Ahoy, brothers and sisters from other places and spaces. Today has arrived in the guise of Thursday, 1/25/24. Blue skies escorted the day in, with a few dancing clouds joining the sunshine parade. It rained earlier and will probably rain later. Temperature now is 49 F under a sunny sky, and today’s probable high is just below 60 F. Not bad for a sprinter day. Actually registers as typical.
Les floofs are enjoying this weather as it allows them to exercise their lion and panther sides and explore our yard without being cold or wet. It’s one thing to be wild, but quite another to be uncomfortable.
Nikki Haley inspired today’s music. She’s on the trail, campaigning to be the GOP nominee for POTUS. The schedule had her in New Hampshire for their part of the ritual, and the press was following her. One NTY writer, Charles Blow, addressed her campaign rally music, calling it an oddball selection. Among the performers whose music was used were Bruce Springsteen, Cheap Trick, Blake Shelton, Janis Joplin, Norm Greenbaum, REO Speedwagon, Queen. Hardly a staunch conservative list. Springsteen, for one, actively supported Barack Obama and Joe Biden in their campaigns. I agree with Blow’s conclusion, as he wrote, that the music choices are a headscratcher.
I wonder if the Haley campaign got permission to use these performers’ music and what they would think. Political campaigns’ use is a complicated issue involving copyrights, fair use, and the creator’s rights and intentions, and whether they’re comfortable with the politican’s views. As example, this week, The Smiths’ guitarist, Johnny Marr, told Trump’s campaign, stop. You don’t have the right to use that music, and we don’t want you to.
“Consider this shit shut right down right now,” Marr added.
Anyway, after reading Mr. Blow’s piece, The Neurons began playing “No Surrender” by Bruce Springsteen in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). That’s the Springsteen song Haley’s campaign used in NH. That’s just how The Neurons work in their diabolical way.
Be strong, stay pos, and keep leaning forward. I’ve been sucking coffee down, thank you, but you do what you need to do. Here’s the music. Cheers
Beautiful windy, cloudy, sunny Saturday morning in Ashlandia, where the drivers are average and polite, but getting hit while you’re walking is close to happening all the time. The temperature is 54 F. Light rain might visit, and our high temperature will only be 57 F, but that’s better than 47 F.
It’s November 18, 2023, already. Counting down to all those things that are growing more and more imminent, from tests for students to mark the year’s end or term’s end, to buying presents and cooking foods for different holidays, to making travel arrangements to visit family or run away to somewhere warmer. All of these things speak from positions of privilege and having the money and food security to make these plans. Too, too many people will be scrambling as they have for years, trying to be safe, have a warm place for themselves and their families to sleep, and a decent meal. Their reasons for those situations are many; some are from choices made, but others arrived at their precarious situation through discrimination and bias, personal disasters, or mental health matters. Hope you can keep them in mind and help them out some during this season of celebration.
It’s time for the Leonids meteor show again. I went out to look for them last night,but the sky wasn’t cooperative. While Thursday night was fantastically clear, Friday night was hopelessly overcast. Bummer to me as I like watching the streaks and think about where they’ve been and what they represent. Three trips outside were done, and nada was seen but clouds and light pollution.
The Neurons popped an Isley Brothers song from 1970 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark marginal). “Freedom” is a song off an album called Get Into Something. I first heard it at the house of a girl I was seeing, but it was her mother playing the album. Her mom was about my mom’s age, but their musical selections seemed very different. As a thirteen-year-old heading for fourteen, I found myself listening intently to the vocals and the lyrics, and enjoying the instrumental elements of this R&B sound. I’d heard R&B previously but this was like, wow, there is such energy.
Let me tell you, this particular song, “Freedom” is so apropos as today’s theme music. Check out these lyrics.
