Category: satire

DeeMichael

I’m supposed to be writing, but instead I’m procrastinating. I know what I’m supposed to be writing. I wrote it in my head this morning. Then I got here, turned on the computer, opened my documents and said, ready, set…in a minute.

Instead, I surfed the news.

My name is Michael.

It’s a pretty damn common name. At one point, during the beginning of a conference call a few years, eight people were on. Four were Michaels, and one was a Michelle.

I was scanning headlines today, and I saw another variation of Davonte. I’ve seen several variations the last few days. I don’t know the name’s origins. At one point, it was pretty unique. Now it’s becoming common, although I don’t think it’s as common as Michael, yet.

But after that, I thought, I’d always wanted to change my name. I’m tired of being a Michael because there are so many Michaels. But what can I change it to?

The answer came to me today. Mom’s nickname is Dee. My name is Michael.

I could be DeeMichael.

Maybe that can just be my writer’s name, just to separate us and provide clarity when I’m talking to him and he’s talking to me. Right now, it’s just, “Michael this, Michael that.” It gets pretty Michael-tedious.

But if he becomes DeeMichael, we could have a better conversation. Instead of just urging Michael to write, I could tell DeeMichael, “Hey, man, get on it, DeeMichael. What’s the matter with you? You’re supposed to be writing.”

Giving my writing ego a different name can be tres freeing. I can tell others, “I was talking to my writing friend, DeeMichael, and he said that more Americans believe Elvis Presley is alive than believe Jesus ever existed. Over half of Americans believe Elvis is still alive.”

Michael – that’s me – is a shy, deferential guy in most situations. DeeMichael can have a more exuberant personality. He can be more energetic. Probably is. As my creation, I can also make him younger. He can have different tastes, hobbies and habits. He doesn’t drink alcohol. “I’m not adulterating my body. It’s my temple.” He does take in caffeine. “Coffee is good for you.” Facts don’t matter to him. “I’m a writer,” he says. “I’ll make up my own facts. According to an essay I read in the Union of Concerned Scientists newsletter, most facts are been overtaken by greater understanding and insights within ten years, and are no longer true. You can look it up. You know it’s true.

“Look how facts have changed in the last couple hundred years. Science used to say egg yolks were bad for you, and then egg whites. High cholesterol was supposed to be bad for you, too.

“Used to be that they said smoking cigarettes didn’t cause any problems. That’s a fact you can look up. Doctors and actors endorsed them. They wouldn’t endorse something that, something that hurt people, and they weren’t, because they thought they were safe. All the science said they were safe, and then it turned out that they’re not safe.

“Look at the use of mercury in hats. That was considered safe and normal. Lead in paint, lead pipes, lead in gasoline. For that matter, gasoline was a brand name, like Kleenex. It’s a fact. Look it up.

“People never thought humans could fly. Never thought they’d reach the Moon, neither. Now we have a secret Moon base established up there. It has a population of ten thousand.

“Oh, yeah, it’s up there. You don’t know about it because it’s secret. But I have a cousin with a friend? Used to work for the NSA. He told me that there’s a secret base up there. Ronald Reagan established it. The budget is secret. It’s part of the Defense budget. That’s why it keeps growing. What, you really thought it was to build a bigger military? Why? We already have the world’s largest, more powerful military. We don’t need a bigger, more powerful one.

“Reagan built that moon colony up there because they realized the climate was changing and there was nothing they could do about it. So the colony was established as a place to save humanity. They’ve taken all the important paintings and things up there already. Everything in the Louvre, MOMA, and all those places are fakes.

“That’s why climate denying is so important now. They need to ensure climate change takes place, or we’ve wasted a lot of money. Plus, studies have shown that if there’s global warming, flooding and storming, it’ll scour the planet clean. Then they can come back from the Moon and start fresh with a clean planet.

“Of course, some of these big storms, like that Cyclone Debbie that just hit Australia? Man made. Yep, we can control the weather. We’ve been able to control it on a small scale for the last twenty-five years. But now it can be done on a bigger scale. Cylone Debbie was another test.

