Floof Magnet (floofinition) – Person or object that attracts animals.
In use: “Although she didn’t have any pets, others’ pets — especially cats — went to her wherever she went, as though she was a floof magnet pulling them in.”
Friday’s Theme Music
Golden striations lit the valley’s highest reaches at 5:39 AM today, Friday, July 2, 2021. Like advance scouts, these early rays quickly found the first places for the sun’s army of heat and light to strike. The onslaught has begun.
I’m feeling it today. We’re expected to be ‘only’ 98 degrees F. Damage from the heat wave is stark and heartbreaking. Leaves have crisped, curled and browned like overcooked potato chips. Like a tornado, the damage is not uniform. Positioning – location, location, location – is critical. If the plant was shaded from the afternoon’s hardest sun, they look fine while their neighbor has perished.
Damn, such a morose start to the day. Get me on some coffee, quickly.
Sunrise is gonna come at 8:51 PM. It’s a leisurely, subtle withdrawal as blue fades and darkens, overtaken by rose and gold, vanquished by indigo, silenced by black. Lows will descend to the mid seventies tonight, not much of a break. Last night’s sixty-six degree touch soothed my soul as well as my skin.
Going through lists of The Things That Must Be Done led to today’s music. Does everyone have a list of TTTMBD? Promises, vows, hopes, mistakes…it’s all embedded there. We must fix that. Change this. Do that. TTTMBD is as endless as a clear sky. So I’m thinking, I’ll do this Sunday, or maybe Monday. This is a holiday weekend in America, remember, oh yeah.
The mental churning delivered America with “Sister Golden Hair” (1975) from the memory vault’s muddy bottom. “Well, I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damned depressed, that I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed.” Or something like that. That’s how the TTTMBD seems to be progressing. Just keep on sliding through the days.
Stay positive — yeah, it can be a solitary slog, can’t it? — test negative, get vaxxed, and wear a mask, when, as, if needed. Here’s the music. Cheers
Baise-floof
Baise-floof (floofinition) – A kiss given by or to an animal as a greeting or show of respect.
In use: “Whenever he arrived home, a baise-floof was shared between him and his rescue pittie before anything else took place.”
Thursday’s Theme Music
Happy Canada Day to my Canadian friends and the nation north of the U.S. I send them wishes for a joyous celebration and greater success and prosperity.
Today is July 1, 2021. A Thursday. Pale gold burnished the upper reaches of hills, trees, and mountains at 5:38 AM. It’ll fade away into night at 8:51 PM. Sunshine will deliver us to some mild heat — the low nineties — today. Smoke comes and goes to the valley from the Lava Fire by Weed, California. If you want to see the fire, head to Mount Ashland, just outside town, which offers a panoramic view of the smoke. Flames are visible at night.
The deepening drought delivered another depressing blow. Water limitations and drought meant the blueberries didn’t come in at our favorite u-pick-em site. We’d been doing this for over a decade. It’s one of our Ashland traditions. The blueberry owners are trying to keep the place alive and hope to see us all next year.
Also canceled for the second year is the July 4th Parade. COVID concerns, yes. Planning needed to start months ago and where we’d be now was too uncertain to plan. The fireworks are canceled. I’ve become ambivalent about fireworks. Loved ’em as a child. Now I understand what they do to the land and animals. Sadly, this year, the drought is too intense to risk fireworks. Locals are still reeling from Ashland’s near miss last September. Yeah, near miss, not quite. Two thousand homes were destroyed on the north edge of town. Talent and Phoenix were reduced to smoky piles of rock and wood in many areas, gutting the towns physically and emotionally. With those emotional scars still vivid, many are relieved that the fireworks won’t take place.
Without too much surprise, I bet, I introduce a song about summer, called “Summer”. By War, it was released in 1976. Some may claim that 1976 was a simpler time. It may’ve been for many. For others, it was a time like the rest, working to feed yourself, working to beat the heat, playing to relieve the stress, doing what you can as you face an uncertain future. Who sang, “The future’s uncertain and the end is always near”? That’s right, Jim and the lads, back in another century. I used to sing, “The future’s uncertain and the end is always clear.” Made me sense to me
Anyway, here’s “Summer”, a mellow reflection on the hot season. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Cheers
Under Where?
My Great Underwear change is not progressing with the dreamed-of joy conjured when the great change began.
Setting the scene, I’ve been a boxer wearer for decades, migrating from other styles while I was younger. Recently, while shopping, I spied other underwear on the shelves. Why, the materials were different. And the shapes! Perhaps I will try these newfangled garments.
I bought two styles. One was purchased at Costco. Kirkland. The second, Body Glove, was purchased at Kohl’s. Both are elasticized cotton or something. Boxer shorts. That’s where their overlapping identities end.
The Kirklands went on first. Wow, comfy. Very nice. Useful and expected, it had that vent up front that negates the need to drop trou and sit to pee. I know females are shrugging, “So you have to pull down your underwear, sit and pee instead of standing? Welcome to my world. Is standing to pee really so special? Got any other tricks?”
No, that’s my one trick.
Standing to urinate isn’t the world’s most amazing feat but I’m used to it. I’m in my mid-sixties. Learning new information is challenging. Especially when it comes to the body. The body is already rewriting its rules on its activities, sending out new advisories without warning whenever it feels like it.
“Hey, don’t move like that!”
