Author: Michael Seidel

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.

Food

Daily writing prompt
What bores you?
View all responses

OMG, I can tell you right now that thinking about food bores right through me. Like right now, I’m thinking about a quick snack to sustain me through my writing session. I carry a Kind bar in my computer case for that purpose. But I feel like the hunger is getting sort of urgent, as I can feel it boring through my thinking. I can only imagine how horrible it is for people living in food deserts, where food is not readily available, driving prices up beyond people’s means. How the thought of a good, healthy meal must bore through them. I can imagine them watching another person eat and find it boring through the center of their beings. That’s so sad in a world where so much waste is generated by inefficient distribution systems that depend on capitalism as the foundation to solve problems like starvation.

“Just how much food do Americans waste? Here’s some “food” for thought: While the world wastes about 2.5 billion tons of food every year, the United States discards more food than any other country in the world: nearly 60 million tons — 120 billion pounds — every year. That’s estimated to be almost 40 percent of the entire US food supply, and equates to 325 pounds of waste per person.” 

Yeah, food. It can be so boring. Something to think about as people complain about the price of eggs. Although many won’t.

They’ll find it too boring.

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More of this, Please

Owning them by their own bullshit is so sweet!

WYOMING:

“Thank you, Madam chairman.”

“I prefer ‘Mister’ chairman.”

“Well you all voted preferred pronouns cannot be compelled speech.”

WYOMING:“Thank you, Madam chairman.”“I prefer ‘Mister’ chairman.”“Well you all voted preferred pronouns cannot be compelled speech.”

— The Tennessee Holler (@thetnholler.bsky.social) 2025-02-22T05:18:19.841Z

Persist. Resist.

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Saturda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

We’re witness to the Great Undoing. Anyone fired from a job or who suffers loss from a death that alters their routines know about the undoing. Habits and routines created by job needs or the deceased one are now changed. Those gaps yawn before you. You exercise mental thought processes… “Oh, I don’t need to leap out of bed at six AM, hurry through a shower, dressing, and breakfast to jump on the highway to commute to work to get into the office by — ” Fill in your times.

Likewise, when someone who is part of your regular circles passes, you’re face to face with the change: “Oh, they’re not there to greet me. I don’t need to stop and speak with them, or check on them. They’re not there.”

Many in the United States are working through forms of undoing. Federal workers are suddenly enduring the shock of not having to roll out of bed, dress, and do the morning work dance. They’ve been fired. Terminated. Let go by Imperial Presidential Executive Orders.

Around the country, the monies provided by U.S.AID are gone. The routines associated with getting children to school where they’re provided a meal are over. Churches and charities dependent on that fund stream are going through undoing because the money isn’t there. If the money is gone, so is the food and shelter. Workers and employees suddenly endure the undoing as the routines of helping the impoverished are ended by Imperial Presidential Executive Order. Not just in foreign countries but here in the U.S., too.

Contracts to provide new buildings and essential services have been ended by Imperial Presidential Executive Order. The great undoing commences as workers are released from those projects. Buildings stand unfinished. National Park Visitor Centers stayed closed and dark. Trash goes uncollected. Nobody mans the towers to watch for fires.

Trump’s Hiring Freeze Throws Wildfire Fighters Into Disarray

As anti-vaccination is encouraged the health and safety enjoyed by communities across the nation go through an undoing. Children and the vulnerable elderly are closely watched for signs of diseases long ago stamped out by vaccinations, more victims of limited intelligence, less compassion, and Imperial Presidential Executive Orders.

Air travel is adjusted as staff are cut. More undoing. Traffic congestion in New York leaps up again. Accident rates rise. Confidence in government systems fall, part of the undoing of having regulations and requirements slashed away, along with inspectors to see what went wrong to prevent it from happening again. People become skeptical, leery of these systems…use falls. Airlines see the results.

From DC to Arizona: Why are so many planes crashing in 2025?

Farmers study crop prices and markets and endure the bitter undoing. Veterans protected by DEI programs are released from work positions and begin undoing their daily functions. Students helped by grant programs begin undoing their education hopes and dreams. Children affected by the undoing no longer go into facilities to play, learn how to socialize, visit with friends, and hearing stories read to them, undoings of things just begun.

Billions of Dollars at Stake for Farmers Hit by Trump Funding Freeze, Pause on Foreign Aid

Financial and economic experts study revenue and spending trends, note the stability created by an intelligent network of regulations developed after previous financial disasters and begin preparing their clients and institutions for the undoing, unsure how it will play out, as this is early days. Stock prices drop.

