I’ve been hearing a little voice in my head. Well, there are actually a few. I live by a committee of voices in my head. Some are writing advisors, editors, and muses. Others are DIY budgeteers. Several more very vocal citizens and progressives are in there, often spitting mad with exasperation and disgust as the Trump wrecking ball obliterates democracy, decency, and morality in the United States. Besides them and voices of memory who like to bring up things I have done and enjoyed, I also have a couple health consultant voices, a few therapists and exercise coaches, and relationship advisors. On the whole, they’re mostly civilized, respecting the other voices, only speaking up when the others are quiet.
One thing I’ve learned from all of these is not to ignore them. As time has threaded past, I’ve repeatedly been re-educated that the little voices often know a lot more than me about what’s going on and what I should do. When I ignore them, things will go bad, as they predict. Naturally, they then say, “I told you so. You should’ve listened.”
So I’m vowing to them again, “Okay, I’m listening.”
A casual friend, Diana, an older woman, had a large yard sale. People found many products which were unused, as in still in its original packaging. Bruce said, “I have a drill press and wasn’t planning to buy a new one. But this one was completely unused, I mean, brand new and in its box. It’s better than mine, which needs some work, and she was only asking fifty dollars for it. I felt like it’d be a sin to walk away from that.”
People openly talked about the many thing and unused products for sale. Sitting nearby, Diana explained, “Well, I get lonely, so I order things so I could chat up the delivery people.”
That shocked my sensibilities. Diana is an extrovert, a real people person. She belongs to a book club, bridge club, and choir. She regularly travels, attends exercise classes at the local Y, and attends plays and concerts. She’s involved and engaged, and yet, she’s buying things so she can talk to people.
It’s something that I, a person who is quite comfortable not speaking with anyone but my wife, cat, and barista for days, struggles to comprehend.
Got my new computer. Ordered it online from Costco. Just a small laptop, nada fancy. Was supposed to be delivered tomorrow but made it in today. Two hours of clicking and it was set up and running, all settings, passwords, docs, etc., transferred between the old machine and the new. Typing this on the new peach.
All of that reminded me of the ancient times when new computers were received. Hard drives had to be partitioned and formatted. OS loaded, followed by programs, security, net connections, and so on. In the distant floppy days, disc after disc would be inserted to do these things. Hours would saunter by.
So, tech, you know? Progress. So much easier. Reminds me of the old stories about washing clothes told by Mom, starting cars related by Dad, using landline telephones, etc. Who knows, though? Maybe under PINO TACO, we’ll revert back to all that tedium.
Hey, jewels and gems, it’s Munda, August 11, 2025. Today features clear skies and heat. Didn’t cool much last night after we pegged 104 F at my house. Only dropped to 71 in the nocturnal hours. Now it’s in the upper 70s and rushing toward 103 F. Fire warnings abound.
While not too cool, the moon was full and bright. Papi and I enjoyed the moment together. Only sound heard were crickets and the rush of machinery up the asphalt river called I-5, several miles away.
Reading today’s headlines, I’m furious with Trump and the GOP. Ignoring laws and truth, that gold-plated Offal Office buffoon ordered troops into D.C. to restore law and order, a law and order that had no problem, except one of his DOGE boy toys was victimized by crime. It’s brought on a full-throated whole-body GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR out of me. Can’t imagine this going over well with anyone but the Project 2025 Christian white supremacy gang and the most deeply immersed of the MAGAts. For me, it shows Trump’s deep desperation to play king and distract from the growing pile of things going wrong and matters worsening in the United States. He’s also trying so damn hard to keep his MAGAts and everyone else from thinking about him and his relationship with Epstein and the many crimes which may be exposed when that file is released.
Today’s music is credited to thinking about Trump. Precisely: how Jeffrey Epstein introduced Trump to his third wife at one of Epstein’s debauched affairs, the ones with the details in the Epstein File.
Trump partying with sex offenders Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell and his third wife, Ivanka.
Donald Trump, with his new girlfriend and future third wife, and several convicted sex offenders.
As I was thinking about that meeting, Der Neurons rewarded those thoughts with an Eddie Money beat as “Shakin'” from 1982 opened into the morning mental music stream.
She was shakin’ (oh-oh-oh-oh) Snappin’ her fingers (oh-oh-oh-oh) She was movin’ round and round (oh-oh-oh-oh) That girl was shakin’ (oh-oh-oh-oh)
So, this Mundaz theme song is owed to those BFFs, Donald Trump and the late Jeffrey Epstein.
