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.
Schefloofule – (floofinition) – An animal’s timetable about when things should be done.
In Use: “Many animals demand that their schefloofule be obeyed, with dogs and cats doing things like beating on their food bowl when they’re supposed to be fed.”
In Use: “Many people often complain about their cat’s schefloofule because it includes things like playing or being fed at a time when the human wants to be asleep.”
In Use: “Dogs thrive on routine, and when changes are forced into their schefloofule, they need an adjustment period.”
Recent Use: “Videos and stories on social media have surfaced show how floofs have adopted their people’s routines as their schefloofules and are adamant that they be followed to the minute when it comes to feeding or going to bed for the night.”
It’s the next to last day of February – Wednesday, 2/28/24. Sunshine came through when I went through the house opening the blinds. The furnace was running. Alexa told me it was 30 F out and the high today would be 57 F. Snow collected like dcorators had spray painted the mountains’ shadowy green firs and pines. A few minutes later, clouds had supplanted the sunshine and the trees had lost their lacy white clothing. This is Ashlandia weather. It’s Oregon weather.
Winter storm warnings are out. Rain is coming. Colder temperatures. Snow, depending on your elevation, but the weather people claim we’ll probably get snow on the valley floof. Certainly folks located at 2,000 feet, like our place, will see some.
The house floofs are unconcerned. Tucker has sacked himself in front of the office space heater that my wife uses to fry herself. Papi, being young, is in washing and wandering around. He just peeked in around the door to see what I was doing, gave his belly a few tongues lashes, and left. Guess I was boring to him.
On Tucker’s part, he’s on meds to get his hyperactive thyroid under control. Dental surgery is planned for him at the end of March. He suffers from stomatitis gingivitis. He’d already lost two of his fangs; I found a third one on the bedroom carpet this week. Only one remains. My poor buddy.
I have Linkin Park’s song “In the End” in my morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). The Neurons were inspired to play it for me after reading that the song is RIAA Diamond Certified. Released in 2001, they’ve now sold over 10,000,000 copies. Well done, gang. I enjoy the song, about trying hard, time, and how life is affected by your effort.
A word on Sen. Mitch McConnell stepping down from his GOP leadership position. One, about damn time. Two, yes, well he is 82. Three, he’s leaving behind a rich legacy of obstruction and hypocrisy, and can claim some ownership of the mess the GOP has become under his leadership. History will have a sharp tongue about him.
Stay positive, be strong. Lean forward. Vote. And have a coffee. I am. Here’s the music. Cheers
‘Brrr’ cold covers Tuesday morning’s description. It’s February 27, 2024. Feb 31 is just around the corner (not really). Spring is too, in theory, but winter is saying, put me in, coach. 30 F when I slunk out of bed, our temperature eventually chugged up to the mid-forties but it didn’t feel warm. Even comfortably furred floofies said no thank you to the scattered clouds and tepid sunshine owning the morning. Returning to the inside, they situated themselves in comfortable warm places, said good night to daylight, and went to sleep.
My wife and I went running around this morning. A late morning breakfast at the excellent Sweet Beet Station in Talent, Oregon, and then over to Quality Paperbacks, where we picked up another half dozen books, because the waiting to read pile can never be too big. Then to a few stores for a couple items, and here I am, starting my writing day in the mid-afternoon.
The floofs inspired The Neurons’ song choice this morning. As they clamored for their morning meal, I told them to take it easy, I’d be with them in a minute, but some things were needed to be done ahead of time. These things TBDone including mixing up Tucker’s medical slurry. While I was doing that, West and Petty’s electrified guitars lit up the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks).
In truth, I think the song was lurking beneath my mind’s covers, waiting for a chance to leap up. After all, Petty sings about an “American girl raised on promises.” This is an era of promise and denial in America IMO. Like, yes, being told that women have equal rights under the Constitution only to have those rights stripped away by a right wing trying to force its religion on the rest of us. I’m talking about abortion, of course and the Dobbs decision overruling women’s right to take care of themselves in favor of something growing inside them. It may be 2024, but the logic of 1984 is gaining strength. Take Texas, for example.
Sorry, politics just keep bubbling up in my thinking. I’ll try to keep it contained.
BTW, “American Girl” was the last song Tom Petty performed in concert before he passed away.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote, please. Here’s the music. Cheers
That’s the date on my laptop’s shipping box. I discarded it yesterday. The box, I mean. Cut it up and tossed it in recycle. The box, I mean.
