Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofologica (floofinition) – Inability to rememember a name or term associated with animals. Origins: 1970s United States.
In Use: “One struggle with caring for Sybil’s pets for her while Sybil was on vacation was Chloe’s floofologica. Of the three cats, two dogs, and single bird, the only one whose name she recalled was the bird’s, Amber, because her favorite drinking beverage was amber ale.”
“Priscilla wants Peeps. She’s providing them.”
My wife informed me of these things as we shopped for Easter Brunch ‘garnish’ last week. Chocolates, jellybeans, Jordan almonds, gummi Easter treats. Quite a cornucopia of sugar.
I was glad we weren’t buying Peeps. I dislike the marshmallow concoctions. Recent flavors like Dr. Pepper doesn’t sell them to me. My sister loves them. Especially stale Peeps. Gads.
I joke about Peeps flavors with friends. None of them like them, either.
“What if they were beer flavored?” I asked.
My friends seem horrified and mystified. “How will that work?” one asks. “Will they be sweet?”
“Yes, marshmallow beer,” I answer.
Eye rolling and groans meet this answer.
Priscilla provided a bowl of neatly organized Peeps. She’s always organized. Just her way.
I was staring at the bowl. She joined me. “I don’t see any of the new-flavored Peeps,” I said.
“No.” Priscilla frowned. “I only buy traditional Peeps.”
Hours later, clean up began at the Brunch. It looked like the bowl of Peeps had lost one. I had not seen anyone eating any.
“Want to take some Peeps home?” Priscilla asked.
“No, thanks,” my wife and I sang together.
Priscilla nodded. “We’ll probably just throw them out.”
But I wondered: will she really eat them in secret later?
Yes, I’m pleased with my beer group. We’ve been meeting over a decade and a half. There’s no formal membership. Retirees, we just like to discuss science and news while having a beer. Once a week is all it takes. We’re only there for 90 minutes. Sometimes only four show up. Last night, sixteen were present.
Along the way, we began rounding up past the weekly tab of beverages and tips. The excess was set aside to donate to STEM causes. We’ve enlarged that to STEAM. We like to give to local schools and causes to help STEAM programs for children. To date, we’ve given almost $50,000. Last night, we donated $600 to a local school teacher who is starting an outdoors club for fifth through eighth graders. It was especially sweet for us. The teacher, Jim, was a student of one member. The member is a retired biology professor so he was really chuffed to see one of his former students passionately going a greater distance to further children’s education.
We debate as a group, are we beer drinkers with a philanthropy problem, or philathropists with a beer problem?
A woeisme fugue is shrouding my mind.
“I give up.” My wife shook her head as she spoke. A heavy sigh followed. She explained that she spoke to her sister and niece yesterday. The two live in Florida. Both are intelligent and vivacious individuals. College educated. Democrats. Trump despisers. Sis is my age. She owns her own business. Daughter works in sales and marketing. Neither were aware that Trump had just passed his tariffs. Nor were they aware that the stock market had been dropping. They weren’t aware of most of the news that had my wife’s head spinning. In fact, her forty-year-old niece had decided that Thursday was the perfect day to invest in the stock market for the first time.
“My sister is a low-information person,” my wife said. “She’s always been like that. She used to be on top of her business dealings but now she’s moved away from those. She just wants to relax and not worry about things.”
I understand how my wife feels. We were shopping in Medford yesterday. Nobody seemed to be doing any prepping buying. In fact, the shoppers seemed like happy, oblivious people.
My wife had noticed this with her coffee group friends. Most seemed serenely oblivious to what Trump was doing. Several were planning their summer vacations.
“Is it just us and our tribe?” I wondered.
Maybe. My beer group members are acutely aware of what’s going on. It significantly depresses the female members. The male members are grim. But all have worried and wondered, what should we do to prepare?
“I don’t think most people know what’s going on,” my wife said. “And I don’t think they care.”
