Thursday’s Theme Music – Too Much
Ashland, Oregon — Thursday, April 16, 2026.
It’s fifty shades of spring green outside. How quickly the front yard tree went from being bare to full of green leaves. I was out there working on the yard the other day and noted how bare it was and wondered when its leaves would arrive. Then the leaves were full and green on it, as though they’d been delivered via Amazon. “Your leaves are on the way and will be delivered by 3:30 PM on Wednesday.”
It’s 46 now, up from 32 F, and expected to climb to 52 F. Thunderstorms are expected tomorrow.
In fifty shades of Trump, Republicans in Congress are sticking with their leader, refusing to hold him accountable for the war in Iran. Some have compared it to Operation Poseidon Archer under President Biden. It’s messy, but there was a difference in scope, costs, and intentions. Although President Biden’s operation lasted fifteen months, his administration notified Congress before military operations were ordered and carried out. Not so with Trump, who has been operating more unilaterally, limiting how much Congress is told, and sometimes not telling them until after the fact. President Biden’s operation was also well-defined in objectives and stayed in scope. Trump’s Iran war has been much broader and general, with no clear cut stated goals. While various reasons have been stated, Trump has also threatened to destroy Iran as a nation and attack civilian targets.
- Operation Poseidon Archer cost about $400 million a day, with a total of $5 billion dollars for the first year of operations. Trump’s Iran war has spent $1 billion dollars per day on average, with an estimated expense of 35 to 51 billion dollar so far. Some experts believe that Trump’s Iran war could exceed one trillion dollars.
- President Biden’s Yemen strikes had a relatively contained economic effect. Trump’s Iran war has caused gas prices to soar to $7 in some states while disrupting global air travel due to airspace closures.
- Trump’s war has also affected the price of fertilizer for US farmers. The Strait of Hormuz closure has restricted access to components like sulfur, which is required to manufacture phosphate fertilizers in U.S. plants. Many small farmers are facing fertilizer costs which are 30 to 40 % higher than planned. The scale of the impact on increased cost for food and consumer goods will depend on how long Trump’s Iran war lasts.
- Total deaths for President Biden’s Yemen operations were estimated at 106 to 337 lives. Trump’s Iran war has claimed an estimated five to ten thousand, so far. No US military members were killed in the Yemen operation, while Trump’s war cost fifteen US military members to date.
It all added up to too much. That was enough for Les Neurons to invite the Dave Matthews Band into the morning mental music stream with “Too Much” from 1996.
I eat too much
I drink too much
I want too much
Too much
Hey
Suck it up, suck it up
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up, yeah
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up baby
h/t to AZLyrics.com
Hope your day isn’t too much for you, and that all goes well.
Cheers
Fascinating Dream: Aliens
It was a fascinating dream for me. When I awoke from it, I thought, I’d been watching a television show or movie. With a bit of surprise, I then realized I’d been in the dream, along with my wife and two children, which were my offspring. But I was both involved by watching as a minor character and sort of injected into some scenes.
My wife and children and I were tourists processing through some station. Aliens were there; sort of Klingon-like, in light grey blue uniforms with a jacket which has a deep red collar and a matching red shirt under it.
While traveling, all of us are stopped by these others who basically want to enslave us. It’s a troubling scene. I’m passive with my wife, not sure what will happen to us verses the others because we’re human and are supposed to have a different status. Nonetheless, we’re detained with the rest.
There’s then a scene where our captor and one of the captives go back and forth about what’s go be done in this cave where we’re being held. I realize that they’re having a disagreement over a matter of reference and perspective.
The captor keeps saying, ‘to your right’, and the other keeps saying, ‘that doesn’t make sense’. I then try to clarify that the captor is talking about the direction from the way he’s facing, while the captive is facing the opposite direction.
I end up getting up and pointing this out on a diagram they have posted on an easel.
We then ‘watch’ as captives are taken to another place to mine stuff. I don’t know what they’re mining. They make a show of it. I then suddenly realize that they’re secretly mining knowledge.
When the captive of before decides they’d learned enough, he reveals that he has a weapon. Shaped like an obelisk – really, just like a foot tall reproduction of the Washington monument, but shiny, silver-gold – the captive holds it up. Pressing a button, he sends a signal.
