Floofcast(floofinition) – 1. A production about an animal available to the public for entertainment or informational purposes. The production may be posted to the net on social media or presented via cable or satellite communications.
In Use: “Many social media users end up creating and sharing interesting or amusing floofcasts about their pets or rescues and share them on the net, such as Owl Kitty.”
2. An advisory from an animal that something is on the verge of happening.
In Use: “At 9:03 AM one Sunday morning, Sandi’s dog leaped up and urgently barked. Then he grabbed Sandi’s hand and lead her to another room. An instant later, a large tree crashed into the room where Sandi had been sitting. If not for Barkley’s floofcast, Sandi may have been injured or killed.”
I’m ensconced in Penn Hills, PA, an eastern suburb of Pittsburgh, visiting family. A light rain is scenting the 64 F air with petrichor. Temp should peak at 67 F.
Weirdly, the weather seems ‘right’ to me. I emerged from my cocoon in this area and first spread my wings. Lived with Mom and grandparents when I was a child not going to school, moved away in conjunction with Dad’s military service, then returned here. Attended school in several small burghs for second grade through my high school sophomore year. Since Mom and a buncha extended family live here, I’ve been returning again and again on my own cycadean rhythm.
Tragically, Mom only serves decaf. She and her man only drink decaf. So, they make a big pot of coffee. Once it’s done brewing, they draw from it for days and doctor it with cream and nuke it in the microwave. Gag gag gag.
So I slipped away for coffee and writing, heading for a Starbucks. That works for Mother and I and the general household, since Mom and her BF sleep in late these days. She said she doesn’t emerge from her nocturnal seclusion until almost noon. Then her BF, already dressed, ensures she’s set up for the afternoon, and goes out on his errands. His first stop is the gym, where this former boxer, now in his early nineties, works out.
The Starbucks was chosen because it’s where my niece and her boyfriend work. Both are college grads with bachelor’s degrees. Her’s is in business administration. She speaks several languages and plays the violin and is still attending college, going into software and database administration.
So guess who served me? Yes, she looked up with widening eyes when I said, “Morning, Amy.” I hope to have more of a visit with her than that, of course.
Amy and I have a running joke from when she was a child. There’s a movie called The Mothman Prophecies which came out in 2002. It’s about a bridge collapse in Weirton, WV, and a mothman warning it was gonna happy. A brother-in-law (not Amy’s father) saw the movie while traveling in West Virginia. It freaked him out because after watching the movie, his hotel room phone began ringing, just like in the movie. He and I and Amy talked about it in subsequent years. I began calling her Mothgirl. She dubbed me Mothman.
Today’s music arrives via a conversation about me living on the west coast. Everyone hearing hat immediately asks, “California?” No, I’m from the Pacific Northwest, Oregon, to add more precision, Ashlandia, to get granular. But the California suggestions kicked The Neurons into filling the morning mental music stream (Trademark with “Californication”. The Red Hot Chili Peppers released the song in 1999. I immediately took to it. It’s a drool commentary about how Hollywood sells California as the place to be. Several little plays on pop culture are woven into the song.
On to the day. Stay strong, be positive, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music video. Cheers from Pennsylvania.
Winter’s turn continues to erode our confidence that spring has actually arrived. Rain. Heavy clouds signaling more rain may be falling. 51 F with milky, intermittent sunshine. Could be bleaker but something about this pulls me down.
I’m not alone in feeling a downward tug. Before I mentioned it, another friend announced that he felt blah and blamed it on the weather change from sunshine and warm air to cold rain. Others quickly agreed with him. Several wondered if we’d get snow. Then came memories of March and April snowstorms fro previous years. I volunteered the time I remembered walking down the street in early July and looked across the valley at the snow on Grizzly. Wow, the others exclaimed.
The cats are back in the house. Papi tried the front door, side door, and back door, in and out times three, before acknowledging with plaintive meows, there’s no sunshine. The sunshine is gone! Where is the sunshine? Stop the rain. Make it stop.
“Can’t, little buddy,” I answered the ginger blade. “You’ll need to endure, just like us.”
Tail up but a sulky look over his shoulder to me, he headed for the bed.