I agreed. “I don’t think they’ll notice until it hits them in the face. Then they’ll think, hey, what happened? Why is the national park closed? Did you see the state of that bathroom? It’s filthy! They’ll wonder why the water and sky is dirtier. They’ll try to buy a new car and will have sticker shock. They’ll try to eat out and discover businesses have closed, and those that are open will cost a lot more than they expected.”
My wife said, “You said one thing wrong.”
“What?”
“‘Then they’ll think.'”
And the band played on.
I so dislike questions about my favorite. I don’t care about the object: book, pie, food, beer, wine, music, movie…you get it. I don’t declare absolute favorites. I can’t speak for others but IMO, my favorites often slide along a spectrum that’s driven by mood and, or, circumstances. Sometimes memories float up and a song comes on, such as Tom Petty, “Running Down A Dream”, and I think, yes, this is my favorite song. But in another place and time, another song, such as “Us and Them” by Pink Floyd, or “Zombie” by The Cranberries or “Get It On”, is played and it strikes the note for the moment, finding a bit of sympatico with my soul.
I swing the same way with food and beverages. While I have regulars I turn to, they’re not necessarily the favorite. Same with movies — “Unforgiven”, “Bladerunner”, “This Is Spinal Tap”, “Men In Black” — and books — “Catch 22”, “Catcher In the Rye”, “Lincoln in the Bardo”, or series like the Murder Bots or Chronicles of Amber. Novels…authors…genres…
If I have an absolute favorite in anything, it’s
Yesterday was Wednesday. Per tradition, our local beer group met at a local brewery, Caldera Brewing in Ashland. The group’s name is Brains on Beer. It always makes me cringe, but we inherited that name.
Two new members joined us last night: Darrell James, engineer and novelist, and Dr. Pepper Trail, forensic ornithologist and poet, author of the collection, Cascades-Siskiyou: Poems. Mr. James learned of our group because, besides being a semi-retired engineer, he’s an energetic person who does home repairs for several members. Dr. Trail worked with and for several of our members, and they thought he would enjoy our company.
Whenever new people join us, the telling of the group’s origins is done. And I realized as I sat this morning and thought about last night, the whole story of the group’s beginnings is rarely told.
What is told is that four men came together to talk science and have coffee each morning. They shifted to meeting once a week, at night, to have a beer and talk science and technology. The four men cited are Lt Col Michael Quirk (Ret, US Army), Professor Frank Lang, Dr. Ed Shelly, and Michael Hersh. All are deceased. But while they were the first four BoBs, a woman was responsible for the group being formed.
See, Michael Quirk’s wife was a social worker. Through her work, she noticed that many men age into lonely, solitary lives. She knew that a strong social life helps people remain mentally, physically, and emotionally healthy. So Diane encouraged Michael to start the social group and shift from coffee in the morning to beer in the evening once a week.
Since that start around 2008, we now have 23 members. All are liberals, BTW. It’s not a rule, but that’s how it’s worked out. Ten to fourteen people usually show up each week. We had thirteen last night. We have one person named Bob in our BoBs. From engineers, we now include medical doctors, forensics scientists, microbiologists, botanists, teachers, an ornithologist, journalists, photographers, database administrators, graphic designers, architects, and firefighters in our numbers. We also have three female members. Since we began the habit of rounding up the bill and donating to STEAM programs in our valley, we’ve donated over $43,000 to buy computers, tubidity meters, and microscopes, among other things, while supporting local robotics teams and Ashland ScienceWorks.
And it all started with one woman’s idea.
If you’re ever in Ashlandia, come on by and meet us. We start at 4 PM every Wednesday. We usually collect $20 per person. Your first visit is on us.
Mood: Merryholidaysism
December 24, 2024 has claimed Twosda in Ashlandia, where the beer is local and cold. Rain fell in clunk drops all night, yielding to an un-Christmasy morning fog. Rain and sunshine have since warred around 43 degrees. Low will be 36 F and the high will be 46 F, cutting a narrow band through the day.
While Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has shrugged off the weather and remains inside, Butter Butt (previously known as Papi the ginger blade, but also once known as Meep) continues his rigorous testing to verify that better weather is not available through a different door. Several times when he was left in through the front door, he immediately galloped to the back door for egress, as if time was now some critical aspect of his testing.
Beer with friends was done last night as we slid our weekly greet and drink up from Wednesday to Monday due to some holiday happening on Wednesday. Small gathering of the faithful but family members augmented our numbers. A fun time was experienced, as it always is. We raised our glasses in salute of new possible states, Canada, Greenland, and Panama, the latest things PINO-elect Trump has floated. TBS, except for Canada, he hasn’t actually proposed these places be states. As always, he vaguely intones what might happen, suggesting anything is possible. Anything except sanity, sure. Someone suggested Trump has generated more weirdness-based statements because other world events drew the news media’s attention; he thus issued ideas to get the spotlight back on hisself.
I took it on myself to walk the .75 miles down to the watering hole and back. I’ve done the walk many times and know that it used to take me fourteen minutes. Going wasn’t too far of a challenge, as it’s a slight downhill slope all the way, and it was early-ish, and the weather was almost balmy. Returning up the hill, buffeting by wind, spit on by rain, a few pints sloshing around inside me, consumed twenty-two minutes. By the end, my foot was a flaming riot of irritation. Some tender care and soothing words made it right in a while.
In accordance with the rules and customs, I would now air my grievances, as it’s part of that holiday, Festivus. But I’ve pretty much aired my grievances all year, not holding back to wait for one day to spout off. With that out of the way, I turn attention to the music. Staying with the whole X-mas idea, The Noel Neurons brought Eric Clapton singing and playing “Cryin’ Christmas Tears” to the morning mental music stream (Trademark wrapped). Hope you enjoy it.
Hope your days are comfy and joyous no matter what holiday you celebrate, or if you celebrate none at all. Here’s the music. Back to my regularly scheduled coffee and writnig. Cheers
Mood: Nostalgic
Today is Thursday, December 19, 2024. A temptation to change Thursday to Throughsday almost conquered my fingers. ‘Throughsday’ because the week is almost finished. I didn’t change it, as I’m disinclined toward misinformation and confusing people.
In other morning news, a crowd of zombies went through our town. Ha, ha, just kidding. It wasn’t a crowd. Just a couple.
Our weather today looks as if someone delivered elements of fog, clouds, sunshine, and rain. All were tossed together in a big blue bowl. Now they’re up there, waiting to be mixed and blended.
Just after observing and writing all of that, Papi the ginger blade floof, returned with a scouting report. He didn’t need to say anything. Fog had shut down the sunshine, clouds, and blue skies. 46 F out there, it ‘feels like 38’, with a high of 57 dangling over us.
I met with my beer buddies last night. Two new members joined us. She is a retired teacher and physician’s assistant. He is a retired electrical engineer. They have a daughter who works for NASA, and he was a big science fiction fan when he was a kid. Others told him that I sometimes write science fiction. He shifted over to sit by me later in the night and discuss the genre. Lot of fun remembering the novels we had in common which influenced us.
Today’s theme music arrives on the shoulders of a conversation I had with several women last night. They expressed deep disappointment and frustration that more women didn’t turn out to vote in the 2024 election. I didn’t have any insights into that and they couldn’t cite any stats. Young me from several different groups were the dissappointing difference to me. I read interviews with and stories about young black men, for example, who thought Trump would be better for the economy. That still makes me shake my head.
Anyway, after returning home with that conversation in mind, “American Woman” by the Guess Who from 1970 rose into the morning mental music stream (Trademark peeling) today. I always thought the song was about the United States, represented by a woman, seducing countries to be like the United States. The singer was resisting because the United States was a war machine filled with ghettos. The ‘colored lights’ referred to in the song was Hollywood glamor. Remember, the Vietnam War was underway and protests were taking place in the U.S. In light of that backdrop, my interpretation made sense to me. But different interviews with the Guess Who band members painted a different story. The songwriter and vocalist, Burton Cummings, said it was just a comparison of women from the U.S. and Canada.