“It’s true. You can’t look it up, not on the normal Internet, but you can look it up on the secret Internet. Yeah, that’s right, there’s a secret Internet, used by the United States government, along with some of the world’s wealthiest people. That’s where the truth resides. Once you become a billionaire, you’re invited to log on. It’s true, man. Someday, it’ll all come out. Then you’ll see.

“All those wars going on in the Middle East? Fake news, just to distract and confuse people. It’s a front to help divert resources to the moon base. And Donald Trump isn’t POTUS, either. That’s all a fake government. The real government works in secret. It’s not led by Barack Obama, either. All that political stuff coming out of Washington, D.C., is just for show. Believe me. It’s a fact. That’s why Congress never really passes anything. They’re just supposed to be putting on a show, which is exactly what they’re doing.”

That DeeMichael. I’ll tell you what, he’s quite a character.

 

1

Today’s Theme Music

Here we are, hump day. It’s not a national holiday to go humping but rather the middle of the week hump if you’re a standard Monday through Friday nine to fiver.

The middle is the key. You’re at the hump. Make it over this hump and the rest is much easier. This hump can be in the work week or the school term, the novel, a project, or a relationship. The thing is, this hump must be crossed.

For that, I decided more upbeat music is needed as our background sound. Timbuk 3’s ‘The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades’ seems like an acceptable fit.

The song was a hit in 1986. Reagan was President in America; Marcos was ousted in the Philippines. I was living in an apartment in Columbia, South Carolina, but ended the year living in a hotel on Rhein-Main AB in Germany. The song seemed like such a natural fit to how things were going in my life that I adopted it, cranking it up on the car stereo as we drove around.

It’s not completely upbeat, though. Some lyrics are ironic and satirical, and about the world getting blown up. Some of it seems like a graduation theme song. But mostly, I hitch myself to that refrain, “Things are going great and they’re only getting better. The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades,” and take the spin that it’s not a nuclear explosion that drives the need for shades, but bright prospects for a happier and more prosperous era.

Yeah, right on, brother and sister writers. Think of a future so bright, you gotta wear shades while you type.

 

0

The Big Day

Preparations are underway for The Big Day. Yes, tomorrow is Oscar Day.

My tux has been cleaned and is laid out, and my wife has an evening gown ready. It’s a beautiful Gucci knockoff of the gown Charlize Theron wear when she won for ‘Monster’ in 2004. We’ve decorated the house front with floodlights that sweep back and forth, and put up an Oscar in the living room, by the fireplace. Six feet tall, it’s an old wooden one coated with gold leaf. The gold leaf is flaking so it looks a little shabby, but I prefer wood over the plastic or aluminum Oscars that you can buy nowadays. They just seem cheap.

Being traditionalists, we made our presents for one another, as established by our forebears when they celebrated the first Academy Awards, and we’ll wait for them to announce the Best Actress before opening them. Some families open their presents on Oscar Day Eve but we like waiting until the excitement of the show has begun. I know that some traditionalists frown on opening presents even that early, insisting on waiting until the Best Picture winner is announced, like our ancestors did, but we like getting it out of the way.

Living has mostly changed for Americans since the first Oscars. Back then, communities shared one fifteen inch black and white portable television among several households. Coat hangers cloaked with tin foil and bent at odd angles aided reception, but snow and static on the screen were constant threats to joyful viewing. We’ll be watching on a digital flat screen so big and clear this year that people’s noses are larger than our bodies, which can be a little frightening, especially after a few drinks. Back in the first years, the television owners would invite less fortunate neighbors in to watch the presentation. Refreshments and nibbles were provided for a small ‘hostess’ fee. We still abide by those rules.

Refreshments were typically the stuff of Hollywood, like white wine, champagne or martinis, while nibbles were classically Ritz crackers with Kraft Velveeta American cheese and Vienna sausages, with gherkins pickles and green olives stuffed with pimento on the side. Cheez Whiz later replaced the American cheese for some households. When children were permitted to watch in the early years, they were served lemonade. Later years found children drinking Kool-Aid instead of lemonade. Now, most households serve carbonated beverages to children and teetotalers.