The Neurons loaded the Clash into the morning mental music stream (Trademark floundering). The song is “The Magnificent Seven”. Now, the original 1960 movie which went by that name was a favorite of mine but was a remake of a 1954 Japanese movie Seven Samari, released in the US as a film called, The Magnificent Seven. The 2016 remake was called The Magnificent Seven. It wasn’t bad. I suspect the next edition of The Magnificent Seven movie will be set in space, or maybe another planet.
Anyway, the Clash’s song, “The Magnificent Seven”, is a punk statement on society’s states, especially as people’s buttons are pushed to conform, go to work, and enjoy the entertainment provided. Keep up with what’s going on by buying the latest consumer goods and you’ll be happy, because you’ve been told, that’s how it is. Seems fit to me as we plug in, turn on, and tune out, feasting on whatever powers our pleasure centers: shopping, cooking, games, sports, hunting, television, movies, books, fashion, TikTok, the net.
Well, now I’m depressed. Thanks, neurons. Think I’ll go escape into a novel. Shut up, neurons. They’re so eager to laugh and mock me when I act hypocritically by conforming to the mores and norms. Bloody hell.
Stay positive (ahem), lean forward, be strong, and vote. Think I’ll nurse more coffee and escape into my writing. It’s a safe place. Here’s the video. Cheers
I have a second theme song for today, Monday, March 11, 2024.
Here’s Ryan Gosling and friends with, “I’m Just Ken”, which he performed during the 96th Academy Awards Show yesterday. I found it smashing and laughed quite a bit. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Yes, Greta Gerwig should have been nominated for best director. 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
Friday, October 27, 2023, slid into Ashlandia on icy paws, clear skies, and sunshine. Was 32 F. Warming now, and people are out walking among the gold, rose, and brown fallen leaves. None of the walkers kick them up, as I like to do as I march thlrough drifts on the paths.
Ashlandia, where the trees were imported and the people revere them, will reach the mid fifties by late afternoon. Now is the time to prepare for freezing weather, if you’ve not done that already. Disconnect the hoses and bring them in. Cover the outdoor faucets to protect them from freezing.
I’ve done those things. Now I need to deal with the furnace which just doesn’t seem to be warming us as we expect. Don’t suggest the thermostat or the filters; both are new and the vents are clean and unobstructed. No, some other technical challenge is behind this matter. I’ll search the net for what to do.
The Neurons hooked me up with Van Morrison in the morning mental music stream (Trademark facetious). Started while I was driving yesterday. A station played Steve Winwood doing “Higher Love”, a song I enjoy, inducing me to increase the volume and sing along. Counting Crows followed up with “A Long December” which forced my finger to find the volume button and add just a little more volume. Lenny Kravitz followed and a little more volume was added.
From that process of events, sounds, and thinking, The Neurons put “Caravan” from 1970 into the stream, where it remained this morning. That’s because of the Van’s repeatitive urging, “Turn it up. Turn it up. On the radio.” I went with the version from The Last Waltz to help release it from the mental music stream, where Van Morrison is backed by The Band. Hope you like it.
Here we go, out to westing with traffic, time, weather, writing, and intentions once again. Stay positive, be strong, and remain steadfast. Coffee is steaming from a mug beside me. Here’s the music. Cheers
It was The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly in our backyard, if that movie was done by cats.
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is a 1966 spaghetti western film. That name, ‘spaghetti western’ was given to a series of western films based on the US west, but generally written, directed, and produced by Italians and filmed in Europe. Sergio Leone was one the leaders of this movement. With a string of successful films, he became influential in how westerns were made. This film was one of his masterpieces and judged by film critics to be significant.
Clint Eastwood starred in several spaghetti westerns, including this one. The movie’s morally complex story is that three gunfighters are searching for stolen gold during the American Civil War. The gold is supposed to be buried in a cemetery. The three men are searching and fighting for it while coping with the war going on. They eventually find the cemetery. A final showdown is set up.
It’s a climatic scene, delivered with long shots of the three gunfighters interspersed with tight close ups of the squinting and sweating sunburned men as flies pester them. These movies were always gritty and tense, with impressively realistic details. A music box is playing – yes, it’s part of the story – along with the titular theme song. When the music box finishes, the gunfight commences and finishes the tale.
My cats, Papi and Tucker, aided by a stranger, recreated the scene in the backyard. A jay provided the background ‘music’. Standing in an equilateral triangle about eighteen feet apart, Tucker and Papi faced off against a gray and white stranger.