I was in the process of sitting down. “But I’ve always moved like that.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Why?”
“Don’t question me! I don’t like it. And put that doughnut down. What’s wrong with you? Now go pee.”
“Again? But I just peed two — “
“Don’t talk back! Pee! Now!”
“Okay, okay, okay…” Grumble, grumble, grumble.
That’s why I still stand to pee: because I can. I almost feel young again, you know?
So the Kirkland shorts work. The Body Glove? Umm, no.
They were comfy. At first. But, they didn’t have that useful front vent.
I was surprised. I thought the vent was a requirement. I speculated, maybe men are all starting to sit down to pee, so the vent isn’t required.
It is possible. I’m not always up on the latest happenings. Take, if you will, ball deodorants. I saw a post on Trouserdog while I was flipping through the net: “How to Stop Smelly and Sweaty Balls — Defunk Your Junk”.
Yes, it is an arresting title.
I’ve never considered a need for ball deodorant. Sure, my hairy sack sometimes sweats. Smells can ensue. That’s why I wash. A quick wash and they smell fresh as rain. A sweaty/stinky testicular area didn’t seem to be a problem. Maybe it’s been one and others are too polite to mention it. Perhaps, after walking away, people turn to one another and whisper, “Did you smell him?” My wife has never said anything. Neither have my cats, who are some of the most critical creatures I know.
The second offense against the Body Glove undies is a classic: they shrank. A lot. The comfortable tight fit now felt like a girdle or leather pants encasing my skin like a sausage, i.e., tight as hell. Now, it could be that I’d gained weight. I’ll give you that. But to have gained that weight, my other clothes would also need to no longer fit or fit differently. That wasn’t happening.
I gave the BGs two additional tries after that first washing. You know, more data. They became worse and worse. Waist bands flipped over. Legs rolled up. No, I told myself. I’m too old to endure this crap. Off you go. I banished them to the giveaway pile.
Yet, the experiments have intrigued me. I saw undies that have a cool sack to keep my Johnson more comfy on these hot days. They might even keep my junk from getting sweaty and funky. I’m willing to try them as long as they’re vented and I can stand and deliver.
If my body says it’s okay. It always has the last say.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
Sol’s rosy forays into the valley began at 5:38 AM on this fine Wednesday, June 30, 2021. This is June’s last day for for this year, it should be noted, unless we’re groundhog dayying it. Maybe we have been involved in a groundhog day scheme for a while but we don’t know. Only one character in the movie knew that everyone was going through the same day again and again and again…
Our cooling trend continues. Yesterday reached 99 degrees F. Today will be 96 F, a twenty degrees drop from a few days ago, and very welcome. The plants wouldn’t mind cooler times. They’re going brown and dry. I walk around, bracing myself for the tasks of culling, pruning, and pulling. Sunfall on this parched area will come about 8:51 PM. Then the real cooling plays.
The Lava Fire smoke from down Weed way in California is gone from the AM sky. Seventeen thousand acres, nineteen percent contained was the latest report that I read. The winds have died here so I hope they’ve died there. Complicating the firefighting efforts around Weed is large swaths of illegal cannabis growths.
I’m thinking “Spiderwebs” by No Doubt (1995) for my theme music today. We’re not spider killers. Spiders are beneficial. We appreciate that. They get busy with their webs, though, hurrying around 24/7, installing new webs, leaving old ones behind. I was going about knocking some of the stuff down this morning when the song came on in my brain. The song, though, has little to do with my situation, except walking into the spiderwebs. It’s amazing when the cats do it. Especially Meep, aka Papi. Meep will soundlessly jerk back and walk around the webs. Boo makes a noise and bulls through at a faster tempo. Big Tucker gives them a swat, washes himself, and presses on. I think there’s another metaphor there, somewhere.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as necessary (yeah, stories are circulating about the D variant), and get the vax. Here’s the music. Cheers
The Mt Tam Dream
Mount Tam, full name, Mount Tamalpais, is part of the Marin Hills. Twenty-six hundred feet high, it won’t awe with its rise about the land the way that Mounts Hood and Shasta do, or McLaughlin. I knew abut it from living in the SF Bay area and Peninsula for fourteen years. We’d read about it, and visited twice, maybe three times, during our local explorations.
Didn’t stop me from dreaming about it. First came name confusion. I was being told to go to Mt. Tam. Mt. Tam? Yes, Mt. Tam. We exercised some Laurel & Hardy exchanges about what was being said. I’d quickly reached the point where I understood that I was being told to go to Mt. Tam. My point, which I struggled to convey with little humor, was, why do I need to go to Mt. Tam? But they — the unseen folks I was speaking to, but who sounded and seemed male — were fixated on ensuring that I understood the place’s name without clarifying why going there was important. The back and forth eventually felt as painful as a bad tooth.
They gradually led me to believe there is something in Mt. Tam, the something never being explained, continuing my stretch of exasperation. I’m supposed to go to Mt. Tam to get something that’s there that I’ll know what it is when I get there. Seems significantly vague.
Then, going over the dream, I wonder, was Mt. Tam a literal destination being directed to me from my dream masters or a metaphor for matters churning through my subconscious? Bonus discussion points, for me, anyway: how much of this dream was influenced by The Overstory, as I’m currently reading that. For that matter, how much is generated from wrestling with the novel in progress?
