Very cool morning and not hurrying to warm up. This is a cloud’s influence, a cloud offering gray dimples and wavy white lines but otherwise lords the sky from east to west and the other way too. We’re offering 67 F with an 87 F high in the works. Although you can’t tell from this weather, it’s summer, August 6, 2025. More like sumfall. It is also Wenzda. Hump day. Mid week.
Trump is still being chased by the Epstein Files. That’s no good for other countries. Tariff Man has donned his towel and tied it around his neck so he can pretend it’s a cape. Now he’s zapping other countries with tariffs. Zap, 50% on India. Kapowie, 39% on Switzerland. Boom, 250% on pharmas. Maybe. Depends on how well it deflects attention from Epstein. Right now, tariffs are sucking oxygen.
Epstein is still out there, though. “Will no one rid me of this plague?” Trump cries out in his thin, reedy voice.
“Sorry, my lord,” he’s already dead,” Bondi replies. “We would if we could, believe me.”
Scowling, Trump sucks on a can of Mexican Coke. A smirking glare wins his expression. “Increase Canada’s tariffs. That’ll teach them.”
In case you forgot, here’s a picture of BFFs, Epstein and Trump.
This is one of my favorite Kinks songs. Admittedly, I have several. I enjoy this one’s opening lyrics. “Hello, you. Hello, me. Hello people we used to be. Isn’t it strange, we never change. We’ve been through it all yet we’re still the same.” I’m not sure what personal reflections I was working on at the time. summI was in the kitchen, doing the standard AM kitchen tasks. The Neurons picked up on my thoughts and into the morning mental music stream came Ray and Dave and the band with “A Rock ‘n’ Roll Fanasy” out of 1978.
A drip of coffee has turned into a sip which became a gulp. Time to jump out there. Hope peace and grace visits you and stays a while. Cheers
Frida, July 25, 2025, landed on Ashlandia with a gently familiar thud. Weather is a relaxed blue-sky & sunshine state of being. 70 F now, we’ll be clicking on the low 90s by daylight’s end, which is about our average. No smoke bothers me. The Cram Fire is the largest, 95K of acreage, 77 % contained, north of us. South, in California, is the 19,000 acres Butler Fire. Prevailing conditions are keeping us safe, knock on wood.
Being Frida, the news front is slow and lazy. A shooting at a college in New Mexico results in more gun violence death. Couple police officers were ambushed elsewhere, shot and killed during their lunch break. This will all generate more handwringing but no action. Another handwringing moment hangs in the air as it was revealed that under the guise of ‘shipping out criminals’ during the Venezuelan swap, the United States imported a convicted killer of three. Terrific. Yes, the Trump Regime is always sloppy about vetting the details. But hey, he’s white and male, so it’s okay, right? Beyond that, the story still smokes about how Trump lied to Jerome Powell at the Fed, was called on it, and just blew it off. Lying is what he does, along with posting and sharing fake information, and splashing the world with bellicose hatred. This is the current face of the United States.
Today’s song is an ode to the cat. When he was served up and chowed down, he purred and chirped like, this is just what I needed. Which, yes, compelled The Neurons to serve up the 1978 ditty, “Just What I Needed”. Whole thing gives me a happy smile. A new wave pop song, it was part of the regular FM radio cycle for a while. So easy to hear, easy to understand, non-offensive and easy to sing along to, the cat gets it.
A smoke smell pesters my nostrils. The windows are closed for the day, to be re-opened tonight. I don’t see any discoloration in the sky. Air quality remains good. It’s just me and my olfactory processes working overtime.
Time to advance into the fray. Hope your Frida meets your needs. I’m gonna do my best to fit it to my needs, starting with coffee, I think. Cheers
Clouds have overtaken Ashlandia again. It’s a cool summery start to June, this being Sunda, June 2, 2025, and a pleasant way to ease out of spring, that being the current rotation, as we’re north of 0 degrees latitude.
Did you read about the mutation which they believe give orange cats their color? Scientists track down mutation that makes orange cats orange. The story comments, “It took researchers a century to find the genetic glitch that causes orange coloration in cats.” Turns out the Arhgap36 gene was involved. Go figure, right? They weren’t able to find any explanations for the orange personality, though.
Today’s song is in honor of PINO TACO. TACO, which means, “Trump Always Chickening Out”, has become PINO Trump’s favorite nickname. *snark*. The Neurons came up with it as I was breaking my fast. Into my morning mental music came “Macho Man”, the 1978 Village People song. But instead of the song’s original lyrics, The Neurons were singing “TACO, TACO man. PINO Trump is such a TACO man.” And so on. The revised lyrics don’t make a lick of sense, but it’s a rock parody, and it’s fun singing that PINO Trump is such a TACO man.” Heh.
