Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts
My wife has a new laptop ‘puter. “How should I keep it clean?” she asked me. “What should I use? I want to keep it clean. I was terrible about that with my last one and I don’t want to be like that this time.”
“I don’t know how to keep it clean,” I replied, although I had some ideas like, don’t eat while you’re using it.
“But I thought you were a tech guy and knows all this stuff.”
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Why don’t you research how to keep it clean? You know, search the net.”
“I am researching. I’m asking you.”
I laughed. “Okay, I’ll do a quick search.”
“See?” my wife exclaimed with a grin. “It worked.”
We both laughed.
The Writing Moment
Scenes hang in my mind, waiting to be unfolded. A line or two or three is written. A pause to contemplate them is embraced. More lines come, get written. The growing new scene is reviewed, lightly edited. More lines come, more gets written.
Sometimes, the pause gets extended. I surf into news articles and others’ posts. Then a muse spears my attention and I jump back to the scene being written. Lines are added. They stack into paragraphs. Paragraphs stack into pages. I review what I wrote and lightly edit.
That scene is eventually done. The next one is considered and plotted in my head. I approach again. A line or two or three is written. So it goes.
Meanwhile, muses ambush me with a new concept. I’m reading a non-fiction article about glaciers. The concept harpoons my mind. I grin with delight and think, oh, wow, that would be fun. An opening scene begins unfolding.
I open up a new doc to capture the first lines. Scenes are written. They turn into chapters and branch into a structure’s glimmerings. I think, this will be my next project. I rummage around my brain for a title. A tentative one is hauled out. Rejected. Another bubbles up. Acceptable. More is realized and written. The working title is modified. The quick, sudden progress surprises me. This will definitely be fun to write. But first, the other novel in progress must be finished.
I close the document. Return to the work in progress. A line or two or three is written. I’m close to the end. Close to tying it all up and saying to myself, finished.
So it goes.
Sunda’s Theme Music
Good morning’! Welcome to Sunda, Jan. 26, 2025. We’re closing out 2025’s first month, and what a first month it’s been!
Here in Ashland, we have…drum roll, please…blue skies and sunshine again. Current temp is 33 F and the ever present ‘they’ are speaking of highs in only the upper forties. A stout wind carrying wintry shards have cranked up. It’s moanin’, groanin’, and hissin’, while tossin’ loose things around like an irritated gorilla.
Today’s song emerged because I was singing “Hash Pipe” to myself. “Hash Pipe” is a 2001 Weezer song. Its first vocal line is sang in descending notes. The words go, “I can’t help myself, I go out of my mind.”
Hearing that, The Neurons unburied a point about those lyrics. They’re lifted from a Beatles song, “You Can’t Do That”, from 1964. Pivoting with that, Der Neurons filled my morning mental music stream with the Beatles’ song.
Sing along with me.
“So please listen to me if you want to stay mine.
“I can’t help my feelings, I go out of my mind.
“I’m going to let you down and leave you flat.
“I told you before, oh, you can’t do that.”
Never bought it, but I know the song well.
“Hash Pipe” was being sung because of a NYTimes Tale. I read a piece about MAGA folks and where they thought Trump was leading them. They were interviewed after the inauguration. Man, talk about a misinformed, misguided bunch. Even after all these years of exposure to their many instances of ignorance, I’m still shocked when I encounter it. For instance, here’s a woman from PA:
We are so divided. It’s scary. Scary for the kids that are growing up, like my grandkids. I don’t like the way this country’s turned — all this woke stuff. Stuff that the kids shouldn’t be exposed to. I think I was 18 before I knew that there was gay people, you know? I listened to Queen. I didn’t know he was gay.
Amish came out in Pennsylvania. They came out in droves. They came out in their horse and buggies. It was incredible. So that’s a united country again. We’re tired of being lied to.
I infer from what she said that she thinks Trump speaks truth. *head shake*
Beyond that example, they demonstrate no idea how tariffs, the economy, or energy production and prices work. They believe all those things Trump says he’s doing with his magic pen. They believe this, of course, because they’re fully wired into right-wing news sources. So even when inflation doesn’t drop, prescriptions drug prices increase, unemployment rises, food shortages spread, and pollution mars our land, water, and air, they’ll be blissfully touting all the great things Trump is doing.
That is part of the big picture. Create a right-wing media that disparages the left and praises the right without regard to the truth or facts. Dismantle the education system so people no longer know history, economics, science, and government. Shutter transparency on the government by firing inspectors and dismantling agencies. Crush opposition so there are no dissenting voices. Teach the big lies in church as part of their religious worship. And of course, keep ’em soaking in fear: fear of what the left is doing by mislabeling Democrats as socialists and communists, which are dirty words in the right-wing. Keep ’em in fear by lying to them about what the LGBTQ+ community does to their children. Fuel their fear with worries about immigrants taking their jobs and eating their pets.
