Hello, my fellow voyagers. (Pause: made me think of an old series, “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea”. No, that’s not where we’re going, fingers crossed, knock wood. But do you remember the Irwin Allen series?)
Today is Friday, 02232024. Outside bubbles with spring-like sunshine under a clear blue sky and a gentle, friendly wind. Things are blooming and green is showing up. Snow? Sadly, no snow in our area. 57 F now, that’s what was called out as the high, so we may see warmer late afternoon temperatures.
Think the floofs are happy? You betcha. This warm stuff has Papi galloping around like a youngster. Tucker watches the other, plotting moves by the look in his eyes, but instead, he faces the sun and washes his gleaming white and black fur in the sunshine.
Read a lot of news and politics this morning but I’ve decided to veer away from those things for the day. The Neurons are feeding the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) with The Replacements and their ripping song, “Can’t Hardly Wait”. Good driving beat to the song.
First, it was triggered by an episode of The Bear a couple weeks ago, taking me back to 1987, when I first heard it. During that period, I was stationed in South Carolina but heading to Egypt for six weeks of some fun in the sand. The Neurons returned it to me by a single line, “I’ll be home when I’m sleeping,” itself triggered from a dream trilogy.
The Egyptian experience was definitely memorable. Besides visiting the Pyramids and Sphinx, and meeting many lovely citizens of that nation, there was the experience of solar cooking our MREs on the tops of tents and coping with duststorms and scorpions. Best, I think, though, was the daily shower experience. Lining up across the desert as the sun rose found us shivering. We’d file into the shower tent so many at a time, strip down, and stand around a pole with six shower heads. Then hot water on for three minutes to wet down. Another minute off for soaping up, and then another minute to rinse off. Then dry and dress and walk back across the dusty, sandy desert to stow your gear and head to the chow tent for some freshly reconstituted powdered eggs.
Later in the day, the bombing runs would begin with various fighter and bombers coming in low and fast to pretend they’re attacking our camp. A little noisy, yes.
Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote, and I’ll do the same. But first, coffee! Here’s the music. Seize the day, my friends. Cheers
While it’s Thursday, February 22, 2024, the weather has twisted toward spring here in Ashlandia in southern Oregon. Winds be blowing with a wintry taste but sunshine blinds the eyes and blue sky mixes it up with piecemeal white and gray clouds. None of the clouds are large but they can be something if they unite and stay together.
It’s 54 F now after mid 30s as our overnight lows, and will tweak a few more degrees north of the current temp. The cats are not happy with the situation. “It’s the wind,” they complain. “Too much damn wind for our whiskers.”
The house painting is done and the bill is paid. $7650. Looks fab, though, and we’re happy with it, so I guess it’s worth it.
The Neurons have infiltrated the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) with some Rush flavored prog rock, aka progressive rock or prock. Today’s song is “New World Man” from 1982. I can’t find the roots of its presence in the MMMS, only that sometime while I was in the kitchen after feeding the floof boys, that song was in my head as I prepped my brekkie. It’s a song I know from a military co-worker on Okinawa. Rush music was a big staple of his listening hoard. He considered them severely underrated and unappreciated.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote. That’s all we ask of you; is that so much? I hope not. Coffee has been served and sampled. Here we go, into the winds of a new day. And here’s the music. Cheers
Hey guys, here we are, on Wednesday, 02212024. Or 21022024. Or 20240221. All are right, depending on your region, or maybe your profession.
Sprinter has popped back into Ashlandia. Dollops of gray clouds drop rain that glisten with sunshine. Everything is blooming. Snow? What is this thing called snow? Describe it for me, please. Amendment: that was snark. There’s some snow on the mountains shadowing our valley.
It’s 46 F now, and we’re projected to progress to 57 F before the sun pulls the shades on the day and the weather unplugs the warmth. 36 F will be our low tonight. Not bad.
