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.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: prissy

December 20, 2023 is a Wednesday and carries the weight of spring. Confused by the signals the weather is giving, some flowers are blooming. We surfed a night of smooth rain, overnight lows in the mid 40s F. Our high today will bubble into the mid 50s. Casual clouds, thin and stretched, barely mask the blue sky. The cats are struggling to adjust, shedding fur after gaining their winter coats and now finding they don’t need them. Great clumps are left wherever they pause to sleep or wash.

Please, though, give us snow on the mountains. Please. It’s needed.

I surfed the news but left it after a short visit. Not depressing so much as it’s meh. We’re in a waiting stage for some many outcomes and perpetually checking and reviewing developments, breaking news, new revelations of old news and prognostications about what will happen has become tedious. I’m ravenous for some sense of an ending.

Musically, first I had “Too Marvelous for Words” whirling around the morning mental music stream (Trademark pummeled). It’s been performed by a long list of crooners but Mom often played Frank Sinatra’s cover while cleaning around the house. Released in 1956, the year of my birth, it’s drummed into my musical psyche. I have no idea why The Neurons voted it into my mind this morning.

But before it became too comfortable, a song inspired by the floofs was brought into the mmms. Released in 1972, “Children of the Revolution” by T. Rex had Elton John and Ringo Starr playing as part of the lineup. Although I enjoyed it, it went out of head until I heard the Violent Femmes version of it. A friend was colossal Femfan, and was playing the song in her car one day when we went to lunch together in Palo Alto. I asked if she knew the song’s origins, and then gleefully told the tale. I’d only heard it after my cousin, just returned from the UK where his father had been stationed with the USAF, played it.

How did the floofs play into this memory? I’d been teasing them, trying to trick them by pretending they weren’t being fed. They weren’t fooled, which triggered me singing, “You won’t fool the kitties of the revolution.”

Stay pos, be cool, remain strong, and leeeaaannn forward. Coffee has already touched my lips. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: it’s a Wordle kind of day

Today is Tuesday, Dec 19, 2023. Just two days till December 21, when winter solstice in the north and summer solstice down below the equator, arrives. Up here we’re counting down to the ‘shortest day of the year’ as so many glibly phrase it. It means we’ll have the shortest period of sun exposure. But solstice is a few days later in Ashlandia; December 21 is an average. Our shortest day lands seven about a week later.

It’s been a really mild winter so far. Today it’s 55 F and rainy. Although indicators say this will continue, weather can change faster than a floof runs to get a treat. But no snow is bad news for the summer, as we depend on our melting mountain snow packs to keep filling our cisterns and reservoirs. So, fingers crossed, snow will come.

Been thinking about inflation. I’m a Paul Krugman fan. Been reading him for decades. But he’s insisting that inflation has gone down but mentions that people like me think it hasn’t because we’re paying more for things than we used to. Paul says the economy is actually good, and President Biden is getting a bad rap over it.

I won’t go into the variations of inflation that exist or how they track it. For me, it comes down to paying much more for car and house insurance than before, higher rates for my water, service fees, home gas and electricity, cat food, and much more for gas for my car. We buy organic and jeez have those prices jumped. Eating out gives me sticker shock almost every time, and beer, wine, and coffee also all cost more, definitely discretionary purchases but, hey, it’s all part of my life style.

Then, housing. Wow. I’ve been considering a move to another part of the nation. Housing is part of the equation to learn where we’ll drop. They’ve always talked about how expensive California housing is, and some parts of Oregon, but looking through New England prices has me reaching for sedatives to calm my nerves. Pennsylvania and Ohio prices are lower than Ashlandia, and more house can be acquired there, but not in New England. There’s also a huge rise in the number of condos and town homes being built. I don’t want to live in either of those because I’ve done it before and I dislike dealing with management over what I can or can’t do with my domicile. There are enough layers or law that I don’t need another layer, especially one that I pay for through things like HOAs. No thanks.

Had to get that off my chest.

Shifting gears to music, I had “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead” pinging around the morning mental music stream (Trademark unverified) for a while this morning. That’s ‘cuz we saw The Wizard of Oz on Sunday and my wife decided to walk around the house singing about the witch’s death this morning. With less than an eyeblink, The Neurons had it playing over and over and over in my head. I think that kind of thing can drive one insane.

But then I began reading the news and something, something, once again, said or done in the name of god and Jesus to justify being cruel or empty headed was read. I don’t know if it was about the hypocritical Zieglers in Florida, or Trump and the Evanges, or Ohio’s Attorney General, or the Pope, or the AG of Texas or some crap out of the Moms of Liberty. They all stay in the news with their twisted logic about God, religion, and our nation and laws.

Out of that morass of misinformation and misogyny, The Neurons came up with Joan Osborne’s hit song of 1992, “One of Us”. This is a song about god being a slob like one of us, living a life like average humans, riding the bus, going home.

An enticing, intriguing idea. What if the crazy dude talking to himself in the corner is god? Or that women behind the counter with all the piercings is god? What if all these people that go around, trying and struggling, or at home, baking for a holiday, or drinking alone in a house at night while watching some rerun are god? No magic or power, no all-knowing, no one any more or less special than a person walking by you? Strong medicine for the mind to contemplate.

