Blue sky above my house, and clear sunshine bathing the area. But east is a smoky white wall curtailing the distance to the horizon; a gray west wall does the same. Smoky tentacles tease my nose. The walls close in, graying the blue sky.
This is Wednesday, August 23, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the pickleball courts are empty and the theater performances are cancelled – smoke for the outside venues, COVID-19 for other places. 60 F out now, a high of 86 F might be reached. Sadly, I noticed that it was dark before 8:30 last night. Yes, sunset has rolled back to 8 PM here. The long days of light are closing down already. School ramps up next week. Coincidence? Or dark conspiracy?
News: fires. Trump. Debate. Bridge collapse in India. BRICS. Rodgers and State Farm. SoCal and Baja recovering from Hilary. Grand Canyon flooding. India lands a craft on the moon. COVID cases rising. Celebrity stuff. Hoobastank.
Screech. Back up. Hoobastank?
Yes, they’re in the news for their video and song, “The Reason”. It was released almost twenty years ago. I knew the song so I watched the video, because I’d never seen it. It was an intriguing laugher. The Neurons have thrust it into the morning mental music stream (Trademark ancient). Who am I to argue with Les Neurons? No, I won’t argue with them, but I will try to placate them with coffee in the morning. They sometimes also like beer in the afternoon. They’re also very fond of watermelon.
Okay, let’s hitch this day up and get underway. Yeeha. Stay pos, be strong, and brush your teeth. Coffee is available in the kitchen. Here’s the ancient Hoobastank video. Have a better one. Cheers
I’m outside, kinda young. Rolling deep green grass, where a music festival is due to start. I’m excited about it but worried about unspecified stuff. I’m alone, don’t know anyone there. A few others are starting to arrive. They’re all younger, with my teenagers among them, mostly female.
I’m busy, though, boxing up containers of trash. Collecting it, putting it in boxes, sealing it up. Don’t know why I’m specifically doing it; seems to be a compulsion. People keep arriving but I keep boxing up trash. By the time I’m done, hundreds have arrived, and I have about thirty small, square boxes of trash.
I need a place to put them, and that worries me. I have some of them stacked on a small peeling white trailer which is attached to a small green minibike like one I had in my early teens. I plan to use the bike to pull the trailer and unload the garbage boxes somewhere else, but where?
There is a small white frame house. Single story, white siding, two windows on the front, a screen door in its center. I know that this is the office of the young men organizing the music festival. There are three, dark-haired young white men in their early twenties. I know this without seeing them. I can hear them talking and laughing. Part of their conversation is about me and my minibike pulling the scarred white trailer loaded with boxes of trash.
Piles of trash are not far from the house. I’m thinking about unloading my trash into this collection, but I feel guilty, as if I’m breaking a law, and that holds me back. Yet, racing around, watched by a growing number of people, I can’t find anywhere else to put the trash. I feel like this is my only choice.
Aware that I’m being watched, that others are commenting about what I’m doing, I try pulling my trailer of trash. It won’t go. I reattach the green minibike with its fat knobby tires. The little bike easily tugs the trailer across the way.
From inside the trailer, I hear the organizers discuss this development. One suggest, “It’s alright, let him be.” I feel better about that. I start unloading the trailer. People are commenting about how fast and hard I’m working. Some appreciate that I’ve cleaned up trash. Buoyed by what I hear, I quickly unload the trailer, drive back, and fill it again. Now finished, I stand still, sweating and breathing hard by my little minibike and its empty white trailer.
Floof-fi(floofinition) Fiction focused on animals and their struggles, lives, and relationships.
In use: “The Art of Racing In the Rain and Life of Pi are modern examples of floof-fi — both adapted into movies — but his favorite remained May Sarton’s book, The Fur Person, about Tom Jones, a stray who takes up life with Sarton and her partner.”
Thankful this morning, for the firefighters around the world fighting fires, including those fighting fires in Oregon and California. Thankful for a lot of things which I have and enjoy, including good health, comfort, and security. Thankful, too, for the easterly wind which took the smoke out of our end of the valley. I’m cognizant that our good fortune is now someone else’s misfortune. Smoke goes somewhere as long as the fires burn.
The hourglass called Saturday, August 18, 2023, is running. Sands are pouring through it. The sands of August and the sands of 2023 are also rushing through through glasses. Guess they’re not truly hourglasses; just time glasses. Do they measure time’s passing, or are these mythical things creating time for us?
It’s a cool morning. A little smoke still crazes the sky’s blue facade and discolors small patches but the sun is the right color. 63 F was the overnight low. We’re up to 70 F now but will climb to 92 F in Ashlandia, where the political differences could be called the Deer Party and the Dog Party. Then there’s the Parks Party. DeP, Dop, and PaP.