I’m into GOP politics today. Trump’s changing stories about the classified documents he wouldn’t give up keeps me laughing. There were no classified documents because he declassified them, he said at first. Oh, wait, the FBI planted it there.No, no, I didn’t have to turn it over he’s saying now, and we were talking about turning them over when the FBI raided Mar-a-largo. Which, if we follow his thinking, means there were classified documents which he hadn’t turned over, so he lied from the start. And it was protected better than Biden’s classified documents, which is irrelevant, and shows again, that there were classified materials which he didn’t turn over. Doesn’t matter how protected he claims the classified documents were. The point is, he wasn’t supposed to have them, was supposed to return them, tried to hide them, and continually lied about them.
His continuing spin is worthy of a soap opera. “As the Trump Turns” or “General Bullshit”, we can call his shitshow. Who in their right mind will believe these shifting sands of explanations?
Well, I wrote, ‘in their right mind’. That eliminates many GOP members, politicians, and supporters. Take for instance, the state of play with electing and retaining a speaker. The maniac arm of the MAGA GOP make it a point of contention to turn down any bill or measure that might be actual governing, and then forced Speaker McCarthy out after he so desperately pursued the office. Now Mike Johnson has taken over and faces the same demonic situation. Then these fine representatives blamed everyone else for the mayhem they keep causing.
For example, look at the immigration issue. The GOP and their supporters are supposedly up in arms about that problem. GOP state governors are declaring that President Biden and the Democrats aren’t doing enough, even as GOP governors illegally block the Federal government from taking action. Meanwhile, back on Capitol Hill, a bi-partisan bill was created only to have the Speaker and the maniacs withdraw support on orders from Dear Leader, Donald Trump. All but Trump supporters see through this play. Trump and the spineless GOP don’t want an effective answer for the immigration issue and the southern border at this time. Yet one of the maniacs, Marjorie Taylor Green, predictably steps up to complain nothing is being done even after she voted to do nothing.
Their hypocrisy is breathtaking but not surprising. The Trump GOP thrives on selling fear on the issue to their supporters. If a bill is passed, that makes President Biden and the Democrats look effective. The GOP can’t do that! That’s about the single issue they can depend on at this point to keep supporters in line because they’ve fucked themselves with complete abortion bans and the persecution of women for daring to try to make decisions about their own bodies. Now they’re fucking themselves over supporting NATO and the Ukraine. They’re abandoning everything the United States became after WWII.
If you didn’t understand it before, understand it now. The Trump GOP is not progressive. Throwbacks to the Nazi Germany era, the Trump GOP is willing to support a dictator on the basis of no other position but to stay in power. They fear everyone but whites. They even attack powerful women — say a young singer like Taylor Swift, to name one of many women they’ve attacked under Trump — and are eager to shut everyone down except white men, especially wealthy white men. They love themselves wealthy white men and bend over to fuck themselves if they can help wealthy white men. That wealthy white men will save the world is the foundation of their trickledown theory of government.
We shouldn’t be surprised. White ‘Christians’ are one of the GOP’s largest sects. They’ve been afraid of Jews since before WWII and have been eager to undermine democracy in order to stop the Jews. All this is fed by baseless conspiracies. The GOP, as it’s evolved, has depended more and more upon unfounded conspiracy theories to garner support. Are we witnessing its zenith as they support the baseless lies — proven in US courts — that Donald Trump had the election stolen from him, and that they government is actually being run by a shadow government? What happens in the elections of 2024 will reveal much about the GOP and the foundations of democratic republic known as the United States.
With all this happening, The Neurons started singing, “Don’t mess with a MAGA man,” this morning. Up popped the Eurythmics with “Missionary Man” (1986) in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). It’s an ironic use by The Neurons as they chuckle at the GOP white christians and evangelicals declare that the serial sinner, liar, and adulterer known as Donald J. Trump, a very wealthy man who hoards his wealth and hates any and all who dare criticize him, threatening violence at every turn, is God’s chosen to lead the United States. I need to ask, lead the United States into what? At any rate, to return to the song, GOP politicians at every level eagerly support the MAGA man and dare the rest of us to mess with him.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and please vote. Here’s the music. Coffee guzzling has commenced. On to other writing. Cheers
I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.
