Category: humor

Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: entrapped

Started the morning like it felt like spring had spring. Although just 40 F, that spring balminess – spriminess — enveloped my area of Ashlandia, where a river runs through it. This is today, by the way, Thursday, Jan. 18, 2024. It’s now 54 F, though rain has been falling from a swollen gray cloud that hovers over us like it’s hiding a giant alien spaceship.

My day was compromised by the need to be socially responsible and help some friends out. They of the removed gall bladder and limited mobility and freedom previously written of needed grocery shopping done, so we did so. That hoovered up the morning and early afternoon. Delivering the purchases, we then visited with them and emptied the dishwasher, putting those items away as weren’t able to do that for themselves.

I feel for them, though, really and truly. Besides her surgery, she has macular degeneration in her eyes and can barely squint through the day. She recounted being in the hospital unable to work the television remote because she didn’t know what was what. I don’t know why she couldn’t figure that out by trial and error, hit and miss. I suspect she didn’t think of it. BTW, she showed us some of the marbles that were the gallstones removed from her. She informed us that the six we saw were just a small sampling of what’d been removed.

Meanwhile, Mom had another bad fall at her house. Nothing broken but some bruises, contusions, and bleeding. Happened while she was trying to make it to the comode. All this evidence of aging and mortality is deflating. The thing is, I take notes about what happens to them so I’m more prepared, in case they happen to me. But the other thing about aging is that it’s such a personal matter and your experience — what you do and don’t suffer and wha I go through — will be generally the same and unique different.

Today’s song in the morning mental music stream (Trademark delusional) was “Gangsta’s Paradise” by Coolio from 1995. Reading and thinking about Trump and his family and the people who support him inspired The Neurons to play this song. The Neurons began with the lines, “Power and the money, money and the power, minute after minute, hour after hour. Everybody’s runnin’, but half of them ain’t lookin’.” That’s basically what I see in many ways when I see TFG leading the GOP.

Stay as positive as you can while testing negative, staying strong, and leaning forward. Coffee is done for the day. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

He was busy typing at the coffee shop when a young woman approached. He’d been observing her as part of everyone in his orbit, just tracking people and their behavior, wary of anyone becoming a threat. Call it habit or training, it remained as a leftover from his military career.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but I have what probably will sound like a strange question.”

“Why are you bothering me?” he bellowed. No, not really; instead, he said, still typing, “Yes?”

“I need to go back out to my car because I forgot something, but I want to save this table.”

“So?” he roared. “What’s this to do with me, you puny human?” But he didn’t do that. He just tilted his head and typed.

“So I was wondering if I might borrow your hat to put on this table to save it.”

“How dare you disturb me with such insolence. No, you may not have my hat,” he retorted. “Don’t touch it.”

In reality, he kept typing, nodded once, and answered, “Yes, go ahead.”

He was still typing when she returned ten minutes later. Moving his hat from the saved table to his location, she said, “Thank you.”

Continuing to type, he replied, “You’re welcome.”

Then she went off to a different table.

He stopped table and watched, wondering, why did she change tables?

Was it something he said?

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: peckish

Gray marble day on this Wednesday, January 17, 2024 in Ashlandia, where the fishing is swell and the biking is above average. Temperature is 44 F. High will be 51 F. Rain is expected. We’re again dodging the severe weather hitting most of Oregon. Knock wood. Hope everyone stays safe and warm where the gnarly weather crashes in.

My friends diverted my morning plans. One went into the hospital to have her gall bladder removed. She’s sore but recovering in hospital. Her spouse is elderly — what we call the oldest old zone, or OOZ — and lives at home but has multiple health issues which have curtailed his independence. He’s still mentally willing and able; it’s just his body, specifically his lungs, skin, and muscles, declaring, nope, not today. Anyway, while she is in the hospital going through her surgery and recovery, he lost his Charter Spectrum net connection due to weather. The outage ended but his net connection returned not. So I went and hooked him back up and took care of some small matters for him.

Put me behind on the writing day, though, which severely displeased the musi (yes, that’s my plural for muses, just FYI). (I know, using musi engendered more typing and reading.) Then, just like yesterday, no room at the coffee shops. There’s a huge new demand for coffee and many patrons are then sitting with computers, like they’re writing or working or something. I guess I must suffer for my art. I also guess that I may need to move up my work hours and get out of the house and into the coffee place earlier.

“Werewolves of London” by Warren Zevon from 1978 is filling the morning mental music stream (Trademark spent). This song started out as a dedication to Tucker sitting on my lap. I frequently sing songs to my cats, who stare back in flat displeasure that I’m assaulting their ears and minds with these silly offerings. My version for Tucker was “Werefloofs of Ashlandia”. It numbers among my favorite floof songs. Getting more particular, I also sing, “Orange Boy”, for Papi, which goes, “Orange boy, orange boy, whatcha gonna do when they come for you,” and the theme song to a cartoon series from last century, “Underdog”. Of course, I sing it for the underfloofs, but the words need little changing: “Speed of lightning, meow of thunder, pawing all for their own plunder, Underfloof, Underfloof.”