Had some coffee. Off to deliver Food & Friends. Hope your day is awash in peace and grace. Cheers
My wife and I have often spoken about opening a book store. But we also like coffee shops, so we amend our play place to be a coffee shop and book store. But I also like deli sandwiches, so…
Yes, in my perfect world, I’d own a three-headed hydra shop selling books, coffee (with pastries), and sandwiches. We’d be playing the blues in there, because coffee shops and blues go together in my mind. Of course, I’ve owned a couple businesses and know, they are not easy work, so I ease away from pursuing the dream. Besides, as my wife likes to relate, someone who owns a book store shouldn’t love books, they should love selling books.
That takeway was from the owner of our favorite book store, Powell’s Books in Portland, Oregon. And whenever we talk about opening a book store, we remind ourselves of what he said.
Mar-A-Floofgo(floofinition) – Literally, ‘sea of floofs’, a mythical place among housefloofs where everything can be scratched, destroyed, or knocked over, and be magically repaired overnight; where treats fall from the skies like rain and animals can eat as much as they want; where cans are always being opened, bacon, steak, cheese, and chicken, are always being served, where food and water bowls are never empty, and your favorite person is always there to play or cuddle. Origins: “The Live Floof Scrolls”, a set of hundreds of scrolls of ancient floof prophecies and histories, recovered between 1946 and 1956 from Floofrum Cave, and since partially translated.
In Use: “Many people see their pet floofs moving in their sleep, limbs twitching, eyes flickering, and think that they’re ‘chasing a rabbit’ but other floofs know that the animals are often visting Mar-A-Floofgo through the floof portal.” — excerpt from “Through the Floof Portal”, 1871.
Ready or not, here it is. Sunda, August 10, 2025 has arrived in Ashlandia without much fanfare. It’s brining the heat, though. While it’s 83 F here now and feels like 91 — or wait. My system says it’s 71 F. Clark’s system stakes it as 76 F. So, while it’s somewhere between 71 F and 83 F now, it’ll reach between 100 and 103 F, depending on who you believe. A few miles up the road by SUV in Medford, they’re looking at 108 to 110 F.
Last night was starry, moonlit gorgeous. Papi and I were out there observing the night. Then along came a skunk. I never saw nor heard the skunk. It didn’t directly bomb us, but its carpet bombing wove over us and chased me back into the house. All the doors and windows were closed to save us from the smell but that meant we couldn’t receive cool air to store for the day. Wasn’t until after five AM until that smell was gone enough for cooling services to be resumed. Despite all that, I slept fantastic, enjoying many uplifting, optimistic dreams.
My wife and I were laughing at a Trump Regime press statement. The headline and first paragraph tells the story: FDA regulator reinstalled less than two weeks after White House ouster.
A top Food and Drug Administration official is getting his job back, a spokesman for health agencies said Saturday, less than two weeks after he was ousted at the direction of the White House.
Vinay Prasad will return as the top regulator overseeing vaccines and complex treatments for difficult diseases, a position he lost following a right-wing pressure campaign.
Then comes a summary of the HHS press statement.
“At the FDA’s request, Dr. Vinay Prasad is resuming leadership of the Center for Biologics Evaluation and Research,” said Department of Health and Human Services spokesperson Andrew Nixon in a statement. “Neither the White House nor HHS will allow the fake news media to distract from the critical work the FDA is carrying out under the Trump administration.”
Don’t they sound like a school child? Like they’re blaming the media for something wholly of their own creation. Like it’s the ‘fake news media’, a favorite fictional monster under the bed for them, that had this guy fired and reinstated.
Today’s music was Papi-inspired. As I went through the morning feeding rituals, thinking about what I do to make and keep the ginger floof happy, Der Neurons fired up The Smithereens with “A Girl Like You” from 1989. As it played, I changed ‘girl’ to ‘cat’. “I’ll say anything you want to hear, I’ll see everything through, I’ll do anything I have to do, just to win the love of a cat like you.” Papi was moved. I could tell.
BTW, The Smithereens are named after the expression, “I’ll blow you to smithereens,” a phrase familiar to anyone who watched Yosemite Sam on weekend cartoons in the U.S. You don’t hear many use that word but I can imagine Donald J warning another country, “You do what I want or I’ll blow you to smithereens.” He is that cartoonish.
In another BTW, the only other time that this song was my theme song, it was also Papi inspired. Here’s what I wrote back in 2020.
