

Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Frida, July 25, 2025, landed on Ashlandia with a gently familiar thud. Weather is a relaxed blue-sky & sunshine state of being. 70 F now, we’ll be clicking on the low 90s by daylight’s end, which is about our average. No smoke bothers me. The Cram Fire is the largest, 95K of acreage, 77 % contained, north of us. South, in California, is the 19,000 acres Butler Fire. Prevailing conditions are keeping us safe, knock on wood.
Being Frida, the news front is slow and lazy. A shooting at a college in New Mexico results in more gun violence death. Couple police officers were ambushed elsewhere, shot and killed during their lunch break. This will all generate more handwringing but no action. Another handwringing moment hangs in the air as it was revealed that under the guise of ‘shipping out criminals’ during the Venezuelan swap, the United States imported a convicted killer of three. Terrific. Yes, the Trump Regime is always sloppy about vetting the details. But hey, he’s white and male, so it’s okay, right? Beyond that, the story still smokes about how Trump lied to Jerome Powell at the Fed, was called on it, and just blew it off. Lying is what he does, along with posting and sharing fake information, and splashing the world with bellicose hatred. This is the current face of the United States.
Today’s song is an ode to the cat. When he was served up and chowed down, he purred and chirped like, this is just what I needed. Which, yes, compelled The Neurons to serve up the 1978 ditty, “Just What I Needed”. Whole thing gives me a happy smile. A new wave pop song, it was part of the regular FM radio cycle for a while. So easy to hear, easy to understand, non-offensive and easy to sing along to, the cat gets it.
A smoke smell pesters my nostrils. The windows are closed for the day, to be re-opened tonight. I don’t see any discoloration in the sky. Air quality remains good. It’s just me and my olfactory processes working overtime.
Time to advance into the fray. Hope your Frida meets your needs. I’m gonna do my best to fit it to my needs, starting with coffee, I think. Cheers
When I publish a post, WordPress sometimes suggests tags. “Would you like to add these tags?” I look at them. Some suggestions baffle me. I don’t see a connection to the post. I believe I already have others included. I delete the one that seems unrelated and agree to add the rest. The system then tells me, no tags added.
So, the whole process undermines my confidence in WP. If the tags are already there, why doesn’t it recognize them and suggest that they get added? Also, how good is its ‘comprehension’ of what’s being posted if it’s suggesting tags which have nothing to do with the post?
I don’t know. It’s probably just me and my compulsive anal retention obsessions or something.
Ashlandia won the early hours with cool air and warm sunshine. My snout detects just a little congestion-inducing smoke. Wenda, July 23, 2025, will be 91 F at the top end, and thirty degrees less on the low side.
I find it hilarious how angry Trump gets when someone talks of him and Jeffrey Epstein. His rage increases and he snaps, “Fake news!” whenever someone talks about Epstein being at Trump’s second marriage. Add in talk of photographs of Trump and Epstein and the mango sloth goes indandescent. He doesn’t want his secret history with Epstein discussed. Nor does he want reminded about how he and Epstein were besties forever, BFFs.
Trump rages over newly surfaced photos of Epstein at president’s second wedding
That Trump can’t sanely discuss it and reflect upon his past with Epstein could be a manifestation of shame and guilt, or a painful reminder to himself and MAGAland that Trump isn’t the great person he’s trying to pretend he is. Just saying. Some folks think it’s all more evidence that Trump is in danger of becoming ‘undone’.
‘In danger of coming undone’: Analyst says Epstein crisis exposed 2 key problems for Trump
My problem with that is it makes the basic, flawed assumption that Trump hasn’t already come undone. Just look at how he’s talking and acting. Sure, it’s worsening but he’s been pretty undone for a while. Maybe we’re looking at the final undoing. Time will tell.
Thinking about Donald Trump and the secret history he has with Jeffrey Epstein and the photographs of the two BFFs hanging out and having a good time invited The Neurons to recall this 1973 Ringo Starr song, “Photograph”. A simple song, I think The Neurons made a fitting choice for Wenzdaz Theme Music.
