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.
Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) came to the room’s door. Sitting down, he composed his tail and then looked at me. Then, very deliberately, in a deadpan voice, he enunciated, “Me. Ow. Me. Ow.”
It was so weird. He never says “me. ow.” He says, Mrrrmpf,” and variations of that, like a grumbling old man too bored to bother with a whole meow. Or very loudly, sharply, “Mmrrrrowl.” But “me. ow”? No.
It was like he was doing some offbeat feline impression of Bob Newhart or Steven Wright as a cat. “Me. Ow.”
This is it, the last day of July of 2024. It’s gonna roll on without you so hurry on down to the Last Chance Saloon to get your final taste of July of 2024.
July was a tumltuous month. The RNC was held and Don Old Trump wisely chose a lying hypocritical sycophant as his running mate. An assassination attempt enlivened the news days. Judge Cannon, a Don Old Trump appointee, dismissed the classified document case on him with reasoning that shocked legal experts. Heat records were set for the planet. Disasters unfolded across the world, including wildfires throughout the United States, and the stock market continued going up. President Biden dropped out of the running to be POTUS again, Vice President Harris leaped into the fray, and the Olympics began. Those are just the basics.
It’s Wednesday here in Ashlandia, where the wine is fine and the weed does the deed. 73 F now, we’re anticipating a high of 97 F. I’m awaiting my furnace control board so I can continue my DIY repairs on my HVAC. I haven’t been working on it because of the high heat. Although we both agree, we’ve been surprising comfortable about ninety percent of the time, my wife is beginning to show signs of impatience.
Our quality is good, still, ranging in the 20 to 30 range around town.
We’re under 100 days until the election. Think it’s 98 now. The pressure is getting ratcheted up. Don Old Trump is looking shaky these days. Vance is offering little reassurance in his early performances.
In other words, they’re under pressure. The Neurons selected “Under Pressure” from the grey mental jukebox and has the David Bowie and Queen collaboration from 1981 is rousing the morning mental music stream (Trademark carbonized). Hope it works for you as theme music for today.
Still editing a novel-in-progress. Rev 7 remains underway for Memories of Why. I finished page 450 of 575 today. Don’t know if I’ll do a rev 8 until after I read the final chapters. I remember how I ended it but I’m not sure that ending is satisfying. We’ll see.
Meanwhile, I jumped into writing a new novel back on July 19, 2024. It just sucked me in. The working title is Gravity’s Emotions. As it’s a style and kind of novel that I don’t usually write, it stretches my nerves to breaking while engrossing and worrying me. Eighty pages have been written, so it’s been going fast. Breaking a standard rule, I share bits of the novel in walk off lines with my wife. Some of what I tell her freaks her out. That makes me giddy.
But I also need to return to finish Darla. Friends read the first sixty pages that I dashed off and want to read more of it.
It’s so entertaining and stimulating right now, imagining, thinking, writing, editing, revising, planning. I could easily see myself going non-stop writing and editing, but life needs pull me back into life’s embrace.
A middle old person — 75 to 84 years old — has a penny. He asks several other middle-old people if they can read the date on that penny. “My eyes aren’t good enough,” he proclaimed.
Three other middle old people gathering. No, not without my glasses, they were all saying, chuckling. Glasses were pulled from purses and pockets. More folks moved in to try to read the penny’s date. Soon it’s a crowd of seven.
They all fail. The original gentleman takes his penny to the counter and asks the young barista for help. She studies it for several seconds, shifting the penny, squinting, bending her head lower.
A result is announced but I don’t hear it. He pockets his penny and thanks her.
It’s good Tuesday in Ashlandia. With air quality in the good zone — just two on the index — and a temperature of 68 degrees F under a crystal blue sky, we slipped out early and went to the Growers Market. Our hunting and gathering succeeded. We returned home with our plunder of organic, locally grown fruits and veggies. Tomatoes, peaches, blackberries, carrots, greens.
It’s the 30th of July, the penultimate day to the month. Expectations have been lowered and our temperature will crease 88 degrees F. Traffic is light and the day has a comfy, low-key feel.
I perused the Booker long list today and plotted about which I want to read first, etc. Tommy Orange and Richard Powers are favorites of mine, so I go with them, but several other authors buzz my interest.
Other than that, it’s politics and disasters sucking in my energy. I reflect on the heavy GOP rotation of lies and hypocrisy and I’m newly depressed and saddened. Some varnishing of truth and polishing of positions is natural in politics to help candidates gain traction but the wholesale bullshit on display with the MAGA fueled GOP sucks the oxygen out of thoughts. Such lies that they tell. Such plots that they undertake.
And so, Les Neurons who are paying attention treat my morning mental music stream (Trademark buried) to Jewel performing “Who Will Save Your Soul” from 1996. Who will save their souls for the lies that they tell? Not lies to them, apparently; the ends justify the means to subvert others’ wills and take us from being a democratic republic to a christian autocracy. So many potential voters seem to think of this as a popularity contest, asking themselves, which one do I like better, Don Old Trump, or Kamala Harris? Like they’re equivalent, as if Don Old Trump doesn’t have a long list of lies and deceit, as if he has not been convicted of actual crimes, as if he’s not still indicted for more crimes, as if he wasn’t twice impeached as President. Oh, brother.