Ho-hos and Twinkles were circulated as deserts in those early days but Oreos later made big inroads as an offering. Then Martha Stewart introduced Americans to Twinkles in Jello topped with Cool Whip, which became the new standard. That’s what we’ll be having. My sister always says that she hopes that Peep will makeOscar Peeps someday. I used to laugh at that, but they’ve really stretched their offerings. Peeps aren’t just chicks and bunnies on Easter these days.

Although betting on the Academy Awards is frowned upon, naturally I’ve set up a pool, just like my father and grandfather did. It’s not a big pot, but you can take twenty-five dollars if you call a major category, like Best Director or Actor. One hundred twenty-five clams are yours if you have the most correct predictions. That’s a lot of nickels.

Naturally we have drinking games to help keep the evening lively. Everyone drinks whenever someone makes a political joke or statement, cries, flubs their lines or trips on their way to or from the stage. Of course, we drink if music cuts off their acceptance speech or if a previous Oscar winner or highlights from another year are shown. We’re pretty drunk by the end, another reason to open the presents early in the ceremony.

Hope you all have a great Oscar Day. Remember, if Meryl Streep wins another Oscar, we’ll have three more months of winter.

That’s a fact, jack.

0

Today’s Theme Music

Having beer with friends last night and talking, we reminisced about music and humor, so today is more about humor surrounding music. We came up with three of our favorites.

First, More Cowbell, from SNL, with Christopher Walken. The song they’re playing is Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’, a hit for BOC back in 1976. Oddly, I associate Blue Oyster Cult more with ‘Godzilla’, but whatever.

Next, of course, was the moment in ‘This Is Spinal Tap’ (1984) when Marty Dibergi (Rob Reiner) is interviewing Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest). Nigel is Spinal Tap’s lead guitarist, and he’s taking us through his instruments when he explains why his amp is special.

 

Last is just the classic rock issue of fans calling out, “Play ‘Freebird’.” ‘Freebird’ is by Lynyrd Skynyrd, so here we go.

 

 

0

Happy Monday, Writers

You may not have noticed but Monday has struck. Here we are, the first Monday of this week, probably the only one planned for this week, for all I know. I believe that might be true.

Here in ‘Merica, we’re planning hard for the Next Big Holiday. That’s right, Christmas! Woo-hoo! Between now and then, we’ll also celebrate Black Friday. YOU CAN GET YOUR BLACK FRIDAY PRICES NOW if you’re a smart shopper. But I’ll bet many smart shoppers are holding back, nodding (perhaps mentally), concluding, “They say these are Black Friday prices, but I’ll bet the prices will be lower on Black Friday. I’ll bet that if they’re offering these great deals this early, they’ll have a better deal on Friday. So I’ll wait.” Cuz they know the deal. They didn’t just start shoppin’ yesterday, ya know. They got their first credit card when they were five years old. Came in the mail, unsolicited, like.

To help pass time until Black Friday and Christmas, we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving, in which a week’s worth of calories are consumed in one day. Many try to eat it all in one sitting, perhaps preparing themselves for the new Fox Reality Show, ‘How Much Can You Eat?’

Eat, as they’re calling it in the biz shorthand, pitch people agin one another in a celebration of food and eating. Each show focuses on one culture’s food, holiday meal or special occasion. We start with fifty-three contestants for this weekly extravaganza. We’ll include side-dishes about the contestants and what eating means to them and why they like to eat, along with fave dish recipes. Domino’s has signed up as a maj sponsor. Domino’s, where, “We love pizza so much, we’ve added salads.”

That’s all fer now. I’m gonna chug my ten shot mocha – “It’s decadent!” — and start writing like a fiend. Happy Monday, everyone!

Happy Monday!

 

4

I Remember

I remember the day we couldn’t set the water coming out of the faucet on fire. That was just the start.

Little Stevie had made the find. He came out and said, “I can’t set the water on fire.” Daddy said, “What are you saying?” I looked up from my texting to see if Stevie was joking, and then texted, ‘St says water won’t catch fire’. B, S and J all sent back ‘OMG’ and shocked emojis. ‘Really’ we all texted and texted ‘LOL’.

