Category: Thinking, thinking

Sunda’s Theme Music

The pinks and white blossoms in my view offset the clouds’ wind and wuthering suggestions. Nothing can unburdened the wind’s effect. Lowing through the sky, it randomly shakes bushes and trees, giving an impression that one big creature is chasing a herd of other creatures through the foliage. I’m thinking, a T-Rex is after a swarm of smaller things and the smaller things are frantically ripping away.

This is Sunda, March 30, 2025. Just one more day of March after this, then April arrives to try to lift our spirits in ‘Merica.

I’ve again done the tango with my cat to give him his medicine. Knowing when it’s time to be administered, he alertly avoids me and asks for permission to leave the house. Usually takes five minutes of steps and talking back and forth before the med is delivered. I try to sound cajoling and calming; he responds with disappointment and distrust. Finally done, it’s feeding time, followed by his second med. I have the system down for the second one, amlodipine. It’s a powder. I mix it in with chumley and hot water. Then out the door he goes.

And back in, because wind. Papi the ginger blade has no patience for wind. I’ve been out there, though, and agree with his assessment, as that wind carries some winter on it. Now Papi is visiting me, paws on my leg as I sit here, requesting that I pet him. I take time out of typing and reading to do that, sipping coffee as he closes his eyes and purrs. Then, enough! He trots away.

Had a chuckle this morning. I was alone, which gave it a little crazy spin: The Observer view on JD Vance: spurned in Greenland and humiliated at home, the vice-president should resign. Right. Not holding my breath on that.

Rain tats awoke me from a swell dream today. A woman visited me to return my manuscript to me. After foisting a warm hug on me, she told me that she’d read it, and it thrilled her. Thrilled me to hear her say that. As we talk, the woman is gently stroking my arm or patting my shoulder. Her two teenage daughters were with her. She turned to leave and told her daughters to go ahead, she’d catch up. The girls went out the front door. Then the woman hugged me again and kissed me. She suggested she was interested in getting more intimate right then and there. I rejected her; she insisted and kissed me again. I was kind of, why not? But her daughters, I added. She smiled; “They won’t care.” Well…okay…

The little monkeys I call The Neurons kicked consciousness off with Laura Brannigan singing her cover of “Self Control” in my morning mental music stream.

You take my self, you take my self control
You got me livin’ only for the night
Before the morning comes, the story’s told
You take my self, you take my self control

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Oh, they’re funny. The song came out in 1984 and was a hit for Brannigan. She passed away just twenty years later, only 52. I realize in retrospect that the woman in my dream looked much like Brannigan.

Papi is asleep in his malabar chair. Coffee is selling its magic in my system. The wind is singing like a lonely cat. Hope you have a good one, wherever you are. Here we go. Cheers

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Notice

If you’re an Oregonian…

Oregon’s Vote-by-Mail Needs You This Weekend!

A bill in the Oregon Legislature (SB 210) that would REPEAL our vote-by-mail system is getting a public hearing on Monday March 31. You’ve all read the news this week – Trump wants to ban mail voting nationwide, and his acolytes are trying to ban it here in Oregon. Submit written testimony OPPOSING this anti-democratic bill in Oregon by Monday morning here:

You can read the bill here:

https://olis.oregonlegislature.gov/…/Mea…/Overview/SB210

And you can watch the hearing on Monday at 1 PM here:

https://olis.oregonlegislature.gov/liz/mediaplayer…

You can submit written testimony via this online form system:

Written Testimony Submission Form

Written testimony may be submitted for a bill or executive appointment scheduled for a public hearing or for a topic scheduled for public comment. Testimony must be received within 48 hours after the start time of the committee meeting. If you are not able to submit your testimony during this open record window, you may email your testimony directly to your legislator or to the committee members.

NOTICE: Written testimony is public information and will be posted on the Oregon Legislative Information System (OLIS) website. Personal information in written testimony and in the submission form (except email addresses) is posted to OLIS and accessible to all major search engines, including Google, Bing, and Yahoo. DO NOT include any personal information that you do not want made available to the public, such as your address, phone number, or health history.