And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.
The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.
Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.
While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.
Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.
Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.
The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.
What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.
The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.
Rain and wuthering rule Monday, Feb. 19, 2024 in Ashlandia, where the roads are average and the people can be nice. 52 F now, circumstances have aligned to deliver 56 F. Rain falls in short showers, and sunshine sometimes clear through the layered cloud cake to brighten the scene. Mainly, though, it’s wind and rain.
You probably know the weather situation annoys the home floofs. How can you expect us to go out in this weather and be wild animals, they complain. Do something about it.
“Would if I could,” I tell them, “but the door game must cease. Here, have a treat.”
“Thanks,” they grumble, devouring treats. “More. Come on, don’t hold back, it’s rainy and windy. More treats! We deserve them.”
With his improved health, Tucker shows more interest in Papi, displeasing to Papi. Papi starts past; Tucker heads for him. Papi breaks into a short gambol. Tucker attempts to give chase. His mind is game but his elderly joints and muscles call, “Hey, take a chill pill.”
Today’s theme song comes from things happening to others. The phrase, “What would you do in my place?” comes up. Out of that comes The Neurons with Coldplay performer “In My Place” in the morning mental music stream. This 2002 melding of vocals and instruments is heavy with regretful wonder, just like the people I communicated with. Not a bad song, but it wore out its welcome with me for a while. Commuting along highway 101 and Interstate 280, and various expressways, the song found frequent radio time for a while after its release and became one that often prompted me to change the channel. It just happens sometimes.
Be strong, stay positive, keep leaning forward, and for the love of democracy, please vote. Coffee — second cup — pulled up. Time to sip and write. Here’s the music. Cheers
This Saturday, Feb 17, 2024, is meh again. Like a giant gray spaceship is hovering above us, blotting out the natural sky and sunshine. Rain has begun streaking the windows again. The wind’s been gusting all morning, as if a giant wind machine has been turned onto four. There are eleven settings for the machine, of course.
It’s 54 F now. We’re closing on 1 PM. 56 F will be our high. Another late start to posting, caused again by reading (fiction and non-fiction books, along with netnews), and writing my own fiction. Had to read more stories about Trump travails. His rages about (fill in the space). Rage, lying, hating, he’s commendably capable of those three things and demonstrates them often.
Tucker is doing much better today. I reduced his pain med, and he’s adjusting, as they suggested he would. So happy to see that.
Papi is not happy today. After being denied permission to go out from dusk to dawn, I let him out this morning only for him to encounter the wind. When it finally reduced its strength, rain moved in. Papi no like wind and rain.
I’m not crowing about the NY fraud judgement against Trump. From what I read, justice has been served, though I know how malleable justice can be. My wife raged yesterday about Trump’s immunity matter. In her opinion, something like that should’ve been answered post haste. “The Supreme Court should have already said that nobody is above prosecution for crimes.” Slam dunk to her, with no offramp for any reason.
So why haven’t the Supremes acted? Why are they stalling, she demands. Well, we know much about this court by now, and Roberts’s concern about his legacy. And several of the Supremes were plugged into the court as Trump’s choice. What happens if they rule against him? There will probably be death threats against them and even possibly protests at the court or at their homes. My wife and I think they’re very worried about those matters. But to rule that Trump is immune seems hugely unthinkable. Yes, it’s high drama.
Musically, I read that the Beach Boys began recording the song, “Good Vibrations” on this date in 1966. Ten years old, I connected with this song as soon as it came out later that year, so without the need for much comment, I’ll tell you that The Neurons immediately put it on in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). The song’s dramatic shifts in tempo and sound, and the lyrics about vibrations and love and attraction, all captivated me, along with the theremins’ use, and the softly melded piece with an organ that invokes the sense of being in a church. This is a song which I always used to crank up in volume and fall still to appreciate. I often still do, over sixty years later.
