First up, PINO TACO is poisoning Americans, followed by American Resistance.
It’s not enough that the TACO Regime is encouraging people to avoid vaccinations, which is helping measles stage a deadly return. Now the inept and ignorant TACO Regime is POISONING OUR FOOD SUPPLY!!! Yes, deadly tomatoes are out there! IT’S ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES!!!
My confession: I don’t know if this salmonella outbreak can be attributed to the TACO Regime and the DOGE cuts. A look back through history shows that these outbreaks happen. But PINO TACO would not hesitate to hyperventilate with all caps and exclamations points were a Democrat POTUS. So I’m really just emulating TACO’s style.
Does a post like this help with civil discourse and problem solving? Hell, no. But when the GOTP and TACO Regime stops doing it and get serious, so will I.
Next, American Resistance! This was posted over on Mock Paper Scissors. WP still won’t permit me to properly reblog from them, so here’s my work-around. Summary: Masked gunman are trying to round people up. Without badges and insignia, they could be anybody.
This should give us a little lift to start our day. Make no mistake, if you get the mellow beach bums of San Diego to rise-up, anyone can rise-up.
The thing that worries me is that without badges or other identifying insignia, any crack-pot militia can start playing this game and rounding-up people in white vans and disappearing them, and vigilantes are not exactly known for rules. We need more of this to stop the Gestapo/ICE (and maybe the Proud Boys).
As much as I hate saying this, IF you are white use your white privilege if you see this happening: it’s your Superpower against these fascists/racists. Demand to see warrants signed by a judge, and don’t let them disappear people.
(Hat tip: Scissorhead Purplehead)
Remember to resist this and other un-American behavior on No Kings Day, June 14th.
Summer is pushing more blue sky and sunshine on us. Chastised clouds have slipped the area and the sun reigns supreme. 70 F at 11 AM, we’re anticipating…78 F as our high. Sweet to me.
Papi the butter butt floof loves this warm weather. He came in this morning. We shared a purrful visit, then he stuffed himself on kibble, wet food, treats, and water. Now he’s floofsconced in the vinca. Only his sweet ginger and white face is visible among the green leaves.
Today’s music arrived with a boost from my wife. I was listening to a video which played a few seconds of every Billboard weekly number one hit song in the United States from the beginning of 1960 to the end of 1969. This came to my attention via 1440’s deep dive into the history of rock and roll.
My wife came in as the video advanced through “These Boots Are Made for Walking”, “The Ballad of the Green Berets”, “(You’re My) Soul and Inspiration”, “Good Lovin'”, and “Monday, Monday”.
“What year are you listening to?” she asked.
“Guess,” I replied.
She tried 1970, 1968, and then 1965. “1966,” I said. A little later, Bobbie Gentry sang, “Harper Valley PTA”.
My wife sang along and then said, “I love that song. But the very first record I ever wanted was “Society’s Child” by Janis Ian. I think I was thirteen. I asked for it for Christmas but I didn’t get it.”
I looked it up. “That came out in 1967.”
“How old was I then?”
“Ten.”
Anyway, The Neurons slipped “Society’s Child” into the morning mental music stream when I wasn’t paying attention. My wife thought the song had hit number one; I never told her that it didn’t break the top 10. Of course, bigotry and racism and it’s controversial topic of interracial dating kept it from getting airtime.
I’m at the coffee shop, my fix at hand. There was a line and a hold up. As I waited, the manager came around with my drink, along with the side of ice water which I always request. “Where do you want these, Michael?” she asked.
Laughing, I answered, “I can take them,” but she insisted on delivering them to my table for me.
Someone else wrote the original post. TACO shared it to his followers.
What’s weird to me is not the unfounded conspiracy that former President Biden was assassinated. Hell, no; the right wing has been a conspiracy machine since the beginning of this century. They’re just going deeper and broader by the day.
No, what’s really revealing and absurd about this conspiracy theory is that Joe Biden was replaced by a clone or robot, and yet, weirdly and inexplicably, ‘they’ replaced him with an aging version of himself who struggled with his memory and energy level and now has cancer.
Sounds about as solid as Greedy Old Trump Party planning gets.
Suming continues in Ashlandia. It’s a spring base with heavy summer nuances today, Munda, June 2, 2025. Presently 60 F, we’ll pop through 80 before the sun declares fini.
I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning. Time again for us to do Food & Friends deliveries. After that, it’s back to the writing routine and then beginning of month chores. I also pruned trees and bushes around the yard, and now must cut it all down and put it in the green bin for pickup tomorrow.
Haven’t heard back from Mom in days. I’ve regularly texted her. I do know she’s okay. Little sister’s youngest just turned 17. I saw Mom in FB photos of he bash. The lad, named Michael because one can’t have enough Michaels, is the youngest of the nieces and nephews. The next generation of them are nipping on his heels, as they’re sixteen. All are impressive examples of human beings, so far; we know how people change as they age, don’t we? Well, not everyone. But many inevitably shift into someone else who may be better or worse.
My wife bought a book this weekend called A Short Stay in Hell. It’s very short but thought-provoking. We both read it and then discussed its ideas.