Looking at that shipping date, my personal laptop is almost ten years old. Although state of art when purchased, it’s now considered a weary old piece. I should replace it but I don’t wanna. One, I’m used to its foibles. Two, it does everything which I need done. Three, waste. This machine works and I’d be forced to get rid of it and its materials, adding to the piles of consumer trash.
I don’t wanna do that. That’s why I have five old computers waiting for disposal. One is a tower bought in 1998 that I haven’t used in years. One is an old personal laptop. Two are my wife’s old Macs of different vintages. One is an old business laptop which they told me to keep when I left the company.
Getting rid of them is on my list of things to do. Pull the hard drives. Find somewhere which will scavenge whatever they can for repurposing, and responsibly dispose of the rest.
I absolutely hate this cycle. My laptop’s software has been updated as far as I can take it with its current hardware. Microsoft provides the OS. Yes, I’ve used others but I succumb to convenience. Yeah, shame on me. I’ll research what MS needs for its next OS and see if I can update my hardware to keep it working.
Ten years is just too early to get rid of something. Just look at my cars. Both are ICE. One is nine years old with 48K; the other is twenty years and 108K. Both run fine although the newer one needs rear brake maintenance. But both look good, run well, and live in a garage, so I’ll keep on keeping on with them.
I’ve broken one of my cardinal writing rules. Two, actually.
I don’t usually allow others to read my novels in progress until I think of them as finished. But with a new novel underway, I wrote the beginning. Then I broke my second rule. I don’t talk about my writing other than mentioning progress or lack. I don’t talk with my friends and families about novels until they’re finished. But one of my beer drinking friends asked how my writing was going. Giving a mental shrug and doing a quality test on my second pint of beer, I shared the beginning of the new novel. Then, a whim later, I emailed it to several trusted friends.
All responded enthusiastically about what they read, so as I kept writing, I kept sending new installments as they were finished. I warned them it was raw and a lot of it might change. They didn’t care, encouraging me to keep sending, telling me that they were on the edge of their seats.
I know that they’re friends. Although all read in the genre in which I’m writing, they’re not objective. They might just be anxious not to hurt my feelings. And, as a pantser, I’m still in the fog, trying to understand where the muses ar leading me in this complicated story. (Note: all my novels are complicated. I enjoy reading complicated, and I like writing complicated.)
Objective or not, it was validating, even rewarding, to hear someone say how much they enjoy it. Otherwise, it’s just writing in the dark.
Rain is bashing Monday’s windows in Ashlandia, where the beer is above average. Today is the 26th of Feb, 2024. We closing in on March. Winter has begun an offensive to take back its season in our area. Today’s high was 42 F, reached about an hour ago. Now it’s 40 and is expected to drop to 29 F. A winter storm advisory or watch or something is in effect until tomorrow. The cats are dissatisfied with this state of play. Both wanted out. Tucker returned shortly. Papi is matloafing out there under the patio’s protection, staring at the rain with slitted eyes. Either he’s drifting to sleep or he’s sending stinging eye messages to nature to stop this now.
Looking out, my wife proclaims, “It definitely looks like it wants to snow.”
Found myself with “How to Save A Life” by The Fray from 2006 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). The Neurons aren’t owning up to why the song is being played. I don’t recall the last time I heard the song but the adult contemporary rock tune seems to stay popular with FM radio station and can also be heard time to time on streaming radio and satellite venues. Not a bad song but it sounds quit a bit like their other big hit, “Over My Head”. “How to Save A Life” has been used a number of times on television shows, so we’ll always have repeats to hear it again. Nothing wrong with that.
Papi is back in. The temp has dropped to 36 F. Rain fails. Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, vote. I’m also drinking coffee, so I have that going for me. Here’s the music, and here we go.
Donald Trump has officially earned the designation of Worst President Ever. Predictably, he and his supporters are screaming and whining about why he isn’t the worst, usually rationalizing their position with lies, bullshit, fantasies, and conspiracies. Clay Jones lays it out for you.
Tailguistics(floofinition) The study of how animals use their tails to communicate. Origins: Oregon, United States, 2017
In Use: “Through tailguistics, scientists have verified what a dog’s wagging tail or a cat’s slashing tail means; the bigger question confronting them is, how is all of this passed on between animals?”
Recent Use: “Mapping animals’ brins and recording the signals between brain and the tail, scientists in California studying tailguistics were able to create TailTalks, an app for animals which lets them speak aloud in different languages.”
Michael Seidel, writer 