Now, I must press on. My oven igniter replacement DIY project is underway. It’s been fraught with issues. Blood pressure has probably gone higher than any mountain. So, onward once again. I think I’ll start with some tacos. Some reason, I’m craving them.
And reminder, this is Jun 1. Big demonstrations planned for Jun 14. Be there or be a MAGAt. Cheers
My brain wandered off into an unusual direction and decided to rewrite a classic rock song.
The Neurons’ target is a song by Kansas. Released in 1978, “Dust in the Wind” became known for its reflective lyrics and evocative sound. These were the lines my brain wanted to rewrite.
Dust in the wind All we are is dust in the wind (All we are is dust in the wind) Dust in the wind (Everything is dust in the wind) Everything is dust in the wind
My brain was suddenly singing,
I close my screen Only for a moment but the app is gone All my words Are no longer there, a pain for me
Pixels on the screen All we are is pixels on the screen (All we are is pixels on the screen) Pixels on the screen (Everything is pixels on the screen) Everything is pixels on the screen
Wenzda, Mai 14, 2025, is Grayda in Ashland. Gray hangs over us with gravity’s weight. Sunshine comes in and leaves quick. No rain is expected, but neither was Grayda. This is Ashlandia. We’re supposed to be basking in warmth. It has risen to 56 F. 61 F is on the menu. All these gray clouds do something to my mood. Their impact is much different if its over a crashing sea, but that scene is a coupla hundred miles away.
Today’s tune was brought to me by nature. Nature; when you want the very best.
I was out looking for pollinators. My wife and I are down. “I’ve seen one fat bumble bee,” she said, “and one dragonfly, and a looper, but that’s not really a butterfly. So I haven’t seen any butterflies.”
I recounted my count: two bees, no dragonflies, butterflies, wasps, hornets, or hummingbirds. Even the birds are frequenting our area less. We’re used to being a buzzbox of activity. This non-activity disconcerts and worries us.
Papi was with me during my pollinator watch. “Where are the butterflies?” I asked him. He rolled around on his back on the patio cement, his eyes scrunched closed and his paws working the air.
A dog barked. Papi flipped over and studied the area, his ears finetuning themselves to the dog’s position. Not in the backyard, which is fenced. And it wasn’t either of his mortal enemies, the dog to the east, or the wicked dog to the north, Cowdog.
And then, “Dog & Butterfly” by Heart started in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons’ thinking was clear in this instance. That’s often rare so I appreciated the linear clarity.
“I’m going back in, Papi,” I said. Papi yawned and stretched. A jay came to the yard and conversed. I closed the door on the scene.
Ann Wilson said about “Dog & Butterfly”, “This, like a log of songs, came from something iteral and changed to something more poetic. I was upstairs in my music room waiting for my muse. It doesn’t always happen on cue but, in hindsight, it did this time. I looked out of my window and saw the dog chasing a butterfly. He wouldn’t give up; he just kept chasing that butterfly. I thought it was impossible, yet he kept on going. The chase took on another meaning for me. Like so much in life, the spirit is undaunted, you keep going after it.
“Many people have said that it is that thought in this song that has helped them through rough times. When they’re up against the wall I life, thy could refer back to it and keep going.
“Nancy (Wilson) and I, as Heart, were new at the time in 1978 or so, and this became our personal theme song as well. Now if we don’t play it in our set, people are disappointed.” h/t to Wikipedia.org.
I think it’s a good day to help push through graydas. Sometimes these days in Trumpland feel gray and heavy despite the sunshine. I turn to music to help get through. Do what’s needed, without doing yourself harm.
Coffee has been consumed. Here we go again. Three…two…one…
Sunda, Mai 11, 2025, has arrived, per schedule. Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers who celebrate it on this day. Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers even if you don’t celebrate it on this day.
I ordered Mom’s Mother’s Day present in April. It was delivered before the requested delivery date. I wasn’t overly concerned by that, except that Mom’s house was victimized by a wind storm that took out her power and caused her an electricity-free week plus of suffering and coping. I reported to my sister that Mom’s package was delivered, and if she has a chance, see if it’s there. I also told Mom, and repeated that message today. I didn’t call Mom but texted her. I didn’t call because she tends to drop into free verse laced with bitterness, anger, and suspicions, and doesn’t like talking on the telephone any longer because she can’t hear. Frustrating situation, as anyone who’s experienced things like this can attest.
I reminded Mom about how it used to be in my texts. Back in the day when travel was easier and less expensive, before the enshittification of so many travel aspects. I would have loved to go back there for Mother’s Day. We used to take her for brunch. She had her favorite places. In her later years, about the time she turned 70, she started eating dessert before main course, surprising me, cracking me up.
