cross roads, but that was a convenient and sloppy label. Every character, backed by a muse, had ideas about where the story was to go at this point. I, the writer, was reluctant to embrace their suggestions. I had my reasons.
That foundation created a few days of slow writing. Slow writing isn’t like slow sex. Slow sex, from my understanding (I’ve never experienced it, being a quick little pecker), is sublime, packing in pleasure. Slow writing, though, is more like using a machete to hack your way through a tropical jungle with drums playing in the background, giant mosquitoes trying to carry you away, and huge snakes hanging from the tree branches.
This was the sort of slow writing, coming at my time of month, that made me think, maybe I should just quit writing. Who would care? Nobody would care! Shit, nobody would notice.
Shit replied to me, “That’s oh so true.”
Which ignited a stream of profanities from me at Shit.
Because there were/are so many directions, the crossroads is really the center of a beautiful orbital web. Which strand do I pluck and follow?
Naturally, being me and the person that I’ve nurtured and developed for six decades, I over-analyzed it all. I am consistent. That was, of course, the greatest issue with the situation. After realizing for the tenth to the twenty-seventh power time that, creatively, I can’t logically and intelligently analyze it because I’m too deeply mired in the mess, and that I had to just suck it all up and write, damn it, I did so, and enjoyed the result. Naturally, too, the writing took me in unexpected directions that I couldn’t see when I was struggling to decide which way to go. Once again, naturally, I learned, just write.
Naturally, there’s a caveat to all of this.
The caveat is that yesterday’s writing experience set up unreasonable expectations for another glorious day of writing. Of course, that’s coming from my logical, emotional, and hopeful sides, and not from the creative and writing sides. I think I’m d20 die, part of a polyhedral dice existence. Roll me and see what comes up for the day.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Once is a production being performed at the Oregon Cabaret.
Now, I admit, I’m ambivalent about the Oregon Cabaret venue. It’s very tight quarters and the viewing angles aren’t impressive. It’s so tight, you can imagine that you’re traveling on a train, if you have a vivid imagination. But, it has a charming intimacy and they put on some excellent entertainment.
We heard about Once when we were in Denver. See, our United flight was delayed, and wasn’t expected to take off for three hours. We’d been traveling all day. Now we were hungry and had time to burn, so we found a restaurant and ordered food and drink.
Ha, ha, it was so cheap, it was amazing! Just fifty dollars for a margarita, beer, three tacos, and a quesadilla!
Being nosy people, we overheard the people at the next table tell the server that they were going to Medford. Why, that’s where we were going. Where are they from?
The other couple were revealed to live within half a mile of us in Ashland.
What an amazing, small world. We began chatting and mentioned that we’d seen Million Dollar Quarter at the Oregon Cabaret. Had they seen?
Yes, and it was wonderful, they agreed, but better was the more recent production they’d seen, Once.
Once? Well, we’d better check it out.
We did so last night. The Denver couple from Ashland were right: Once is better than Million Dollar Quartet. That’s not to diminish Million Dollar Quarter. Once was sensational, which shouldn’t be overly surprising, since the beautiful song, “Falling Slowly”, won an Academy Award in 2008. Bonus surprise: Christopher Fordinal played Elvis Presley in Million, and Guy in Once.
Olivia Nice as Girl had people crying with her as she sang her last song. The entire cast of Once was impressive, enthralling us with their skills and talents, leaving us to wonder why we’re aren’t so blessed with such skills, and demanding a do-over to our lives. An engaging production, I recommend it.
Catermand (catfinition) – to stop a feline from doing something by issuing an order.
In use: “When he issued the catermand, “Leave my food alone,” the cat stopped, gave him a look, and hunkered down to wait. As soon as he turned his back, the cat advanced on the sandwich and began nibbling. Smelling turkey and hearing the man shout, “Hey,” the cat freed a piece of turkey from between two slices and leaped off the table and into flight.”
Don’t you hate it when you click on a button or link on a webpage, and nothing happens, so you click, and click, and click, and then dozens of pages suddenly explode open?
You don’t? Well, la-di-da. Good for you.
I always enjoy the sense of being lost and finding yourself. Maybe I enjoy that sense because I do it often, and I do it often because I like the feeling of reward I get from finding myself after being lost. It can be a pretty damning web.
I was thinking of all that today as I walked, recalling “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree” by KT Tunstall. Her song always imparts that sense that, out of all being presented in our minds, there are pieces we must pick out and fit together to solve part of the puzzles that we are. The thing about solving the puzzles that we are is, we’re never finished. As dynamic as southern Oregon weather, we as people change as frequently.
I don’t know what you think about the song, or the search for yourself, but it’s a good tool for furthering exploration of my infinite existence. The song came out just fourteen years ago, though. Before it, I often used Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” for the same purpose. You might realize that “Comfortably Numb” only came out in 1980, and ask (if you’ve read this far), “What song did you use before that?”
Well, that would be “The Real Me” by The Who. And before then?
Hell, who knows?