“The water won’t catch,” Stevie said. “I’ve been trying for like five minutes.”

Daddy snorted. “You must be doing it wrong, son.” He chuckled the way he does when he’s acting superior. Without looking up from her iPad, Mom said, “Go check on it, Heath.”

“Okay,” Daddy said. “Pause the movie for me, would you?” He stood up, stretching and groaning while Mom paused the movie. I followed Daddy into the kitchen. He was instructing Steve like he was a little kid, which he is, he’s just six, but it pissed Steve off, and Steve was saying, “Give me the lighter, I’ll show you.”

“I got it, I got it,” Daddy said, holding up the lit lighter to the faucet and turning on the water. The water didn’t catch. “Huh,” Daddy said. I laughed. “Shut up,” he said. I laughed again, and texted what had happened to my friends. They all sent LOLs.

Daddy bent down to the running water. “There’s no smell.” Standing up, he yelled, “Bev, the water won’t catch fire. And it doesn’t smell.”

“What?” Mom called back.

‘Water doesn’t smell’ I texted.

Turning off the water, Daddy went into the other room with me and Stevie. “Kid is right, the water won’t catch on fire,” Daddy said.

The earth stopped shaking and the wind fell still. Daddy froze in like mid-step. I tell you, it was unnatural. Then the rain stopped. All of us looked up at the ceiling and listened. “What’s that noise?” Mom asked.

“That’s it,” Daddy said. “There isn’t any noise.”

“You’re right,” Mom said.

I texted, ‘It stopped raining’. Nobody responded. ‘Hey’ I texted.

It was so quiet. Little Stevie said, “Mama, I’m scared.” Tears sparkled in his eyes and gobbed out and down over his cheeks. He’s such a babby. He moved to Mom and held onto her legs. I wanted to do the same but I’m older. I’m supposed to be cooler. “Stop being so clingy, Steve,” Mom said. “Honestly.”

We went to the windows and looked out. The rain had stopped. Weird. Mom’s iPhone rang. “Barb,” she said, meaning, Barb, her sister. She answered it. “Barb. Yeah, it stopped here.” She said to us, “Barb said it stopped raining there, too.”

Aunt Barb was about five miles away, out in the new subdivision by the mall. She lives above a Trader Joes. It’s really cool.

Daddy’s phone rang. “Dan,” he said, meaning his friend, “Dan.”

“Hey,” Dad said into his phone. “Big D.”

Dad calls Dan Big D because he’s a little guy but he has an important job. He’s a store manager but he’s talking about going into politics. Daddy says he should. I don’t know about that. Big D means Big Douche to me.

“I was just about to call you,” Daddy said to Dan and Mom said to Barb, “And Stevie said the water won’t catch on fire. No, Heath tried, too.”

Daddy said, “It’s not raining here, either. When is the last time you remember that happening?” I checked my phone to see if anyone had texted me because it hadn’t made any noise. Mom said something else to Barb on the phone and laughed.

“Why isn’t it raining?” I asked. “It’s June. It always rains and hurricanes in June.”

“Thank you, miss obv,” Daddy said as I finished, “Well, what’s going on?” As if they would know.

Mom said, “Come on, everyone, something is wrong. We better turn the channel and see what’s going on.”

“But I’m watching Caddy Shack,” Daddy said. To Big D, he said, “Yeah, it’s the new remake. Yeah, I’m watching it again. Yeah, it’s better than the last remake. I think it’s better than the original.”

Mom said, “It’ll still be there, Heath.”

“Okay, okay,” Daddy said. “Dan says he has CNN on and there’s nothing on it.”

Mom picked up the remote and flipped through the channels. Nobody was saying anything about this. Nobody was texting me either. ‘Hello’ I texted. ‘WU@?’. Nothing. I checked my signal. Five bars. ‘WTF’ I texted. Mom was looking at her iPad and talking to Barb on her iPhone but she said to us, “I don’t see anything on the Internet, either,” like the Internet would be able to tell us anything.