Have the best Wenzda you can. I’m gonna try for the same. Coffee is juicing the system for me. Here we go. Cheers
This one took me a while. It turned out to be a pain in the ass. But as a dedicated budgeteer, I refused to give up.
We have Hunter-Douglas bottom-up/top down blinds in three rooms, including the office. My wife calls the office ‘the snug’, but that’s another story ripe with reverberations about words and their meanings and intentions. Anyway, I pulled on the cord to lower a blind and it snapped. Thus began my DIY project.
That happened in May. I researched and researched and researched but couldn’t find guidance or parts about our particular blinds and how to fix them. In early June, I reached out to Hunter-Douglas. Through a two week session of correspondence with photographs, we learned that my honeycomb Duetto blinds were manufacturered before 2007 so they had a different mechanism from what they currently make. Coming through like champs, though, Hunter-Douglas identified the parts I needed and said, “We’ll send them to you.” And then did, no charge for anything.
The parts arrived at June’s end. Meanwhile, the snug, excuse me, office, is the house’s warmest room. It’s also our most used. With only a desk, wall-mounted TV, a few book cases, a desk chair, recliner, and accent chair, we spend hours each day in that room reading, watching television, surfing the net, playing ‘puter games, and on the phone. It would clearly and easily win a household poll for ‘most popular room’. The cats are there just because we are. That’s their M.O.
One reason this room is so warm is that it has a standard ceiling. Much of the house has a ‘high ceiling’. That lets summer heat climb. Yes, it doesn’t do much to help us keep warm in the winter. The other reason for this room’s warmth is that its big window, which takes up most of the outside wall, faces west. The sun starts blazing through it at 3 PM in the summer. It doesn’t stop until the sun sets five hours plus later. The weather station is in there. When it’s over 90 F outside, this room will easily climb into the upper 80s. We use a vertical electric fan to chill us.
I’d taken the blind down for repairs, so that window was exposed. I dealt with that by hanging a large white bath towel on the window via clothes pins. Didn’t look pretty — you should have seen my wife’s scowl when she contemplated it — but it protected us from the sun and gave us needed privacy.
The parts arrived and I commenced on repairs. All went well. At first. The DIY corollary to Murphy’s Law says, “If complications are possible, they will happen.” For me, the complications came when I tried sliding the entire thing back together. It would not go as shown in ten million online videos. Talk about aggravating. Infuriating. Frustrating.
My wife was sanguine. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
I shook my head. “I think I might have to take it in for repairs.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
That was in mid-July. I researched repair centers while studying the blinds. Every third day or so, I’d try again to slide it all together. I tried carefully greasing pieces, and I tried different angles. But in studying the blind issue, I became convinced that the top fabric piece was the culprit. It was hitting against the pull/cranking mechanism. I think, I decided, I might need to cut that thing. I really didn’t want to cut that that thing, though. It’s not just fabric; it is fabric and plastic, and holds the mounts for the spools and shafts which operate the up/down mechanisms. It keeps it all aligned. Besides, I tasked myself, how exactly are you going to cut it? Exacto knife? Pocket knife? Box cutter, carpet cutter, tin snips, wire cutters?
No, I finally said: nursing shears.
With the plastic/fabric slid in as far as possible, I picked up the nursing shears. These are scissors which hospitals use to cut away clothing when people come in with injuries. With them, I cut two inches on either side of the end of the recalcitrant plastic/fabric piece. Lifting it up, I slid the thing home and closed my little flap.
Well done, I exulted.
Except, the lines were now hopelessly tangled.
Aw, fuuuucccckkkk, I morosely groaned.
With some work, I untangled it all enough that I could mount it and close it 80% of the way, top to bottom. But I could not raise it from the bottom. I could lower it from the top, though.
“You did it,” my wife said when she saw.
I shook my head. “No.” I explained the remaining problem. Then came the gut-wrenching clincher. “I might need to take it back apart again.”
Eyes widening, she literally blanched. “Oh, no.”
