Tuesday’s Theme Music
Mood: judgemental
Hello,Tuesday. I’ll drink to that.
Yes, it’s Tuesday, November 14, 2023. We’re approacing November’s midpoint. I have predictions: here in Ashlandia, where the seasons come and go and come and go, will get colder, and the snow line will descend closer to the valley floor, and the sun will be up there but cold fronts will mock its heat.
Inspired by clutching chilly fog and bored, drizzling rain, the temperature is 51 F and might squeak up to 57 F today. Sunrise was at 6:58 AM and darkness will return to the stage at 4:51 PM. Yep, becoming dark earlier as the days chase down the year’s end.
Ah, in news, I see that Truth Social has lost almost 75 million in two years. Clap your hands if you’re surprised that a Trump endeavor lost money.
Had a good laugh over the Supreme Court’s toothless Ethics Code. They use word salad like, “A Justice should avoid impropriety and the appearance of impropriety in all activities,” and “A Justice may engage in extrajudicial activities that are consistent with the obligations of the Judicial Office.” Such nebulous terminology tries to pretend that they’re taking this seriously — look at those serious words! — but they leave them right where they are. What is ‘impropriety’? We each have a definition for it; the way many Democrats and liberals view Justice Thomas’s activites were outside of the ethics expected of a U.S. Supreme Court Justice. He and convervatives didn’t see it like that. So, nothing resolved.
I know, I know, I should be an optimist and say, baby steps, or anything is better than nothing. But I’ve seen this series before and believe I know how it’ll end.
The writing part of me feels pressed for time and energy; the writer doesn’t want much to do with the world outside my wife and cats at the moment. Maybe that’s why The Neurons plugged Linda Ronstadt’s terrific cover of the Rolling Stones’s song, “Tumbling Dice” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark sinking). While aware and considerate of my writing aspirations and the schedule and efforts it generates, they still come to me with offers and requests. And me, being a middle child who wants to help everyone, feels guilty when I can’t accomodate them all. Plus I’m flattered that people trust me for help or advice, or requests my company.
Yeah, if that’s all I have to worry about, I’m doing good, right? And should be happy that others care for me or want my company. Well, that’d be logical, and the passion of writing spits on logic.
Carry on, positive and strong, and lean forward for one another. We can’t make it alone. (Yeah, funny that I say that after complaining that I can’t be left alone to write. SMH. It is a complex existence.) Coffee has jumped into the morning melee and I’m ready to partake. Here’s the music.
Cheers
Après-petting Cleaning (APC)
Après-petting Cleaning (APC) (floofinition) – The fur cleaning required after a human touching a floof’s fur after the floof has just finished cleaning it. Origins: US, derived from French. First use observed in 1960.
In Use: “Barney had just finished cleaning his fur and was settling in for a nap when Meg came him, saw him, and came over, burying her face in his side’s fur as she covered him with smooches, forcing Barney into a vigorous après-petting cleaning.”
Recent Use: ‘Carla’s Instagram account is a popular place, with many people tuning in to see what her cats are doing, especially when she forces them into après-petting cleaning by touching the cats on their backs while saying, “Doink.”‘
Cogfloofscente
Cogfloofscente (floofinition) – A person who has expert knowledge of an animal or group of animals. Origins: borrowed from Italian with roots in Latin cogfloofōscere. First use observed in 1786.
In use: “Insperable from one another, Naia was a cogfloofscente of Lucky, claiming to know everything the floof’s expression showed and understand every sound the animal made.”
In use: “Familiar with routines, habits, and predilections, Corvette was a cogfloofscente of his family of humans and their close friends, taking advantage of them to get treats, belly rubs, and laps.”
Recent use: “In the first year of COVID sheltering-in-place guidance, many people and their floofs became cogfloofscente of the others, recognizing not just what made the other happy or upset, but also effectively comforting the other.”
Sunday’s Theme Music
Mood: blurp
Fog dismays me outside the window, blocking the sun and keeping us chill between its icy fingers, shutting me out from even seeing beyond the houses across the street. I know the sun is out there, first from learned science from my early childhood years, but also from a glimmer of light warring with the gray at the spot where the sun should be. Could be aliens coming to get my coffee, I suppose, but I’m keeping my money on the sun.