Then it started raining again, and we all sighed, because it sounded normal again. Then my phone pinged. My friends started telling me what was going on. It had stopped raining at their places, too. Mom was talking to Barb and Daddy was talking to Dan, and he started watching Caddy Shack again.

I remembered it all because it was just last week, either Monday or Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday, one of those, I don’t remember which. Steve came out with a flaming glass of water to show us and I could smell it clear across the room, which made me feel better.

It was good having it all back to normal, but for that one day, everything was so weird.

5

A Bullshit Free Day

I’d like to declare a national day free of bullshit. We can call it National No Bullshit Day. NNBD. Although bullshit is spelled as one word, some call it as BS, or more colloquially, B.S.. So we could do NNBSD. Naturally, I like my idea better. We can have shirts and tee shirts, and raise money, or some other bullshit.

You know BS when you hear it and you call it by your expression. Mularky. Bull. Bullshit. B.S. Garbage. Crap.

We were used to it in the military. Bullshit inundated us, which, if you think about it, which I try not to do, is actually a lot of B.S. We had our bullshit meters. Hearing something that we knew as bullshit, we’d say, in a sort of laconic way, “That just pegged my bullshit meter.” That statement meant that the needle went all the way to the right. Another expression used was, “That buried the needle on my bullshit meter.” Buried the needle was an old expression referencing tachometers and opening throttles to the point where the needles entered the red zone or went as far as it could. Of course, the ultimate bullshit expression was, “My bullshit meter just broke.”

Most bullshit meters used to go to ten. Mine, of course, went to eleven. It was the Spinal Tap Special. (rim shot)

I suppose, in this precise digital age, that bullshit meters are way more accurate. They’re probably on a scale of one to a thousand, enabling the ability to assign a more accurate bullshit value to a given statement, action or news. There are probably apps that can be downloaded and installed on your smart phones, iPhones, iPads and tablets. Being sixty, I don’t need a bullshit meter, and will tell you, with a sniff, “I don’t need a meter to tell me when something’s bullshit. I’ve experienced enough bullshit to know bullshit when bullshit is around.”

But many naive and gullibles do not recognize bullshit. They believe you can get something for nothing. I, of course, believe that’s bullshit. Of course, the problem with bullshit is, once it’s in your system, you can’t get it out, debilitating your immunity to bullshit. You soon can’t even detect it.

Still, there times when my bullshit meter gets broke. For example, when a car manufacturer, like Ford, declares they’ve completely re-invented a car, I think, that’s bullshit.

When they announced literally no longer means literally, I shook my head and said, “What bullshit.”

When I see the price of my quad shot mocha is five dollars, I think, that’s outrageous bullshit, even though it’s not, really. Bullshit often depends upon your frame of reference. I have some years behind me so my frame of reference has gotten pretty damn big. First, I would tell you, “Nobody sold mochas when I was a kid. We didn’t have a Starbucks or coffee house on every corner. Coffee houses were part of the beat generation. Only artists and poets went there, not people.”

And then I will tell you, “I remember when a cup of coffee cost less than a dollar.” Someone with a bigger frame of reference will naturally top that and declare, “I remember when it cost ten cents a cup,” and another will say, “I remember when it was free.” I’m not sure if coffee was ever free, so that moves my old bullshit meter needle a little bit, but that’s okay, because they’re old, and it’s honest bullshit.

The Internet doesn’t help. I mean, come on, there is so much bullshit on it that it seems possible that the bullshit will take it down. Which would be a pretty good news lead: “In today’s top story, bullshit broke the worldwide web. More coming up, after this word from your sponsors.” Which is bullshit in its own right, to need to wait to hear about this important news until you’ve heard someone try to sell you something.

I may be showing my age there.

You’d think some tech company could design an application that not only detects bullshit but blocks it, just as intrusion detection and prevention software works. Then, as you’re downloading a page, a little popup arrives on your screen and says, “Warning. Bullshit was detected and blocked.”

We could even assign the bullshit levels of threat: faint, mild, average, serious, dangerous, and OMGWTF infuriating.