Be strong. Stay positive. Lean forward. Vote Blue.
Coffee is being processed by the body’s systems. Time to write and roll. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floodiac(floofinition) – The definition of a band of twelve floofstellations dictating the properties and characteristics that floof display. Origins: Middle Flooflish, borrowed from Floofglo-Froof and Flootin. First noted use in the 14th century.
In Use: “Based on how their animals race around the house, many people mistakenly think their floof is a Zoomacorn, but in floofuality, zoomies are just one trait among many that assign floofs their sign on the Floodiac.”
In Use: “The way that her cat, Marmie, loved water, Karin knew her girl was born under one of the water signs in the Floodiac, like Aquafloofius.”
In Use: “Chester’s dog’s amazing balance had Chester believing that Cormac’s Floodiac sign was Libfloof.”
When my wife mentioned a duckana, I said, “What the hell is that?”
Turns out that we’re a couple years behind the times.
A duckana is a statue or depiction of a duck emerging from a peeled banana. It apparently began with London Drugs in Canada in 2022. Once I saw one, I found them endearing, clever, and hilarious.
Now I’m reading that people are over duckanas. The thing now is the Avo-cat-o.
Hello, fellow travelers. Today is Monday, July 29, 2024. It’s a morning of 7s: 67 degrees F now, high of 87 F later, and the air quality index is at 57 (moderate). Sky looks good from my windows, bluer than Paul Newman’s eyes and just as clear and bright. Cool draughts slip in through windows to flush the warmth of me. I’m diggin’ it.
This cool period has been great but it’s ending. Tomorrow’s high jumps into the 90s. That’s a springboard to a high of 102 on Wednesday. But then, it’s expected to settle in highs in the 90s range for a period in Ashlandia, where the beer is locally brewed and above average.
There are 100 days until the 2024 elections. Time for some people to finally pay attention to the contenders. Time to get off the fence.
He spoke highly of how the United States won the American Revolutionary War by capturing the airports, more than one hundred years before there were airports.
He insists that he won the 2020 election and that it was stolen from him. Despite over sixty lawsuits and multiple recounts, absolutely no evidence has ever been supplied to support that claim.
He promised to be a dictator on day one if he wins. He’s joking, he’s joking, his handlers and supporters crack.
He promised Christian voters that if he wins they won’t need to vote again. Doesn’t mean what you think, his handlers and supporters tell us, that’s his way of uniting people.
He also promised to get Roe v. Wade overturned, and he did manage that. So, yes, he is anti-abortion and anti-choice. His actions speak louder than any spin he attempts on the matter. He’s also suggested that he wants to use the justice system to get revenge on his political enemies. He and his party want to make every Federal employee take a loyalty oath to HIM. If they don’t sign, get rid of them.
He’s supported by a plethora of thinkers who believe the way forward is backwards. They back up their plans with a crazy document called Project 2025. Sure, it’s full of contradictions but its thrust is basic: only Christians should have rights but women should have less rights. As articulated by Don Old’s running mate, J.D. Weird Vance, women should be concerned about getting and staying pregnant, because that’s their function. Families should be rewarded for having more children by greater voting power and financial incentives.
Not mine; this meme was found and borrowed from the net, and was originally posted in my social media feeds by the Blue Dem Warriors. For those who might be upset by joking about the attempted assassination attempt, I’m doing as Don Old Trump suggested about a shooting to “get over it”.
Meanwhile, over on Democracy’s side, we have the Democrats, led by Vice President Kamala Harris. Number one, they don’t mention loyalty oaths. Or vengeance. Their platform should be released in conjunction with the Democratic National Convention, coming up soon.
The Neurons have Genesis performing “Throwing It All Away” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark vanquished). The 1986 soft rock song is about a disintegrating relationship but it has political roots in today’s presence. The idea behind both the failing relationship and politics is the same, though: the GOP is willing to throw it all away. Every advance made in the matters of freedom, equality, tolerance, diversity, and acceptance is being thrown away. They want it to be a Christian nation, and damn the facts.
Personally, I’ve always adhered to the ‘weakest link’ theory. This metaphor basically says that as a chain, the weakest link is the point of failure, and that as a nation, it’s the weakest aspect that will fail. Therefore, you find and fix the weakest links.
Well, the GOP wants to forge all links as white, male, and Christian. Other religions might be tolerated, so long as they’re not governing. One or two token females will be put into positions of power, as long as they’re not POTUS. Other races might be tolerated, as long as they’re not on equal standing to whites. The wealthy shall be protected, and the poor shall work.
And then, unironically, they want us to build together. Well, everyone knows you can’t build together when you’re busy tearing others down. Everyone but Republicans know. They’re extremely short-sighted. Probably ’cause of their misogyny, intolerance, sexism, and racism. Other than that, they’re probably very fine people *snark*.
Stay positive, be strong, stay hopeful, and rise. Vote Blue in 2024. I’ve had some coffee. Here we go, starting with the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 