Submit written testimony for a public hearing or public comment using the form below.

If you experience technical issues submitting your testimony using this form, please report the issue, via email to testimony.techissues@oregonlegislature.gov
Learn more about submitting testimony.

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Saturda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

I caught up on reading several posts by Heather Cox Richardson that I’d missed. I appreciate the historic angle she brings to news about Truskzilla’s destruction of the United States. Reading her, I belatedly realized, gosh, I’ve been normalizing Trump and his supporters.

I thought they cared about the United States and its founding principles. Wrong.

Or that the history and heritage of this nation matters. Nope.

That they worry about the Federal deficit and trade imbalances and the stock market. No way.

That usual barometers such as court rulings, disastrous economic results, or opinion polls would have an impact. No fucking way.

That the usual things like how history will judge them matters. It doesn’t; they believe, winners write history. We’ll be the winners. We will write the history.

I did understand that they didn’t care about democracy or voter rights. I did understand that they’re racist, sexist, misogynists, and reactionary. But that was mostly to unite people and put them in office. They needed racist, sexist, reactionary misogynists as their voting base to get them in through the front door.

Those are all normal terms about the normal course of events. Using them in terms of what Trump and the Trusk Regime is doing is normalizing them.

They are not normal. Nor can what they’re doing be called normal.

The Trusk Regime is interested solely in being in power. This is a coup. They’re interested in remaking the United States as an imperial power under a dictatorship. They suggest to each other, why build that mighty military if you’re not going to use it?

Like many dictatorships, the Trusk Regime and GOTP will put up window dressing as a democracy and a republic. But they are setting up the nation to be a military force. Cutting away the things we depend upon as a society — a working and reliable Federal government, healthcare, a safe and healthy environment, Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, to point out some — destabilizes us. Growing unemployment increases people’s desperation. Rising prices limits their options and undermines food and shelter security. Sending children back to work breaks family. Ripping apart the education system reduces the nation’s collective intelligence, and with it, its will. All of these actions, taken in blitzkrieg fashion, demoralizes a growing number of people and spreads an increasing sense of helplessness.

That makes the people ripe for propaganda.

With the economy in shambles, other nations can and will be blamed for the growing poverty and starvation. Trade wars and political differences will be magnified and amplified. Trump, a prolific liar, has perfected the arts of projecting, deflecting, and blaming. That’s why he’s been boosted into position as the head of this monster.

They have X to help spread their misinformation. AI bots. Facebook. Threads. A weakening, capitulating media, itself owned by corporations and oligarchs, has already begun joining the effort.

A frustrated, starving population provides ample troops. And just as we saw with the Cheney/Dubya Iraq and Afghanistan wars, marketing can sell false causes. Helpless people hungry for someone to blame other than themselves will be served other nations as targets.

The clock is ticking. And the war drums have already begun beating.

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Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

I am again mystified. This isn’t shoutitfromtheroof news. I’m often mystified.

I know I mystify others, too. Especially my wife. She often avoids asking questions to clarify, preferring to express her doubts and confusion with her facial expressions. I used to ask her, “What’s that look for?” when I was young. I don’t make those inquiries these days.

My mystification is again with other people. Specifically, other drivers. They often mystify me. Cars stop four car lengths back from the car in front of them. “Why do they do that?” I ask myself and my wife. We laundry list reasons for fun. It’s not satisfying because I never know the real answer.

Other driving aspects which mystify me is the lack of adherence to speed limits. It’s not that I’m worried about speeding. I speed. No, the other drivers’ weird behavior in regards to speed limits trigger me. “It was thirty-five,” I tell my wife. “And they were going thirty. Now it’s a twenty-five miles an hour limit and they’re still going thirty.”

“I think most drivers don’t pay attention,” my wife says.

I agree with her in principle, but I don’t know. That bugs me.

