Category: miscellaneous

Frida’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Well, well, well. I think John Stoehr kicks a few relevant covers off the whole MAGAmess as it relates to Jeffrey Epstein files.

Donald Trump just blew his cover as the ‘real victim’ in new scam on MAGA | Opinion

The president is trying to change the subject after the attorney general closed the case on disgraced financier and Jeffrey Epstein. That’s why Donald Trump has lately been harping on Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell. Someone is to blame for some makebelieve problem and Trump wants to be seen as the solution.

But even if Trump were able to redirect the press corps’ attention, he is unlikely to change the dynamics under way among the MAGA faithful. Trump says Powell must go so that interest rates fall, but to the extent that MAGA base was ever motivated by inflation or the cost of living, it was a secondary concern. MAGA’s principal motivation is drawn from a cosmic story about the battle between good and evil, and with the Epstein scandal, Trump has raised doubts about which side he’s on.

Which story? QAnon. It’s the belief that Donald Trump is the epic hero in a secret war against powerful and malevolent (and Jewish) conspirators who have plotted with agents in the government (the deep state), corporations (wokeness) and the media (lies) to sabotage America. The end of the story was supposed to come when Trump released the Epstein files in advance of executing God’s enemies.

Read more here…

Stoehr’s piece of thinking tickled me. I knew MAGALand was infuriated by how the Trump Regime is handling the Epstein Files. Trump promised to release the files so they could know the truth. MAGAts want the files, specifically, ‘the list’, released. The List is supposed to be the smoking gun, the evidence of all the deep shit that Trump has been claiming the hated Democrats and Liberals have been doing in secret while creating and managing their vast shadow government, where they control the weather and scheme against the pure Christians and whites who deserve a nation unsullied by non-whites, a land where education isn’t tainted with facts and truth that makes them queasy.

But after detail after detail is put out there about the Epstein file, Trump finds himself increasingly angry, defensive and isolated. He’s flailing to make the rest of the world turn the damn channel. But as Stoehr points out, MAGALand can’t; to disavow the Epstein files as Trump demands means that they must also disavow the entire fabric of the QAnon universe.

Pulling that thread would unravel their fantasy. MAGALand knows it; Trump is trying to pretend it isn’t true. But if MAGALand is forced to accept that the Epstein files lack all the damning evidence that Trump has claimed is in it, they might be forced to confront, how else has he lied to us? They might even start realizing how much Trump duped them and used them. They might even question if Trump was sent by God. As one of Trump’s far right supporters, Nick Fuentes, said, “You are fat, you are a joke, you are stupid, you are not funny, you are not as smart as you think you are,” Fuentes said, later adding, “This entire thing has been a scam.”

That could be the end not just of Trump but of all those others who spread and supported his fictions. For him, for them, it’s less about if Trump is in the files; it’s more about the Democrats not being in it.

Fingers crossed that this all blows up. Frankly, I don’t give a damn any longer who might be in it.

2

Satyrdaz Wondering Thoughts

I’ve downsized my coffee shop drink. As a familiar there, the baristas are prone to making it as soon as they see me and likewise ringing it up while confirming that I’m getting ‘the usual’.

BTW, I’ve always liked the expression ‘to ring it up’. I’ve written about it before and how it seems so archaic. I haven’t been in a place where the cash register rings with a new purchase in a while.

Sidebar aside, I’ve been educating the baristas about my smaller drink size. Today’s barista said, “May I ask, is it caffeine or price..?”

I smiled. “Nope. It’s waste. I noticed I wasn’t finishing my drink. I’m a boomer and was raised not to waste.”

The twentyish barista said, “Oh, I totally get that. I don’t waste at home. I’m the only one who eats leftovers in my house. It’s crazy, but I don’t want to waste anything.”

“You might be an honorary boomer,” I said.

“Maybe.” She glanced around and leaned forward. “It sure doesn’t come from my family.”