With my nephew’s birthday in the rear view, it should be no surprise that thoughts of generations and transitions are occupying The Neurons. They dug out The Who with “My Generation” from 1965. Love the video of the era. The basics of people walking, dancing, and working aren’t much different from what we’d see in a video produced today. Shoes, clothing, and hair styles would be the most notable aspect of the differences, along with cars and vehicles. Since there’s no sound, we’d miss the other facet of change: how talk has changed. But of course, any video of people on the streets today would be peppered with folks on cell phones., right?
Time to make it a Munda, just as so many generations before me. I’ll start with coffee. Cheers
Clouds have overtaken Ashlandia again. It’s a cool summery start to June, this being Sunda, June 2, 2025, and a pleasant way to ease out of spring, that being the current rotation, as we’re north of 0 degrees latitude.
Did you read about the mutation which they believe give orange cats their color? Scientists track down mutation that makes orange cats orange. The story comments, “It took researchers a century to find the genetic glitch that causes orange coloration in cats.” Turns out the Arhgap36 gene was involved. Go figure, right? They weren’t able to find any explanations for the orange personality, though.
Today’s song is in honor of PINO TACO. TACO, which means, “Trump Always Chickening Out”, has become PINO Trump’s favorite nickname. *snark*. The Neurons came up with it as I was breaking my fast. Into my morning mental music came “Macho Man”, the 1978 Village People song. But instead of the song’s original lyrics, The Neurons were singing “TACO, TACO man. PINO Trump is such a TACO man.” And so on. The revised lyrics don’t make a lick of sense, but it’s a rock parody, and it’s fun singing that PINO Trump is such a TACO man.” Heh.
Now, I must press on. My oven igniter replacement DIY project is underway. It’s been fraught with issues. Blood pressure has probably gone higher than any mountain. So, onward once again. I think I’ll start with some tacos. Some reason, I’m craving them.
And reminder, this is Jun 1. Big demonstrations planned for Jun 14. Be there or be a MAGAt. Cheers
Yesterday was a hot one, as they advertised. Today, Saturda, May 31, 2025, is expected to cool into the mid-80s. It’s 72 F and sunny now, and the clouds have ran away for grayer skies.
It’s May’s last day. Five months of 2025 are history. It’s been as chaotic as a Black Friday sale in the United States. As we spring into summer, I’m not enthused about what will come out of the Gold House, as Nan calls it. Her reasoning is spot on. It ssed to be the White House, but the present occupant, PINO TACO, is remaking it in the right’s craven, gold-worshipping image. They say that’s what the Bible says to do.
From Gold House, I crossed to Heart of Gold.My Neurons went onto a Neil Young kick. Soon they had “Old Man” playing in the morning mental music stream. The music faded for a while as I rambled through a litany of problems, stories, and challenges. Some were personal and narrowly defined from my novel-writing half of living. Thoughts about Mom’s health boiled in, and then came sympathy for a friend who is enduring a mess in his life. Prosaic matters like fixing the oven — the part has arrived — took over. Then there’s the ever-growing worries about the human rights, war, climate change, the nation, the world, and measles.
There are 1,088 confirmed measles cases in the U.S., up 42 from last week, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Friday. Texas, where the nation’s biggest outbreak raged during the late winter and spring, reported 10 additional cases this week for a total of 738.
The Neurons shot a gap to bring “Don’t Let It Get You Down” by Neil Young into the morning mental music stream. It’s a 1970 song which will probably get you down, because it makes you listen, think, and feel. I once heard a DJ say that Young announced this song by saying, “This song is guaranteed to bring you down. It’s called “Don’t Let It Get You Down”.” It was a song I preferred to hear with a glass of red wine, either overlooking a body of water at sunset, or in a dark room, alone.
Into the day I go, with a cuppa coffee to help me carry the load. Funny, but our existence is fleeting in the great rush of time and space, but sometimes it seems so long.
I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.
No, wait, those are song lyrics.
I was in the military 20 years plus. Did a bunch of jobs in there, you know? My specialties were war planning, command and control, and disaster recovery operations. And I was a facilitator for team building projects. I was in tactical air forces, space command, military airlift, and special ops.
Before engaging in that occupation — the Air Force — I was a newspaper delivery boy, worked in a grocery store during Christmas, and dug ditches. While out of the military after finishing my first enlistment, I was owner/manager of a small cafe. Cook, cashier, did the books and payroll, cleaned and stocked, and supervised a small group of employees. Since retiring from the Air Force, I worked in marketing, was a database administrator, an analyst and service planner for a Fortune 500 corporation, ran tech support, customer support, and sales for a small software Internet security unit as part of a startup, was a product manager for coronary and peripheral angioplasty products, and a marketing manager for new medical products attempting to find a safer way to treat chronic total occlusions. Now I write fiction. I don’t tet paid for that, so it’s not technically a job.
Basically, I was a jack of several trades, doing what I could to be gainfully employed. All of it was interesting and boring, challenging and tedious, but it helped me see the world and learn.