The latest driving mystery involves turn signals. “I’ve noticed a new trend,” I tell my wife. “People are coming to a traffic light, stopping at the red light, but if they’re turning, they’re not putting on their turn signals before until they start to turn. Why do they do that? Don’t they understand what a turn signal is about?”

“Maybe they forgot where they’re going,” my wife says.

That’s possible. But I don’t know. That bugs me.

Returning from the library the other day, she rushed in and said, “You’re right. I had three different drivers not turn on their turn signal until they began turning. What’s going on? Why are they doing that?”

“Right?” I respond. I’m very pleased.

It’s always good to have someone else join your party.

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Saturda’s Theme Music

The world is full of colors. Pinks, yellow, and greens win the eye. Must be spring in Ashlandia. Temp is 45 F, however, it feels like 60, if you stand just the right way. ‘They’ say it’ll be 55 F today as our high but left out how it will feel. Will it rain? Yes! Maybe! It’s Saturda, March 29, 2025, so who knows? I will dress for dry and rainy weather. Yeah, it’ll be a dorkish sight.

Papi the ginger blade, known locally as Butter Butt, doensn’t seem upset with us any longer. Could be because we bribed him with chumley and other treats. I don’t think he forgot. He seems to have a long memory about things. It could be that he’s trying to mislead me into thinking he’s forgotten and forgiven, and then raise floofhem some night when we really need sleep. That sort of cunning planning feels like his style.

I surfed through a wild dream last night. Whole thing was just a series of flash epiphanies in dark night. I was telling myself that star energy runs through us, firing the little nuclear responses in our cells that generate our life energy. We die when the star energy can no longer feed our cells. Star energy comes through our chakras into our corporeal beings, and so on. Time is something we made up, and we have it all wrong. Everything is happening at once. No past, no future. Time was created so we could think in a more orderly manner but we’ve taken it too fair. Now it’s our straitjacket.

There was much, much more. Such as there is only one universe, and the idea that we treat our bodies wrong by trying to heal it when we should be reversing things. Dream me didn’t explain how that was supposed to be accomplished.

I awoke really hot. There are different kinds of hot for us as humans. Drinking a hot beverage feels one way. Sex hot, sun hot, fever hot, sports hot which incudes dripping sweat, furnace hot, which dries us out, desert hot, are all different. If you think about these hots, you notice how each feels unique, and our bodies respond differently to each. Well, the hot felt when I awoke from this dream was wholly different from any of those hot experience. Perhaps that’s all only me. I’ve never discussed the different sort of hots I feel with others

Anyway, I awoke feeling a different manner of hot. Then I headed for the bathroom to pee.

Der Neurons have sprung “Star Man” by Davide Bowie on the morning mental music stream. This was from Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust era. Released in 1972, I don’t hear it often on the radio in ‘Merica. But I personally enjoy its message of hope being delivered by a Starman to Earth’s youth. I went with the Top of the Pops video performance. Even though the song is being mimed, it awakened and impressed many more people to the talent named Bowie.

Coffee is reassuring me once again. Time to play through. Hope your day is remarkable for you in many good ways. Peace out.

2

Frieda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

I read a headline out to the my wife.

Why the American consumer is fed up

“That’s CNN,” I add for her. “I know why I’m fed up but I want to see if CNN knows why I’m fed up.”

This is an Analysis by Harry Enten. I don’t recall the name. Doesn’t mean much for me. I may have read Harry Enten’s work before but didn’t realize it. I’m often ignorant in that way.

Harry Enten began, ‘Americans just feel like they can’t catch a financial break. You know the feeling. You go to the grocery store, you look at the prices and you want to channel your inner Vince Lombardi: “What the (heck) is going on out here?”’

I read that to my wife and subject her to my opinion. “He’s a little wrong on that. I know what the heck is going on. It’s inflation, protecting profits, supply and demand, tariffs, among other things.” Yes, I’m in a quarrelsome mood. That often takes place as I read the news in 2025.

The analysis continues.

