This is a first world issue. First world blues. It’s about the ‘do-nothing’ loop. And enshittification.
We have an Epson printer. Bought it about a year ago. Replaced the big old Brother printer we’d had for over a decade. We often struggled with it. No; it often struggled to do what we wanted it to do. We wanted it to print on demand. We thought that’s what it was designed to do. Now I know otherwise. These printers aren’t designed to print. They’re designed to bring in revenue as products when they’re sold. After that, fuck you, you’re on your own.
So, Yellow-Magenta-Cyan are not printing on the Epson. That’s essentially the basis of color printing. I’ve gone through updates. Nozzle power cleans. Test printing to a sickening point. Nothing changes the YMC outcome. Yes, there’s ink in there. First thing I checked.
The enshittification really begins with the support. It’s a beautiful do-nothing loop. If it doesn’t print, clean nozzles. Then test. If it doesn’t print again, turn off for twelve hours. Try again. Here are some more helpful things.
None of the ‘more helpful things’ offer an iota of help. They’re just not what’s going on with our printer. And clicking on some just take me
Okay, let’s ask them for support. To get support, I need to the serial number.
Where is the serial number?
On the bottom of the printer, of course!
It’d be too damn easy to put it on the front, top, rear, or other two sides. No, no, no, let’s go full enshittification. Let’s put it on the bottom. Because, see, printers have ink. They shouldn’t be turned upside down. So, that makes it very difficult to get the serial number required for support, so win-win for them, they save on support costs!
What enshittification geniuses!
Hmmm, let me see what AI says about turning my printer upside down.
It goes well, satisfying, at the new (for me) coffee writing haunt. Actually, this is a return to this particular haunt, RoCo, which used to be formally known as Roasting Company. They’ve changed the inside tables, making better use of space. They’ve also changed their small parking lot into an additional outdoor seating area, with tables and chairs under black netting. It’s better than I’m describing it. Besides those two areas, seating is available on front and side porches. The side porch features a fire pit and makes it cozy. The place reeks with sociable, companionable, inviting vibes.
My third day back here last week, I noticed the woman beside me was editing a typed manuscript. She struck up conversation about the weather because I’d just come in and she was preparing to leave. It came out that she’s a local cozy mystery writer. Published her first last year and was working on her editor’s feedback for the second. We’ve exchanged names and greet one another regularly since. She introduced me to her husband, who directs the local Peace Choir. Several friends sing in it, and I’ve attended dozens of their concerts. Six degrees, you know?
Another time, as I was sitting and writing, I noticed several others basically doing the same on their laptops. Today featured a conversation beside me between a man and woman. They were discussing a curriculum for a theater class. Included topics that I overheard were screenwriting and directing. Sounds fun, I thought.
So RoCo has good writing vibes, IMO. I’ve written about forty pages since coming here, and edited more. What I thought was the novel’s end, wasn’t. And the coffee works for me. Staff is friendly and professional.
Think I’ll keep coming here, as long as they’re here and will have me.
I don’t know what age I was supposed to be in this dream. I felt younger, maybe in my early middle age. Anyway, I arrived at this cluttered, jumbled location. Busy with people, we were being asked to make choices. Like many others that I overheard and witnessed, I didn’t understand exactly what was going on. Acting on haste, I checked some small pails.
The pails were plastic and different colors, like red, blue, yellow, green. They reminded me of pails which children use in a sandbox or at the beach.
In these pails were some sort of small black squares. Each had tiny white letters and numbers but were mostly blank. Nobody seemed very sure about what they were or what we were supposed to do with them, but everyone was certain that we were supposed to take some. I wasn’t sure how many to take but grabbed eight. Then, following the flow of people doing who had also made their choices, I went along the line until we came to a long messy table, one of many. Above the table, three slender, black metal slats ran parallel to the table. Many already had multiple black squares attached to them. With observation and trial and error, I discovered the metal squares were magnetic and that we were supposed to attach them to the slats. Okay, I did that.
When I did, the black squares became alive with information. Watching, I realized that they were displaying information about the people who put them up, like, for me, as example. Each black square was giving out vital signs about different body functions, is how it first appeared. Most accepted that but I saw that some were just displaying dates, but not in the usual format. Pressing the dated squares showed me events from that day. As I did that, I began understanding that the white letters and numbers gave information about what was embedded and contained codes and patterns.
Assimilating this, I began excitedly talking about my realizations. Other people were disinterested, dismissing the squares. But I grasped that the squares’ functions were actually based on their relationship and placement with each other. Calling them indicators, I started telling people, “Don’t you see? If you can go back and find the right indicators for yourself, you can know your full history. Not only that, but it can also show the future for each of us.”
Moving the squares around showed me that I was right. Pressing back against the crowd, I tried to go back to the buckets to look for better black squares.