I haven’t heard back from her.
Ashlandia’s weather pulled a Trump on me.Flip flopping about the weather, one thing was promised and another thing was delivered. In the weather’s case, spring promised sunshine and warmth. Instead, we find the wind has fashioned wintry inflections. Instead of hyping “Summer is coming,” it’s singing, “Winter is coming,” ala Game of Thrones. Although it is 57 F outside right now, clouds are gathering and darkening, encouraging the wind. Today’s high will be a meager and un-Ashlandia May temperature of 64 F, if that.
Papi started today’s music. His nemesis came around last night. Gray and white, with a sneering attitude and chunky body, the interloper wasn’t moved by Papi’s loud demands for the other to surrender or leave. I went out and encouraged Papi to return inside. Papi loathed doing so. When Gray & white trotted away, Papi wanted pursuit. Finally, he surrendered to me and returned to the house’s safety.
Happening at pitch black AM, recalling the confrontation this morning invited The Neurons to add music. The music was “Surrender” by Cheap Trick. The song came onto the pop rock scene in 1978, when I was but twenty-two. It’s kind of an odd rock song as it addresses who his mother was before the narrator came on the scene versus who she is now. Then, reveal, Mom and Dad still have a wild streak that’s bared toward the son’gs finish.
But why that refrain? “Surrender, but don’t give yourself away”? Doesn’t it seem contradictory? Yes and no, to me. I think the surrender part is about giving up on some puzzling matters but leave your core values intact. But hey, it’s music. It’s rock. It doesn’t always necessarily make sense as long as it sounds good.
Coffee has been served and drunk. Shopping is on the horizon for my wife and I. Hope you have plans. Remember, doing nothing is still doing something. Cheers
It’s days of sunshine for us here on the coast. That’s our river view from our room in Old Town Florence. Only 58 F, a sea breeze keeps the heat load down. But the view was almost forever. S’posed to be better tomorrow, as clear and sunny as today but with a high of 66 F.
Reminder: this is Wenzda, April 30, 2025. A new month lands on us tomorrow.
Today’s morning mental music stream is technically an afternoon offering. I was out somewhere today. ‘Up’ in Yachats because it’s north of here. At a park, looking out at the sunny Pacific. I heard a woman tell her child, “Stay in the middle.” That triggered a collision among The Neurons. From the pileup came a song by Ambrosia, “How Much I Feel”, from 1978. That’s all because there’s a line from the song: “So you try, try to stay in the middle.” The Neurons just stacked from there. Not really my style of song. I was surprised when my rocker buddy, Randy, used to go into that thinking and singing to self zone whenever this song came on. He enjoyed Boston and Van Halen. This song, however, had been part of his life with his wife before their divorced. It always forced another time on his present when it played.
Randy passed away two decades ago. Before Trump’s arrival on the political thing. Randy never liked Democrats. Despised Bill Clinton. Watched a lot of Fox News. I’m afraid he would have been a MAGA. So, in reflection, it’s probably best he passed away before this political era got its hooks into him.
Coffee has been consumed. And pastries. Lunch, etc. Hope your day is a great new page in another chapter of your existence. Here we go. Cheers
Winter returned, granting snow some visitation rights. An inch of the white crystallized water coated my home’s area when I looked out. By 8 AM, it was melting. 9:30 found it a swiss-cheese icy shell of itself. 35 F, we’re not expectin’ any great warming and ‘they’ tell us that 40 F is where the temperature reach will end. No more snow is expected but the surfeit of swollen clouds suggest rain is an option. The sun seems to be peering out and saying, “I think I’m gonna stay out of this.”
I have a Doobie Brothers song from 1978 in the morning mental music stream. Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins wrote it. Then Loggins recorded and released it, followed by a Doobie Brothers release with McDonald on vocals. The Neurons plugged it into the morning mental music stream after reading a Justice Alito opinion. Ever an impatient, irritated rightwinger, Alito is adept at twisting words and ideas to support rightwing ideas.
From Alito’s Fiery Rebuke of Supreme Court Ruling Against Trump: The Supreme Court recently ruled that the Trump administration was wrong to withhold foreign aid funds owed to nonprofit groups. Chief Justice John Roberts and Justice Amy Coney Barrett broke from conservative justices in the decision. President Donald Trump has publicly expressed his plans to cut 90% of USAID foreign aid contracts and slash an additional $60 billion in foreign aid spending.
What really has hizzoner is a tizzy is that he thought the lower court Federal judge is overstepping by ruling that PINO Trusk’s regime must pay its obligations. The money was already earmarked for proper payment, through proper and legal process. Doesn’t matter for Alito, who bends over whenever PINO Trusk orders it.
