Science fiction, fantasy, and mystery writer. Singer (sorry, no shows) & nudist (in my home). Beer, cat, cheese, coffee, pie and wine friend. Left IBM and Silicon Valley for the southern Oregon life but I miss the ocean. We're too far inland. Gotta move.
“We’re seeing as a result that ports here in the U.S., the traffic has really slowed and now thousands of dockworkers and truck drivers are worried about their jobs,” a reporter said in the press briefing.
“That means we lose less money,” Trump said. “When you say it slowed down, that’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”
I agree with PINO Trump.
I have found that having my bank account, refrigerator, freezer, and pantry all almost empty is a good thing. Without money, I can’t buy replacement stuff for my pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Things like food, and “eggs”, as PINO Trump likes to write it.
Having less food is so much healthier. Thanks to less food, I’m losing weight. With less food, I have less energy, so I’m sleeping more. That keeps me more sated with doing nothing, so I’m not out there, spending money, contributing to the local economy, accumulating stuff which I’d just need to get rid of. Thanks to having less money, I’m using my car less, buying less gas. With others like me also buying less gas and things, we keep prices down. Since we’re buying less, businesses are able to fire employees. That means those former employees are also buying less, staying home more often, and sleeping more. Win, win, win!
We’re also helping to save the environment. We don’t have the cash or means to go places. That keeps the air, land, and water, free from our cars’ pollutants. Since we don’t have money or energy, we also go on vacation less, further keeping the air clean of pollutants from aircraft. It all makes sense, in an Alice-in-Wonderland way that I’ve never realized before.
What a stable genius PINO Trump is. I so admire his brilliant logic.
This snark was brought to you by coffee. Coffee: it’s what’s for breakfast, and writing.
Frida descended upon Ashlandia with lots of cloud and some precocious heat. 77 F now, May 9, 2025, is expected to crest in the low 80s as Fahrenheit measured it.
Another Papi experiment was conducted this morning. Papi is our housefloof, feline and orange in nature. He belonged to another family in the neighborhood. They left him behind when they moved. He’d already joined our household at that point.
So I learned this week that he responds well to “Psp, psp, psp.” It’s an electric change. I remember that his name when those others were supposed to be his people was Garfield. Like the comic strip and movies. So, after saying the “Psp, psp” thing, I called Papi, “Garfield.”
He was sitting in the dining room with his back toward me. I was entering the kitchen. On the “Psp, psp”, he cocked his ears and half turned his head. When I said, “Garfield,” he jerked completely around and issued a sharp, “Miaow.” To me, it seemed like acknowledgement that he knew that as his name from some once-upon-a-time period. I’ll continue calling him Papi. He knows that name as well.
I saw three stories yesterday that claimed that Trump is under pressure for various things. That, uh oh, the MAGA faithful were upset.
I laughed and scoffed under that. As long as he’s Trump, he’ll sooth them with some new lies. The right-wing media the faithful follow will read and return to their comfortable bubbles.
But hearing under pressure brought an enticement The Neurons were too weak to resist. That’s the song, “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie. Back in the Freddie Mercury days. I’ve always enjoyed the song. I’ve used it as theme music before. Last time was in July, 2024. Remember what was happening in ‘Merica at that time? Yes, the election campaigning. I wrote about how old and tired Trump looked. He won. Now he looks older and more tired. For that to matter, the faithful would need to step into the sunshine of information and critical thinking. That ain’t happening.
Anyway, this version of “Under Pressure” is Queen without Mercury, with Annie Lennox and David Bowie. Watching it, I thought how Brian May and the other Queen members must feel for at least a slice of time, performing these old songs without their lead vocalist, Freddie Mercury. I know were I them, I’d have a little ache.
Reflecting on all that, I assume you know who David Bowie, et al, are. I assume you know that Freddie Mercury and David Bowie were the song’s original vocalists. I assume you know that they passed away. So many assumptions.
Also, personal opinion, but Bowie, Mercury, and Lennox are fascinating, charismatic vocalists. I felt pretty moved when they moved forward on the stage and sang the outre at 3:26.