I dream of a time when television commercials could contain the disclaimer, “This commercial contains no bullshit,” and you can sit back and listen and know, you’re not hearing any bullshit. Because if they were spreading bullshit when they made the commercial, some great Bullshit God would zap them with a laser and declare in a thunderous voice, “No bullshit allowed. Not on my watch.”

But, yes, that’s a fantasy. For now, I’ll dream of a bullshit free day, or even just, like an hour when I don’t read something and say to the cats, “Can you believe this bullshit?”

I don’t think it’s going to be until after November 8th.

 

2

Drinks in a Cone

Some clever folks have come out with coffee in a cone. Which, you know, immediately raises interest in, what kind of cone, and why coffee? Why not beer, or wine in a cone?

The coffee in a cone uses a waffle cone. The problem of coffee leaking through the cone quickly arose. The entrepreneur addressed the issue by adding four layers of chocolate to the cone. If you’re not a chocolate lover (I can’t believe those words can even be true), then you might think, doesn’t entice me, thanks. I don’t like chocolate. But surely other coatings can be applied to the cone. Like caramel or maple, or something. I don’t know. Don’t ask me, I just think here.

Returning to collateral ideas, I brainstormed about what kind of cone I can use to hold my beer, and what I should coat it with. Cheese?

Pardon me a moment while I address my gag reflex.

I like beer and cheese but I canna wrap my brain around drinking beer in a cheese coated cone. Hmmm, wine…maybe.

Can you imagine ordering? “Hi, I’d like a red blend wine cone.”

“Which red?”

“Three Vineyards Oregon blend.”

“What kind of cone, sir?”

“Do you have anything gluten free?”

“Yes, we have a pretty nice olive and rosemary rice cone. I have samples here. Would you like to taste it?”

“Oh, yes, thanks. Oh, that’s good. And that’s gluten free? Okay, I’ll try that.”

“Yes, sir, what size?”

“Grande.”

“And what kind of cheese would you like as your coating?”

“Hmm…I’ve having a red wine…do you have sharp cheddars?”

“Yes, we have several cheddar variations, including white. There’s the list, up here behind me.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see that. Hah. If it was a snake….”

“Would you like to sample any cheese?”

“Yes, let me try that Face Rock sharp white  cheddar, thanks. I always like Face Rock’s cheeses. Yes, that’s good. I’ll go with that.”

Fifteen dollars and a few minutes later, you have your grande cheese wine cone. Of course, even with the coating, the coffee dissolves its cone cup in about three minutes. I believe we’d have a about the same amount of time for the wine cheese cone. Chug, chug.

Going back to the beer cone, we can probably have an entire sandwich in a cone, you know, like turkey with Swiss cheese. Using a rye flour cone, we’ll wrap the innards with the turkey and layer it with hot melted Swiss cheese. Then we’ll deep fry that sucker, fill it with beer (“What beer do you want, sir?”) and sell it at state fairs. And then, someday in the future (which, I know, is a bit redundant, but I’m selling an idea here), we can have National Drinks in a Cone Day.

Next: Pizza in a cone. And then stir-fry in a cone, and burritos in a cone….

Isn’t progress amazing?

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

 

2

Fungible

Another “Is it just me?” moment struck today.

“Is it just me” that ‘literally’ no longer ‘means’ literally because it was used wrongly often enough that people accept the wrong definition as the correct one? That’s happened to many other words in my lifetime – replete and decimate come to mind. So, I guess, shrug. I should let it go. It’s history now, but , shrug, damn it.

Like, it also bothers me that people, media, and politicians (because pols and media are not people) will publish or state, “The little boy was found wandering alone, by himself, without his family.” I think they’re being a little redundant, but maybe that’s just me.

The classics of these cases still remain (‘still remain’, instead of just ‘remain’) in active use (can there be inactive use?). “At this point in time, we are currently now pursuing a new course of action.” Jesus, there are a couple unnecessary words in that statement. Or, a favorite, “I was just thinking in my head that we should do that.”

Really? You were thinking it in your head? Gosh, good for you. How did you learn to do that? I usually think in my pelvis.