“Worst of all, it feels like it’s only going to get worse. There’s a very good reason for that: Americans may, in a way, get taxed more when they go to buy things – more than they have for a long period of time.

“No matter what some people will tell you, tariffs are, in fact, taxes. When you combine the potential tariff rates that the Trump administration could impose on us, the consumer, with the inflation that raged out of control coming out of the pandemic, it feels like things have gotten away from us.”

That earns an eye roll from me. “Yes, no kidding.”

“Take a look at a recent report from the nonpartisan Tax Foundation. It estimates that under President Donald Trump’s proposed tariffs, the effective tariff rate will be 8% in 2025. That’s so high that it would go off the page if you were charting tariff rates over the last 55 years.”

“Yes, but those are facts and history. Trump deals in prejudices and myths,” I tell my suffering wife.

She relates a story abut Wall Street. “This says that men working on Wall Street are happy with life under Trump because they’re free to sexualize women again.”

I grunt dismay and keep reading the CNN analysis. Prices are going to go up. Yes, no kidding. I read aloud, “Keep in mind that an estimated 25% to 30% of Americans live paycheck-to-paycheck.” Right, I know.

Of course, what I’m doing is validating my opinions. Experts tell us that’s one reason why politics are so divisive these days. While I’m reading this, people reading Red State read nothing about prices and tariffs. They’re busy writing up Trump’s glory, how great his cabinet is doing, and demonizing Democrats. Their targets these days are Fetterman, Pelosi, and Walz.

I finish the CNN article and resume my doomscrolling. Arctic ice has shrunk to a springtime record low but don’t you dare talk about climate change. Non-U.S. citizen Elon Reeve Musk is trying to buy votes in Wisconsin. Ohio is further narrowing what can be discussed in classrooms. Looks like it’s gonna be another quarrelsome day.

More coffee, please.

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Frieda’s Wandering Thoughts

The cat was mad at us this morning. Papi the ginger blade made this clear in several way. One, he’d bang on the door to come in the house but then would refuse to come in. He would eventually, though, because it wasn’t his preferred weather outside, as the local weather gods ordered rain and wind. Also, inside is where the food is. Once inside, he’d sit ten feet away, giving us hard, judgemental stares.

“Butter Butt is mad at me because I refused to let him out,” my wife said. “He kept crying but I told him no and he shut up and went away.”

My wife and I have been sleeping in separate rooms because of her medical issues. “Butter Butt went away from your door but he came to me. I let him in and out a few times but finally also said no,” I answer.

“How does he let you know that he wants in?” my wife asked.

“He bangs on the bedroom door slider.”

“So I let him out the front door and he goes around and asks you to come in the back,” my wife said.

“That’s the gist.” It’s more involved, but why go there.

“You’re a demanding little animal,” my wife says to Papi in scolding tones

The orange floof lifts his chin, gives her one more long look, and walks away.

I don’t think this is over.

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Frieda’s Theme Music

The week’s days have puddled together in a limpid pool of memory. I organize a flock of Neurons into enough intelligence to figure out that it’s Frieda. Part of the process is done using the Fitbit on my wrist. It tells me that it’s March 28, 2025. By going backward through the week’s blizzard of news and activities, I reach my conclusion.

Alexa tells me that it’s rainy in Ashland, forty rainy seven degrees with a high of fifty rainy two expected, and a chance of showers. Sunlight boils through my windows, mocking that weather forecast, further confusing my coffeeless Neurons. The weather likes teasing me, mystiying me about how to dress and challenging me to reconsider my plans. I think it’s mean of the weather but I don’t voice that thought. That would just make the weather mad.

A mystery has the household in a tizzy. My wife announced, “I found one of those little microfiber cloths for glass in a package when I was cleaning. I thought I’d put it in the office by my chair so I can clean off my glasses. I must clean them five times a day.”

I’m half listening, half reading, so I deploy supportive husband speak. “Good idea.”

“But it’s gone. I can’t find it.”