I was talking to one of the painters yesterday as they wrapped up. “How long have you been doing this?” I asked. He was so proficient. He ended up telling me he was 51, and he’s been doing this for 30 years. I reflected, I retired from the military twenty-nine years ago, just a year after he began his career.
Stay positive, remain strong, leeeaaannn forward, and vote. Strengthened by the power of coffee, I’ll do the same. Here’s the music. Cheers
It’s a meh sky for Friday, Feb. 16, 2024, just like yesterday’s meh sky. Yesterday turned to rain by the early afternoon. It’s warmer today, though, 48 F, up from 38 F, with chances of breaking into the fifties later.
Took my elderly floof, Tucker, to the vet yesterday. He has severe inflamation on his mouth’s left side, especially the lower mandible. Besides his dental issues, bloodwork shows he has a hyperactive thyroid. Everything else looked good, but he’d lost seven pounds since he was last checked, years ago, and now weights ten pounds. Painkillers were prescribed, along with meds to address the thyroid, and an anabotic steroid shot given. Plans are to treat the thyroid treatment, do more blood work in six weeks, and then address his teeth. He ate well last night, was given his meds, and slept. Today, though, after receiving his meds and eating, he vomited and then basically went comatose. I worried that I’d need to take him to an emergency vet but my wife found more details about the drugs and side-effects. We concluded that Tucker was going through one possibility on the spectrum of reactions. We made him warm and comfortable and slipped in a few drops of water. The websites said this state would wear out after eight hours. We witnessed his responsiveness improve withint four hours. He then started shifted himself around, making himself more comfortale. It felt like whatever crises may have existed had passed. I am reducing his dosage, though.
The painters finished the house exterior painting. They did a sensational job. We’re highly pleased.
My wife was out of the house at her exercise class/coffee clatch when the painters were here and I was dealing with Tucker. Those four hours felt more like six and a quarter. Meanwhile, Papi had been in and out, and had at least three sequels of going in and out in the books, when he decided, with the wind blowing, inside was better. But now, each time the painters knocked or rang the bell alarmed Papi. He’d look to me for guidance, didn’t like what he read, lower his belly to the floor and pelt off to the back bedroom to save himself. Quite a morning. Coffee saved me.
After reading Jill Dennison’s post about “Day Tripper” by the Beatle’s last night, The Neurons cranked up “Revolution” (1968) in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). There was controversy about the song’s lyrics: do you want revolution? Why are you singing it’s going to be alright? How come you’re saying, count me out? I always took it to mean this was a song about peaceful change, and felt that I understood what Lennon was saying: we will have change, and it will be alright, and we don’t need to destroy the world to make that happen. Full stop.
Stay pos, be strong, lean forward, and vote it’s time. Coffee has been guzzled and more is being ordered. Take the day and make it yours. Here’s the music. Cheers
Today is Wednesday, Feb. 14. 2024, my fellow travelers. Which means Valentine’s Day. You probably haven’t heard about this little-known holiday. Invented to sell more jewelry, candy, flowers, and cards while increasing liquor and restaurant business. According to a 2017 ABC News piece, Valentine’s Day spending in that year topped $136 per person on average.
Sadly for my partner, my romantic tendencies withered away long ago. She accepts that with acidic humor, but accepts. Although she doesn’t cop to remembering this, she told me in our first years of marriage not to buy her Valentine’s Day Gifts. I was hurt, and I remember. She bought a bag of Dove dark chocolate hearts and made little gift bags for her friends. They were passed out after exercise class this morning; she said she’s celebrating ‘Galentine’s Day’, because, “We gals don’t need men.” Her gay friends are included. She cracks me up. BTW, I did buy her a gift last year, some lovely little earrings which she likes. Or claims to. She does wear them. We did go out to dinner last night, too.
Rainy, cloudy, and chilly are today’s descriptors. Temperature is 44 F and it’s not going much higher. In the give and take between winter and spring, and their offspring, sprinter, winter has asserted its presence.