Walmart stock tumbles after the retailer lowers its sales outlook: “We are in an uncertain time”

All part of the Great Undoing undertaken by a group of people dismissing the government’s influence as overbearing, dismissing history as wrong, insisting scientists and professionals don’t know what they are doing. They know better.

Science under siege: Trump cuts threaten to undermine decades of research

And so, as Imperial Presidential Executive Orders destroy the government’s ability to function, as the United States withdraws from treaties, alliances, trade agreements, and mutual assistance organizations, the Great Undoing spreads, fallout from the Great Shitstorm of 2025, the result of the 2024 U.S. elections.

As Imperial Presidential Executive Orders are issued, undoing the work of Congress and previous administrations, we will see what happens with our constitutional system of checks and balances. Will it hold?

Freshman Congressman tells constituent he is powerless to stop Musk’s budget cuts

Or will the Great Undoing be the United States’ undoing?

2

Sharing Some Memes!

Must Be Time For Some … MEMES!

There are so many good ones — ‘good’ meaning that they savagely illuminate events and make us laugh, swear, or — and sometimes and — go GRRRRRRR — but here are my top three from Jill’s collection:

Go check them out and find your own favorite.

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Saturda’s Theme Music

If we’re rockin’ and rollin’, it must be Saturda. Well, according to the calendar, even if you’re not rockin’ and rollin’, it’s still Saturda.

Sunshine flashes some spirit but we’re mostly under cover of long stretched waves of gray-topped white clouds. Will it rain? Wouldn’t you like to know… Temperature is 42 F. We came close to edging into 60 yesterday. Weird experiencing that much warmth and sunshine for such sustained exposure. Dressed in jeans, shirt, and light jacket, sweat peppered me as I walked around on household business. Nice to have, as this is our expected average for the year. But it’s been so sorely absent that we have to re-adjust to it.

This being February 22, 2025, we expect a high today of 55 F. It’ll be partly sunny and partly cloudy. Rain is expected this afternoon. The wind has punched up, reminding me of that expression about March coming in like a lion. Papi the ginger blade (aka Butter Butt) doesn’t like the wind, mewhining, “Let meeee iiiiinnnnnnnn.”

Today The Neurons have offered a musical suggestion on behalf of Trump supporters. “Use Me” by Bill Withers, from 1972, inhabits the morning mental music stream.

But my answer, yeah to all that use me stuff
I want to spread the news
That if it feels this good getting used
You just keep on using me
Until you use me up
Until you use me up

h/t AZLyrics.com

I approached coffee with an offer that was eagerly accepted. Now the two of us are almost like one. Hope you have a day worth remembering for all the good reasons. Cheers

0

The Flooded Car Dream

To begin, I found myself in a car that became trapped in a flood and incapacitated. That meant I wasn’t going to make my destination on schedule.

I wasn’t bothered. Getting out of the car — no idea of its make, model, or color — I waded out of flood waters. Two things began working in parallel: I started making arangements for a rental replacement and I worked on understanding my location. With the former, I learned in phone calls that a car was available but wouldn’t be there for several hours. In the matter of location, I found that I was close to my father’s house. I could visit him and his family while waiting for my rental car.

Their home is in the southwestern U.S. in the dream. In real life, Dad lives in Texas but in the dream, I was unclear if it was New Mexico, Arizona, or Texas. With dream magic swiftness, I arrived at Dad’s and was knocking on their door. A family member I didn’t recognize answered the door. They recognized me, introduced themselves in a vague way and let me in. Then I remembered them.

Then, it was visitor time. Cousins on my father’s side were living with him. Two of these cousins have already passed away in real life. The other point is that I’m 5’8″ in real life and the cousins are half a foot plus taller. My dream had these roles reversed. That surprised m and it came to a point that I realized, I’m tall, they’re looking up at me.

Food and drinks were offered and accepted. After I ate, my father’s current wife entered the cosy western room where a fireplace hosted blazing logs. I explained the situation to her and asked her about my father and seeing him. A little distracted, she told me Dad was there and he wanted to see me but he had to do some things first and it would be a little bit later.

My Dad’s wife’s daughter called from open French doors in the rear that there was an animal playing in the water. I moved there to see a young wild cat chasing something through the water. Almost simultaneously, I realized that night was falling, it was pouring rain, that the house was built by an arroyo, and that flash flooding was underway. On the next moment, I saw that there was a much larger wildcat — about the size of an adult cougar — in the water and figured it was mom, and another little one. Those three animals easily moved their powerful bodies through the raging muddy waters. Mom cat noticed us and that’s when the next pair of realizations bolted in: that back door was just feet from the raging waters, and three wild predatory animals were also just feet away. But the animals went on and we backed into the house and eventually closed the door.