Well, I wanna say, I wanna tell you I wanna say when you can do what you wanna do And go where you wanna go And live where you wanna live And love who you wanna love
And be what you wanna be Join what you wanna join Well, well, well, that’s freedom Yeah, yeah, freedom, yes sir
When you can learn what you wanna learn And read what you wanna read (Free, free, free)
And write what you wanna write (Free, free, free) Do what you feel is right (Free, free, free)
Because, I’m remembering this song at a time when a group of misnamed people called “Moms for Liberty” are getting books banned, so students can’t read what they want to read. Red state school systems are pushing to limit what is taught so you can’t learn what you want to learn. And you can’t be who you want to be when state legislatures are making shit up and declaring that people who aren’t binary can’t decide what pronoun they will use or love who they want to love because these narrow-minded cultural dictators think that love and sex is only between a man and a woman. So, “Freedom” by the Isley Brothers is a solid theme music choice for this new wave Era of Repression and Fear that Republicans are pushing.
Stay positive, be strong, and lean forward with optimism and courage toward a brighter future of freedom, equality, and justice. As Martin Luther King, Jr., said, as written in a 1918 book, “Readings from Great Authors”, attributed to Theodore Parker, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” h/t to quoteinvestigator.com.
Ah, the sun is shining and rain is falling. There’s a rainbow somewhere. Here’s the music. See you at the coffee maker. Cheers
A conversation with friends about fire ants reminded me of the places where my family lived.
My oldest sister was born in Des Moines, Iowa. I was born in Arlington, Virginia. My next sister was born in San Antonio, Texas, then my late brother was born (and died) in Fairfax, Virginia.
The family split, courtesy of a divorce. My two little sisters via Mom were born in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania, and Penn Hills, Pennsylvania.
My two little brothers from Dad’s side were born in Beckley, West Virginia (where my youngest brother also died).
I guess that it’s little wonder that wanderlust plagued me by the time I was seventeen and joined the military to see the world. It shouldn’t be a surprise that after almost twenty years of living in Ashlandia (the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere), I’m ready to move again.
Fog toys with vision, blurring boundaries, imposing a chilly sense on Ashlandia, where the autumn foliage is above average. Rain dashes down off and on, on and off, against a totally pale overhead that lacks sunshine and blue sky. Temperature of 55 F caps the moment. Will go up into the upper fifties, but that’s little inducement for many, so traffic is light, especially the foot traffic. The wet sidewalks are empty.
Coffee shop has light traffic, too. Me, and two college students across the room, are the only customers at the tables. I’m assuming they’re college students, based on looks of age, style, the paperwork spead on the table between them, and the earnestness with which they engage the paperwork and one another while scribbling. They could be activists, entrepreneurs, partners planning a party or going over the household budget. Maybe they’re inventors pursuing some world shaking new device. Perhaps I’m being too blase about who those two are and their potential.
For the record, today is Thursday, November 2, 2023. Many coffee shop employees are wearing holiday-themed clothing, and it’s not turkey and Pilgrims.
Another local business has shut down this week. Happens several times a year but it still causes some pensiveness. This business has been functioning for a few years, a restaurant which I never tried because their menu didn’t appeal to me. Several business locations have been empty for years, and now we wonder, what use to be there? I know that some were built after I moved here in 2005 and have never been occupied. Success and failure has a thin edge in a small town, and we, at about 20K, are a small town.
Wind, leaves, and rain are a perfect storm for my thoughts. Feeling it, The Neurons dump “My Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen into the morning mental music stream (Trademark in limbo). It’s from his Born in the USA album, circa 1984. “My Hometown” isn’t a happy song, but reflective and introspective about a particular era of existence which we’re still experiencing in many places.
In ’65 tension was running high At my high school There was a lot of fights Between the black and white There was nothing you could do Two cars at a light on a Saturday night In the back seat there was a gun Words were passed in a shotgun blast Troubled times had come To my hometown To my hometown To my hometown To my hometown
Now Main Street’s whitewashed windows And vacant stores Seems like there ain’t nobody Wants to come down here no more They’re closing down the textile mill Across the railroad tracks Foreman says, “These jobs are going, boys And they ain’t coming back To your hometown To your hometown To your hometown To your hometown”
In those verses, we’re hearing about at the struggles and coping of racism and integration during the 1960s, and the shifting economy that began as regional factories shut down, with corporations growing by buying smaller businesses. Consolidation took place and those small companies and stores which wouldn’t or didn’t sell out, were often crushed by the mega corporations like Target, Walmart, Home Depot, and Starbucks moving in, praised now for bringing employment opportunites into areas. Meanwhile, manufacturing shifted to overseas locations in quests to lower costs and improve profits.
