I watched a young woman walking past the coffee shop. Wearing light-toned blue jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, a dark blue ball cap let dark hair escape but was pulled low, like she was some manner of gunslinger from wild west days. It was her walk which struck me; her white shoes seemed to slap the concrete and she kept her head down, as though she had to concentrate like the Newman song, left foot, right foot, left foot, and so on.
That walk and style reminded me of someone I knew but no names came to mind. I’ve always been bad with names and faces.
Thou has come a distance, traveler. You’ve reached the holy land of Monday, January 29, 2024. Please sit and rest. Something to drink? Wine, coffee? Something stronger?
We have dense fog and high wind warnings out. Fog isn’t in my view; that’s blue with lazy lacy white ribbons of unrolling clouds. But wind is beating down those trees, shaking the bushes, and causing the cats to hunker and blast back in when they have a chance. Now 62 F outside my home, today’s high will be 70 F.
Wait, what?
Yeah, I read that right on my goto weather site. It’s wonderfully comfortable. Makes you feel like a new lover is touching you. But alas, it ain’t good for our general situation. Our snowbank is only 36% of the standard. We do have more wintering to do and there is generally a change in February and a final winter push in March, but to be at this snowpack level at this time of year is wince-inducing for what the summer will be like. Fingers and toes and legs and arms are crossed that summer won’t be life in a burning charcoal briquet again.
The Neurons have “I’m Just A Singer (In A Rock & Roll Band)” by the Moody Blues playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). I was thinking about what I wanted and needed to do this day when Der Neurons began playing it and I sang along. I know the song well, even though the majority of my high school friends and people since weren’t Moody Blues fans, forcing me to enjoy them alone. Except for “Nights In White Satin”. Lot of my friends knew and enjoyed that song.
What interests me about this 1973 song, and it probably only interests me, is that I played this song last year, that is, January of 2023. What is it about January or this song that they meet in my mind in January?
Looking at last year’s Moody Blues post, I wrote:
Today will reach 55 F or so before the sun vanishes from the Ashlandia sky around the 5:20 PM time period — it’ll be earlier in the mountains’ shadows by an hour or seem like the sun has set — but the forecasters are warning us. Winter is going to get serious. Lower temperatures will be coming by, clouds are collecting, and rain and snow are possible. Then, fanfare, Monday will see an Arctic blast. Lows will freefall into the teens. Daytime highs will scrap into the thirties. Break out extra binkies and some space heaters, hope power doesn’t fail, and take measures to ensure your pipes don’t freeze. The hardest part, though, will be convincing Papi to stay in. He’s gonna test the temps, I know.
Lots to do today. Food and Friends deliveries in about thirty minutes. That’ll eat 90 minutes. Writing and editing. Call Dad. Text Mom. Catch up with Sis. Store for a few items, nothing critical. Finish and submit my taxes. I usually have them in by now. Can’t believe I’ve waited this long.
Stay pos, remain strong, and lean forward. Here we go. Coffee up and dance. Here’s the music. Cheers
Hello, fellow third-rockers. Sunday, January 28, 2024, has risen. That sun we’re orbiting has taken over the day. Last night at midnight, it was 57 degrees F; now it’s 65 F. No clouds are playing with the sunshine. Precipitation trickled off yesterday afternoon, giving us a glorious day which is way more spring than winter. It feels like 73 F, they tell us, and I agree. The cats and I were wholly astonished by this twist of warmth, though the cats didn’t stay outside because, wind, they whined. They no like wind. Today’s high will be 68 F.
Three US military troops were killed in a drone strike in the middle East, and so tit-for-tat will begin as President Biden promises retaliation sometime and somewhere. I understand the position but don’t like it: each nation, when attacked for whatever reason, promises to get back at the attackers because otherwise there’s a perception of weakness. All that spills into politics; if President B orders retaliation, he’s reviled by many, but if he doesn’t, he’s reviled by many. Striking the balance between the two is difficult. Then there’s the long game about broader theater escalation, and the impact of retaliation on trade, goods and services, and the political machinations outside of that region. It’s a messy, messy world.