The cats are so pleased that smoke vacated the area and cool air rides the day. After making morning rounds of the year, they staked out positions, washed, and settled into napping configurations.
I’m looking forward to the GOP debate coming up. First, I’m impressed that the GOP has verified that it’s about money; only those gaining enough monetary donations are able to participate. I guess the theory is, the potential candidates put themselves out there and convince people to give to more their candidacy forward. Works on a built-in assumption that all donors have the same power and money to give, contrary to the reality we’ve seen perpetually demonstrated since the age of capitalism began. But who are we to attempt to force reality onto the GOP? That, demonstratively, no longer works.
Although, fairness, the GOP is not homogeneous. The NYTimes published an article about the GOP’s factions this week. They included estimates about how much of the GOP each faction made up. While many have held that five factions dominate the GOP, the NYT identified six ‘types’ of voters in the GOP. The interesting aspect of reading this is that while they specify only 36% of GOP members support Trump, they show by their groupings that only one, Moderate Establishment, which accounts for 14% of the party, is the only Never Trump group. Dominated by an alliance between Trump’s biggest support factions, the Right Wing and the he rest either enthusiastically endorse Trump or they’re willing to swallow it and support him because they either agree with his positions or because they like him more than they like Democrats. Not really that different from Democrats and their position on President Biden.
For music, The Neurons have fed “Crossroads” by Cream (1968) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fishy). This is their cover and interpretation of Robert Johnson’s “Cross Roads Blues”, layering it with a faster tempo and hard rock sound. I figure it’s right for this day, these times, when every day in the US seems to be about being at some kind of cross roads regarding the rule of law, ethics, democracy, climate change, etc. The rest of the world also seems at cross roads about multiple matters as well; some are the same as the ones affecting us in the US. So it’s a good song for t’day.
Have coffee, will travel. Be brave, be strong, be positive, and keep on being you. Here’s the music. Cheers
Tinted by smoke, the sun was a tangerine as noon rolled up. A short man walked through the warming, stifling day. Someone caught in middle age’s trenches, hard-edged in his slenderness, pale as a grub, bald as a newborn, walking fast. Unbelievable sight in this nasty air. White-grey ash collected on surfaces, dulling car polish, stinging nostrils with high magnitude burnt-wood flavors, usually encouraging tears, runny noses, sniffing, coughing.
But this guy walked down the sidewalk like the town’s proud owner, the only one out there, protected by sandals, a white tee-shirt, and light blue denim jeans. He also sucked on a cigarette and blew out his own smoke.
Might as well call this Smokeday. It’s August 18, 2023. The air in Ashlandia, where the roads are wide and the sidewalks are numerous, has gone into the trashcan. Yesterday, Purple Air showed the air quality jumping into the hazardous range and lurking there for the night’s entirety. Today finds it still mostly in the hazardous or unhealthy zones. We’ve gone all Twilight Zone apocalypse out there, with the mountains hidden behind he dirty air and no view of the valley. We could be the last island of civilization, if this view is the guide.
We’d been hoping we’d miss the smoky air this year. So far, we had done well, but lightning lit up the Klamath complex southwest of us, and its smoke drops a pall over the region. The fire centers on Happy Camp, which was also the source of our 2014 nasty air.
In good news, we’ve dropped out of the high temperatures. 72 F now, today’s high end is believed to be 92 F but I postulate that this thick smoke will keep us from reaching that high. Winds are from the east, clearing the smoke out right now. Sunshine has cleared its way after a long red dawn morning. It’s raining on the coast, which will put some moisture in the air around Happy Camp. That keeps us hope that the fire won’t be around into November.
The cats aren’t pleased with the smoke, as we’re keeping them in. Tucker the elder is fine with it but Papi issued declarations that staying in was not in his bucket list. He mostly makes his home in the master bath, with its cool and quiet, I suppose, and no one can slip up on him without being sighted. I’m thinking of Tucker in that, who gets passive-aggressive at times, and outright aggressive at others. TC is being mellow, though, but already a little under the weather with some respiratory issues brought on by the smoke. I’ll give him some Lysine L, which generally helps him deal.
Songwise, I have Croce in the morning mental music stream (Trademark worthy). Jim Croce arrived there after a convo in which someone said, “You just don’t do that.” My Neurons leaped into action, adding, “You don’t pull on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger, and you don’t mess around with Jim.” So here we are with “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim”, some fun story-telling music from Jim Croce and 1972.
Time to coffee up and face the day. Be strong, stay pos, and don’t get sucked into the vortex of negativity. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofditional (floofinition) Handed down from animal to animal as a custom.
In use: “Unbending to the house’s floodtitional approach to who sleeps where — floof #1 always got the bed — the new kitten, RBG, decided she would sleep where she wanted and when she wanted, and exhibited so much charm and confidence, the other animals moved over.”
