Maaza Said
Better than Floof
Better than Floof (floofinition) – Floof Orleans-based floofsical group formed in 1988. The four original members were all Loufloofsia State University attendees when they formed the band.
In use: “Better than Floof major song was their first hit, “Good”, which was featured in the film, The Floof-Sitters Club.
The Christmas Puzzle Is Here
We shopped for a Christmas puzzle last week. One was found and ordered. It arrived yesterday.
It’s one thousand pieces, the count that I prefer. We’ll probably begin it this week. We generally jump out to a quick start, finding ninety percent of the edge (we always seem to miss two or three) and putting it together. Then we rest our minds. Working it slowly develops momentum until it absorbs us. It’s usually me who becomes absorbed. I do most of the puzzle work.
We take so long completing the puzzles that we hope that by starting it before Thanksgiving, we’ll be finished by Christmas.
I’ll be sure to let you know.
Great Recommendation
I complained about my crusty keyboard in a previous post (Key Crust). A friend who is a member in good standing of Brains on Beer, aka The BoBs, read of my plight. Bob Hoesch suggested SYOSIN Dust Cleaning Mud.
Well, it looked interesting. I thanked Bob for the suggestion with the thought that I’d order it sometime. The product looked intriguing. Many things have looked intriguing though; would it work?
Sometime was this week. The product was ordered and arrived yesterday. It’s like glistening, funky blue Jello, at once gross and appealing. I immediately wanted to play with it and tested it. They recommend that electronics be turned off before using it on them, to avoid shorting systems. My computer was on and I didn’t want to turn it off, so I used it on a phone.
All I did was press it against the face a bit, and then roll it around several times.
It worked great. Surprised and impressed, I hunted other objects for tests. More phones were rounded up, along with the remote controls. The stuff worked so damn well, I was forced to turn off my laptop and try it on the crusty keyboard.
Verdict: wow.
Non-toxic and reusable, it’s made of water, ethanol, and guar gum. Its neon blue color began changing with use. I reckon that I have a few months of use in a jar.
And it is fascinating and impressive. My wife had turned off her Apple, so I used it on it, too. Then the printer. Then I walked around the house, trying it on other things. It worked on them all. It wasn’t always perfect, and sometimes required a few minutes of rolling the stuff around the object or pressing it firmer in, but overall, I’m damn pleased. It’s $6.98 that was well spent.
So, thanks for the recommendation, Bob. Keep ’em coming.
Sunday’s Theme Music
I’ve been thinking about tomorrow. In some sense, it was about delaying something that I want to do, like rake leaves. Stagnant air shrouds the sky. The temperature floats up and down, thirty-five to thirty-eight and back. Too chilly and uncomfortable for this sugar cube. I’ll do it tomorrow, I tell myself, knowing tomorrow is forecast for more of the same. Shrug.
Then there’s the broader version of tomorrow, a new time, a new year, and not quite a new era, when Trump is out of the office and Mr. Biden takes the oath as POTUS. Come on, tomorrow.
Several songs come to mind, but the 1994 offering by Silverchair, “Tomorrow”, takes over my mental musical stream.
So here it goes, in honor of tomorrow, and its promise.
Silverchair – Tomorrow (Australian Version) (Official Video) – YouTube
Infloofception
Infloofception (floofinition) – An animal’s action or behavior that prevents a person from continuing to a destination or completing a task.
In use: “Many people working from home during the pandemic experience infloofceptions as their pets floofspire to play, be fed, or sleep on top of laptops.”
Prefloofcupied
Prefloofcupied (floofinition) – 1. To be distracted by an animal’s behavior, needs, or wants.
In use: “She’d planned to get up and make a coffee cake but became prefloofcupied with the kittens.”
2. An animal who seems obsessed or deeply focused on a sound, action, or activity.
In use: “She opened a can and called her dog, but he was prefloofcupied with something beyond her view outside.”
The Swat
I’m on my knees, typing at my desk.
The cat is asleep on my chair.
It wasn’t so planned. I’d been typing when I raised my coffee cup to my lips and discovered it empty and dry.
No coffee.
But I had plans, and they included coffee.
Damnation.
I got up and went into the coffee to make more. When I returned, the cat had taken my chair. Curled up, he looked asleep.
Could that be right? I’d been gone two minutes. He’d taken over the chair and gone to sleep in two minutes? Yes, I was suspicious.