In other news, Trump has decried the border deal (yawn) being circulated to protect the US southern border. I say yawn about this because everyone expected this move by Trump. The Wall Street Journal editorial board even warned him not to do that a few days ago, reminding him of the potential damage to the GOP brand in some many words in this election year when the Republicans are trying to offer proof that Democrats are weak on border security. But come on, man. Trump is the man who lost a case against Jean Carroll, but couldn’t stop slandering and defaming her, was tried again and lost in court, and now needs to pay her 83 million dollars. Yet, he continues the very activity which brought him to that point. Will there be another case for Carroll v. Trump? I’m willing to bet there will be, and that Trump will lose again, but continue his ways, because he has no self-control and doesn’t listen to any advice except his own.
“Rock On” by David Essex from 1973 occupies the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). I enjoyed the song as a youngster because of its interesting, unusual sound. It’s so minimalist, with echoes and unusual beats, and a truncated stream of thought riff on rock and roll and youth. It arrived today because, as a boomer, “Rock on,” is one of my go-to phrases, just as Trump’s screaming “FAKE NEWS” is one of his go-to phrases. I say “Rock on” in response to my wife when she says she’ll be over by the home decor section of a store. Naturally, Les Neuons, being the characters they arecranked up the song. It’s their nature and they rarely swerve from it.
Side note, another heavy barrage of dreams were experienced overnight. I’m still recovering from the previous night’s barrage. It did inspire the start of another novel with Quantum Voodoo as the working title, although I’m still editing one and just began writing another with the working title of Level 7, the corollary to the novel in progress being edited, Why.
Be strong, stay positive, and lean forward. Coffee is being consumed in the phantom drawing room. Sorry, virtual drawing room; it’s a new era. Here’s the music. Cheers
I’m often visited by earworms. It’s a chronic thing. Songs from across my lifetime drop by in the part of my head where music memories reside, the mental music stream. This often happens in the morning, giving that realm the name, morning mental music stream.
These songs don’t just drop in and depart. They’re normally on a tour that lasts several days. Well, I recently shared a song as my day’s theme music, “Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode. After dressing, heading out the door for the coffee shop this morning, I was singing it aloud as it played in the MMMS when I suddenly remembered Mom singing it to me once during a visit home, Mom, with her Doris Day voice.
Oh, that made me laugh. The song came out in 1989. I lived in Germany then, so I think it was when I came back to America in 1991 and visited her that the singing took place. I don’t know how she knew the song, but suspected it was through her daughters or grandchildren.
Hello, fellow travelers. Today is Whensday, January 24, 2024. For some reason, when I started typing the date, the autotype tried changing the date to December 19. WTAF?
Moody gray clouds tease rain threats and wrestle with the blue sky. Sunshine shoots between them as the clouds jostle to takeover. There may be factions up in the troposphere, arguing over what the weather should be like in Ashlandia, where the deer are numerous and an annual subject for disagreement in our burg. It’s 52 F and mostly cloudy, and the high should have the thermometer pausing at 56 F. It’s rained and it’s windy and more might be on the way.
Reading some emails this morning, an update from Scottie’s Playground came up: Jesus 2.0/Christopher Titus/Armegeddon Update. Seeing that headline, The Neurons instantly shuffled “Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode into the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). As Titus mentions, evangelicals have appointed DJT as their own personal Jesus. They tolerantly overlook his lying, cheating on his wives and affairs by declaring, “Everyone has a past,” and threat of violence, and snarl at the rest of us to stop being so mean to TFG and them. They’re just promoting this guy to make the world better, and they know this because god sent him!
While I cite the original Depeche Mode version of “Personal Jesus”, I also recommend and include the 2002 Johnny Cash cover. As his health was falling, JC — that’s Johnny Cash and not Jesus Christ — thoughtfully covered a number of rock songs, bringing a deeply personal delivery to them that makes ’em worth listening and thinking about.