I was part of some of that movement at IBM, a tiny player as we shifted activites out of the US. Lower costs might mean greater sales and higher profits, which might trickle down to better wages and bonuses for us in the gooey working middle. We employees were caught in the equation, trying to improve our own lives and help our friends, families, and communities while despising what was being done. Sickening. I was so happy when I finally reached a point where I could leave that existence.
Yet, paradoxically, I miss some co-workers and the chats we had. I also miss the challenges presented by the shifts and finding solutions. Though morally apalling in many ways, it was mentally and intellectually challenging, and so satisfying when resolutions were found and projects were completed.
But in my view of my hometown, it was just a neighbood in Pittsburgh’s suburbs. This was where I grew up. Wilkingsbugh, East Hills, Plum, Penn Hills, Monroeville. Many small cities downtown were already dark and deserted, buildings stumbling into naked supports, and piles of thick glass and red brick. I was part of a generation taking our business to shopping centers and malls. Now many of those malls and shopping centers are also shutting down, dark, or gone, as our business turns to the net.
Sometimes in the past, across all that was happening, slivers of hope that something better would emerge would rise and encourage me and those like me that someday all of this could change. Rights were spreading, along with ideas about buying locally and sustainability. Now the MAGA cancer spreads across the states, and is gaining strength around the world. These are not the type of people or governments which will result in Star Trek and exploring strange new worlds. They seem likely to build and use Death Stars.
You know, the irony of this, I suppose, is that someday those other two customers might come by and remember, that’s where that coffee shop. Remember it, and that rainy day that we sat in there, brainstorming and working together? Then they’ll go on from the spot where the coffee shop used to stand, where I type now, remembering the past. So it is and will be, changing to the regret of some, the delight of others, and the indifference of more.
Here’s the video. Stay positive — hah, like I am, right? — be strong, and keep leaning forward. Change will come; we just don’t know what it’ll look like. Despite my pessimism now, we have made many advances, and probably will again.
Monday came in for me like a snail runnin’ the hundred meters. It’s October 16, 2023.
53 F now in Ashlandia, where the wine is local and the Pinot Noir is pretty damn good. An unrelenting, unhappy wind is assailing us under a dull gray sky. Rain is due. Fall is assuming its familiar form. Leaves changed color and now they’re dropping off trees, piling up again curbs and in yards, and zipping past windows on a zephyr motor.
Birthdays are pending. Cards and gifts must be purchased and sent. October is our family’s heaviest birthday month, with one past and eight due.
Mom’s birthday is one of them. I’m not sure what to get her. Sitting and conversing at Empty Bowls on Friday, someone mentioned something. I said, “Maybe I should get that for Mom for her birthday.”
Beside me, my wife brightned. “That’s a great idea.”
Neither can remember what ‘it’ was. We’re still working on pulling it out of memory. Sometimes it takes two minds to remember things. LOL.
Still sick. Stayed in from writing yesterday. Mostly read and napped, watched some NFL football.
Sore throat is gone; yea. Energy, though, is really tanked. Like someone siphoned it away. Headache was there and ears were hurting this morning. But I drank coffee to kick start my energy. Surprise, the head and ear pains fled. So hurray for coffee, once again.
Locking into my mood, The Neurons have positioned “Ridin’ the Storm Out” by REO Speedwagon into the morning mental music stream (Trademark ignored). The 1981 song emerged when I was stationed with the Air Force on Okinawa, Japan.