One of the strangest aspects of life in the United States that I’ve been reading about recently is that a growing segment of men aren’t wiping their asses after doing their business. Or they’re claiming that they’re not. Yes, it’s a strange thing to write about — a strange thing to think about — but it’s out there.
Let’s ponder what’s going on for a minute. Men consciously and deliberately decide, “I’m not going to wipe my rear. Or, “I’m going to tell others I don’t.”
Strange, strange, strange image to cultivate.
But their reasoning is that wiping your ass will make you gay. This is something that they say they claim. Bizarre. Seriously, WTF is wrong with them? Have they lost their minds?
Don’t believe me, then do a search. Go on Reddit. Read the complaints. The insanity is out there, and it’s documented.
Hypercharged weather continues in Ashlandia, where the pastries are gluten free and the coffee is organic and fair trade.
August 16, 2023 and Wednesday are here, for the records. If you’ve got an August bucket list, you might want to be applying yourself. Same with the summer BL. Summer’s end is rushing up like a horse coming to the Derby’s finish line.
It’s 89 with smoke here right now, 11:30 AM. I’m late getting started due to two matters. One, AC didn’t kick on last night. Lots of cursing about it, basic troubleshooting commenced, and a loose wire in the low-voltage sub system was discovered on the outside condenser unit. Reconnected and taped with electrical tape just for luck. Second matter was a plea for help from some friends for their Roku. It wasn’t running! One of my first questions was, did you change the remote’s batteries? They had. After we did a hard reboot on their system and were still getting nowhere, new batteries were installed. Voila.
Gonna be 102 F today, they tell us. Reached 102 or so at my house, on my system yesterday but the town only saw an official high of 99 F yesterday. Fortunately, yesterday’s cooldown was fast. Doors and windows were opened at 8 PM as the temperature drop commenced and fell into the low eights. Night took over and dropped us into the mid-seventies. Rain and thunderstorms are forecast for 7 PM this evening. We’ll see if they come, but they can be good, lowering the ground and air temp, but also could be dangerous, starting new fires with lightning. Fingers crossed about which way it goes.
Air quality is moderate due to smoke. Which fire is gifting us that? Don’t know. Might be a combo of all four — yes there’s a new one to the south, in the Klamath National Forest — as the heat dome has killed most breezes. Damn still air out there.
I’ve been reading more political news. One matter that disturbs me is how often Republicans say that they need to get rid of Democrats or liberals. Not win office over them; not work with them; get rid of them. Sad state when one half of the country basically professes to hate the other half. I don’t hear liberals/Democrats/Progressives talking about getting rid of the GOP. They talk about voting them out of office or maybe trying to discuss issues with them. Frankly, I am at a loss about their thinking many times, although I think it’s because they’ve sealed themselves in red wing information bubbles. Yes, red wing is deliberate; it’s beyond right wing, the home of the MAGAs. Like, we regularly check Red State to see what’s being reported over there. The skewing of news and information creates a harsh noise. Little of it aligns with what the rest of the world is thinking about. Like, Steve Bannon is already trying to blame Hawaii’s disaster on liberals, claiming that ‘actors’ kept people from fighting the fire or evacuating, etc., as these ‘actors’ started more fires. Evidence? Yes, just like his other claims, he has none.
It’s troubling, though. You can’t advance, you can’t be secure, you can’t grow as a society, nation, or civilization, if one half insists on spreading misinformation and fomenting distrust of the other. How are we to work together in such an environment? And that seems to be the red wing goal. To what end or purpose do they pursue such an agenda? It seems like, logically, it can only be for power. But then, much of what they do seems to defy the logic which the rest of us try to employ. Of course, from extensive polling and interviews in which we try to understand what they’re thinking, we’ve learned that the red wing supporters are mostly rural, dominated by men, and seem to feel victimized by by the rest of us and left behind. They blame ‘elites’, women, or racial minorities for their struggles as factories were moved to other nations.
Anyway, thanks to that, The Neurons have fired up Starship in the morning mental music stream (Trademark gifted). I’m hearing “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” from 1987. The Neurons point out that it’s about building a world together. That’s what’s hoped and needed. Silly Neurons, they’re frequently squinting at the world through rose colored lenses.
And now we come to the coffee drinking segment of the blog. Make mine black, of course. Stay pos and be strong, my friends. Here we go, one more time.
But let’s listen to some music first. Cheers
Post script: here I go, in the WordPress autosave bug that keeps a post from being published. Can’t even click ‘Publish’. Seems to happen at least once a week for me. Only thing to do is copy it all to a new post. Just the things I need to open up my cranky side.
Michael Seidel, writer 