Coffee has been indulged anew. Frida is proceeding with the usual rhythms of my life. Hope yours is an uplifting and satisfying day. Over to you. Cheers
I’ve been sparking with new novel ideas. Concepts. Characters. Settings. You know. Novel stuff.
Nothing worked up enough energy to be a dance partner. Disappointment dressed in depression put in an ugly appearance.
Wait a second, I reminded myself. I have three other starts which I can pull up and fertilize and build into something. All were good concepts, pleasing to write, fun.
Also, self, your writing process has never been to figure it all out and then sit and write. You usually/almost always just write. Let it flow. Get out of the way of your thinking and just do it. So why are you trying to figure it all now? Dumb ass.
I acknowledged all this from my inner writer as true. So, okay. I decided I’d open a start and let it rip.
But instead, washing the windshield before departing for the coffee shop, a new seed from all that thinking sprouted. A new chapter positioned itself in my head. Setting, character, plot began growing out of that new sprout.
Sitting with coffee at hand, I punched out five pages in half an hour. A new novel was underway. Damn, it’s good to be a writer.
Sunshine and warm air is spilling throug Ashlandia once again. 61 F now, Thirstda, May 8, 2025, will overtake the gorgeous day known as May 7, 2025. 80 F will be bestowed on us. Sure, it’ll be windy, that but’s okay.
The cat is happy, if I’m judging his tail right. Standing upright, like a sundial gnomon, we could use it to tell the time but he won’t stand still long enough. After eating, visiting, and grooming, he resumed his back fence residency.
Being out back depressed me. Wasn’t the sunshine. No. That’s fine and welcomed. It’s the lack of bees and butterflies. No humming birds, either. Also missing were the regular Jay visitors. All have desserted us. I hope they come back soon.
We discussed politics last night at the beery thingy. Like, re-opening Alcatraz. Such a gennyus move…not. Only a simpleton would think it is. Right now, simpletons are running the nation.
I’m late to posting this because of computer issues. I suspect it’s update stuff but basically, I’ll be busy doing stuff and thump, the computer gets
Four songs hover in the extended morning mental music stream. A common theme threads through them: small towns.
From 1975: “My Little Town”, Simon & Garfunkel. “Billboard described the song as “a good, nostalgic Americana style song that builds throughout.”[4]Cash Box said it has “catchy piano beneath historic harmony growing into a brass hook ending” and that “you’ll remember the melody by the third time you hear it.”
From 1985: “My Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen. This was a sad reflection on the demise of small towns in the United States, the end of mills, the end of jobs, stores closed up and boarded up. Reflected in the lyrics are the tensions experienced in the 1960s over segregation and integration and the violence which resulted.
1985 also brought us, “Small Town” by John Mellencamp. “”I wanted to write a song that said, ‘You don’t have to live in New York or Los Angeles to live a full life or enjoy your life.’ I was never one of those guys that grew up and thought, ‘I need to get out of here.’ It never dawned on me. I just valued having a family and staying close to friends.” h/t to Wikipedia.org
Then, from 2023, “Try That In A Small Town,” performed by Jason Aldean and written by a committee. In a review of Highway Desperado for Allmusic, Stephen Thomas Erlewine stated “All its success was based on how the single and video deliberately pushed cultural buttons; strip those away, and ‘Try That in a Small Town’ is just another in a long line of crawling, glowering, arena-country from Aldean.”
Chris Willman of Variety called it “the most contemptible country song of the decade [and] the video is worse”, saying that the song “is close to being the most cynical song ever written about the implicit moral superiority of having a limited number of neighbors” and is “a list of hellishly dystopian tropes about city evils that seems half-borrowed from Hank Williams Jr.‘s ‘A Country Boy Can Survive‘, half-borrowed from the Book of Revelation“. He said that the video “conflates the act of protesting with violent crime”.[7] Marcus K. Dowling of The Tennessean wrote that “online critics highlighted the following song lyrics as emblematic of songs heightening pro-gun violence and lynching sentiments upon many in his rural, small-town fanbase”.