The rain is keeping the housepainters away. They are very close to having our house done. It’s a welcome break, because they’ve been by the house almost every day for almost two weeks. The cars also appreciate it, because they can relax and behave ‘normally’. Well, Papi can. Tucker has been reasonably unaffected by the painters. Just his nature. Meanwhile, we’ve been keeping them in at night because, cougar. Papi is generally displeased by this development but I assuage his mood by giving him a treat when he wants out. He eats that and goes off and sleeps. Knock on wood that this strategy continues working without him becoming a chunkofloof.
Lot of interesting and exciting political news today. Maybe it’s just my natural optimism rising or I’m being naive, but my confidence for a Biden re-election victory is rising. Fingers crossed, etc.
The Neurons didn’t have anything loaded into the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). I don’t know what’s wrong with them. On vacation? Sleeping in? Hungove? I don’t know. After some thinking as I fed the cats and myself, I thought I’d share Madonna’s 1990 song (written by Lenny Kravitz), “Justify My Love”. Returning from a four-year tour of Germany with the military, I saw the video for it when I was in a hotel at my new base the following February (1991) and thought, holy cow, or something like that.
But then I came across this thing on Facebook, so I’m instead sharing Taylor Swift and Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow) performing “Smelly Cat”. This song was featured on a television sitcom called “Friends”. “Smelly Cat” was introduced to the show in 1995, and was regularly performed several years after that. It’s a humours little piece.
Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote when the opportunity arises. I will do the same. Now, back to drinking coffee for me. Here’s the music. Cheers
Mood: jubtimism. (Yes, that’s a weird combo of jubilant and optimistic, weird in face of the dark news that keeps spitting in my face.)
Hey to all who are doing time with me on the third rock. Today is Tuesday, Feb. 13, 2024. Completely gray on gray today, again, with sunshine shifting and sliding through cloud breaks when it can. Daffs have broken out to spread their color across the sprinter landscape. 50 F now, no snow on the ground in the valley or nearby peaks. If you need to see some snow, hop onto I5 and drive a few miles south to Mt. Ashland. If you don’t turn off for Mt Ashland but keep going toward California, Mt. Shasta, just fifty miles away, will present a postcard image for you as the Interstate rises and falls.
I watched the Super Bowl last Sunday and saw some NFL commercials about bullying. That woke up some Neurons, who came up with a 1989 Chris Rea song, “The Road to Hell”, and have it playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). See, these big NFL players quoted children and adults who were bullied. The survivors talked about facing daily fear. Terror. Likewise, we have this election campaign where fear and terror are being employed in lieu of policies or intelligent discourse. If Trump wins, he promised to be a dictator. Some of his followers tried overthrowing the election results back on Jan 6, 2021. They now promise greater violence if Trump loses, as do members of Congress who carry his water. Contrary to all presented facts and evidence, they insist that Trump win the 2020 election, but was cheated out of staying in office.
And now, facing all manner of trials and criminal charges, which seem to be stacking up, Trump wants to be declared immune from anything criminal he did while President. As the first judicial panel ruling on his claim noted, that would remove the POTUS from the checks and balances built into the Constitution. If that happened, what, beyond his character, would stop President Biden from saying, “Gosh, if Trump is immune, so am I.”
So there are fears out there for our democracy and republic. Hence, The Neurons pulled up the lines from Chris Rea’s 1989 song, “The perverted fear of violence chokes the smile off every face. Common sense is ringing out bells. This ain’t no technological breakdown. Oh, no. This is the road to hell.”
Sorry if I’m as dark as my coffee this morning. Been reading Rachel Maddow’s book, Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism, yesterday and today. Illuminating, of course, but sometimes history can be depressing. She traces the efforts of paramilitary groups trying to end democracy in the US back in the 1930s to give fascism a chance. They worked under names like The Christian Front, the Silver Legion, and the American White Guard. These were lunatics with powerful friends, which aptly summarizes much of the MAGA movement and QAnon. In summary, both in the past and now, I didn’t realize that so many Americans harbored an authoritarian mindset. Being a Star Trek fan, I though boldly heading toward a new era of equality, freedom, and justice. I didn’t realize that a block of people exist who abhor those things.