Stay pos, test negative, be strong, and lean forward. I’m trying to do the same but sometimes trying is tryin’. Coffee has been consumed but I’m afraid more is needed. Heres’ the music. Cheers

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The Writing Moment

One important matter that many new writers overlook is, what does their muse want?

The muse can fill a critical function in the fiction writin’ process, so identifying them and learning what they like — and DISLIKE — can be a significant component of your personal process. Sometimes, as it is for me, it’s more than one muse, so the aspiring writer must pay attention to who the muses are and what they do. Fer ‘nstance, my muses love coffee. Don’t try to pawn tea or chai off on ‘em; they’ll inform you with seething disgust that they’re not the same. However, some of the muses are more impatient and arrogant than the others. Some of them read someone else’s fiction and immediately scream into my ear, “Write something like that!” I’m always coping with them doing that. The way I do so, with more patience and caution that touching a sleeping cat’s belly, is to gently promise I will write something like that after I finish this (whatever this is) and hope they accept and quiet down.

BTW, don’t try to overlook the grammar and punctuation muses. They can be wrong but they will push and push for a decision about a comma, period, tense, noun, verb, and so on, until they’re satisfied (at least for the moment).

My muses are not fond of writing at home, cuz cats, spouse, phone – well, environmental distractions. (Yeah, we still have a home phone, althought it’s VOIP.) My muses like it in a noisy coffee shop where nobody pays attention to them and they can write in peace surrounded by people bustling around on their business. As I have multiple muses (sometimes called musi in the more traditional plural spelling) (yeah, just kiddin’ ‘bout that), I need to ensure the right one shows up on time. Little is worse for me than entering a revision session only to have a ‘new project’ muse enter to help, suggesting the concept for a new novel, novella, short story, movie, song, play, or essay.

Last, my musi demand time and focus on them everyday. If they don’t get it, they spoon crankiness, exasperation, and irritation into my mood. So, every day, no matter what’s happenin’, they want me to sit and write or edit. They don’t care if zombies are overrunning the neighborhood, a blizzard is underway, or nukes are falling. Nor is being hungry, sick, or social engagements a concern for ’em. They want their writing or editing time. And don’t think that research is good enough for the muse. I’ve tried mollifying them with research; my muses don’t buy it and will sometimes go off and sulk, leaving me without a muse to write. I can do it, but it’s a bit like having problems with a bowel movement.

Now, back to writing. So sayeth the muse what’s in charge.

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Mileage

My floofy, Tucker, is a mix of long and short black and white fur. Thought a passionate and diligent groomer, he easily mats, so I have a routine of brushing him every night, which he loves, of course: the attention, the brush, oh, the purrs.

Despite all that, he frequently drops clumps of fur as he walks around the house. Watching him ten a dozen steps, I discovered three clumps of fur left on the floor behind him.

Poor thing. Only gets four steps per clump, but he’s a big boi. Your floof’s mileage will vary.

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Whipperfloofer

Whipperfloofer (floofinition) – An animal who is floofsumptuous and does not follow norms nor expectations. Origins: Middle fourteenth century, Middle Floof, from Anglo-Floof.

In Use: “Shocking the establish dog, who was used to being the alpha beast, the whipperfloofer took over his bed and basically ignored him when he ordered them to leave.”

In Use: “The three puppies were shy at first but quickly demonstrated they were whipperfloofers, bounding around the room like spirited winds and taking over every inch of furniture within the hour.”

Recent Use: “A man shared a video of a whipperfloofer entering his house, look around, and decide this was their place.”

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Floofpike

Floofpike (floofinition) – 1. A route or pathway established by or for animals for their regular use. Origins: Middle English, first use observed in 1678.

In Use: “The backyard floofpike was busy with a big dog following a little following a cat who was following a squirrel.”

In Use: “The cats have established a floofpike through the yard into the neighborhood’s yard through a hole in the fence. Other animals attempt to use it but the cats declare that it was made for cats’ private use.”

Recent Use: “The first big snowstorm of 2024 had people establishing a floofpike for housepets to go out and do their business.”

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

My brain let slip to my stomach, “He brought a boatload of food home,” ‘he’ being me.

My stomach immediately began berating me to go eat things. “The Neurons told me you have dark chocolate coconut cups. Let’s eat a couple of those.”

“No.”

“They said there was a sandwich in there. Let’s eat that.”

“No.”

“What about the canteloupe?”

“No.”

“Come on, man, let us eat something. We’re starving here.”

“You’re not starving. You had a large breakfast. What’s the matter with you?”

My stomach groaned. “Fooooddd.”

Honestly, you’d think I haven’t eaten in a year, the way my stomach is going on.

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