Stay pos, be strong, lean forward, and press on. Coffee is being consumed by the cup here. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: unproductive

Monday cometh, cloaked as December 18, 2023. I’m starting to plan some holiday purchases.

Winter painted the morning sky lazy grays and thickly mottled white. Will it rain, even snow, was being mentioned around town everywhere. At 52 F, snow didn’t seem likely but as some of winter’s sky work darkened, rain possibilities seemed to be inching up.

Meanwhile, heavy winds are playing with us. I watched a large fir tree across the street madly swirling, waving its branches like an angry MAGA at a rally. No other trees were moving, so I was thinking, “WTF? Why is that tree moving while no others do anything?” Must be a haunted tree, I decided. Then it went still. I watched for a demon or sumpin’ to emerge. Instead, all the other friggin’ trees started waving at the same time. Like watching a home crowd cheering a touchdown. Then it stopped again. I decided I needed to have coffee before watching more. Coffee helps me make sanity out of the insane, or pretend that I don’t care.

Wind is still going but the sky has disrobed the clouds. Sunshine spreads itself over the pavement and buildings. The temperature is up to 53 F.

In the ‘I don’t care’ side of things, I had to tell myself that I don’t care that GOP darling Ron DeSantis, Lord Destructor of Floriduh, says dumb shit. I almost gagged on the latest dumb shit as he declared that liberals allow abortions after birth, aka ‘post-birth abortions’.

WTF does that mean, the interviewer didn’t ask Ron. Can you tell me where this happens, Ron, the interviewer also didn’t ask. Wouldn’t that be murder, Governor, also wasn’t asked. Talking about it with my wife, she informed me that this is a standard GOP talking point. I looked it up and Politifact confirmed, yes, this is something Republicans regularly mention, and no, there’s not truth to it. Would’ve been nice to have the interviewer pursue the truth while they had DeInsanis in front of them, but no, that sort of journalism is rarely practiced in ‘Merica. Don’t want any snowflakes meltin’ on TV, no sir.

No wonder the United States is going to shit when GOP ‘leaders’ say such ignorant and foul ideas and don’t get challenged by the media. No wonder so many voters are ignorant and blind. The media deserves a huge fucking chunk of blame.

Musically, my wife mentioned a song to me the other day, to wit, Miley Cyrus singing her version of “Santa Baby” with some feminist lyrics about not needing Santa to bring her things. The Neurons took it up in the morning mental music stream (Trademark given away), and now I can’t get it out of my head, so here it is for your listening and viewing entertainment. Ho, ho, ho.

Stay pos, be strong, lean forward into the wind, and press on with pride. Coffee has been poured into me and I’m now firing on six out of eight cylinders. Hopefully, more hot caffeine juice will push the other two cylinders to start firing, and then all eight of them will get into rhythm, right? Yes, hopefully.

Oh, look, the sun is gone, the clouds have returned, and it’s raining. Here’s the video. Cheers

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FAC

FAC: Floof Action Committee (floofinition) – 1. A consortium of animals joining together to achieve change or direct policy.

In Use: “The household pets knew where the treats were stored and egged on by the dog, formed a FAC to get to them. The cat was most instrumental, jumping onto the kitchen counter and then to the refrigerator’s top to knock the packets to the floor, but the dogs were the ones who tore them open for all to enjoy.”

Recent Use: “On a cold winter night, a dog found a small niche of shelter where she could stay warm. Soon another dog, and then a cat joined him, sharing their warmth and shelter, and creating a de facto survival FAC.”

2. A group of humans dedicated to helping and, or, saving animals, and ensuring their health and welfare are attended to.

In Use: “Many communities have volunteers which form a FAC to reduce the feral populations with spay-neuter-release programs, and have parallel programs to find the young and have them fostered, domesticated, and adopted.

Recent Use: “With wars and military actions reducing places to terrifying scenes of burned-out rubble, global FACs have formed to find and save the innocent animals, giving them food and medical treatment, and shipping them out to safe places as needed and able.”

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: smooth

Good foggy morning to you, and a happy Sunday. Today is December 17, 2023. Just two weeks in the year, so if you’re pursuing any resolutions from 2023, time to start wrapping them up. Many stores have the paper for it on sale now.

36 F around my house now, although there are reports it’s 47 F in other realms of Ashland. We’re not seeing much sun and getting less heat with the face full of fog we get when looking up.

The dancing flash mob on the bricks was fun yesterday. First, I need to correct their name; used to be the Broadway Dancers, but when they realized they were all over 60, they changed the troop’s title to the Broadway Boomers. They did two songs for us, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” (featured in Love Actually) and “Razzle Dazzle” from the musical, Chicago. Weather was swell for it, about 55 and brightly sunny.

Then in the evening, it was off to the Swedish Smorgasbord with friends. Excellent food, sensational Swedish gloog, wonderful people and delightful conversations. No politics heard. My friends’ house is so them. I’ve been there several times and it’s always neat and tidy. Family photos abound, which is expected, as family has always been priority one for them. Their lives in photos were on display from when these two started as a couple all the way through to their current status as great grandparents.

