Ashland, southern Oregon. Monday, October 5, 2026.

Another summery autumn day was upon us, high 80s, thin clouds, blue sky, sun.

Last night’s dream was a short, weird one. My wife has been blowing her nose a lot yesterday, complaining, “I have one nostril which seems like a leaky faucet.” I ended up dreaming that she was blowing her nose. Her snot was coming out like yellow mustard. I then blew my nose in the dream; my tissue ended up looking like a slice of white bread thickly slathered with yellow mustard. I went into the other room and showed her, saying, “I have what you have.”

Had my first BCG wash today. Wasn’t ‘quite’ like I expected in some ways but was otherwise exactly as I expected.

The BCG wash is why I’m late posting today. Had to be there at 1:40. Doing the math, I needed to leave at 1:10. Before leaving, I wanted a three-hour writing session so that needed to begin at 10:10 AM. Ergo, leave the house by ten, which means getting dressed, getting up, getting routines done, etc.

Other things happening threw off that timing. But I was finally there, preparing for the BCG. One thing I immediately noticed was how different it is in medical offices and dentist offices. At the dentist, they provide a picture for you to look at while things are being done to you. Music is playing.

Not so at the medical offices. It’s all medical function, like you, the patient, are barely considered.

I had a good tech and a good nurse, Nurse Chrissy C, who did my procedure. I was told to strip off my pants and underwear, then sat in a chair. A large paper, like a giant paper towel, was spread across me for modesty. A foot rest was raised and the back was leaned back, kind of like a barber’s chair. Then they pulled the paper back and began doing things to my wee willie winkle.

Hibiclense was employed to wash my genitals. Lidocaine was injected to numb my pecker. Brrrr, cold. The tech left and the nurse entered. She explained that they only get two vials of the almost dead tuberculosis bacilli a week and it must be immediately used once it’s mixed. Each vial can be used for three treatments, so three of us are done in parallel at the same time.

I surmised something like that was going on because two other people were called simultaneously at my appointment time. One of these people was a teenager, and the other was a heavy woman in a wheelchair with one foot in a walking boot.

My narrow urethra cropped up, of course. The foley catheter wasn’t going in. “Breath deep and cough for me,” the nurse ordered, which I did multiple times. I explained about my previous experiences with catheters, my narrow urethra, and the kink that vexes everything partway through it.

She got it in, though, pumped out my urine, and then filled it with the treatment. Then I was free to clean up, dress and leave. “Don’t urinate for one to three hours,” she said. Only problem was I was already ready to go — with a bowel movement. Yikes.

Here we go again with Donald Trump. After trying to change voting by mail and raging that it’s ‘inherently corrupt’, Trump has spun 180 degrees.

Trump urges supporters to vote by mail despite fraud claims

Donald J Trump added a bitter word salad to explain his new position:

“They can vote by mail if they want, because we seem to have no choice because a lot of people want to vote by mail, but a lot of very good people also want to vote in-person. You can do either.”

I had “Word Up” playing in my morning mental music stream after seeing some video about Donald Trump making a speech. After that speech, he did that smug, mind-smothering dance of his. That triggered The Neurons into making a connection with “Word Up”.

Sample Lyrics

Wave your hands in the air
Like you don’t care
Glide by the People as they start to look and stare
Do your dance, do your dance, do your dance quick

And that was the connection between what I saw Trump doing — dancing like he doesn’t care, making his MAGAts laugh because he’s one of them — and the 1986 song by Cameo.