The transformation will be complete, and Trump voters will never know. They’ll go down, whining about increased prices, high unemployment, dirty air, and so on, without ever understanding how they were part of it, how they were duped and used. It’s a con on a national scale.
And that’s why “Hash Pipe” was being sung. There’s a chorus about being kicked in the song.
Oh, come on and kick me
Oh, come on and kick me
(Whoa) Come on and kick me
You’ve got your problems (Whoa)
I’ve got my eyes wide (Whoa)
You’ve got your big G’s
I’ve got my hash pipe
h/t to Bing.com
See, those GOTP supporters are asking to be kicked. But that’s okay. They got their hash pipe. In their case, their hash pipe is the fear hatred that fuels their bitterness, sexism, and racism; or entertainment like video games, television shows, sporting events, and movies that keep ‘em distracted. Meanwhile, reality will keep kicking them, and they won’t fuckin’ know it.
Ignorance is truly bliss.
Coffee and I have are into another one-morning stand. Here’s the music. Hope you have a strong day. Please, don’t ever turn your back on the truth. Here we go with some music. Cheers
Infloofition
Infloofition (floofinition) – The ability to know without direct evidence, rational thought, or inference, what an animal will do. Origins: Middle Flooflish, from the Flooftin, first noted use in 1600.
In Use: “Connie’s infloofition caused her to sigh, put down her novel, and head for the door. Rascal had gone out through the pet door six minutes before, and a fight was overdue.”
In Use: “Taylor put their plate down and went to fetch a glass of tea when infloofition made them rush back to their food just as Munchkin arrived to make it hers.”
Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
I checked out someone’s song offering on their blog this morning. The song was a Gordon Lightfoot tune, “If You Could Read My Mind”. Another person commented, “Another song I would never have bought, but I know all the lyrics off by heart nonetheless.“
I commented and then walked away thinking, Pete is right. I know so many songs that I never bought. Some of course, was through radio osmosis. Born in 1956 in the United States, I grew up as part of a car culture that had music playing on car radios. Small transistor radios invaded, and I had one of those to keep me linked into the emerging genres populating the 1960s airwaves.
Mom played her part. I’ve never bought anything by Dean Martin, Hank Williams, Bobby Darin, Patsy Cline, Rosemary Clooney, Doris Day, Tony Bennett, Barbra Steisand, Glen Campbell, Fats Domino, Chubby Checkers, Frank Sinatra, Tammy Wynette, Johnny Cash, the Platters, Ink Spots, Louis Armstrong, etc., but if you put me on a stage and made me sing one, I could do it.
Sisters’ albums plied the air with offerings from bands and performers like Grand Funk Railroad, Peter, Paul, and Mary, the Foundations, the Lettermen, Bread, Sonny & Cher, the Boxtops, the Fruitgum Company, Dusty Springfield, Petula Clark, Lulu, the Turtles, Freddie and the Dreamers, Herman and the Hermits, and so on.
Girlfriends played their part, seeding my mind with Nancy Sinatra, Gordon Lightfoot, the Monkees and the Archies, the Association, the Beatles, Roberta Flack, Carol King, Neil Diamond, Carly Simon, Frankie Valli, and more. Other friends and relatives shared Kenny Rogers (& the Fifth Edition), Three Dog Night, Stealers Wheel, the Byrds, Harry Nilsson, Ricky Nelson, and then later, Brooks & Dunn, Metallica, Whitesnake, Toto (although I did buy Toto 4), and a whole lotta disco.
Then my wife added more, introducing me to Cat Stevens, Seals and Croft, Al Jarreau, and Johnny Rodriguez.
For me, it was a diet of anything Eric Clapton, Marvin Gaye, or Steve Winwood was involved with, the Rolling Stones, Stevie Wonder, Deep Purple, Steppenwolf, Pink Floyd, the Who, Led Zep, the Kinks, the Zombies, the Animals, Jimi Hendrix, Jethro Tull, Grateful Dead, Frank Zappa, Neil Young, Sam & Dave, the Guess Who, ZZ Top, Mountain, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Moody Blues, Robert Johnson, the Beach Boys, Canned Heat, Ten Years After, Fleetwood Mac, Albert King, King Crimson, Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel, Sly & the Family Stone, Aretha Franklin, Etta James, and Blue Oyster Cult. Later came Boston, van Halen, Reo Speedwagon, Rush, the Eurythmics, Chris Rea, Stevie Ray Vaughn, the Clash, the Sex Pistols, Stone Roses, Status Quo, Men at Work, Midnight Oil, STP, Pearl Jam, Bush, Dire Straits, the Police, Sting, and a whole bunch of others.
There’s a web of songs in my mind, and I only wove a few of the strands.
Saturday’s Theme Music
Ashlandia is soaking in blue sky and sunshine. The temperature has topped 33 degrees F. But the good weather news is that the conditions causing the stagnant air has ended. Besides causing an accumulation of pollution and reducing the air quality, stagnant air in the winter seems to amplify the cold. Feels like that cold air is just marching walls. Maybe that’s just my impression but when I mentioned it to friends, they agreed that they noticed the same. Anyway, we’ll going to scale the thermometer all the way up into the fifties again. A cold spell is on the way, though. Don’t know if it’ll bring any snow; we still have not had winter snow.