In the means’ while, this is Whensday again because I’m weary of holding my breath and waiting for things to resolve, asking myself (drum roll), when will this be resolved? ‘This’, of course, is the Trump led, MAGA fueled, GOP supported, 3% funded effort to end Democracy in the United States. Whether that’s hyperbola is part of the whole Whensday question. We already know from experience that DJT was a sadsack of a POTUS, but weirdly, the MAGAs believe he was brilliant. I attribute a chunk of that to asymmetrical expectations.
Asymmetrical expectations were pointed out on Pondering Politics on Youtube when they dissected Gavin Newsome’s recent appearance on Bill Maher. Jessiah points out how differently the world, including the media, responds to the political parties in the US and their leaders when the MAGA segment unleashes a cruelly flavored shit storm versus reactions to when the Democratic side points something out, and Jessiah, our political nerd host, brings receipts. It’s worth a listen, IMO.
Stay pos, be strong, and keep leaning forward. Coffee has been sampled and approved, and is now being guzzled. Here’s the Cash and DM videos. Cheers
Today is January 23, 2024, and Tuesday. I awoke to a rich blue sky and booming morning sun. First time I’ve seen a rosy sunrise this year. The temperature was 39 F then but it’s already climbed to 52 F. Word is, 66 F might be reached. Super.
Tucker and I saw a hummingbird flitting around our bushes this morning when we went out onto the front porch. While I enjoy this stimulating clear, warm, weather, we need the snow on the mountains to survive the summer, so come on, nature. Give us snow in the mountains. Snow could become possible, my optimistic Neurons declared. Clouds are expected to steal in, and in fact can now be seen creeping over the southern mountains. So, rain can come, and cold temperatures can return, and snow can fall. Tick, tick, we’ll see.
Three pieces of political news struck me today. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t hard and didn’t bruise.) First up, Jamell Bouie’s simple observation in his NYTimes column.
DeSantis also refused to contest Trump’s election denialism, a choice that almost guaranteed his failure in the primaries. Can you seriously position yourself as a winner and Trump as a loser when the consensus of the voters you are seeking to win is that Trump didn’t lose?
So real; why do Republicans believe anything can change so long as they support Trump’s Big Lie? No evidence has been presented; it is simply his bombastic declaration it is so, and a legion of sycophants saying, “Yep, yep, yep, it’s true.” So bizarre, they are in that party, and getting more so.
Next, we had Rep. Pete Stauber (R). The government is financing a bridge to replace the Blatnick Bridge. Rep Stauber is crowing with pride for the bridge, these monies, and this plan, even though he voted against it. This is a common GOP tactic, and he got called out for his duplicity by many folk. Whether it’ll keep him from being re-elected is another matter; many voters have limited vision when it comes to their guy.
Finally, in this trifecta of info, the Doomsday Clock has been updated for 2024 and it’s still ninety seconds to midnight, the closest to midnight that it’s been since it was begun in June of 1947. The thinkers behind it point to threats posed by AI, climate change, and potential nuclear war. Don’t worry, though; we’re an intelligent, sophisticated species and are capable of thinking through these problems, arriving at effective solutions, and then implementing them. Yeah. Sure. (Yes, that is sarcasm.)
Enough of that stuff. To the music! I have the Rolling Stones’ song of 1966 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark doomed), “Mother’s Little Helper”. Reading and thinking about people’s health issues, I muttered something to myself about getting old. Les Neurons pounced. Although “Mother’s Little Helper” is about the drugs being prescribed to and abused by women in the 1960s, there’s a repeated line in the song, “What a drag it is getting old.” Yes, indeed, it can be a drag.
BTW, today marks the anniversary of the day in 1957 when the Pluto Platter inventor sold his product to Wham-o, who changed its name to Frisbee and began selling it.
Stay pos, be strong, lean way forward and vote for progress. My cells are already soaking in coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers
Hello, fellow citizens of the Sol system. We have landed on Sunday January 21, 2024.