It’s weird to me because I have, to the best of my knowledge (and whose knowledge would I otherwise use, and why would I use anything but the best of my knowledge?) that I’ve thought in my head my entire life. Therefore, it’s understood, and I don’t need to state where I’ve been thinking.

Is it just me or do I have I been wrong all these years? Do I need to clarify which body part was being used for which function? “I was walking, on my feet, to the store the other day….” “That bread was so hard, I was chewing, in my mouth, for literally hours.”

Okay, so my baseline is someone who growls at things like that. The minutiae others employ bothers me in some logic kernel in my brain. Communities building and developing without regard to water supplies triggers, “Is it just me, or is that stupid?” If not stupid, it seems short-sighted. “Is it just me, or is it ignorant,” to blindly allow fracking and pollute our water supplies and cause temblors and quakes? (Hello, Oklahoma and Pennsylvania, I’m smiling at you.)

“Is it just me, or have we put intelligence up our collective asses when we decree that people can’t grow food on their properties because that may adversely affect property values?” Yeah, it’s probably just me. Because, you know (I’m sure you do) food is far less important than property values. If the big one drops (know what I mean?), than we want to have high property values if we’re to survive the aftermath. I know that in many zombie movies, books and television shows, survivors are frequently lamenting, “What are we going to do? These zombies are adversely affecting our property values. If only we’d done more to protect our property values.”

Looking up ‘fungible’ triggered today’s “WTF, it is just me?” outburst. Looking the word up online, Merriam-Webster defines fungible as something that is fungible.

Fungible

I’m sure I’m displaying the full glory of my tree rings when I vent, “My teachers always told me not to use a word to define it.” What a deft (or is that daft?) definition. I now completely understand that fungible means something that is fungible. Very good. Excellent!

I did like the word of the day, though: asperse. Never heard of that. Of course, dubious of M-W’s definition, I looked it up elsewhere.

Venting completed, I will now, at this point in time, write like an insane, crazy maniac, one more time.

 

 

 

8

So Proud

Little victories count highly when the days roll on in dull hot and cold repetition, challenging me with tedium and boredom. Being an optimistic, though, I remind myself, at least I’m not under fire, fleeing a wildfire, fighting off zombies, dealing with disease, flooding and pestilence, or enduring anything discomforting.

I, on the computer, at the desk, hot coffee in a mug, cool wind through the screen at my back, was thinking through last night’s strange dream, wherein I was collecting health reports on my mother and faxing them off while helping other relatives handle exuberant dogs. Quinn, my personal feline attendant, completing his morning checklist, was beside me asleep on the desk. Suddenly –

Rising, he jumped down to the floor. Sensing something amiss, I tensed, not breathing, for several seconds.

Quinn began his upchuck routine.

Here’s where procrastination pays.

Leaping into action, I seized yesterday’s paper, which should have already been moved to the recycle but I hadn’t because the Zika virus! And Trump! And Hillary’s emails! And ISIS! And Giant Pearl!

Gently seizing Quinn, I spread the paper in front of him and held him as he brought up a hairball. Now my cat forensics rewarded me, as I knew Quinn does not stop with one. No, moving to one side, he began another. I slid the paper over and held onto him.

Once that was done, I let him go off, folding the paper with its ‘prize’. But Quinn wasn’t finished. A third seemed imminent. Folded paper in hand, I joined him, keeping him in place with gentle hands on either side, talking to him and stroking as I placed the paper beneath his head.

Fini, at last.

And I was so satisfied, so pleased and proud, because my cat had brought up a hairball with his morning meal, and I had intercepted it all, getting nothing on the floor, without either of us becoming freaked. Woo hoo, aren’t I great?

There was no one around to share my joy.

Quinn didn’t care. He moved to the window sill to enjoy the jays pondering the day. I, inspired by my MAJOR ACHIEVEMENT, cleaned the litter box.

Still, it’s a great day, isn’t it? Yes sir, no hairball on the floor. Call the news services. Set up a conference. Issue a press release.

And my coffee is still hot. Ish.

Woo hoo.

 

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