It’s November 12, 2023, and Sunday. About to go out and start the writing day but enthusiasm cringes in the face of the fog and 37 F temperature. Supposed to warm up to 58 F but first that sun needs to hammer its heat beat over that fog until the latter fades.
Le chats sure don’t like it, with the number one boy, Tucker, immediately returning from outside with a ‘screw-this-noise’ expression. He’s folded his black and white fur back in bed. Papi, always more stubborn and independent — he is an orange boi — tried to prove what a floof of the wild he is but his path always came back to the door, and quickly. In and out four times, he finally admitted, enough, and is not resting on the sofa after those exhausting forays.
If such creatures as these mighty housepets couldn’t withstand the weather, what hope do I, a mere mortal, hold? Well, for one, I have a coat and gloves, garments which they resist. Two, I won’t be out there long, not in the actual outdoors. I’ll hustle the car from the garage to the coffee shop parking lot and then shift my derriere’s load from the car to the building. There will be walks later, but it does have some measure on dependence about what the sun, fog, and temp do.
With fog stealing the sunshine, The Neurons thought it would be fun to play Len and “Steal My Sunshine” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark indestructible). Coming out in 1999, the song was the group’s big hit. I haven’t heard it in a car’s age at least, so The Neurons’ ability to shift it from my mind’s stasis to the active region surprised me.
Len — who are a brother and sister combo — have a lot of fun with words. Take this example.
I was lying on the grass of Sunday morning of last week
Indulging in my self-defeat
My mind was thugged, all laced and bugged, all twisted, wrong and beat
A comfortable three feet deep
Now the fuzzy stare from not being there on a confusing morning week
Impaired my tribal lunar speak
And of course you can’t become if you only say what you would have done
So I missed a million miles of fun
h/t Genius.com
Anyway, that’s the music. Be strong, stay cool, remain brave, and leeean forward. Fresh coffee is available. Mind if I steal a sip?
Cheers
Saturday’s Theme Music
Mood: sated
Good afternoon. Getting around a little late to this posting today. I dibble and dabbled the morning away, dashing up and down the Interstate and around town during late morning and early afternoon before returning home for naps and reading for a few hours.
It’s November 11, 2023, Saturday and Veteran’s Day. Awoke to a new battle between a feeble sun trying to crawl through chilly gray fog to reach us. Finally worked after a few hours, lifting us from about forty up to a skin scorching 55 F. Bazinga.
As we went zipped about town today, we had lunch and then began joking about our energy levels. “We used to be younger,” my wife and I teased one another. Yes, we used to be crazy, and we used to be fun. Now we’re prudent from mistakes made and lessons learned. Well, with happenstance, we turned off NPR games to pop on the car’s FM radio, and there was Miley Cyrus, repeating our words back at us.
[Chorus]
I know I used to be crazy
I know I used to be fun
You say I used to be wild
I say I used to be young
You tell me time has done changed me
That’s fine, I’ve had a good run
I know I used to be crazy
That’s ‘causе I used to be young
h/t Genius.com
We laughed and my spouse mentioned how much she enjoys the Miley Cyrus song, “Used To Be Crazy”, which came out earlier in 2023. And then I started wondering, when exactly did we start talking about when we were young? I think it was when I was in my forties, which is now about twenty years ago, depending on where the marker in my forties is thrown down, but I can’t verify it without a time machine. But how often do we mourn the passage of our youth and the new people which we end up being? We reflect on how our metabolism drops lower and lower, and with it often goes our energy levels, and maybe our attention levels. I also mourn hair loss and how many body shape has change, and oh, yeah, that hair has grayed and thinned. Were wrinkles mentioned? I forget.
I won’t say that I’ll never be the person I used to be. Techology may surprise us in new ways, like cloning a new version of Michael that I can inhabit with life memories and acquired knowledge intact, which could be pretty cool. Or perhaps an invention that comes along which washes out old cells and blows us out clean and fresh once again, even tailoring the result into which age we’ll like to be. I think I’d like to be 32 again.
Oh, well. This is the shit that is us, and such is life.