2

The 11/22 Dream

Young, I was outside at a gathering surrounded by friends and many other festive souls. I was waiting to begin a trip, but I didn’t know any details. Seated at a small white table with matching chairs, people would come by and say hello or they’d pass and I’d call out greetings. It was all very carefree and relaxed. At one point, I decided to make some of my hair light blue. Then, tiring of it, I’d wiped the blue hair almost completely out, leaving just a streak of light blue.

On the white table were three tall glasses with ice. I knew that these had been Long Island Ice Teas, and I’d consumed them. A fourth glass was 3/4 full with another Long Island Ice Tea, but I’d decided not to drink it. Besides those was a flat white napkin thick with light blue; that had been my hair before I wiped it off.

I’d met a new person, a young man named Robert. We chatted and got along. I started calling him Rob or Robby. Then I heard someone called him Bobby. I asked him about it and he said, “Yes, I prefer Bobby.” I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bobby was going away, to the same place where I was going. But Bobby had all of his details about when he was going and how, and he was leaving the next morning. People asked me, “Why does Bobby know but you don’t know. That doesn’t make sense.” I shrugged it off but it began to bother me.

Several things I did know was that I was leaving on 11/22, and that was a week away, and I was flying, and someone else was making my arrangements. I decided to try to find out more. I brought out my laptop and then inserted my hard drive, which I’d removed for safety. But then, I lost interest in knowing, thinking, they will tell me and there’s no hurry.

Dream end.

4

Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

I was shopping at Trader Joe’s yesterday. As I considered blueberries and wondered how much I was willing to pay for my fruit, a loaf of bread fell to the floor to my left, about six feet away.

Nobody was anywhere near it. I walked over, reshelved it, and returned to the blueberries where I cursed high prices and selected my berries. As I did, a tub of yogurt jumped from the shelf to the floor on my right, about six feet away.

WTH? Nobody was there. I walked over, reshelved it, and headed down another aisle. As I did, a box of pasta leaped off a shelf and landed on the floor about six feet ahead of me.

WTAF???

This time, as I went to pick it up, a TJ employee overtook me. “I’ll take care of that, sir,” she said.

“Okay, thanks.” I then explained, “This is the third thing that fell or jumped from the shelf to the floor in front of me today. Some of it does seem like it jumped and didn’t fall. It’s like I’m following the ghost of a klutzy Trader Joe’s shopper.”

She chuckled. “Well, you never know what you’ll find at Trader Joe’s.”

0

Figs!

My spouse is a fignatic, a figinista, a fan of high magnitude of figs. She loves figs. Through her, I’ve come to enjoy them. Knowing this, a friend has been supplying us with figs. I snapped this photo Wenzda; we have three bowls of figs like this. Or had, as we’ve eaten a few.

This is the second go round from this fig supplier. These are huge beauties. So delicious, so nutritious, and a good source for calcium, potassium, vitamins C, A, K, and B6. We just eat them rare, although I’m cautious, as they’re high in oxalates, and can cause kidney stones. I already have that issue.

Figs been hard to come by at the stores and have become expensive. The last pint we purchased was $11 and had five small figs. None were in good shape, so my friend’s largesse is happily accepted.

Good to have friends like this.

1

Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

We were at the store to buy supplies for my wife. I was bagging as she was paying. The whole thing was less than $20. She was going through her, taking things out and mumbling how hard it is to find things in her purse, a familiar song. I dove a hand into my pocket and whipped out a twenty.

My wife said, “It worked.”

“What?”

“I was hoping that if I took too long to get my money out, you’d pay.”

“I thought it was all our money,” I said.

She laughed. “Not when it’s in my purse.”

1

The Look

A woman entered the coffee shop. Not a busy place this day, I typed, half-watching her as I do with almost everyone who walks into my line of sight. I noted that she put down her small case and then paused, head swinging around, a small frown creasing her face. Picking her case up, she drifted toward the coffee shop’s center.

I knew the look. Walking over, I said, “Excuse me,” and pointed at the table she’d been at when I had her attention. “There’s an outlet in the middle under the bench.”