Summer sensations still regale Ashlandia. 65 F when my eyes met the day, sunshine and blue skies were saying hello. Wind is thrashing like a disjointed washing machine but the temperature is credited with a chance to hit 80 F today. 82 F was seen at my place yesterday, and Papi took full advantage of it to soak in warm sun. For the tape, this is Munda, October 6, 2025.
Went this morning to have blood drawn after overnight fasting. Routine check, ordered months ago. Long line for people at the lab but they were quick, efficient, and friendly. I was soon seen but the tech couldn’t get out of blood of me! She called for backup, as she put it, and blood was found.
News from my POV seems oddly slow and stilted for a Munda. I think it’s because Trump is pulling another TACO act and hiding out from criticism and rulings against him. Part of this might also be because he’s physically and mentally failing in multiple ways, and it’s becoming more greatly exposed each time a camera or microphone finds him. Amazing how the military isn’t being paid; he reassures them, don’t worry about it. Great empathy, once again! I hear he did have another meltdown about being unappreciated and misunderstood, going on a poor little rich TACO once again. Poor little man baby.
The Epstein Shutdown continues without change. GOP left D.C. with a shrug and refuse to negotiate with the Democrats. The GOP sputtering, mewing blame game is weakening. The majority of voters polled said, “This is on Trump and the GOP.” Firm Trumpheads still insist it’s on the Democrats but they’re stay as fact resistant as Trump and speak from an alternate reality that echos with NAZI and imperial white supremacy tones.
Cowardly Trump and the spineless GOP really don’t want to the Epstein files released. They’d rather break the nation and destroy the economy before they let us see what those files have on Donald J. Trump.
Today’s song was put into the morning mental stream out of reflections about plans to visit Mom and family. As part of that, I thought, see some family, good for the soul. Resonating with Der Neurons, they dialed up Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band. Into the MMMS flowed “Hollywood Nights”. Remember, Bob sings, “See some old friends, good for the soul.” And there’s Les Neurons’ connection.
Then, new from Mom’s was texted in. Mom reported hearing a loud crash and several thumps. She knew her BF, Frank, had gone upstairs and concluded that he’d fallen. Mom called for an ambulance and texted my sister. Sis arrived in time to see the ambulance taking Frank away. We’re guessing from evidence that Frank had used the toilet and was undressing from his pajamas when he lost balance and fell down the stairs. Mom has a gallery of family photos along the lower part of the wall. Half were knocked off. Newest text report just arrived from sis.
It’s not good news about Frank. He broke several ribs on both sides. He fractured his hip. The one that was replaced. They’re going to call his operative doctor to ask him what he wants to do about that. I can’t think of his name. they aren’t gonna do anything about the ribs, cause there is nothing to do but let them heal. Also, his heart was out of rhythm when he got there and told him he had chest pains last night and took some nitroglycerin, but never told mom.
Frank is 95.
He’s in my thoughts and worries now, along with Mom. Peace and grace to all of us. Now, off for coffee. Have a dental appointment in three hours. Hope you have a great day. Cheers
Satyrda saw Ashland welcome the 15th annual Southern Oregon Pride Parade. This was part of a three-day celebration of community and acceptance. Photos from Rep. Pam Marsh.
It’s a sign of the times! My spouse and I ventured into a Dollar Store for a 2026 calendar. Despite computers and phones, she still tracks things on paper calendars. Anyway, there in a Dollar Store aisle was a machine attached to a pillar. “Price Checker” said a large red and white.
A price checker. For the Dollar Store.
Well, yeah, as we all know because the Dollar Store announced it, inflation has caused the Dollar Store to start charging more than a dollar. In this case, the Dollar Store calendar was $2. Made in China, I expect the price to go up.
Summery wisps are present for Sunda, October 5, 2025, in Ashlandia. Now 57 F, sunshine and blue skies say summer but the trees’ scarlets, oranges, golds, and yellows remind us, no, we’re turned the seasonal corner. Still, 75 F is our projected high. Good day for getting outside for yard chores. Papi approved, to judge from his floofverbals — tail up, eyes slitting in appreciation as a sun pool is turned into a floofspot. He commences a lazy spruce up of his whiskers.
Several interesting articles were read this AM. One is an Adam Gabbatt analysis in The Guardian addressing Trump’s increasing strange behavior.
The column highlighted Trump’s AI use to portray Rep. Hakeem Jeffries as Hispanic, a strange and silly ploy which drew Hispanic anger against Trump. That was stacked atop the right-wing conspiracy about med beds shared in a Trump tweet (later deleted), his unfounded ideas about pregnant women using Tylenol, and Trump’s pingpong attention span. Trump went from the Michigan synagogue shooting, where he promised to keep people updated and then never posted about it again, to bragging about the tacky gold decoration he’s added to the Oval Office to his dissatisfaction with an NFL kickoff rule. Then he talked about how presidents walk.
“America is respected again as a country. We were not respected with Biden. They looked at him falling down stairs every day. Every day, the guy’s falling down stairs.”