The cats inspired The Neurons this morning. The floofs began singing ‘feed me’ while I was still burrowed in my warm bed. Each took turns entering the room to sing, “Feed me.” Soon, their singing had taken on the cadence of a 1998 song by Sixpence None The Richer called “Kiss Me”. Not long after that, “Kiss Me” chased the dreams out of my head and was circulating in the morning mental music stream. I have no choice but to make it today’s theme music for this Saturday, January 25, 2025. You should mark this day as special, because historians say that there will never again be a 1/25/2025. I don’t know if you believe that, because historians are a flighty bunch, prone to partying and making wild claims.
Speaking of kissing, coffee and I have made up and kissed. There was just a small spate, brought on by my quasi-firm rule not to drink coffee after 4 PM. It hurt coffee’s feelings. So I had to apologize to it this morning, reassuring it, “Of course I’ll drink you after four.” Had to repeat it a few times because coffee was like, “You’re just saying that.” But coffee finally accepted, and now I’m drinking it again.
Hope you have a strong day in your location, no matter your activity, although certain restrictions about murder and abuse apply. Here’s the song. It’s a solid soft rock-pop offering with delicate folksy overtones. Hope it helps your Saturday on its way. Cheers
Saturday’s Wandering Political Thoughts
I admire the GOTP’s restraint so far. The Grand Ol’ Trump Party is forcing the United States back into th 1800s. Yet, they’re still allowing modern inventions like aircraft, cars, and electricity. Of course, we are speaking of Trump. We know his sense of history is as broken as a rusted washing machine in a weed-infested front yard. He probably thinks they had these things back in those days. In his mind, the shootout at the OK Corral in 1881 has a different slant.
The gunfight at the O.K. Corral pitted Cowboys against members of a loosely organized group of liberals and Democrats called Black Lives Matter on October 26, 1881. Wyatt Earp was the town’s sheriff. His buddy, Doc Holliday had just driven in and finished checking in at the local Marriott. They were planning to do a few rounds of golf. You know, to relax.
They were big golfers in those days. One of the reasons I took up golf was because my heroes all golfed. Though none of them are as good as me. I’m one of the greatest golfers ever. I was doing a round the other day with Tiger Woods, Arnold Palmer, and Ben Hogan. You know who they are, right? Pretty good, golfers, pretty good. They asked me, Donald, why didn’t you ever go pro? You could have been the greatest. You are the greatest but your name will be left off the record books because you never went pro. But I had other things I was doing. That’s why I never went pro. I wanted to save America and I knew if I went pro, if I became a golf pro, I might not save America. Not because I didn’t want to or because I didn’t have the time or energy. I always have the time and energy to save America. That’s just how these things go. You know what I’m saying?
Now, meeting with Wyatt, the two were waiting for Wyatt’s brothers, Virgin and Morgan, to get in from the airport. After the men got together, they decided to go have a drink to unwind, before they went golfing. They were walking down the street, minding their own business, when a truck full of thugs drove past, taunting them from the windows and making un-American comments about the Bible. A Black Lives Matter banner hung from the truck’s back window, so you know they’re trouble. They’d just, there had just been a big battle, a war, some might even call it, a civil war, fought over states’ rights to carry guns and worship as they pleased. Led by Dems and Liberals, the Black Lives Matter thugs had fought against the states’ rights, cuz they’re not Christians. The Constitution says to honor thy mother and father, but it also says, obey the good book, that’s the Bible, and the lord, thy God. That’s what that fight was all about, the right to worship like a good Christian as you please. Who wouldn’t want that? Nobody. No American wouldn’t.
Well, Wyatt and the boys saw the thugs park their truck up at the OK Corral Diner. Don’t know if you’ve ever eaten at one of those, but they have really good food there, really great food, all-American offerings like spaghetti and meat balls and pizza. I highly recommend eating there. When the thugs left their vehicle, they tore up an American flag hanging by the diner’s entrance before they went in.
Well, that was too much for the Earps and Holiday. They were strong men. Powerful men, patriotic men. They weren’t going to let thugs like those desecrate the stars and stripes. No way. So they marched right into the diner and confronted the Dems and told them they needed to apologize to everyone for what they’d done to the flag. Of course, the others refused, and there was a shoot-out. And Wyatt and his brothers killed them. It became a famous shoot-out, very famous, very well-known, one of the greatest moments in American history, the shootout at the OK Corral Diner. And that’s what it was about, respecting the American flag. And the Bible.
So that’s Trump’s view of history in America. Next: the GOTP is putting forward a bill to change the names of the months used in the United States. January will be renamed Trumpuary in honor of Trump’s inauguration and the way he saved America. July will be renamed Donald.
That way, we can all celebrate the 4th of Donald.
Michael Seidel, writer 