“What was on my mind was that girls in the States seemed to get older quicker than our girls and that made them, well, dangerous. When I said ‘American woman, stay away from me,’ I really meant ‘Canadian woman, I prefer you.’ It was all a happy accident.”
h/t to Wikipedia.
I became fourteen around the time of the song’s release. It’s uptempo beat, rich bass, unique riffs, lead guitar, lyrics, and vocals all worked for me. Cummings sang it with an angry, contemptuous sneer in my opinion. That spoke to my own burgeoning contempt for how our world and society works. Ah, to be young and idealistic.
Coffee and I have negotiated arrangements and I’m taking advantage of that to warm my throat. Time to light the candle on another day. Here’s the music. Cheers
My sloppy and unscientific observations draw me to a bottom line that five minutes of writing in my head requires thirty to forty minutes of intense typing to put the scene into the ‘puter.
Your results may vary. Also, this only applies to this manuscript in progress. Also, beverages might play a role in the outcome. Like beer, wine, coffee.
Deeper study is needed for more insightful results. Donations are requested. Like beer, wine, coffee. Maybe a wedge of pie.
Mood: chillax
Today is Thursday, July 25, 2024. Still a little time to get your early Christmas shopping done.
It’s been a noisy morning in my Ashlandia. A parade of sounds. Garbage trucks banging on and roaring down the street. Motorcycles. Barking dogs, overhead jets, loud talking people. There may have been a marching band as well. Couldn’t tell for the noise. A jackhammer capped the performance.
Then Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), my black and white thick-furred floofhead, settled on my pillow above my head and vigorously groomed himself, sometimes leaning on my skull to prop himself up in his washing process. Hello!
Of course, the noise can all be explained in rational ways, especially when you set them against the situation. Iit’s a chill morning. Up to sixty now as the sun breaks over the mountains and trees overseeing my home site. Things must be done before the heat arrives. Also, the air quality is very breathable, better than it’s been in days. Better want to get things done before the air goes bad and the day heats up. And the passing jet could well have been a fire-fighting tanker. Not sure why the marching band was out there.
But come on, if this is what I have to complain about, the noise of life and a cat’s activity, I don’t have it bad at all. Massive fires still rage in all compass directions. Pity the animals and people chased out of their homes and habitats who face the task of rebuilding and finding new homes. And thanks to all those individuals at every level, tracking fires, managing and fighting them, and keeping us updated on what’s happening. Imagine what it would be like without them.
While it’ll be cool here today, just 86 F is the expected high, other regions are blazing away. the Copernicus Climate Change Service reports that the record set on July 21, 2024, for the hottest recorded temperture, was broken on July 22, 2024. Something to think about and keep you awake at night, isn’t it?
So WordPress has some AI magic to help me write better. It highlighted ‘may’ above, citing it as an ‘unconfident word’. The magic suggests I replace it with ‘been’, so the sentence would read, ‘There been a marching band as well.’ Yeah, that sounds more confident, although, perhaps, a little asinine as well.
Had a good time with friends sipping a few beers out in the shade and wind of a local brewery. Moderate turn out of ten. Progressives all, we were jazzed by the energy and optimism the Kamala Harris campaign is generating. We also noted the GOP’s lame and increasingly desperate attempts to undermine the Harris campaign. The GOP is running scared. Other than that, we discussed dark oxygen being generated at deep sea levels, along with airships, you know, derigibles. I think it was unanimous that we’d all like to experience traveling like that, as long as you’re not in a rush.
I’m chillin’ with a cuppa coffee in hand, and cool fresh air wafting in through the window behind me. The Neurons turn Frankie Goes to Hollywood loose in the morning mental music stream (Trademark televised) with “Relax” from 1983. That’s the theme song for the moment.
Stay positive and remain fresh and strong. I’m trying to do the same. Let’s Vote Blue in 2024, and bring the United States its first female in the White House as POTUS. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 