I remembered seeing it, too. We talk about our memories of seeing the cloth, when and where, like it’s a wake. We search the area where it was last seen, the laundry room counter used as the cat food service station. Nope, not there. Nor on the floor or behind the dryer. Things fall behind the dryer. I want to install a shelf across that space. I proposed that solution the year we moved into the house in 2006. I suggested it again last night. “Let me think about it,” my wife replies in throughful wife speak, the response first given in 2006. I mentally shrug. If the cloth is behind the dryer, I’m not getting it.

A cursory flashlight search behind the dryer shows nothing. We walk around, combing through other potential places, wondering, where did it go? It’ll turn up someday, we finally decide, quitting. Then a new mystery will start: how did it get there?

PINO Trusk’s number one component, Donald J. Trump, has inspired The Neurons again today. Thinking about how he’s wrecking the world through his prejudice and ignorance, Der Neurons cranked up the 1978 song, “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult, in the morning mental music stream. The latest trigger about my irritation with the mango beast came from Trump targeting ‘improper ideology’ at the Smithsonian Institution. Avoiding laws, debate, popular opinion, etc., he’s using his favorite tool of destruction, an executive order.

Weirdly, Trump’s prejudice against the Federal government’s role in places like the Smithsonian Institution can be traced directly back to the Smithsonian Institutions origins in 1836.

Conservatives and champions of states’ rights, such as John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, argued the federal government did not have the right to establish a national institution, conduct scientific research, or promote knowledge. Federalists and northerners, led by the learned and well-traveled John Quincy Adams, maintained that it was in the nation’s best interest in many ways. Happily, they won out.

As many, including me, note about Trump, the Trusk Regime, Project 2025, and MAGAts, their idea of progress is by going back to the 1800s.

The Neurons created an alternate version of first lines, featuring Trumpzilla and what he’s doing. Did this while making breakfast, so, yes, as little thought as you can imagine was actually engaged.

With a golfer’s grimace and a terrible sound, he pulls the United States government down.

Helpless people around the nation curse his name as he looks in on them.

He picks up a club and throws it back down as he leaves the course and heads for lunch again.

Oh no, they say he’s got to go, go, go Trumpzilla.

If you’re familiar with the song, I naturally had to address the closing lyrics as well.

History shows again and again
How politics points up the folly of man
Trumpzilla!

Okay, off I go. Coffee and I met a match in each other once again. Hope your day brings you some good cheer and satisfaction. Cheers

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Notice

It’s just another sign about how little Republicans care about Americans.

Senate Overturns Rule Limiting Bank Overdraft Fees to $5

The Senate voted Thursday to strike down a rule capping most bank overdraft fees at $5, a measure adopted late last year by the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau that had been expected to save Americans billions of dollars per year.

The rule would have limited the fees banks and credit unions could charge when customers spend more than they have in their accounts, typically $35 per overdraft. The bureau estimated it would save American households $5 billion a year. It was immediately challenged in court by banking trade groups.

Democrats are preparing to fight the resolution in the House, where they hope the slim Republican majority will work in their favor.

Call your representatives in Congress. Let them know that this is not okay. Banks make enough profits. They don’t need more.

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Thirstda’s Wandering Thoughts

A hard thwack burst from my hat’s brim as I walked along the sidewalk to the coffee shop.

What was that, was my immediate, natural reaction. I’d seen nothing bounce away so I immediately suspected, bird poop. As if confirming it, a large crow flapped away, cawing as if crowing in victory.

Entering the coffee shop, I removed my lid. Yep, I’d been nailed. I remember that some cultures consider this good luck.

It is said that the lucky bird poop belief has its origins in Russia. According to this superstition, good luck and financial fortune may come your way if a bird poops on you or your vehicle. Perhaps the reason for this myth is that the odds of being pooped on at any given time are so low.

I showed my friend and share what happened. He looked and laughed. “It’s a good thing you had a hat on, or it would have nailed your big forehead.”

He was right. That would have created a vastly different experience.

I guess an optimist could say that the bird poop was good luck, because I was wearing a hat when it hit.

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