I set my jaw. “I put it together once. I can do it again.” My fingers were crossed when I said that.
I left it like that for several days. Every once in a while, I gazed at it all and thought about what needed done, but I was chicken shit. I worried that I’d make it worse. Finally, sucking it up, I said, “Enough.”
I took it all apart again. I carefully worked on the lines and spools and untangled it all. Then, I put it back together.
I did it in the morning so the sun wasn’t beaming through the window. It was cool, in the high sixties as morning developed. I had the window open. Despite a cool breeze, I was sweating bullets.
But it’s up. Together. And it works.
Thank the DIY gods.
We’re rejoicing and celebrating another coolish day in Ashlandia. 76 F, sunny with lurking peripheral clouds stretching arms over their heads, we expect 86 F today and 61 F tonight. Good stuff, IMO, though smoky particulates are noted in the air by my sensitive proboscis.
Household conversations this morning was about some decor changes, vacation plans, and, “Is Trump dying?” Well, as Sen. Joni Ernst likes pointing out, we’re all dying. With the mango sloth, we were talking about how bad he appears, the swollen ankle thing, the make up on his hand, and the aspirin he’s been talking regularly. Aspirin for cardiac prevention only works if you have a pre-existing condition. Our questions as concerned American citizens, voters, and tax-payers, is this man healthy enough to safely lead the nation? Did the physician lie to us about Trump’s state of health in April?
*gasp* Is the Trump Regime lying to us about Trump’s health? Is there a cover up going on?
Because, gosh, they are so darn concerned about the last POTUS and what was going on. Should we not be more or equally concerned about the current White House resident and his health? Good for the gander and all that.
And while my wife and I discussed the mango sloth’s health, I stumbled over a terrific Alternet opinion piece by D. Earl Stevens about Trump’s health, This White House lie shows they know Trump is in trouble | Opinion. I highly recommend it for more insightful thinking about Trump’s health than I can offer.
The Neurons offer Mark Knopfler in today morning mental music stream. Something being said in the kitchen during a conversation with my wife caused me to say, “Boom, just like that.” I don’t remember the precursor to those words being uttered, but The Music Neurons took that as an open door to introduce Mark Knopfler’s 2004 song about Ray Kroc into the morning mental music stream, “Boom, Like That”.
And with that, I’m in pursuit of coffee in my body and words in my novel. Hope your Twosda offers you the joy, comfort, and success which you deserve, along with some good stuff to eat. Here we go. Cheers
Give me some chatter, baby. I like hearing the baristas tossing comments around as orders are given and taken. Add some background music, pop and rock songs which I sometimes know, hovering on my conscious awareness. Pump in some coffee making clinks, grinding, hissing, thumps, and clacks. All that together enhances my focus and concentration.
It’s a melange of familiar and forgettable noises blending into one sound, a combo which is easily shunted aside and ignored. It’s when a quiet rises and spreads that I stop my thinking and typing and look up to see what’s going on.
Sounds different from the norm will puncture my focus. Like, a child’s scream. A dog’s bark. A growing argument or increasingly loud disagreement. These all pull me up from under. But otherwise, with that coffee shop blend percolating around me, I think and type until, oh, damn, I forgot to drink my coffee. OMG, the coffee shop is empty. And, my ass has fallen asleep from sitting so long. And, I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago.
Those are all signs that it was a pretty productive day.
Floof Caddy (floofinition) 1. A person designated to tend to animals’ needs and manage the animal’s appointments. Origins: 1853, Scotland.
In Use: “Greatly annoying her, Lisa discovered she was the house dog’s floof caddy, picking up his toys, tidying his bed, cleaning and refilling his food and water dishes, checking his supplies, and while she loved Elmo, she really thought someone else in the house of six should be sharing those duties.”
2. An object or space designed or used to hold food or objects made for animals.
In Use: “After seeing a garden tool caddy on sale, Martha wondered if there was a floof caddy which did a similar thing, and then had a friend make one for her, based on her specs.”
News and views from across the newsphere.










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.”