Tennessee state representative Justin Jones tweeted “As Tennessee lawmakers, we have an obligation to condemn Jason Aldean’s heinous song calling for racist violence … What a shameful vision of gun extremism and vigilantism.”[24] He explicitly referred to the song as a “heinous vile racist song” which attempts to normalize “racist, violence, vigilantism and white nationalism” in a later interview on CNN.
Kevin M. Kruse, professor of history at Princeton University specializing in 20th-century America, called out the song for “calling for people who aren’t law enforcement to mete out violence against people who haven’t broken any laws,” a callout to “law and order” that is “actually lawlessnness.” h/t to wikipedia.org
For me, the subject of small towns arose as my adopted small town copes with growth and development, rising costs and diminishing prospects. We’re wrestling with the need to change but can’t agree on how to change. As with many small towns, few want to abandon ‘what worked before’. That leaves us stymied about what to do and how to do it. As exhibited in “Try That In A Small Town”, the professed preference is to gut the other side.
I’m aware I do that a lot about the MAGAs myself. We don’t see eye to eye. We lack agreement about what are facts and history, and cause and effect. The polarization depicted in the last of these four songs is becoming the norm. Part of the background noise is about gun violence. As part of the left, I’m tired of hearing about thoughts and prayers and the need to arm teachers and increase security at schools, fairs, airports, malls, and other places whenever another mass shooting takes place. Put forward is this video is the threat to escalate violence.
How do we bridge these gaps?
It’s interesting, to, that the right wing is pushing to return to the values of previous years. To what year do they want to return? To the 1960s, when civil unrest and protests swept the nation and the small towns’ death rattles began? To further back, like the 1950s, when the United States entered into trade and defense agreements and taxes were high on the wealthy? Or earlier, when lynchings of Blacks were not uncommon, women lacked rights, and deaths from back street abortions were high, and the young died from measles and other diseases.
Let’s pause, perhaps, and remember how those big box stores, like Amazon, Walmart, Lowe’s, Home Depot, grand supporters of Trump and the GOTP, drove a spike through many small town businesses. Yes, and Starbucks and Costco, too.
The day is ending. Hope it was a good one for you. It was pretty good for me. Let’s do it again tomorrow. Cheers
I’d say that more people need to start thinking. However, we know from videos and posts, many are not interested in these positions. They’re not really pro-life. They’re not deep thinkers. They’re simple hypocrites. Easily conned, they don’t want to admit that they’re not knowledgeable and really don’t understand much. Most are just haters, and most have been convinced that hating Democrats provides the solutions to their problems.
“The canary in our mine has died,” the foreman reported.
“We’re not going to replace him,” the mine owner replied. “That bird was fraud, waste, and abuse. Never did anything but sit there in a cage. Useless. We’ll save hundreds of pennies by cutting that position.”
The next day, the foreman reported, “Three miners have died.”
“Good!” the mine owner enthused. “Look how much we’re saving on personnel costs. Keep up the good work.”
“All of the third shift are dead,” the foreman reported the next day. “There’s no mining going on today.”
The mine owner clapped his hand and cackled in glee. “That’s great news.”
The foreman stared at him. “How do you figure? Nothing’s being mined. Production is down.”
“Exactly,” the owner replied. “That’ll reduce supplies. With lower supplies, we can charge much more money per ton. In fact, go ahead and lay off everyone else. We’ll shut the mine down and save a fortune in overhead while we sign new deals.”
“Are you sure?” the foreman asked.
“Yes. We’ll be making so much money, you won’t believe it.” The owner’s orange face glowed with excitement. “Trust me, I’m a very stable genius. I know what I’m doing.”
Our cat sitter surprised us with her report on Papi.
Papi is our male orange cat. When I describe him, I use words like sweet but cautious. Wary.
The cat sitter said, “He’s such a sweet boy.”
Yep. We agree.
“He was always there waiting for me or showed up as soon as I called him,” the cat sitter said.
What? Papi shows up for me but often ignores my wife. We always thought Papi was distrustful of women.
“And he always wanted me to pet him and talk to me and purr, the sitter said.