Tucker is a black and white long-haired/short-haired mix with crazy long, white whiskers. There looks like some Maine coon in those whiskers, along with his ears and face shape. He used to be a fierce fighter but has finally chilled as he’s aged. Papi, the ginger blade, is years younger. He’s been in a few fights – he was in one just last night – including at least twice with Tucker, but prefers to not fight if fighting can be avoided.
A strong wind was blowing. Tucker was in sunlight on a small knoll on which three trees are perched. Their branches blew wildly over his head. The stranger was back by the wooden plank fence between two bushes. Papi was in shadowed dark green grass. The only movement I saw on the three floofs were small eye slides and ear shifts.
Though Tucker isn’t the right ‘colors’ to be Eastwood, his expression was worthy of being Clint’s character. I could easily imagine a cigar in Tucker’s mouth as he stared down the other.
A few minutes into it, Papi slowly settled into a more comfortable watching posture. Tucker followed suit a couple minutes later, encouraging the third cat to do the same. They stayed like that for about three minutes. Then, Papi, I guess growing bored, looked around and discreetly walked off. Tucker lowered his head down for a nap. The stranger carefully shifted, and then went up the fence and away from the scene.
All very anticlimactic. While it reminded me of the famous movie scene, none of these three participants were ugly. I can’t speak for the stranger, but my two can sometimes be good, or bad. Come to think of it, they’re as morally complex as the gunfighters, and just as entertaining.
Welcome again to Octmonedai in Ashland, where the bears are large and the pets are wary.
Octmondai comes four to five times each year. These are the Mondays (Monedais, or Moon Days) in October. We’ll have five this year. Many people observe these days by getting out of bed, dressing, and rushing off to work, meetings, or schools. I celebate by drinking black coffee. Salute.
It’s October 2, 2023. Over 75% of the year is done. Ninety days remain. The clock’s digital numbers are running on anything you want done in 2023.
It’s fifty degrees now, that’s Fahrenheit, under a spotted white and blue sky. Sunshine has arrived but doesn’t seem too interested in getting warm. Today’s high will be 64 F, and rain will come this evening. I still keep my fingers crossed that a pleasant Indian summer will be enjoyed this month.
I’m in a hopeful mood today. That’s brought on by some news last week. Judge Engoron’s ruling regarding Donald J. Trump’s real estate valuations said — paraphrasing a little — they would be more at home in Dungeons & Dragons and other fantasy existences rather than the real world. Score one for justice. Trump’s civilian fraud trial begins in New York this week — today! — and is expected to go on to December. Knock wood and fingers crossed, justice will prevail.
In other news regarding Donald Trump’s indictments, one of his co-defendants, Scott Hall, plead guilty and has been sentenced in the Georgia election racketeering case. One down, eighteen to go.
A temporary funding extension was achieved for the US government. The process behind it demonstrated the lack of a Republican will other than to generally support Trump (and ignore anything bad said about him), a great deal of party infighting, and their inability to govern. That, combined with the poor showing that was the GOP debate to find their presidential nominee, reveals a narcissistic and confused political organization.
We went to the AIFF outdoor showing of E.T. the Extraterrestrial last night. The event’s organization was a bit sloppy. Starts at 6, they said. Well, no, playing the movie didn’t start until 7. Multiple food trucks were due to be there but only one was now available. They offered Carribbean food, and weren’t ready to serve food until almost 6:30. There was beer, wind, and popcorn for a small donation, but they seemed sadly unprepared for children. Only popcorn for them and water for them.
E.T. was as I remembered it, solid pacing, with an interesting basic story and plot. The dialogue in the movie’s first quarter seemed lamer than what I remember; my wife reminded me that it was a different time back in 1982, and that might account for that dialogue. Drew Barrymore was definitely the best actor on screen. The temperature grew colder as the film rolled on, with a sharp northern wind visiting us as we sat chairs, but we were zipped up and under blankets, with gloves on, and endured.
I have “Walk On” by U2 ringing out in the morning mental music stream (Trademark reckoning). I don’t know what prompted The Neurons to call it up and put it on repeat today. Although the song has noble intentions (Aung San Suu Kyi’s fight for democracy and her house arrest for her activities), the 2001 song left little mark on me. I prefer the live version much more than the studio rendition. Live version is more energized and uplifting.
Stay pos and strong. Chase the day and lock it away. Coffee drinking is finished until the next roun in about an hour. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 