If we’re rockin’ and rollin’, it must be Saturda. Well, according to the calendar, even if you’re not rockin’ and rollin’, it’s still Saturda.
Sunshine flashes some spirit but we’re mostly under cover of long stretched waves of gray-topped white clouds. Will it rain? Wouldn’t you like to know… Temperature is 42 F. We came close to edging into 60 yesterday. Weird experiencing that much warmth and sunshine for such sustained exposure. Dressed in jeans, shirt, and light jacket, sweat peppered me as I walked around on household business. Nice to have, as this is our expected average for the year. But it’s been so sorely absent that we have to re-adjust to it.
This being February 22, 2025, we expect a high today of 55 F. It’ll be partly sunny and partly cloudy. Rain is expected this afternoon. The wind has punched up, reminding me of that expression about March coming in like a lion. Papi the ginger blade (aka Butter Butt) doesn’t like the wind, mewhining, “Let meeee iiiiinnnnnnnn.”
Today The Neurons have offered a musical suggestion on behalf of Trump supporters. “Use Me” by Bill Withers, from 1972, inhabits the morning mental music stream.
But my answer, yeah to all that use me stuff I want to spread the news That if it feels this good getting used You just keep on using me Until you use me up Until you use me up
I approached coffee with an offer that was eagerly accepted. Now the two of us are almost like one. Hope you have a day worth remembering for all the good reasons. Cheers
So we chug into Fridaz, Feb. 21, 2025. Blue sky has it over my views of Ashlandia. Plentiful sunshine pelts the scene with rays. It’s 32 F with mid 50s likely, ‘they’ say.
All that is my perspective. Per habit, I inquire of the weather for us from Alexa. It says it’s 40 degrees. Tells me about the fog. ? Says it’ll be mostly cloudy today.
What we have here is some kind of failure of something. Maybe it’s in a different reality; perhaps I am. Or Alexa landed in a different Ashland. There’s a bunch of ’em in America. Or…since she’s Amazon…and Jeff Bezos…and he’s getting along so well with Trusk…Alexa is trying to gaslight me. Ah, such possibilities to contemplate on a Fridaz morning.
Oatmeal with blueberries are being consumed. A Chicago song is going through my morning mental music stream. “You’re My Inspiration.” You know the words:
You’re the meaning in my life You’re the inspiration You bring feeling to my life You’re the inspiration Wanna have you near me
I figure The Neurons are calculating and channeling emotions about Tucker’s passing. Seems logical, right? But, The Neurons are not always logical. Then again, neither are emotions. Hell, neither is life.
The music certainly didn’t come from my dreams. They were trippy. I’ll almost certainly write a post about one of them later. It’s ‘almost certainly’ because it’s a busy day planned. So, it’s a time permitting thing. Then again, there’s not a general call for more of my dreams, nor is there a time limit. It’s not like someone sent me memo, “Post about a dream by Fridaz.” If they did, I didn’t receive the memo. I guess I should check my spam and junk mail, see if it didn’t get ditched there.
Coffee and I are doing the morning tango. Hope you have a solid day, and things begin looking and getting better for all of us. Here’s the 1984 music, fresh out of a recording made in 1992. Papi the ginger blade (aka Meep, Butter Butt) has arrived for his morning cuddle session. Gotta go. Cheers
My wife spoke with her group of friends for coffee on Wednesday. All are college grads and retired professionals. All are liberals, progressives, or Democrats. They range in age from the early sixties to mid 80s. They’d just finished an exercise class at the Ashlandia Family Y. My wife was trying to gage their reactions to Trump’s moves via his musk rat and the DOdGEy operation running at his behest.
They were puzzled. One shrugged. “It’ll be over in two years.”
My wife was shocked, disconcerted, dumbfounded. “What do you think about the cuts at the Bonneville Power Administration?”
BPA provides Ashlandia’s power. BPA also manages the power grid in the Pacific Northwest.
Although BPA is part of the DOE, it is self-funded and covers its costs by selling its products and services at cost. The BPA provides about 28% of the electricity used in the region. BPA transmits and sells wholesale electricity in eight western states: Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, and California.[1] Its minimum wholesale rate is 3.49 cents per kilowatt-hour; the BPA generated $4.72 billion in operating revenue in 2022.
“On Sept. 30, the Bonneville Power Administration made its annual payment to the U.S. Department of the Treasury for the 41st consecutive year on time and in full, bringing cumulative payments to approximately $35.4 billion over this period. The total payment for fiscal year 2024 was $792.3 million.”
Returning to my wife’s friends, only one of them was aware of the personnel cuts.