Stay positive, be strong and brave, and keep leaning forward. This concludes this portion of my posting day. Here’s the video. Cheers
Friday’s Wandering Thoughts
I ended up talking to the baristas about my hair this morning. The conversation launched off their casual question, “What do you have going on today?” I mentioned that I needed to have my hair cut.
Showing sympathy and politeness, they talked about their own hair woes. Then one barista mentioned that he has one part of his hair that always flips up. Drives him crazy.
“A cowlick,” I answered, adding, “I have one, too.”
The young baristas stared at me. “A cowlick?” one repeated for the group.
I laughed hard from the blank look accompanying the question, and then explained the expression, learned from Mom when I was a young boy.
Friday’s Theme Music
Mood: restless
Friday has dropped in for its weekly visit, a little jaunty and restless, lookin’ for something to do.
It’s November 10, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the duck ponds are quiet and the park is still. 44 F now, sunshine has dropped it down a notch but still holds the sky, though high thin white clouds lurk, contemplating the valley, planning some kind of mood. Today’s high temperature will theoretically beat the mid to high eighties. Something similiar was rolled out yesterday but with the fog giving us a long, tight hug, it took a long time for the mid fifties to be breached. By then, the sun was beginning to take its shine elsewhere and close for the day.
In a bright spot for today, just 45 days until Christmas.
We had a good laugh the other night in my beer clatch, reminiscing about Trumpisms DJT blurted during his trial. Favorite among the ten of us hands down was his comment talking about why he didn’t receive (accounting) statements in 2021, “I was so busy in the White House with China, Russia, and keeping the country safe.” Wallace, the prosecuting attorney questioning him, “You were not the president in 2021.”
In another bizarre moment, Trump wrote, “Got a really Biased, Nasty, Club controlled, but often overturned, Judge, a Racist, Evil, and Corrupt Attorney General, BUT A CASE THAT, ACCORDING TO ALMOST ALL LEGAL SCHOLARS, HAS ZERO MERIT. A dark day for our Country. WITCH HUNT!”
The CAPS are all his because, like a child throwing a tantrum, he likes shouting. But I agree with him, it’s a dark day for the country, when day after day, Trump is out there spouting crap without evidence, making dramatic declarations with little basis in reality. A lot of it seems projection by Trump about the things he does, trying to pin it on others; we have evidence of Trump being biased, nasty, racist, evil, and corrupt, willing to pursue witch hunts. I think he shows himself to be these things every day.
But what’s saddest and makes it darkest for us is how many people continue supporting him. Of course, it’s not about the bible, nor truth. The majority of Trump supporters aren’t interested in democracy or this nation; these fascists are about keeping their man and party in power so they can glean whatever pathetic privileges and rights they can muster over others, to prop up their tiny minds and retro view of the world. Rachel Maddow was talking about that in an interview about her new book, Prequel.
With all this being thought about, The Neurons furnished the morning mental music stream (Trademark sinking) with The Doors and “People Are Strange”. Seems apt when I’m thinking about Trump and the MAGAs and Republicans who support him.
Stay pos, be real and strong, and keep leaning forward. Here we go, launching into the waves of the day. Enjoy the music, please. I will as I sip some hot, fresh coffee. Cheers, my friends. Cheers
In the Coffee House
It started with the quote in the graphics on the coffee shop tip jar and the question, “Who wrote this?”
I admitted, I didn’t know it, though The Neurons declared that they knew it and would deliver the author’s name if I just gave them more time. Already shifting into my own writing mode, I rebuffed their request.
Two days later, the situation has been modified. Now, the quote is above two tip jars. On one jar, it says, “Taylor Swift” while the other is annotated, “Shakespeare”. Apparently,
It’s Shakespeare, of course, Sonnet 65, which The Neurons again insisted they could have told me if I’d given them some time to think. Meanwhile, the baristas informed me that several customers guessed it was Taylor Swift. Hence, the change.
I admire this sonnet:
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
h/t Wikipedia.com
So much said and unsaid that ends up compounding and bolstering its meaning and intentions.
And it’s very satisfying that my coffee shop put it up there on their counter’s tip jar.
Michael Seidel, writer 