Seeing the outlet, she laughed and said, “Oh, thank you!”

Nodding, I answered, “I knew the look,” followed by, “You’re very welcome,” and headed back to my seat, feeling really good about helping someone else in such a small way.

2

Wenzda’s Theme Music

It’s Wenzda, July 9, 2025. It’s a difficult day for people like me, who like to complain. I have so much to complain about. I’ll start with weather, although it’s not bad now, 77 F, soon to be 88 F. No, it’s the thunderstorms from the other day, which torched multitudes of fires. The storm was like Jesus making more out of nothing. Smoke now tints the blue sky and white clouds with ugly shades of dirty, old concrete. You smell the burning wood; it’s inescapable. The air quality isn’t bad now, 67, enough jab your eyes into itchiness, tease your nose into irritation, stuff your sinuses into running, and bully your throat into scratchiness.

Neil Creek is the closest fire, right off I5 at mile marker 10. Ashlandia’s first northbound exit is 11. One southbound lane of I5 is closed for two miles.

Neil Creek fire, southern Oregon, July 9, 2025.

We’re also trending up in our temperatures. TV weather guy gleefully told us we’re going into the low 100s this week, well over the historic average, but not as bad as last year, when we were running 108 plus. It’s the prototypical 2020s Ashlandia summer. I’ll have a lot to complain about.

Over in politics, it’s a complaint smorgasbord. A complaintasbord.

Like, Trump promised 200 trade and tariff deals by now. He has 3. He’s batting .015. If he was a major leaguer — no, if he was batting that on any time, he’d be pulled from the field and find himself fast out of the game as a never was, never will be. That abysmal performance doesn’t keep the MAGAts and GOP that fill his Greedy Ol’ Trump Party, known in its shorthand as the GOTP, from declaring his Donnie the greater player ever, even greater than Babe Ruth. They don’t mention people like Hank Aaron, because, their heroes are only white.

So easy to complain about Trump. Donnie boy makes ridiculous speeches. He sends ridiculous letters. Transmit absurd texts. Like his latest embarassment he sent out to other countries regarding tariffs. If he was a businessman, people would trash it or post socially about it, mocking it. Oh, yeah, they did.

Another complaint about Trump is the promise of how little he cares, how little he pays attention. Texas was struggling with death and destruction from flash floods. He went off to golf. Said he’ll visit there Friday, a week after it all unfolded. FEMA finally got there. It surprised me that the Trump Regime FEMA bothered to show at all. But it is gerrymandered red MAGALand.

I simply must laugh and complain about Trump being nominated for the Nobel Peace prize. International war criminal Netanyahu nominated the convicted felon and genuine idiot for the prize. If Trump is awareded that prize, the Nobel Committee might as well close up shop and slink away in disgrace. The black mark against them won’t wash off for generations.

The Neurons called up a dedication for Epstein and Trump. Trump wants us to forget about his relationship with Epstein and the parties they attended together. Says he barely knows the guy. With his weaponized DOJ loaded with MAGAts to defend him, the Epstein List suddenly vanished. What a Trumpian way to handle things. Why didn’t he just say the dog ate it. Oh, probably because dogs don’t want to have anything to do with him. They’re too smart.

Thanks to janewiedlin on Instagram.

So, this song is dedicated to Trump, Epstein, Maxwell, and their shared past. Fresh out of 1997, here is Marcy’s Playground with “Sex and Candy”, from my morning mental music stream to yours.

Coffee is being consumed and the writing position is being assumed. May your day give you all you need. Cheers

1

The Usual Places

The usual places are empty

Our air is still

No soft noises are heard

None are there for a treat or a pill.

Toys are collected and put away

Wondering if they’ll be needed on another day.

Food bowls are cleaned, beds are washed,

Unopened food is given away,

The others are tossed.

Quiet shadows every motion and move

You think of memories

Which help and soothe.

But the faces remain, always there

In the empty space, an empty chair.

0

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