Floofplosion (floofinition) – An animal’s rapid or spectacular bursting out or forth via sound or activity. Origins: 1682
In Use: “People with cats have frequently witnessed ‘the zoomies’, an unexpected floofplosion where a cat races around an area at top speed, often with sharp braking and random sudden turns, not infrquently accompanied with bold, loud noises.”
In Use: “After she acquired a labrador, Taylor discovered the young female was prone to floofplosions, racing around the fenced backyard lap after lap for up to twenty minutes at a time.”
Flooftet (floofinition) – Small group of animals of different species, sizes, and ages. A flooftet is considered more than two but less than nine. Origins: Internet, circa 2015.
In Use: “When Maria entered the living room, she discovered a flooftet looking at her. The bird and rabbit seemed floofchalant, but the cats and dogs wore guilty expressions, as if she’d caught them plotting.”
In Use: “Movies about flooftets, such as Homeward Bound: the Incredible Journey from 1993, often attract audiences who enjoy warm and humorous adventure romps starring animals.”
It was a morning of listening: that sounds like rain. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) at hand we burrowed deeper between warm covers. Another noise struck my attention: ah, the heat was on. Sleep was waving me in for another go-around when a more familiar sound rolled over my eardrums.
Papi wanted in.
Activity associated with letting Papi in served to trigger Tucker’s appetite. Jumping down, he barked in a loud scratchy meow, “Breakfast.” Catching on and always the opportunist, Papi yelled, “Me, too.” So that was it. Time to rise and face Sunday, October 27, 2024.
Reminder for most ‘Mericans: we do as Cher urges, more or less, and turn back the hour next Sunday.
It’s a bleak Nosunday outside the windows. One fat lazy cloud has claimed the sky with a gray cloak. Rain has lessened its profusive flow and now spits at us with a little contemptuous attitude. The temperature hunkers at 51 F. Never fear, as it’s destined to climb to 52 F. They tell us that it feels like 56 F. That’s a tiny comfort.
Need I mention that the cats went out and returned quick as a cat. Papi did it three times, per the Interflooftional Standards for In & Out. The standards state that once is a floofcident, twice is a cofloofcident, but three times is a trend.
With the rain chilling our vibes, I kicked on the gas fireplace. A survey followed to check how the rain fell. It was my contention that no rain hit any window. A thanks is owed to our wide eaves and covered porches for that. But back in the living room with my observation confirmed, coffee joined me, and I watched the fireplace.
“Fire & Rain.” The Neurons began it forthwith in my morning mental music stream (Trademark damp). I’d featured the James Taylor song back in 2017. In that post, I mentioned how I associated it with a young crush on a girl named Susie. Wonder what she’s up to these years? Will she vote for Harris or Trump? She was intelligent and intent on a college path. Her mother, who I met briefly twice, came across as an energetic progressive, but you know. People’s opinions and voting preferences change. Sometimes they skew with unexpected directions and impulses.
Be strong, remain pos, and vote blue in 2024. Coffee is doing its utmost to keep me warm and energized. Here is the music. Cheers
HOF: Human Opportunity Floof(floofintion) – An animal who enjoys any and all people they encounter or will beg for treats and/or attention from any person they met. Origins: Internet, first noted use in 1999.
In Use: “Quinn of the blackfoot clan, with his long silky fur and sweet face, was a true HOF, eagerly greeting people who passed by his house, letting them shower him with scratches, compliments, and back strokes.”
I witnessed a coffee house conversation that threatened to escalate into violence.
It was a mildly busy day as people gathered and socialized with pleasant autumn weather outside. Many were bent over phones, laptops, or notebooks.
One table hosted an octet of chatting women not far from me. Their age hovered around my own, which is to say sixty to seventy-five years young. They were mostly laughing and talking about books. Somehow their conversation rolled into the important question everyone wants to know, “How much paste should you put on your toothbrush?”
I haven’t read any books on the subject, and I didn’t study it in school, but I agreed with one brunette woman. She said, “Oh, I read that you just need a dab. Especially with an electric toothbrush.”
“No, no, no,” a red-haired woman erupted. “That is wrong. You need to cover the bristles from end to end with paste.”
Coffee shop conversations dropped off a cliff. Focus went to the table of women.
Other women at the table started disagreeing with paste woman. You’d think they were assaulting her grand toddler from her reaction. Voice rising into a screech, she declared, “No! No!” It was like she was channeling Khruschev addressing the United Nations. “The paste must be on all of the bristles! Anything else is wrong!”
I expected a duel to erupt. Pistols at twenty feet on the sunlit sidewalk outside.
Maybe she’d had too much caffeine. Maybe she didn’t have enough. The other women, wide-eyed with alarm, were backing down fast, trying to placate the redhead before she whipped out a sword to defend her toothpaste position.
It’s Wed-nesday, which originally meant wedding day. People of another age and era ‘wedded’ when the signs were most auspicious for success. That included planting crops, starting a new endeavor or business, starting a new journey, etc. But so many people waited for this day to be declared so they could wed that it became known as Wed-day. The ‘nes’ aspect was added in as adjustments between different dialects, cultures, and eras. True story which I just made up.
It’s October 23, 2024. You know what that means. That’s right, it’s almost time to set our clocks back in ‘Merica. No, I’m not making a clever reference about the election; we are not going back.
It’s cloudy, rainy, chilly. Autumn has thrown its full effects at us. Some of the foliage is wonderfully bright with sizzling scarlets and other red shades to brilliant lime greens and golds. Also spotted pumpkin-hued leaves on a tree. That tree was thinking outside of the bark. But alas, some trees have already dropped their splendor. Brown, curling leaves hang limply, drifting off when the right wing pulls them with a whisper.
