Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Dynafloof (floofinition) – 1. Animal with an explosive personality or exhibiting explosive behavior.
In use: “The little kitten, Tobi, was a dynafloof, terrorizing the other cats and dogs in non-stop sessions, then eating before falling asleep at his food bowl.”
2. Pet with an abundant amount of energy.
In use: “Carole the Corgi was a dynafloof, herding the children through through morning routines, running with Mom on the treadmill, and patrolling the yard with relentless vigilance.”
Bonjour! Well, we’ve done it again, survived another rotation as Sol rises above our horizon and dips again. To mark this progress, we refer to the new rotation as Friday, March 5, 2021. Today’s Sol rise was at 6:40 AM in southern Oregon. Sol dip is coming at 6:06 PM. Our outside temperature is 54 degrees F as Sol holds forth with influence. But, the winds of change, caused by two competing systems, have delivered a string of clouds to the horizon and whispers about impending rain.
The Wayback Machine remains fully functional and active, delivering a 1969 song by Simon & Garfunkel, “The Boxer”. Per usual processing for me, a particular lyric set hooked me like a trout, playing me until the song landed me.
Now the years are rolling by me
They are rockin’ evenly
I am older than I once was
And younger than I’ll be;
h/t to Genius.com
The even rock of the week, starting with Sunday, sliding back toward the next Saturday, capturing all the days in between, is what had me. Already Friday again. It’s rocking pretty quickly these days, but evenly.
Enjoy your day, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Cheers
Camoufloof (floofinition) – The use of fur and materials employed by a pet or animal to hide and blend in with their surroundings.
In use: “Namaste, Carrie’s golden retriever, adopted the new ginger housefloof named Aloha. Aloha and Namaste quickly partnered in everything, and the shy little feline floof often used camoufloof to sleep unseen in Namaste’s embrace.”
Nitty Gritty Floof Band (floofinition) – Country flock (floof rock) band formed in the Floofnited States in Floof Beach, Califloofia, in 1966. The group began as a six-floof jug band before adopting the folk flock sound that was emerging in southern Califloofia during that period.
In use: “The Nitty Gritty Floof Band has been active since its inception, and is known for its cover of songs such as “Mister Floofjangles”, which went to number nine on the Floofboard Hot 100 in 1971.”
Naw, this isn’t a sexually randy dream. This is about my late buddy, Randy. He was with me in a dream last night.
Starting out, though, I was at work, a busy, productive, well-lit office. Things were humming. I was tasked with creating a model of a business park for a client. I ordered the model. It was delivered to me in as twenty blocks. Each block was a four inch square. Set them up on the table in order (they were numbered on their bottoms) and there is your model. The client, a blonde woman, accepted them without comment and departed.
A while later, my boss, John H, (who was my boss in RL when I was a product manager with Tyco) (that’s another story), came to me and asked me to provide the client with a model again, but this time, could I put it on something for them? Okay, of course. I guess the client wasn’t pleased, I thought.
I went to a friendly co-worker for help. He brought out a scale model of the Eiffel Tower that he was building. The model, made of scaled down struts, was six inches tall and exquisitely detailed. Lit in a golden light, it was in a small plastic cube. I gathered that he was going to remove that gorgeous model, his project, from the cube, to give me for my client’s model. Before he could begin that, I hastily clarified that this wasn’t big enough and that I didn’t want him to take apart his model for my sake.
I then had an idea of what to use, made some calls, or had that arranged. The model would be ready in the morning and I’d deliver it to the client. Meanwhile, I needed to go down the road to another location. Randy came in. That’s where he was going. Did I want to ride with him?
Sounded good, right? We hoped into his the little white Chevy econo-box that he used to drive and took off. Part way there, Randy announced that he just had to make a quick stop someplace. We stopped at a huge factory in the middle of a city. Factory and city had both declined in use and condition. He and I went in. Dressed in a business suit but with the shirt open and no tie, and no shoes, I just followed him. Finding someone working there, he made inquiries about another person who used to work there, then followed instructions to go to another station. I followed along behind him, watching where I stepped because I was barefoot. Randy then learned where he needed to go; it was outside of the factory. I’d gathered by his questions that he was looking for an old female friend…maybe an ex-wife or a sister…
He told me that it would be just a little longer. We left the factory and started through the city. “It’s just a couple blocks,” he said. I stopped and said, “Randy, I’m barefoot. How ’bout if I just stay here and wait for you? I’ll be at the car when you get back.”
That sounded good and became the plan. Randy strode off. I loitered, walking around, killing time. A shift of truck drivers came on. Suddenly, I was in everyone’s way as trucks were jockeyed around and loaded. I decided that the best thing to do was to leave the factory and wait outside.