Okinawa is a narrow island and subject to typhoons/tropical cyclones. These were often endured with ‘Phoon Parties’. You tape over and board over the windows with what you can find. Then you raid the booze store on base and the Commissary to buy provisions. While the aircraft were evacuated, we prepared to survive a few days, possibly without electricity.
My wife and I were fortunate in our first three years. We had a tiny off-base apartment in a tiny apartment building. The landlords lived on the bottom floor, and a dozen US couples lived in the apartments. During a ‘phoon, we could visit each other via the inside hallways, so we’d play games like Uno, or Trivial Pursuit, or visit to chat and borrows stuff.
Time to light this Monday. Stay pos, be strong, and keep well. Here’s the music. More coffee, stat. Cheers
Flooftatership(floofinition) – Floofocratic rule or control of a household by an animal. Origins: Middle Latin. First known use noted in 1542, in France.
In use: “The novel by George Orwell, 1984, revolves around a rebellion led by two pigs who install a flooftatership.”
In use: “It’s often not an animal’s size that enables it to create a flooftatership that leaves it ruling over other pets, but it’s willful behavior and clear vision that it’s the one who is supposed to be in charge.”
In use: “The little callie came in and started sniffing around. The dogs walked up to investigate her and were rewarded with two explosive swats. Thus began Daisy’s flooftatership in the Dawson household.”
Recent use: “After her old canine, formally known as Dust Bunny but commonly called Queenie or Your Highness, passed on, Willow’s other pets seemed unsure about what to do after living in the late pooch’s flooftatership for more than ten years.”
Floofzees(floofinition) – A wheezing or blustery snoring sound attributed to animals. Origins: United States, 1837, Henry David Floofreau. Floofreau often described the pleasant torpor induced by the floofzees emanating from the animals surrounding him (1837, Thoughts On A Dozing Life: A Guide to Floofy Companions).
In use: “Even though they were small enough to fit in a hand, the five tabbies were soon issuing whistling floofzees which made Connie listen and smile.”
In use: “As Mickey and his wife watched television, he grew aware of Barker’s growing floofzees. After studying the dog for several seconds, he met his wife’s gaze, and both silently laughed.”
Recent example: “Corwin’s extended floofzees expanded in volume and duraction until the ginger cat startled himself awake, jerking up with a wild, green-eyed gaze.”
Everything is changing. I’m not stupid. I know that it’s not unusual for things to change. Weather changes, clothes, all that. I’m not stupid.
This is different, you know? This is real change.
I was born in 2032. May, a taurus. I can’t remember much of my early life. I guess it was okay. Then the crumble began. You know, bridges collapsing, blackouts, gas and electricity shortages, water shortages.
I remember that from when I was around ten and our school was shut down. Dad said that taxes had been cut, so you know, the government didn’t have the money for schools, and we couldn’t afford a pay school. Dad was working a full-time job and two part-time jobs. Mom was working three part-time gigs. Working their asses off, both of them. My auntie, who was disabled from diabetes, schooled me and my sisters and cousins in our family room. That’s where she lived.
I did what I could myself. Made some change from helping with cleanups. People would abandon their cars and places, and I’d pirate things and sell them door to door. Tapes and books, old computers, that kind of thing.
We were always hungry, picking berries, apples, plums, whatever we could find. Best time was when I was a teen. Used to be able to pay two dollars to bus tables for fifteen minutes in a restaurant. They let me eat anything that was left. I’d try to stuff things in my pockets for my family, if I could, but I was so damn hungry all the time.
That lasted ‘bout five years. Now I’m 31, and it’s all gone. I’m trying to find a new gig but all I got is my ‘lectric bike and clothes. Most days, it’s too hot to be outside, you know? Gets over 110 by noon, and then climbs twenty degrees more.
Like Mom used to say all the time, the times, they are a-changin’.
I heard about a wedding — and this wasn’t my nephew’s recent wedding, I hasten to clarify — where the best man didn’t know what he was going to say, so he asked AI for help. AI provided him a speech. The best man then personalized it. After he spoke, no dry eyes were found.