Yeah, do that a lot, sing to the cats. I was singing “A Cat Like You,” which is based on the Smithereens’ 1989 song, “A Girl Like You”.
I’d been talking to the ginger blade, which prompted the singing. I was telling him at the time, “You’re a unique cat.” Which he is, standoffish and sweet, wanting to be closer, unsure how to do it, galloping everywhere with a fanfare of trumpets (or some it seems from his posture).
Then, though, I thought, they’ve all been unique. Some were unique in ways that made you laugh, others had unique properties that made them lovable and sweet, and there were a few with exasperating uniqueness, tetchy and frustrating. A few packaged it all.
So, to the cats, and cats like them, always unique.
Coffee is in me. Ready to rock another day. I hope peace and grace finds it way to you today and everyday. Cheers
Naturally, I thought this was a political piece. I thought surely that they were referring to the Greedy Old Trump Party, commonly shortened to GOTP, or the Trump Regime as the biggest-black hole ever.
The GOTP used to be known as the GOP, or the ‘Grand Old Party’. But under Trump’s squeamish, heavy-handed leadership, the spineless GOP has become a seething unprincipled black hole of greed and avarice. A place where they decry pedophiles while protecting pedophiles, where they scream that they’re pro-life as they turn their heads from children dying. Truth and facts go in and get bent out of shape into lies and falsehoods. History morphs into a lopsided retelling of all the great things which white men did. The black hole’s idealogical forces twists intelligent discourse into childish mouthings.
The GOTP black hole is a time portal, trying to push the world back to a pretend time, which they fantasize was better for all because white men were in charge, and all knew and understood. They liked that time because industry and commerce were not hamstrung by regulations to keep employees, or air, water, and the earth safe. Only two sexes were recognized, and only one was respected. The weaker, fairer sex, aka ‘the female’, known to be emotionally charged and weak of mind, was conditioned to accept their place in the bedroom and in the kitchen, staying home to raise more slave labor. Other sexual choices were kept in the closet, done in darkness, never to be spoken of in daylight. Abuse of others was allowed as long as the perpetrator was wealthy, white, and male, or dutifully mouthed the appropriate platitudes and respected the power structure. Religion was settled as a Christian thing with malleable morality and loudly stated and often ignored values. Do your sentence at church every Sunday and feed your local house of worship some gold and trinkets and your soul was saved, freeing you for Saturday night debauchery and business day cruelty. “Nothing personal,” are the words they like to use. “It’s just business.” Greed was blessed by God.
Blacks knew not to get too uppity. Browns kept quiet and stayed to their side of town, as did ‘the Asians’. If necessary, a little police violence could be used to keep them in their place and protect the white man’s place. Sure, it might lead to a little tension and soul searching in the aftermath, but it could all be swept away by the whites, because they were writing history. Then all would be good again.
As for the rest, the poor and sick, put them to work in the fields and factories. Slave labor keeps prices down and profit margins up. Children are the best little workers because they’re too young and ignorant to protest or complain. They eat less so they can be paid less. Let them ‘pull themselves up with their own bootstraps’. Hard work is good for the soul.
Make a profit off every piece of human suffering and indignity. That’s what comes out of the Trump Regime black hole. Plate it with gold to make it shiny and increase its value. Only gold has value, you know.
That’s the Trump Regime. I don’t care what science declares. Trump and the GOTP don’t, so why should I? So I reiterate my position: the Trump Regime is the biggest black hole ever known. It’s the biggest black hole in the Universe. Hitler and his NAZIs, and several other dictators, have been close, but Trump is just getting started with his attacks on logic, humanity, science, education, history, and decency. He’ll prove that he’s the greatest, most beautiful black hole ever.
What’s most sickening is that Trump and the MAGAts think that’s the most wonderful title that can be won because their world has become so perverse and irrational. Sure, a few are learning otherwise that it’s not as great as they expected in episodes christianed FAFO, or ‘The Leopard Ate My Face’. But most MAGAts are so far into the black hole that truth, empathy, education, facts, and science can no longer reach them.
Maybe that’ll change someday, after the black hole turns on itself and is finally gone.
Medflooftation(floofinition) – A relaxed, introspective state induced when relaxing with animals. Origins: 1970, California, USA.
In Use: “When Michael sits down to read, a floof often joins him, and he soon finds himself doing medflooftation while stroking fur.
In Use: “One of Brenda’s favorite moments after work was when she arrived home, kicked off her shoes and enjoyed medflooftation with her cats and dog on the sofa with a glass of wine, and light comedy on the tube.”
Michael Seidel, writer 