Today my wife is off to an early book club holiday party. Then they’re all going to the Camelot Theater to see The Wizard of Oz. I’m meeting here there at 2 PM to attend the play. Then we’ll likely eat out somewhere.

I have “Smokin’ In the Boys Room” by Brownsville Station in the morning mental music stream (Trademark projected). The song got there yesterday and has hung around after I saw a teenage boy walking down the street smoking a cigarette. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so young smoking a cigarette in over twenty years. Clean cut, blonde, tall, he definitely seemed like a teenager — didn’t even look like he shaved yet — he strode down the sidewalk along Ashland Street, taking drags and letting out streams of smoke like a practiced sailor.

The scene sent my mind down all kinds of avenue of thought. On one of them, The Neurons caught on about memories of guys smoking in the school restrooms, and voila, they cranked up “Smokin’ in the Boys Room”, treating me to the Station’s version, which came out in 1973, when I was in high school, along with the later Mötley Crüe edition. I’ll include both here.

Stay pos, be strong and mellow, and lean forward. Coffee is being consumed on my end, delighting my taste buds with the bitter warmth, ushing life into me brain. Here’s the video. Cheers

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

Forty-one holiday bowl games are coming up in the next several weeks.

I live in Oregon. I’ve quasi-adopted the two major colleges’ sports team. More like surrendered than adopted, as the colleges and their sports teams are frequent news and conversation topics. Both college football teams are ‘ranked’ this year and will play in bowl games.

The names of these bowl games are psyche shredding. The Oregon State Beavers face Notre Dame in the Tony the Tiger Sun Bowl. Seriously.

Oregon University’s Ducks will play Liberty in the VRBO Fiesta Bowl.

You should check out the names of these corporate sponsored NCAA college football bowl games. Remember, this is about amateur sports. Among them is the Cricket Celebration Bowl in the Mercedes Benz Stadium. Avocados from Mexico Cure Bowl. Famous Toastery Bowl. Roofclaim.com Boca Raton Bowl.

I wonder how many years it’ll be before the teams have corporate sponsors. I’m sure many will watch the Nike Oregon University Ducks vs the Eli Lilly Fighting Irish of Notre Dame in the VRBO Fiesta Bowl or maybe, instead, the Columbia Sportswear Company Oregon State Beavers (sometimes just called the Columbia Beavers) against Freddie Mac Liberty University in the the Tony the Tiger Sun Bowl.

I don’t plan to watch any of them.

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Floofularity

Floofularity (floofinition) – An animal with unusual, special, or unique behavior or characteristics. Origins: Fourteenth century, more specifically indeterminate.

In Use: “One of the joys for people inviting an animal to join their family is discovering their new fur friend’s floofularities about food, play, and being friendly.”

In Use: “Every day, Marcia regaled people at work with tales about her puppy’s floofularities, making others laugh as she shared Manfred’s silly sleeping and eating habits, and the way he liked snugging up with her and snoring.”

Recent Use: “Many animal fosters like posting their efforts on Facebook and other social media places, sharing videos of the animal’s floofularities and growth, trying to encourage readers to adopt the animals, or give to their cause.”

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A Dino Ferrari Dream

Young, probably in my twenties in this dream, I was outside with my wife and some friends. Sunshine bathed us in what felt like a warm, beautiful day.

An unknown and unseen man was telling me that he had a car for me. Excitement growing, I laughed and joked about what kind of car this guy was giving me when I looked across the way and saw the front end and passenger compartment of a red Dino Ferrari 246 GTS.

Gasping, I asked, “Is that the car?”

See, the Dino 246 (pictured in photos) was released in 1969. I was thirteen and had discovered sports car and Formula 1 racing. When the car came out, I found it stunning. Even better, a few years later, the 246 GTS was released. This was a targa version of the same car. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I studied and drooled over photos of this car. Eventually, a plastic model was purchased and put together, and the model found space on my bedroom shelves.

But the unseen man said, “No, that’s not it.”

Disappointment staggered me. Then he indicated a black 246 GTS sitting elsewhere. “That’s your car.”

Ecstasy fluttered through me as I goggled at the gleaming black gem of machinery. The man was explaining, “It’s not a 246, but an Evo.” Even as he spoke, I saw the flares that marked the Evo. Evos privately reworked Dinos with upgraded engines and mechanical gear, and not a targa, but a fixed top.

I couldn’t believe that this beautiful car was to be mine. I asked about it a dozen different ways and the man repeatedly assured me, “That’s your car.” Most of the rest of the dream was spent riding around in the car with my wife, showing it off to people and explaining what it was.

But then came a moment when I’d parked the car and found a man with a petrol hose in his hand standing by it. Going to him, I questioned him and discovered that he planned to dose the car with gasoline and set it on fire. I firmly told him, “You are not setting my car on fire.” My voice and words were enough to send him hustling and stumbling away. I then had to explain to others who came up what had transpired as the man with the hose watched from a distance. Seeing him watching, I thought, I’m taking my car and leaving.

Dream end.

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