It’s a little bit day; little bit sunny, windy, rainy, warm, cold. Should be a little bit ‘o rainbow out there somewhere.
Once again, I come to you after reading some news, and end up a little bit disappointed, saddened, surprised, disturbed, and shocked. Pretty typical, really. Flipping through radio channels as I went downtown to coffee shop #2, I heard a woman on the radio saying how much Trump is needed now. Cuz, she said, crime is up and the economy is down, and our border is just a mess, stating all these things as a given without offering any stats or evidence. Don’t know if I’d trust her stats and evidence, anyway, as I was a little bit suspicious of her, especially when she ended by telling us that God sent Trump to us. Rebut: God sent Biden to us. That’s why he won, right? Debate.
Today’s theme music is “All Mixed Up” by 311 from 1996. My ginger floof, Papi, inspired The Neurons to choose this song. Rain was falling and the sun was shining and the wind was blowing when I opened the back door and let Papi bounce outside, tail up and energetic. Wind smooching his face caused him to turn away like he was gonna come back in, but then he remembered that he was a wild beast, king of the outdoors, so he redirected his course toward the sunshine, only to retreat as rain showered him. Again he began a return to inside the house only to recall his wild vows, and changed directions to head across the patio where he sat, washed, and debated his options.
Watching all that, The Neurons kicked “All Mixed Up” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark a little bit). But it’s a good song selection for other reasons, like the world’s state vice expectations and attitudes: the song declares, “You’ve got to trust your instinct, and let go of regret. You’ve got to bet on yourself now, star, ’cause that’s your best bet.” I like that aspect as it’s directing me to look forward and trust myself.
Be strong, stay pos, lean forward and trust yourself. I’m havin’ a little bit more coffee now. Then I’ll go on with a little bit of editing and home chores. Here’s the music. Cheers
I have a weather report fresh from outside. Papi, my orange boi, reports miserable conditions. Blowing winds, rain, and no sun or warmth at all breaking free of the fortress of bulging grey and white clouds. “Quite miserable,” he miserably said. I stroked his back and found the fur soaked and cold. Pulling out a towel, I dried him as he finished his commentary. “Dogs might enjoy it but no civilized floof would.” He gave me a glance. “I think you’ll need more of that extra fur you wear.”
It’s 42 and will be 53 F for the record. He’s spot on with the rest.
I haven’t read any news this morning, occupying my time with reading a novel instead. So I’m in a good mood, but sketchy because I need to dash away soon. Having experienced so much trouble this week finding a good writing perch at the coffee shops, I decided I need to leave the house earlier, forcing me to step up from coffee sipping speed to at least coffee gulping.
Today’s theme music is a 1992 song called “Connected” by Stereo MC’s. The Neurons dished some of the lyrics into the morning mental music stream (Trademark half-baked) when I was busy with the early morning rituals. “Gonna get myself connected. I see through you. I see through you. Your dirty tricks. You make me sick.” Then there’s that chorus: “If you make sure you’re connected, the writing’s on the wall. But if your mind’s neglected, stumble you might fall.”
Yeah, somehow that fits this year’s early feel. If you’re not paying attention, you can stumble and fall because there’s so much information pouring through our lives about who said and did what and the ramifications of this stone getting turned over, or that nuance of someone’s expression. Yikes. Gotta pay attention.
I don’t think I’ve heard this song in a while but back in 1990s, while scurrying about the SF Bay Area on shopping trips and work commutes, I heard it often. I like it’s rythm, beat, and lyrics. It’s an easy song to sing when you’re alone in a car or driving with someone who will put up with your singing, or even join in.
Be positive, stay strong, test negative, and keep leaning forward toward better times. We can get there if we don’t stumble and fall. That’s why I drink coffee; keeps me moving forward. Kind of. Sometimes it’s a sideways shuffle but it’s often forward, even if it’s just by millimeters. Here’s the music. Cheers
Hello, friends. It’s Friday, January 19, 2024, which means we have eleven months left in this year to get things done. 52 F here right now, we’re again trapped in a spring-like day in Ashlandia, where the valley is narrow and the days are pleasant. Striated clouds in shades of blues and grays are offering a promise of more rain and a high two degrees further up the thermometer.