They disturb my wife and I because they’re thinking that all of this is business as usual. In a period when Trump is getting referred to as a king, we’re abandoning our NATO commitments and allying ourselves with Russia instead, and women’s rights are rapidly regressing (see the SAVE act, fer instance) while Trump dismisses the Constitutional checks and balances, they’re basically shrugging their shoulders.
I’m happy to say that it’s not necessarily the prevailing feeling in Ashlandia.
I don’t have a crystal ball or any other means of predicting the future. But reading the Trusk moves and watching the GOTP back those moves with little resistance, I gotta say, Ima little worried.
They say it’s partly sunny in Ashlandia’s valley today Thurzda, Feb. 20, 2025, but I find if fully sunny. The clouds hanging around are rice-paper thin. Wandering aimlessly as a cloud, they break up as easily whipped cream in hot chocolate. 43 F right now, the temperature-measuring thingy is expected to test the fifties before the sun begins its wind down.
A sick cat & personal medical appointments has frayed my routines. Accomodating both — cat (Tucker, the still-handsome black and white floof whose name is pronounced Tuck-ah) and my med appointments are high priorities. So are my twice-daily rituals of self-massaging my bod using the techniques taught me to stimulate my lymphatic system. The wraps and self-massaging seem to be working. My left limb/foot is stabilized and doesn’t swell during the day. I have very minor swelling on the right side, mostly focused on the 3-4-5 toes. As for Tucker, he’s on antibiotics, so we’ll see where it goes. His nocturnal issues diced my sleep into bite-sized chunks, so I was late rolling out of bed. Anyway, the efforts involved in these things cut into my reading/writing/posting/surface hours, and I’m the crankier for it. I know, I am such a whiner.
Today’s song is another odd choice for The Neurons. I have “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” from the 1984 movie, Footloose, with Kevin Bacon. Deniece Williams sings the song,
Folks, this thing was released over 40 years ago. The movie never thrilled my sensibilities but I had plenty o’ younger friends who enjoyed it. Those who liked it were mostly feminine and enticed by Bacon and his dancing. The movie begat several hit songs which seemed perpetually on the radio of the time. Why it’s in my morning mental music stream is beyond my reasoning skills. The Neurons often have their way with me and rarely devote elucidation about it. It’s okay, though, as I’m pleased to not have songs associated with the 2025 PINO Trusk Shitstorm in my head.
Coffee and I made a handshake agreement and I’m gulping like it’s going out of style. Hope you have a solid day. Cheers
This Wenzda, February 19, 2025, is being rinsed off. Yes, it’s 43 F and rain is falling. Papi the ginger blade, aka Meep, Butter Butt and Butter Booger, has chosen to ensconce himself on the living room sofa, not far from the fireplace’s steady warmth. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) remains under the weather and is staying on a bed under the influence of antibiotics. He’s showing a slow but steady recovery. Fingers and toes remain interwoven, as in crossing.
I’m running late due to tending the cat but also because today’s lymphedema massage therapy appointment is at high noon. So I’m ’bout to bust out the door. I bathed with a wash cloth and then did my self-massaging and moisturing, but then washed my hair. A hope is lit that I’ll be done with the thick wraps today. That’s because I’ve shown steady improvement, and the swelling has drastically declined. My efforts certaintly contributed but she added some thicker padding at several locations, and I noticed a dramatic impact from that. Although the wraps only remain on my lower right limb and foot, I can’t properly bathe while working them. I’m aching for a solid, warm shower, you know?
The Neurons have a weird song playing in my head. Not a weird song, sorry; it’s an excellent song, emblamatic of an era and attitude. But why today? That is the question. The song in question plowing my morning mental music stream is “Super Bad” from 1970 by James Brown. Nothing to do with dreams, cats, weather, food, coffee, or news. So what the heck, right?
Love all the different dance moves of the period the young dancer employs.
Hard to think of this as Twosda. The news cycle overflows the norms like flood waters rushing across the plains.
It’s another hazy shade of winter in Ashlandia. Our temperature is hovering at a more springish 48 F, bestowing us with a feel of winring. Will the sun heed the Doors and break on through? Is rain on its way? The betting windows are still open.
This is Twosda, Feb. 18 2025. I own a lot start after some night hours were investing in comforting and helping a sick floof. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has been under the weather. He’s resting well now but with uncertainty about his condition, who knows? Fingers and toes crossed and everything.