Suddenly, all these other dead, sleeping, and collapsed aliens awaken and rise. Each of them are equipped with a like obelisk. Using these, they overpower their captors.
As my wife and I watch, we realize that the revolution has begun.
Dream end.
Blame
This was supposed to be done last Friday but my computer ate my bookmarks.
The Little Competition Dream
It seemed as if I was in a quasi-military unit again. A new guy, young, I arrived as a strange ceremony was underway.
I took it in at a glance: large wooden but modern yurt. High wooden ceiling. People in uniforms – could be military, marching bands, firefighters – in groups, waiting.
Two senior people took me aside. The taller one said, “Your timing is perfect. We’re going to have you do the judging.”
I was like, the judging? I said nothing.
They led me to a round wooden table. On it was a brown wooden basket. “Basically,” it was explained, “you find their flare and trinkets and count them up.”
They were doing activity as this was being explained. I watched, following, gleaning the essence. This was a competition. The groups had stuff. I had to find it but judge it not on its merits but on its quantity. This would not be hard.
I counted some stuff. Marked it. Initialed the little slip of white paper it was on.
My instructors laughed. “Don’t bother initialing it. That’ll slow you down.”
I was affronted. I wanted accountability. Precision. But said nothing.
One of the groups’ leaders, tall guy with a rambling reddish-brown beard, was watching and spoke up. “He’s doing the judging? Look how slow he’s going. This is going to take forever.”
The tall leader responded, “He’s just starting. He’ll speed up.”
Indeed, I was speeding up, and learning the challenge’s intricacies. For example, in one green uniform, they had hundreds of small pockets. In each was a little gold trinket. Each had to be found and counted.
That’s how it was with all of these uniforms. The teams found things and hid them. Everything was small, and it was up to me to find and count it. Pretty nuts, I thought.
A woman in uniform, waiting to hand over her garments for my inspection and counting said, “This is pretty important to people.”
I nodded; I could tell.
She continued, “They put a lot of work and thought into it.”
“I can see that,” I replied.
The small things were adding up and time was going faster. I found new places to stack it all, keeping it neat and orderly.
Dream endThe Little Competition Dream
I was in a quasi-military unit again. A new guy, young, I arrived as a strange ceremony was underway.
I took it in at a glance: large wooden but modern yurt. High wooden ceiling. People in uniforms – could be military, marching bands, firefighters – in groups, waiting.
Two senior people took me aside. The taller one said, “Your timing is perfect. We’re going to have you do the judging.”
I was like, the judging? I said nothing.
They led me to a round wooden table. On it was a basket. “Basically,” it was explained, “you find their flare and trinkets and count them up.”
They were doing activity as this was being explained. I watched, following, gleaning the essence. This was a competition. The groups had stuff. I had to find it but judge it not on its merits but on its quantity. This would not be hard.
I counted some stuff. Marked it. Initialed the little slip of white paper it was on.
My instructors laughed. “Don’t bother initialing it. That’ll slow you down.”
I was affronted. I wanted accountability. Precision. But said nothing.
One of the groups’ leaders were watching and spoke up. “He’s doing the judging? Look how slow he’s going. This is going to take forever.”
The tall leader responded, “He’s just starting. He’ll speed up.”
Indeed, I was speeding up, and learning the challenge’s intricacies. For example, in one green uniform, they had hundreds of small pockets. In each was a little gold trinket. Each had to be found and counted.
That’s how it was with all of these uniforms. The teams found things and hid them. Everything was small, and it was up to me to find and count it. Pretty nuts, I thought.
A woman in dark green serge uniform, waiting to hand over her garments for my inspection and counting said, “This is pretty important to people.”
I nodded; I could tell.
She continued, “They put a lot of work and thought into it.”
“I can see that,” I replied.
The small things were adding up and time was going faster. I found new places to stack it all, keeping it neat and orderly.
Dream end
Sometimes, These Things
I was running for exercise. As I did, I became aware of my body’s sounds. A novel concept emerge.
I curtailed the run and went home. Sitting down, I typed up the first twenty pages, about 2500 words, then went for water and to clean up and change clothes. While I was doing those things, I realized a potential ending and saw more scenes.
I added the book to my To Be Written document.
Just the way it goes, sometimes, you know?
Michael Seidel, writer 