On the flip side of my dark street, Jamie Lee Curtis’s performance as the matriarch in The Bear was powerful stuff. Yes, we’re just catching up with the second season. I’d heard about the hit series, and decided to check it out. Glad on did.
Also on the bright side, the house painting is moving closer to fini. That’s pretty darn exciting. Looking back, the project’s genesis was in the early months of 2020. We were just collecting names for bids when COVID landed and the shutdown commenced. In 2021, we moved toward getting quotes but supplies were limited because of supply chain issues in response to the COVID shutdown. Not much was done in 2022 about the painting because…(cough, cough) COVID. Finally, in 2023, quotes were gathered and agreements made, but the painting backlog pushed us back to this year.
I’ve had coffee, thanks. Be strong, remain positive, lean forward, and voOte. Register first, of course. Pitter patter, get ‘er at her. Here is Chris Rea with his slide guitar. Cheer
Season’s greetings, everyone, no matter what season envelopes your existence this date. This day and date are Monday, Feb. 12, 2024. Spring has reasserted its stance here in Ashlandia, where the theater is above average. 51 F under a cloudy sky where the sun keeps breaking through, our high is supposed to be just one more degree over the current temp.
It’s another late start for posting for me. I assisted my wife’s Food & Friends deliveries. I’m her driver. That started at 10 AM. We were finished circulating around Ashlandia’s southern streets and home by II:30, having taken a hot meal to fourteen homes, part of a small army out there doing this almost every day.
In good news — for us in Ashlandia — our snowpack significantly scored with the last storms. It now stands at over 70% of normal, thanks to the atmospheric rivers that dumped on California and much of the PNW. Sad for CA and their losses. Brutal to read of the flooding, mudslides, destruction, and death, or see videos of it. Meanwhile, the northeastern US has another snowstorm descending on them. Fingers crossed that it doesn’t do too much to the area and that no one dies.
In stories about other worries and losses, did you see Donald Trump Jr’s post? I had to remind myself that this came from a supposedly educated and intelligent adult human. The crass humor demonstrates an adolescent’s maturity and a first-grader’s intelligence. That this comes from the son of the mighty GOP’s leader, that it involves a family member and not a candidate, that it involves a former first lady, that it’s racist and misogynistic, and that GOP leadership said nothing about it, speaks volumes about that side of the political spectrum. The Principles of the GOP: RIP.
By the way, the KC Chiefs beat the SF 49ers in the Super Bowl yesterday. Kelce Travis and Taylor Swift said nothing about voting for President Joe Biden, despite right wing predictions of that happening. Surprise.
Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, and maybe not, but my spouse enjoys reading Reddit threads about the modern dating scene in America. She enjoys, too, reading the stories tell while asking for advice about what to do in their marriages or relationships. In a recent one, a 27-year-old man was pursuing his dream of becoming a professional video game player. I knew such a position exists, but I didn’t know the rest, like they have teams, and coaches. It’s evolved much more since I’ve last paid attention to it. The girlfriend writing in was talking about how he was not supporting them while he accused her of the same.
She doesn’t believe he’s good enough to be a pro, and the evidence does stand against him. People commented, pointing out that he is too old at this point because the oldest pro gamer now is 25. However, I dislike telling people to give up their dreams. Hell, I’m pursuing my own of becoming a novelist, despite my age (I’m almost 28). Trying to look at it from both sides, I feel for him and his partner. Showing signs of my own fiction writing addiction, I immediately saw how it could be part of a novel.
I don’t know why, but today had The Neurons post “Missing You” by John Waite into the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). I enjoy the 1984 soft rock tune, having frequently heard it on the radio while buzzing around Okinawa during my final year of living there. Why that song today? Don’t know. I’d been doing cleaning after feeding cats previous to showering and dressing when I realized it had taken over the MMMS. No clues were found for why. Anyway, that’s today’s theme music.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote when you can. Now fortified with coffee, I’ll do the same. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 