The Great 2025 American Shitstorm rages on as the Trusk Regime continues wreaking havoc, doing everything to make it all over in PINO Trump’s shallow, broken image. They’re cunning bastards and morally corrupt, basically confirming the worse of what we’ve come to see in the right wing and oligarchs. They want it all and fuck the people. The GOTP’s compass is all about getting re-elected and staying in office, so they’ll only cowardly resist with micey squeaks if their constituents complain. I’d say it’s gonna be a long four years but this has the taste of something more ugly and sinister, a poison pill to remake the United States for the rich and white, with a token nod to Christianity.
Today’s music is a product of serendipity. I’ve been encountering the Scottish synthpop trio CHVRCHΞS in multiple settings over the last week. They were on my car radio last week. Paul Krugman used them a few times as his Coda, I spotted them on SNL, heard them online through another’s post, and encountered them again on the car radio coming home yesterday. On a surprise scale that goes to seven as the strongest indicator for surprise, it was a one when Der Neurons began a CHVRCHΞS song in the morning mental music stream today. I always liked the song “Leave A Trace” from 2015.
Lauren Mayberry sings,
And you had best believe That you cannot build what I don’t need And I know I need to feel relief And I know you’ll never fold But I believe nothing that I’m told And I know I need to feel relief
I enjoy her voice. In some songs, she reminds me of Deborah Harry. Other times, it seems like she’s echoing Dolores O’Riordan of The Cranberries. Sinead O’Connor’s similarities also sneak through.
And yes, there are shadows of 2025 politics spilling through those lyrics for me. The GOTP is tryhing to build what I don’t need, what the world doesn’t need. And yep, some relief from their shitshow would be welcomed in my psyche. But they ain’t gonna fold and go away. Their efforts to create a nation mocking the founders’ ideas keeps on with no relief.
Coffee has breached my defenses despite my efforts. I admit, I was complicit in coffee’s invasion. Put the water in the machine, added coffe, turned it on, poured it into a mug, put the mug to my lips, tipped up the mug, let the dark goodness cover my tongue and swirled down my gullet. Hope you have a strong, positive day. Here we go. Cheers
Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazydays of winter. Yes, winter has compromised Nat King Cole’s hit about summer. Fact is, the Ashlandia day facing us here in southern Oregon are all of those things he uses to describe summer. A blotted, bloated face of puffy and sullen gray clouds mumble hello. Weak sunshine is acting like a wallflower trying not to get noticed. 44 F now, the temperature is gonna skyrocket to 45 F, they tell us. Betting window is open on rain.
We should all be insulted by Trusk’s moves against DEI. Unity is needed for a strong nation. There was a reason why DEI evolved. PINO Trusk and his disgusting rinions are trying to pretend those things didn’t exist or didn’t matter. Total bullshit. Beyond that, call out to those companies: don’t you realize how much stronger and more successful via DEI? No, you don’t. You’re too weak, craven, and greedy. Shame on you. Kudos to Costco.
Yeah, going with the Bangles’ version of “Hazy Day of Winter” today for the theme music. It’s a Simon & Garfunkel original but the Bangles successfully covered it in a more rock and roll style in 1987. But in the spirit of inclusion, I’m including both versions. The Bangles version has overwhelmed the S&A 1966 original in the morning mental music stream. That’s how it sometimes goes.
Bonus offering: Haim.
As the song says, “Hang onto your hopes, my friend.”
Coffee and I have reached detente again via some kitchen diplomacy. I’m sailing along on a stream of caffeine. Keep it real and have the best one you can. Cheers
“The threat I worry the most about vis-à-vis Europe is not Russia, it’s not China, it’s not any other external actor. What I worry about is the threat from within, the retreat of Europe from some its most fundamental values, values shared with the United States of America,” Vance said.
The decision to limit AP’s access stems from its decision not to recognize the Trump administration’s name change from Gulf of Mexico to Gulf of America on federal maps, websites and documents.
This administration continues to show a wealth of hypocrisy and a poverty of honesty.
On the one hand, I would say that I am patriotic. I served over twenty years on active duty in the U.S. military. I was compensated for my service and the service itself doesn’t construe automatic patriotism; many people who have betrayed the U.S. claimed they were patriotic. I have stood with my hand held in a salute or over my heart to honor my flag and my nation.
But those are gestures, and there is the nub of the problem. I’m probably splitting hairs but this is an era of hair-splitting. My patriotism is not to a flag nor a nation, people, concept, party, or individual. I swore to defend and protect the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. It’s the basis of our laws and the foundation of our government. And although my military service is completed, that oath is engraved in my spirit.
So, I don’t know if I’m patriotic. I’m not fond of my nation now and what is being done to it. But with that oath in mind, I will fight for the principles on which it was founded as proclaimed in the Constitution and its amendments until the very end, no matter the outcome.
Michael Seidel, writer 