Trump continued: “I said: ‘It’s not our president. We can’t have it.’ I’m very careful, you know, when I walk downstairs for – like I’m on stairs, like these stairs, I’m very – I walk very slowly. Nobody has to set a record, just try not to fall because it doesn’t work out well. A few of our presidents have fallen and it became a part of their legacy.
“We don’t want that. Need to walk nice and easy. You not have – you don’t have to set any record. Be cool, be cool when you walk down, but don’t, don’t bop down the stairs. That’s the one thing with Obama, I had zero respect for him as a president, but he would bop down those stairs, I’ve never seen – da da da da da da, bop, bop, bop, he’d go down the stairs, wouldn’t hold on. I said, it’s great, I don’t want to do it. I guess I could do it, but eventually bad things are going to happen and it only takes once, but he did a lousy job as president.”
Those of us who regularly Trump watch were wearily unsurprised. No, we’re more amazed that the GOP cynically not just accepts Trump’s surreal behavior but actually celebrate and support it. Meanwhile, Trump grows more violent, more eager to use the military every day. Attacks against Venezuela have escalated without any checks being offered by Congress about WTF is going on. And Trump regularly drools over chances of sending in military, even threatening to use the 82nd Airborne, into American cities run by Democrats.
The other article catching my attention was more direct about Trump and his growing wars.
That’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it: Trump is conducting a war on reality, and bringing his alternate reality and self-created facts and history into our reality. That’s the old square peg in a round hole problem. Trump reality is wholly at odds with truth, facts, medicine, and history, and often wars with logic. This piece is by Andrew O’Hehir in Salon. O’Hehir writes,
This war on the world has both fictional goals and real ones, and the fact that those are incompatible is, once again, not a fundamental problem for Trump’s courtiers or adherents. There’s no hypothetical version of global equilibrium in which the United States is simultaneously the dominant superpower and also an isolationist fortress-state with zero immigration. I would guess that Trump loves the sound of that but doesn’t follow the logic too far, while the people who intend to outlast him just “yes queen” along and roll their eyes. Their goal is more doable: leveraging American power to ensure the continued dominance of the billionaire elite for at least as long as our planet remains habitable. (They’re aware that it probably shouldn’t be advertised that way.)
This is how many of us have viewed Trump and MAGALand since early days. I recommend reading the entire article.
The summer/autumn blend has The Neurons feeding me a song about summer. Called “Summer”, by Calvin Harris. This video of young people at a show having fun was amusing to me to watch. Hope it doesn’t something for you, too.
Coffee has again answered the call. Peace and grace are still hanging back, despite my naked dance under the moonlight last night. Hope peace and grace get here soon. Till then, cheers.
Dreary sunshine and bleached skies say hello when Papi and I step out to inspect the morning. It’s 49 F in Ashlandia today, Satyrda, October 4, 2025. A high of 60 is anticipated. The furnace was turned on to dispel some of the morning chill, as it was just 67 F in the house. Despite these clouds, rain is not a worry for us. Personal note, today is the 51st anniversary of when I swore my oath to defend the Constitution in the U.S. military.
All my appointments went very well Thursday. Texted Mom to tell her we’re coming to Pittsburgh for her 90th birthday. She says she’s looking forward to seeing us but is busy painting the kitchen cupboards right now. Dad remains in rehab in Texas. Spoke to him, and he was in terrific spirits and sounded strong, healthy, and alert.
Trump’s Venezuelan body count is 21 after U.S. missiles destroyed another boat. That’s number four. What’s the body count over/under for a Nobel Peace Prize?
The Weariness Meter is in the upper ranges today. I feel I’m flagging over the news. Think I’ll take a time out from keeping up to date. That general malaise striking me had me thinking about past and present. 1974, when I graduated from high school and joined the military, still appears as a decent year when I look back through time’s long lens. This year, 2025, feels like a terrible year on multiple levels. Reflections have me treading on a path of thought about how much we’ve regressed in my lifetime. Most of that came in the last 20 years. Hell, most of it came with Trump’s takeover of the White House in 2025. Much of it is due to Russ Vought and Project 2025 and their effective use of Trump as a dupe.
The Neurons decide to cheer me up with “Here’s Where the Story Ends” by Sundays in my morning mental music stream. Sample lyrics for you from Songfacts.com.
Crazy I know, places I go Make me feel so tired I can see how people look down I’m on the outside
Oh, Here’s where the story ends Ooh, Here’s where the story ends
It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year Which makes my eyes feel sore And who ever would’ve thought the books that you brought Were all I loved you for Oh the devil in me said go down to the shed I know where I belong But the only thing I ever really wanted to say Was wrong, was wrong, was wrong
It’s that little souvenir of a colorful year Which makes me smile inside So I cynically, cynically say the world is that way Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise
Here’s where the post ends. Hope grace and peace pop up for us someday soon. Got my coffee. Time to motor. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 