Randy had been gone a while. I wandered in the direction that I’d seen him go. I ended up with others at a crosswalk. A glass door kept us from going until it was our time. When the light changed, the doors opened and we all started out.
The road funneled toward a short white bridge spanning a deep chasm. The bridge had two spans, one for each direction of two-lane highway. On the other side was a grassy hill with a road going up it.
Young Latino boys were playing some game that I didn’t recognize. Their device, which looked like a long black tube sock, tied and weighted, flew out of their playing field, landing not far from me. I realized they would need to cross all the traffic and the bridge to retrieve it, so I picked it up to throw back. After a moment of examination about the best way to handle it, and leery of throwing it short — because then it might go into one of the chasms — I hurled it back. It cleared everything with no problem. The boys thanked me and resumed their game.
I decided that it’d be best to go back and wait for Randy at his car. As I approached the car, I saw Randy standing there, waiting for me.
The dream ended.
Good morning, and welcome to the third rock from the sun. It’s Thursday, March 4, 2021. (I think — or so says my computer, calendar, and Fitbit, but can they be trusted? They could be part of the fake news conspiracy.) Sunrise was 6:42 AM in southern Oregon, and the solar orb will ‘set’ at 6:04 PM. (But it doesn’t really go anywhere, does it?) The temperature is already 53 degrees F (or so science claims, if you can believe it) on its way to a prediction of 64. (But then, what do they know?)
The Wayback Machine was fully engaged this morning. I’m embarrassed to admit the song I was singing was being sung to a cat. I was barely awake. The cat, Tucker, was on the pillow beside me, peering at me as his Mack truck purr rumbled through my bones. He was doing a little kneading. So I sang *ahem* “Boogie on reggae kitty. What is wrong with you? Boogie on reggae kitty. What you tryin’ to do?”
The cat liked it.
The song, of course, is “Boogie On Reggae Woman” by Stevie Wonder (1973), a fusion of funk and jazz that was part of the music happening of the popular music/classic rock era. I love the sound that Stevie brings. It’s sad that we don’t hear boogie mentioned often these days. Used to be, “You want to go boogie?” Or someone would say something and you’d reply, “Boogie on.” Feel me?
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask and get the vax.
Bathfloof (floofinition) – Animal who insists on being in the bathroom when people are using it.
In use: “T.C. was a notorious bathfloof, insisting on being in the bathroom with everyone, but also getting upset and vocal whenever he was in the bathroom and they closed the door, making bathroom use a challenging prospect for guests.”
Friends and I were gathering to celebrate. What a great experience, to be with friends, right? Yes. There was fourteen of us. The plan was we’d met the night before, sleep over, and then begin the celebration the next morning. Unfortunately, nine white crocodiles were hampering activities.
The crocs ranged from four to seven feet long. They’d been beaten out of the room before but now they were creeping back in. It was an odd sight: white crocodiles moving forward on plush light blue carpet, trying to hide under beds and chairs. Noticing them getting close to a friend, I called out a warning, then grabbed a piece of wood and beat the croc back.
Other crocs were coming in. I told everyone, “Come on, grab a stick, beat them back. If we don’t, they’ll be there, waiting to get us in the morning.” Finding bats, sticks, lumber in this plush room, we beat the crocs back together.
We left the room to begin the celebration. I kept a stick with me, just in case. We went outside and sat together at a dark green picnic table. A parade was going by. We were honoring MH and MQ. MH was there with us, but MQ had passed away almost six years before. We decided we’d drink something in MQ’s honor. Well, his favorite drink was compardri, someone declared, producing a thick red drink in a champagne flute. I’d never heard of the drink and had never seen MH drink it or mention. Well, whatever, though.
Two women were assigned to assist me. They sat down on either side of me and promised that they’d make sure I’d have things to eat and drink. I thanked them. MH talked about going to get something to eat. The parade was still going on, so we decided to drink more. MH asked me what I wanted to drink. I indicated I’d stick with the compardri.
MQ showed up. I was delighted to see him. He handed me a phone. I didn’t want to talk on the phone and told him. He answered, “I think you want to take this call,” with that gentle voice and smile he often employed.
I accepted the phone and said hello. A woman said, “Thank you for caring about our older people.” She then went into a short but boring speech. As I prepared to hang up, she said, “MQ was given two fellowships, and he’s chosen to bestow one of these on you.” As I realized what was being said, shock hit and I began crying in gratitude. I said, “I don’t deserve this.” MQ, standing beside me, looked at me and smiled. Ed Sherrin’s song, “Perfect”, began playing.
Yeah, weird song to finish with.