Read news about a killing done with a hammer, new titanium dentures for a celebrity (just 850K if you want to get some), a messed up speech by Trump where he displayed confusion and forgetfulness, and an Oregon teen who witnessed a winter accident and saved a child. In the last, the individual said she saw a car slide on ice into a power pole. It killed three of the people in the car but she saved the fourth, a nine-month-old. Meanwhile, the US is in conflict with Houthi rebels in Yemen. The Houthi have been launching missiles at ships in international waters, and the US has begun conducting air strikes against these missile strikes. Will it escalate? Escalation seems to be the pattern in vogue when it comes to violence in this century but I hope not.
Out of nowhere this morning, The Neurons have offered “I Am A Man of Constant Sorrow” by the Soggy Bottom Boys to the morning mental music stream (Trademark all wet). The song has been around over one hundred years. I’d known it by others like Bob Dylan, Judy Collins, and Ginger Baker before this fictional singing group was featured in the movie, O Brother Where Art Thou? in 2000, but truly enjoyed the fake performance of a delightful song. Anyway, it came up today so it’s my theme music. These at the musicians and singers who put it together for the movie, although there are some substitutions here.
Of course, I sang a modified version to my cats, which could be called, “I Am A Floof of Constant Hunger”. As usual, they were not impressed. They seemed quizzical about why I was singing to them when they really wanted me to feed them.
Be strong, stay positive, and lean forward. Here’s the music. I got coffee and a cat sleeping by the ‘puter, but I need to put some pants on. Cheers
Gray marble day on this Wednesday, January 17, 2024 in Ashlandia, where the fishing is swell and the biking is above average. Temperature is 44 F. High will be 51 F. Rain is expected. We’re again dodging the severe weather hitting most of Oregon. Knock wood. Hope everyone stays safe and warm where the gnarly weather crashes in.
My friends diverted my morning plans. One went into the hospital to have her gall bladder removed. She’s sore but recovering in hospital. Her spouse is elderly — what we call the oldest old zone, or OOZ — and lives at home but has multiple health issues which have curtailed his independence. He’s still mentally willing and able; it’s just his body, specifically his lungs, skin, and muscles, declaring, nope, not today. Anyway, while she is in the hospital going through her surgery and recovery, he lost his Charter Spectrum net connection due to weather. The outage ended but his net connection returned not. So I went and hooked him back up and took care of some small matters for him.
Put me behind on the writing day, though, which severely displeased the musi (yes, that’s my plural for muses, just FYI). (I know, using musi engendered more typing and reading.) Then, just like yesterday, no room at the coffee shops. There’s a huge new demand for coffee and many patrons are then sitting with computers, like they’re writing or working or something. I guess I must suffer for my art. I also guess that I may need to move up my work hours and get out of the house and into the coffee place earlier.
“Werewolves of London” by Warren Zevon from 1978 is filling the morning mental music stream (Trademark spent). This song started out as a dedication to Tucker sitting on my lap. I frequently sing songs to my cats, who stare back in flat displeasure that I’m assaulting their ears and minds with these silly offerings. My version for Tucker was “Werefloofs of Ashlandia”. It numbers among my favorite floof songs. Getting more particular, I also sing, “Orange Boy”, for Papi, which goes, “Orange boy, orange boy, whatcha gonna do when they come for you,” and the theme song to a cartoon series from last century, “Underdog”. Of course, I sing it for the underfloofs, but the words need little changing: “Speed of lightning, meow of thunder, pawing all for their own plunder, Underfloof, Underfloof.”
Stay pos, test negative, be strong, and lean forward. I’m trying to do the same but sometimes trying is tryin’. Coffee has been consumed but I’m afraid more is needed. Heres’ the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 