He’s done this before, so I know the routine. I moved the chair out of my way (the cat didn’t move anything during this — not a whisker, not an ear, not even a tail twitch), dropped to my knees, and resumed my activities.
When at last I was did, I stood and stretched. Now I needed water. Turning sideways, I slipped past the sleeping cat on the chair, my back to him.
That’s when I farted.
It wasn’t anything dramatic, just a loud burping noise.
That’s when the cat swatted me.
I stared down at him. “Did you just swat me?”
He was looking up at me. I swear that he looked defiant. I thought, he’s been planning this. He’s been thinking, I’ve had enough. The next time that he farts in front of me, I’m going to swat him.
I glared at him. “I don’t fart that often.”
Rearranging his paws, he lowered his head and closed his eyes.
I think he looked smug.
Four Floofs
Four Floofs (floofinition) – Floofmerican vocal group formed in Flooftroit in 1956. Achieving international floofularity in the 1960s, the group helped define the Flooftown Sound.
In use: “A 1965 hit for the Four Floofs was “Floof Can’t Help Himself (Sugar Floof Honey Bunch)”, which reached number one on the Floofboard Hot 100.”
The Finds
The sight ahead drew Bruce out of his inner world and back to reality. It could be an ambush.
Damn it. It’d been a good day (part of a good week) till now. Decent weather (upper sixties, and the wind and rain had passed), and no smoke.
Copping a squat, he considered the pile ahead. It resembled a human in clothes. He’d been walking down here to avoid humans. Zombies and survivors…neither were usually good company. He wasn’t much as ambush prey. Did have a gun (two, actually), some rounds, food (mostly energy bars, nuts, and dried fruit), a little water. Not substantial quantities.
Ravine walls thick with grasses, bushes, and brambles rose on two sides. Yeah, perfect place to take the easily beguiled.
The pile wasn’t moving.
Sighing, he put away the trail mix he’d been munching to free his hands, pulled the handgun out, and cursed. He was off the roads and highways because he was non-confrontational, didn’t have many rounds, and wasn’t a great marksman. He also wasn’t a good Samaritan. Heaving heavy sighs, he shifted his backpack and crept forward.
The pile didn’t move. A wind decided to add mischief to the leaves and bushes. He hoped to hell it was the wind, and not someone getting ready to get him.
Yeah, the pile was a human, female in jeans with a torn light blue shirt and jacket, non-zombie, but probably not alive. Blonde. White. Brown eyes were staring, and all that blood. Maybe forty or fifty years old, or somewhere in that zone. Not dead long. No animals had visited. Only touching her could tell him more.
He gazed up. She’d probably fallen from above. Pushed? Why would anyone be up there? What was up there?
With slow awareness, he realized something was not far from him. Pulse shifting to a faster speed, he turned and stood.
Dog.
The animal (a lab? — he didn’t know these things) regarded him, tail down. It looked decently healthy and had a collar and tags. No pack was around, although that didn’t stop his guts from nervously squalling.
“Nice puppy.” His voice caught on a rasp. Been how long since he’d last spoken?
The dog flicked the tail once or twice and turned away, but kept looking back.
Follow? Really?
Bruce tapped his foot in his head, debating choices, uncomfortable with where the dog might lead him. The dog seemed patient, insistent, and intelligent.
“Okay, Lassie.” He walked after the dog. “Lead on.” He’d shoot the dog first if it led him to a trap. Well, that would depend, wouldn’t it?
The dog disappeared past some trees. Bruce took his time following. Rounding the trunks, he hunkered down and peeked around them like a child playing a game.
A man was on the ground. The dog was beside him, looking back at Bruce.
Man, woman, and dog, Bruce thought, putting things together. No ambush. He moved forward.
The man moved. A gun was in his hand but he didn’t raise it. A noise between sigh and grunt, word and pain, oozed free of him.
Bruce approached. “Hello.”
The man opened and closed his eyes, then opened and closed his mouth, adam’s apple jerking. A canteen was at hand. Bruce approached it, saw it open, and picked it up. It sloshed. Bending, he wet the man’s lips. “Hey. Hey.” He didn’t know what else to say.
From the pale, wan face, thin silver hair, and sunken cheeks, Bruce guessed him seventy something. The clothes told of some wealth (as did that watch).
The man responded to the water. Bruce trickled a little into the man’s mouth. “Thank you,” the man said. He closed his eyes. They snapped back open. “My wife. Carrie. She…”
“Blonde white woman, about forty to fifty, wearing jeans?” Like there could be anyone else. “I think I found her.”