After a beautiful Ashlandia day yesterday, today has improved to a better version of itself. Yesterday punched up to 89 F under rich sunshine. Today’s sky is bluer and cloud-free. But other conditions have been checked, so our high has dropped to the low 80s region. 60 degree F air armed with a cool mountain breeze moved through the windows and open doors this AM, kissing us with a refreshing chill. Little too chill for my wife, who turned on her little space heater.
This is Thirtsda, May 29, 2025. We’re sailing on through the second quarter of 2025. What a time it has been. Trump has earned a new name, based on his cowardly behavior. TACO means “Trump always chickens out”. Calling him TACO Trump would be repetitive. Should just be PINO TACO, or as I frequently absently call him in my mind, “Little PINO Trump”. Now, air warning: Donald Trump doesn’t like his new nickname, TACO. Feels it’s hurtful, mean, unfair. As he’s never flinched from smirking and bestowing hateful and cruel nicknames on others, I think we should spread it far and use it often.
Other Little PINO TACO news has the mango boi losing out in the courts and getting sued more frequently.
The Pretenders own my morning mental music stream with a 1984 offering. The Neurons found it in my mental basement and cued it up after I read more news stories last night and this morning. My response has often been, “Time will tell.” Reacting to that, The Neurons gave me “Time the Avenger”. The song is a story told to a 1980s rock rhythm about time’s influence on lives and relationships.
The writing mind is getting greased and primed by a new load of coffee. Here we go, on into another day. Cheers
It’s been over two weeks since I last heard the furnace warming our house. That pleases me. Pleases my mango tango, the ginger floof known as Papi even more. He scampers in to say hello and eat but otherwise lives a life snoozing in secret places among cooling bushes and vinca. Not a bad life for him, I think.
Today is Wenzda, May 28, 2025. Munda passed in a flounce. Tuesday barely registered for me. Here I sit on Wenzda, enjoying blue sky and sunshine. Air temp is already 80 F with 88 in our sights today. Later this week, we expect to push past 90 F. We’ll soon see the green hills on the valley’s northern sun brown like baking bread.
I went to cut back the backyard. The weeds had shoot up to a foot in height. Finally turned my attention to whacking it back, but when I went out there — bees were buzzing around the weeds. I was so pleased to see them. A hummingbird zipped by, too. Hallelujah, sang The Neurons. Out front, a thick buzz was rising from the tree upfront which the bees regularly frequent. They hadn’t been around yet and I was happy to see them back.
The Neurons have blessed the morning mental music stream with “Bad Company”. “Bad Company” is a 1974 power ballad by the group called “Bad Company”. Ostensibly, it relates to the chosen life of being a gunslinger but to hear him say it, he really had no choice. I can dig that; I feel as if choice is taken from me when it comes to writing. This boy’s gotta do it. However, I don’t know why The Neurons plugged “Bad Company” into my head. Was this a reference to people coming into town to visit, or were they making a disparaging remark about my attitude? Hard to say with The Neurons. They jump out with a claim and then dance away before they can be questioned.
Over in the political quarter of my life, I read about Republican Rep. Mike Flood’s town hall meeting in Nebraska. Flood was there chatting about the disastrous bill that the Greedy Old Trump Party passed in the House last week. When called out about one provision, Flood admitted that he didn’t know the provision was in it because he hadn’t read the bill.
Republican Rep. Mike Flood appeared before his constituents in Nebraska on Tuesday for a town hall that turned ugly as he tried to defend President Donald Trump’s “big, beautiful bill,” the reconciliation package the House of Representatives passed last week, and which is expected to force millions of Americans off their health care coverage and food aid.
Unfortunately, Flood hadn’t actually read the bill.
Flood could barely get through a sentence without facing boos and heckling from the audience. At one point, when asked about a provision in the GOP’s massive reconciliation package that would restrict the judiciary’s ability to hold government officials in contempt, Flood said he did not agree with the provision, before admitting that the “provision was unknown to me when I voted for that.”
That’s what we’re hearing time and again from Republicans in Congress: the classic but weak defense, “I didn’t know.” It’s especially weak when it’s their job to know. That’s why he was voted into office, wasn’t it? As their servant and representative? As seen across the nation during PINO Trump’s first four months in office in 2025, rising numbers of constituents are pissed that their representatives aren’t doing their jobs. Flood went on to claim that he’s taken an oath that he’ll defend the Constitution. As always, actions speak louder than words. With his inaction, he’s complicit in undermining the Constitution, our checks and balances, and the rule of law. Likewise, he’s part of the party gleefully tearing down the education system that helped the United States advance as it did last century. But as part of the Greedy Old Trump Party, he can’t see or admit what he’s doing.
Rep. Mike Flood is a DOGE Faithful and Trump lover. Back in March, his constituents called him out for DOGE’s cuts to research, Medicaid, and Medicare. Flood defended it by saying that cuts were needed because of the national debt. Back then, Flood said, “Ultimately, where we need to go is to a balanced budget. How can you be against a balanced budget?” This, before passing that bill that cut taxes for the wealthy. It all reeks of bullshit and hypocrisy, doesn’t it? The way they’re ‘governing’ is a crime.
Okay, out of lecture mode. Coffee has been embraced; into writing mode. Have the best day you can, and do things that make you hold your head up high. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 