Papi’s behavior was completely contrary to my wife’s experiences with him. Even though she bribes him with treats.
I noticed the cat sitter used a different sound when dealing with Papi. We use a kissing sound. She employed, “Psp, psp, psp.”
So I tried that on Papi.
The change was electric. He whirled around and hurried to me, tail up.
My wife’s eyes widened. She issued, “Psp, psp, psp.”
Papi turned and looked at her. “He usually ignores me,” my wife said.
We talked it over and agreed, that must have been the sound people used around him when he was young. Who knows, of course. We do know that the result is amazing. He’s a much friendlier and relaxed floof with sound employed.
Details matter. As always, the problem is in figuring them out.
Warm air, clouds, and sunshine mugged us this morning. It’s Wenzda, May 7, 2025. 57 F when the bed rejected a few more minutes of shuteye, it’s now 2 PM and 74 F, on its way to a 78 F now. Don’t know if that’s possible. Cloud are jumping the sunlight. The temperature climb has stalled.
Papi, the ginger blade, aka Butter Butt, loves this warm stretch. Some shade is needed so he’s back in Boinn’s spot. Boin is Boo & Quinn. They both enjoyed and utilized that space behind some bushes against the bac fence. Like them, all I need to do to draw Papi out is step outside and into the grass. Then, click, as if activiated by a motion detector, he’s out, talking and stretching, heading toward me.
A dental appointment threw off today’s timing. That all went well. This was intro work. Snaps to see what my mouth looks like. A new bridge is needed. That’ll be $4400. Oral surgery to remove three defunct molars. $2500 each. $7500 total. Then I’ll need either implants or flex bas for the missing teeth. Flex bas are $750 each. Only two are needed, so $1500. Implants are $2500 each. Three would be needed, so $7500 for those. Xrays were $247. Cleaning will be $250. It all adds up. I want to think about what I want done.
The dentist, staff, and facilities all impressed me. The doctor told me she had to give me bad news about what was needed and referred to herself as Debby Downer. Thereafter, I referred to her as Doctor Downer.
Today’s music is fresh from hearing a knock on the door. “Who Can It Be Now?” I wondered. Righteously awakened, The Neurons introduced Men At Work singing the 1980s hit song in the morning mental music stream. Later, singing the song in my head, I recalled, “Is it the man come to take me away. Why do they follow me. Is it my future that I can see. Or is it fantasy?” Those words are ripe for these times. It feels like Trump and his Trumpnistas are about to burn the Constitution and go after anyone who doesn’t say they love Trump. Like me. I don’t love him. Never did and never will.
Coffee has been enjoyed. Work on bushes is singing a siren song. Off I go. Enjoy the music, your day, and your life. Cheers
Sunshine beams down on us from a blue vault in Ashlandia. Already 72 F, we’ll kiss 81 F, it’s said. Lovely weather for Twosda, May 6, 2025.
I feel like I’m juggling a bobillion things today. I can’t define a bobillion except to say that it’s a number that keeps my mind whirling in different directions. Many are random minute modern matters. Then again, isn’t that the norm these days? Sure seems like it. We’ve gone from working the land to working in the office to working the phone and computer at home. Nothing to do but pursue and complete it all. Prioritize as necessary. Keep in mind is most of it is small stuff that fuels bureaucracies. But bureaucracies are the current engines that move things forward. I would now usually go on and point out that the Trusk Regime is busy tearing down bureaucracies, pointing to how much he and his Trumpnies (Trump cronies) want us to go backwards. But that point has been beaten into thin batter. If you don’t get it by now, you probably won’t until you’re personally affect and distraught at the results.
Today’s morning mental music stream is occupied by Journey. Journey had a strong presence on the rock scene in the mid-1970s to early 1980s. Today’s song is “Don’t Stop Believin'”. Released in 1981, the song became a top 10 hit in many nations. Arriving to Okinawa for military duty, I heard it often on AFN Radio and playing on jukeboxes.
Hope your day is strong and hopeful, and feeds and supports your need to keep believing. Coffee has been served. Here we go again, one more day in the United States. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 