The man’s expression shifted through hope to understanding. “Okay. Okay.” Tears threaded out of his eyes and down the sides of his face. “This is the way. I fell. Down the side. She was trying.” Eyes closing, he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
Bruce wondered. Where could he take him? What could he do? “Where are you hurt?” Could he get help? “What…” He swallowed. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.” The man smiled. “No use. Back. Legs. Insides. I’m a mass of hurt. Oh, well, it was good until now. Can you…”
“What?”
The man marshalled himself. “Bring her here? That possible?”
Bruce shuddered inside. He should just walk the fuck away. He should have never come over. He breathed out. “Okay. Okay. Sure.”
Hating the decision and himself for what he was doing, he tucked his gun into his pants took off his backpack. Retracing the way, he found the woman again. First, well, check. Yes, dead.
Trembles rolled through him. He hated touching the dead. Yeah, it didn’t make sense, but that’s how he was.
Realizations caught. She was still a little warm and pliant. Jesus, she could not have been dead long. He wondered what’d killed her. There was a lot of blood.
Bile rose. He didn’t want to get blood on himself.
Really? How fucking pathetic was he? He didn’t want to just drag her, either. That seemed just…wrong.
After sucking in three breaths, he squared himself, bent, and picked her up. She was so light, he almost sagged in amazement. Poor person, to die out here like this. That was the world but it didn’t make things any better.
He carried her back with no problem. The dog greeted him.
“That’s Jasper,” the man said. “Thank you for doing this. Now. Put her. Here. Beside me. Please.” As Bruce did, the man smiled. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Tears were storming down his face. “Okay, two other things, but I’ll reward you,” the man said.
Bruce knew what was coming. “Wait. What’s your name? I’m Bruce.”
“Bruce, I am Jerome. Thank you again, for what you’ve done. Now, if you can do more…”
Bruce knew what was coming. “I don’t know.” He glanced at Jasper. “Won’t your dog object?”
“Oh, I talked to Jasper while you were away getting Carrie. He understands it, probably better than us. Just aim at the chest, you know? I don’t know if I can be saved or not, but I figure, a world without Carrie isn’t where I want to be, not the way it’s turned to shit.” His voice was thinning. Jerome coughed, then pursed his lips for several seconds. “You can have my air yacht in return.”
“Your what?”
“Up the top of the hill. It’s yours. Take it. Live, survive.”
“Okay.” What the the hell was an air yacht?
“And if you can, well, find my children. Son and daughter. They don’t speak with me. Didn’t care for Carrie. Were angry, which made me angry. In hindsight, which is all that’s left, it’s stupid of me and them. We all thought there was more time, but here we are.”
Jerome cleared his throat. “I’m asking a lot. The list just keeps growing. Kill me. Take care of Jasper. Find my son and daughter, Gerald and Jeanine. Their locations are in the yacht’s computer. That’ll give you guidance. It’s up to you, but I’d like it if you can find them, tell them what happened to me and Carrie, so they know.” He settled his gaze on Bruce. “I know I put a lot on you. You can promise anything, of course, and then do whatever you want. I understand that. The air yacht’s loaded with food and drink. It’s comfortable and secure.”
“I never heard of an air yacht. How will I fly it?”
“Oh, it flies itself. It’s at the top of this bluff. I think you can get up there. Fob is in my pocket. Opens all the doors, and turns everything on. It’s yours, Bruce. Just finish the job here, and take care of Jasper, please. He’s a good dog.”
Shadows were claiming the ravine by the time Bruce complied with Jerome’s request. Afterward, the dog went to the man, sniffing him and licking his face for a bit before turning away and joining Bruce. The dog’s humanity impressed Bruce.
He took the fob, along with Jerome’s watch and gun, all with regret. Then, speaking to himself as much as the dog, he squared himself and looked up. “How the hell are we supposed to get up there?”
Jasper responded like he knew. Heading for a path, he paused, looking back and waiting for Bruce to follow. Bruce tucked Jerome’s gun into his pack and swung it up onto his shoulders. Another long look was granted to the dead man and his spouse. He considered burying them.
He’d already buried so many, he was weary of it. Did that change anything? No, but he had nothing to dig with. “I’m sorry, Jerome. I really am.”
Life sucked enormously, yet it seemed like his was looking up. “Lead on, Jasper,” he said, then began following the dog up the side.
