Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
She’s riding her bike. Looks about fifteen years old. She’s in the bike lane. Headphones cover her ears. Her hands are busy with her cell phone.
Yes, she has no hands on her handlebars.
She passes in a flash, steadily pedaling. I’m both admiring and dubious. It’s a busy street and she’s going along a stretch with many business entrances and several intersections.
I admire her confidence but I’m a little dubious about her decision making. Ah, youth.
Mood: Bowiedacious
A front has driven in, strewning clouds of different complexities over Ashlandia, giving us variables in lights, shadows, temperatures, and expectations. Sumumn still holds but it’s beginning to look like autmer as trees flirt with new colors in their leaves. Only dropped to the high fifties last night, and today’s high temperature will spank 90 degrees F.
This is Monday, September 23, 2024. You understand that 2024’s ninth month is closing out and there are but 94 days until Kwanzaa, 93 days until Christmas, and 93 days until Hanukkah? There’s also only 43 days until the U.S.’s 2024 elections. Things are getting tight.
Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) inspired today’s musical choice, although coffee contributed. Having indulged in my first hit of black goodness, I saw Tucker came out from eating. Moving slow, his eyes were mostly closed and his tongue was busy going over his whiskes and mouth. Sitting, he commenced to watching.
That’s when The Neurons or somebody caused me to sing, “Tucker. I just fed a kitty named Tucker.” This was done to the tune of “Blue Jean” by David Bowie. Right after that, the 1984 song fired up in my morning mental music stream (Trademark dished). It’s a catchy little Bowie number, jaunty with memorable lines which don’t convey any great depths. How did he do that?
Stay positive, confident, and strong. Lean forward and vote blue in 2024. Coffee has been served in the office; here’s the music. Cheers
Near Floof Object (floofinition) – Any object which orbits or lands within a floof-specified zone. Such Near Floof Objects (NFOs) can be deemed by the floof to be a threat or hazard and needs to be attacked, or potential food which needs to be eaten. Origins: 1981, NAFA (National American Floof Administration) report on NFOs: “Sniff, Eat, Warn”.
In Use: “Some floofs are floofadaisical about Near Floof Objects, allowing something to come as close as four inches before stirring themselves to take action, but Dynamo believed anything in the same house as him was a NFO, and would sniff it, warn it with loud repetitive barks, and try to eat it if its barks didn’t scare it away.”
Floofzantine (floofinition) 1. A complex animal. Origins: first noted on the Internet in the early twenty-first century.
In Use: “Little Serenity was a floofzantine, one moment a peaceful sweetheart, twisting into yowling destructor without even the benefit of a three-second countdown, making it difficult to engage with her for more than fifteen minutes at a time.”
2. An intricate or complex arrangement for animals.
In Use: “Living with fifteen rescued cats, a floofzantine structure was set up for the cats’ entertainment — which also entertained the homeowner.”
Those of a certain age may recall the saga of New Coke. Once upon a year, Coca Cola changed its soda drink recipe and announced with a blaze of commercials that they’d changed Coke, and wanted you to drink this New Coke. Turns out many had been happy with old Coke, which quickly became framed as ‘Classic Coke’. My wife and I don’t drink soda except for root beer once in a while, so we witnessed the battle of New Coke vs. Classic Coke from the side.
I was thinking of it this morning because of Dawn. Dawn is a dishwashing liquid soap. We use it at our house. I bought a new bottle the other day and saw today that it has a label declaring that it has a “New Clean Smell.”
After smelling it, I wanted the old dirty smell. The new smell has a chemical scent that annoys me. Could be that the hyperbole just irritated me.
If they had said nothing, I’d probably wouldn’t have noticed. But since they called my attention to it, give me the old scent.
We can call it Classic Dawn.
Confloofgence (floofinition) – The coming together of floofs; a unity among floofs. Origins: first noted use in New Floofland, 1860.
In Use: “The dog, cat, and kitten sitting together on the kitchen floor waiting to be fed was a moment of pleasing and historic confloofgence for Kamala, who never thought she’d see harmony among the floofs.”
In other news that isn’t news, Donald Trump, the GOP nominee for the President of the United States, is upset.
I know, it’s not strong news. Donald J. is often upset. He’s frequently angry at judges, former allies, authors, journalists, prosecutors, the DOJ, media outlets, actors and actresses, women, his lawyers, his advisors, former members of his administration, generals, professional athletes, other billionaires, politicians — especially Democrats, or ‘Dems’ as he likes to say, but also RiNOs — and people who are suing him or serving as witnesses in one of his many trials. Donald J. is not one to shrug it off and sing, “Life is but a dream.” No, he is a serious, angry individual. Just look at his face. I’d share a photo of his face, but I can’t personally stand looking at his face. Sorry.
Aside, though. It used to be common to refer to the POTUS as ‘leader of the free world’. That appellation used to be more frequently used. Maybe it’s just that it’s not used in my silos of information. Could be that the expression is a cold-war relic and went out of popularity with the U.S.S.R.’s collapse and break up.
Anyway, Taylor Swift, a talented, hard-working, world-famous young singer, entertainer, and pop culture queen, endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as her choice for POTUS.
This was bigly news to Trump. Storming stormed around, throwing ketchup, tossing Big Mac wrappers, he swore, “Covfefe!” Aides and advisors familiar with his patterns got out of his way for their own safety and peace of mind.
“Where’s my phone, where’s my phone?” Trump shouted. “I need to text.”
So he did, pouring his feelings out into social media. “I HATE TAYLOR SWIFT!”
All caps. The man was deadly furious. A dam on his emotions had broken.
Lips pursed in a manly scowl, he nodded in satisfaction. “That’ll show ’em. That’ll teach them to endorse other, other, other people. Nobody puts Donald J. Trump in a corner.” Waddling back to the table, he sat down and ordered a soft drink.
“Anyone know where my wife is?” He thought about it for a moment. Did he have a wife? Been so long since he’d seen her.
Trump smiled. No way was Biden going to win. Sleepy Joe. Ha. No way. Just wait. Just wait. He’d show ’em. He’d show ’em all.
Just as he’d shown Taylor Swift.
Imfloofervise (floofinition) – 1. To informally make or arrange something for an animal without planning. Origins: 2020, worldwide web.
In Use: “Her floofie looked chilly, so Millie took off her sweater and imfloofervised a blanket for him.”
In Use: “Rescuing a kitten, Marcus had to imfloofervise a carrier to take the tiny sick animal home and give her care.”
2. An impromptu singing or acting performance by an animal.
In Use: “Simone ordered her dog to stop barking, and the dog responded by imfloofervising being shot, opening his eyes wide and collapsing on his side.”
In Use: “Jamal’s bird often surprised guests with imfloofervised comedy routines about what the dog was doing, when Jamal didn’t have a dog.”
Whenever I go shopping alone and I’m tasked with picking up something for my wife, it feels like the stakes soar. I must find that product. I must get the right one.
It usually takes a while. Especially if it’s a product she needs but doesn’t have a sample to show me. I’m visual.
On today’s mission, I suggested that I should take my phone and take photos to send home. I was joking and left without my phone. I should’ve had my phone.
Yes, I should’ve had the phone.
Well, I do have the receipt and can take it back.
The barista yesterday asked, “How’s it going?”
“Going well, thanks. You?”
“I’m looking forward to lunch. I have leftover mashed potatoes and chicken.”
“Ah, comfort food,” I responded.
She grinned. “Exactly!”
Well, you can imagine what I ended up having for dinner: mashed potatoes, chicken, and brussies. Comfort food.
Right on.
Michael Seidel, writer 