45 F right now, we’re almost at our high of 49 F.
I’ll take that rain, though. Fill the reservoirs and cisterns. Replenish water tables. Ease us out of the drought. It’s needed.
Busy day. The centerpiece is a pre-op appointment for my foot issue. The office didn’t co-ordinate with me, which irritates me, but that’s more first world blues, innit? So I’m to be there at 12:25 for a 12:40. Right in the middle of my writing schedule. Add in the commute, etc, and the timing screws up the day.
But it had me propositioning myself about what to wear on a chilly day when I’ll be outside often but also inside, meeting with med staff, blah, blah, blah. The Neurons responded by firing up “Outside” by the Foo Fighters in my morning mental music stream (Trademark wet).
The song came out in 2014. Ima Joe Walsh and Foo Fighters fan. Been a Walsh fan since he and the James gang were rocking. This Foo song had a Joe Walsh guitar solo in it when it was released. Thrilled me to hear ol’ Joe rocking. Couldn’t find a copy of it online so I’m forcing this recording of a live version on you.
Be strong, stay positive, vote blue. Coffee and I have begun our latest collaboration. Here’s the music. Cheers
An endless duvet of clouds challenges the sky. Flat and almost featureless, the clouds vary in tones of blue, white, and gray. Sunshine is out there because it’s daytime but the heat and light are undercover. A cold layer has settled across Ashlandia’s soul and the trees’ colors are fading as they shed leaves. 48 F now, we’ll clock out at 58 F today.
Received my molasses mail for my planned surgery yesterday. Gotta call it molasses mail because snail mail conjures too much speed for how slow local mail is in this age. Been waiting and waiting for that piece from my surgeon’s office, wondering where it was.
My surgeon’s office is about twenty miles up the Interstate from Ashland, in our region’s largest city, Medford. Recent local posts claim that mail between Medford and Ashland now requires seventeen days. That’s because Louis DeJoy reorganized things to make the USPS more like a business. So our mail takes days of traveling, handling, and waiting. It’s picked up in Medford, goes north up I-5, gets processed, and comes back down south via I-5 to travel the final twenty miles. I can’t testify that seventeen days is accurate, but that package did take over ten days.
Hell, twenty miles, they could have walked it over in less time. This is the GOP idea of ‘progress’.
Meantime, not having that letter caused confusion. It informed me that they would be reaching out to me to make a pre-op appointment, and what would happen during it. The document set up milestones and provided instructions. Meanwhile, the electronic side of the system hummed along. I received email notification of the pre-op last week, along with the post-op appointments. I guessed the gist of all of that but it sure would have been nice to have the explanatory documents beforehand. Guess the med system needs to change its methodology now that Louis DeJoy broke the postal system. It’s another reason to give thanks to D.J. Trump, who appointed jackass DeJoy.
Makes you shudder to think of how badly Trump would break the government with Project 2025 as his instruction manual.
With the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame happenings taking place, The Neurons revisited music by the various inductees. Dionne Warwick, Mary J. Blige, Kool & The Gang, A Tribe Called Quest, and the Dave Mathews Band. Cher, Ozzy Osborne, Foreigner, and Peter Frampton. Awesome music and a wide range of superb tunes were put out by these performers.
I ended up with A Tribe Called Quest playing “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark famous). It was a confluence of factors guiding the choice. My wife and I went to leave the house, and I said, “Oh, wait, I left my wallet in the office.” As I’d just been reading and remembering songs, Der Neurons instantly pounced with “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo”. The song has a steady, hip moving beat and humorous lyrics about a road trip that goes askew. Who hasn’t had something like that happen? Well, I imagine there are a number of people who haven’t had one askew, but came close enough to identify.
Here we go, time to rock and roll. Coffee and I are bopping along ago, and my pulse has acquired some strength to it. Be strong, stay positive, test negative, and vote blue. Here’s the music. Cheers
Beautifully autumn outside. Trees blaze, showing off fab colors. Blue sky highlights the look as the sun beams on it like a doting father. We’re up to 62 F after an overnight shift into the upper thirties. 74 F degrees is being held out a possible high.
My floofs are on this weather like children going after their Halloween candy. It’s perfect feline weather for the moment. Each boi has staked out sunny spots and are living up to their stereotypes as well-groomed, sun-loving beasts.
We received our latest COVID Jab — or COVAB, as I put to others but it’s not catching on. Went much like our first jab back into 2021. First hours, okay. Last night, the vax slammed me down and wouldn’t let me up. I crashed in a big way. Wrapped up in sheets and blankets, my head felt like a match that’d been struck and was burning. Then I spent a period of shivering uncontrollably.
After about thirteen hours of sleep, I forced myself out of bed. The cats helped. They’re like, “Dude, we must be fed and let out. Come on, get your priorities straight and get your ass out of bed.”
So I arose like a creaking suit of armor. Made my path to the kitchen where coffee was administered. Coffee is a wonder drug, don’tcha know. Anyway, I thought along the lines of being out of sync physically and mentally, a condition that borders on being called ‘sick’. The Neurons began playing Jackson Browne and “Doctor My Eyes”. Grazing through the net, I found this version from “Playing for Change”. Hope you like it.
Stay positive and test negative. Get the jab, as it will help, in the long run. Here’s the music. Where is my coffee?
Michael Seidel, writer 