More family members briefly visited but all had other things to go do. I ended up alone. I noticed that they had this small, rough shaped wooden table, about the size of a petite coffee table. A piece of art was worked into the table’s top. I thought I’d fix it up as a gift to them so I took it to a small shop I located on the property and cleaned the top until some western piece of cowboys with lassos in iron and style was revealed.

After polishing it up, I returned to the house. Dad’s wife met me. I showed her and others the table. They were really pleased. None had noticed the top. The piece was a family heirloom and they were told it was priceless but they didn’t know anything about the art.

My rental car had been delivered and I needed to leave. It was night and Dad hadn’t shown. I left and went to the car. Once I reached, I laughed: I was still carrying the table in one hand. Going back to the house, I saw several of them through the window. The lights were on inside. They looked right at me. I realized that they couldn’t see me because of the lights and reflections, so I just went in, showed them the table, joked about almost leaving with it, and then left again.

Boom! I still had the table. I realized this in a few steps and hastily rushed back in, set the table down, and left the house. The dream ended as I reversed the rental car, turned it around, and drove into the night.

0

Fridaz’s Theme Music

So we chug into Fridaz, Feb. 21, 2025. Blue sky has it over my views of Ashlandia. Plentiful sunshine pelts the scene with rays. It’s 32 F with mid 50s likely, ‘they’ say.

All that is my perspective. Per habit, I inquire of the weather for us from Alexa. It says it’s 40 degrees. Tells me about the fog. ? Says it’ll be mostly cloudy today.

What we have here is some kind of failure of something. Maybe it’s in a different reality; perhaps I am. Or Alexa landed in a different Ashland. There’s a bunch of ’em in America. Or…since she’s Amazon…and Jeff Bezos…and he’s getting along so well with Trusk…Alexa is trying to gaslight me. Ah, such possibilities to contemplate on a Fridaz morning.

Oatmeal with blueberries are being consumed. A Chicago song is going through my morning mental music stream. “You’re My Inspiration.” You know the words:

You’re the meaning in my life
You’re the inspiration
You bring feeling to my life
You’re the inspiration
Wanna have you near me

h/t to Genius.com

I figure The Neurons are calculating and channeling emotions about Tucker’s passing. Seems logical, right? But, The Neurons are not always logical. Then again, neither are emotions. Hell, neither is life.

The music certainly didn’t come from my dreams. They were trippy. I’ll almost certainly write a post about one of them later. It’s ‘almost certainly’ because it’s a busy day planned. So, it’s a time permitting thing. Then again, there’s not a general call for more of my dreams, nor is there a time limit. It’s not like someone sent me memo, “Post about a dream by Fridaz.” If they did, I didn’t receive the memo. I guess I should check my spam and junk mail, see if it didn’t get ditched there.

Coffee and I are doing the morning tango. Hope you have a solid day, and things begin looking and getting better for all of us. Here’s the 1984 music, fresh out of a recording made in 1992. Papi the ginger blade (aka Meep, Butter Butt) has arrived for his morning cuddle session. Gotta go. Cheers

0

Tucker (Pronounced Tuck-ah)

I was in the kitchen at midnight. A white flash crossed my vision’s edge.

I knew without doubt that Tucker had just bolted across the rainbow bridge. With some hot fluid boiling out of my eyes, I went in and made confirmation. Another era was over.

He went so quickly, it shocked us. He didn’t respond to any medication. All we could do is take a seat and console him and ourselves as best as we could.

Tucker was another in a long line of BFFs (Best Floof Friends). I’ve been grateful for them all and pleased that each chose to spend their time with me, sharing their secrets, insights, and love. I’m a wealthier person for them all.

And after I ached from my heart out through my chest and my face crumbled and the fluid burned my eyes more and blurred my vision, I squared up to go on. Because this is just part of the fucking roller coaster of life, up and fucking down, again and again. I hurt and will hurt for probably years because that’s just who I am. But I’ll continue moving forward, left foot, right foot, doing what I need to do.

Because all of my BFFs would always do the same. But man, I do still miss them all. Especially that last black and white handsome fellow that had to take his leave.

His name is Tucker. Pronounced Tuck-ah.

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