The song “What A Fool Believes” is about relationships, of course. But embedded in those lyrics is an unwillingness to accept the truth. The song is about a man trying to return to a relationship without understanding that the other person has long since moved on, and whatever love was there is no more. In the same sense, Alito and other hard right winger wants to see whatever benefit they can in every situation for Trump, and deny what is really happening. This is often wonderful for the GOTP but detrimntal to our nation.
I also got drawn into a gleeful reading of a Law & Crime article:
The judge ripped into the DOJ lawyers for trying a Wizard of Oz defense: “pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”
The man behind the curtain is PINO Trusk’s Defense Secretary Hegseth. He’d X’d, “Transgender troops are disqualified from service without an exemption.”
The DOJ’s lawyer resisted the implication that Hegseth’s repost was in any way determinative of the government’s actual policy.
Reyes did not credit this approach.
“Why shouldn’t I look at the words of the guy who issued the policy?” the judge asked at one point.
The government’s attorney replied that people use colloquial terms to mean more specific things all the time.
The judge strongly rejected this argument.
“Is that really how you think this all works?” Reyes asked. She went on to explain that the X accounts in question collectively have “millions of followers” and are funded by the U.S. public. “We’re not talking about people, we’re talking about the secretary of defense.”
The lawyer went on to essay the notion that Hegseth was possibly using “shorthand” to refer to the overall policy.
Again, the judge rejected the notion.
“Do you believe the secretary of defense was using loose language he didn’t comprehend or that he didn’t think out?”
The attorney quickly replied: “I’m not arguing that.”
The DOJ lawyer went on to insist the court should look to the words of the policy itself rather than Hegseth’s social media post. The court, however, remained unconvinced.
“The record is that his word is: this covers all transgender people,” Reyes told the government lawyer.
That’s what we witness out of the Trusk Regime and the GOTP time and again: what you see them doing is not what they’re doing. What they’re saying is not what they’re saying.
I’m glad a Judge called them out on that bullshit.
Coffee is singing its love song to me again. Have a the best day you can. Here we go again. Cheers
Greetings from snowy Ashland. It’s Wenzda, February 5, 2025. Our first snowstorm of 2025 came in, kicked our asses, stamped its feet, and moved on.
The entire time that it snowed, there was no wind. The snow fell straight down. The temperatures hung between 31 and 33 degrees. When the snow ceased late yesterday afternoon, the light shifted. Rosy hues colored the snow. Probably sunset from behind clouds, I speculated. Then, it all went gray.
Next, the temperature, released from its obligation to remain at freezing while the snow fell, shed nine degrees in three hours. Clouds now sail through blue skies and sunshine. Trees and utility lines are shedding large clumps of melting snow. It’s up to 29 degrees F. A high of 38 F is possible, ‘they’ tell us. When all the snow stopped falling, my yard was buried under 14 inches.
Watching all that snow falling yesterday, my wife summarized the day well for us: “I guess it’s good to be retired and not need to go anywhere.”
Yes, good thing, because the storm dropped a ton of chaos on our little town. White stuff falling from the sky really confused people’s sensibilities. Didn’t help that the city on which we depend on services seemed really confused by what was happening. Or maybe it was people out sick, miscommunications, or people overcome with two much going on. Roads weren’t getting plowed — no, some roads were getting plowed. Several roads were plowed over and over while other roads, particularly on the newer south end of town, didn’t see plows at all. For the record, our road was just plowed for the first time. It’s not a major matter, as it’s not that long and only has about forty houses on it.
FB photo of I-5 in the valley not far from Ashland. If you zoom in on the road, you’ll see what looks like a train. Those are actually semis stopped in traffic because the Interstate is closed.
Other factors threw complications into the mix. Trees and branches found new resting places on the ground. So did power lines. People who lived on hills parked down where the roads were flat and walked home. Snow convinced some folks to just stop their cars where they were and walk away.
Without much local media, we were at a disadvantage. The city did nothing to bridge that gap. We have an emergency text message system but that wasn’t engaged much, other to say, “It’s snowing. Stay home.” Our best tool turned out to be Facebook. Friends in three other parts of town reported their situation. Between the four of us, we could compare notes and track developments.
One thing that puzzled my household as we surveyed activities from our window: why were so many people out in light jackets without hats and gloves?
But it’s over. Lessons learned? Probably not.
Our snowstorm stirred memories of another snowstorm. This one was in 1978. I’d just returned from a tour of duty in the Philippines. My wife was living with her family in WV while I was overseas. Now, with me back in the U.S., we bought a car and were driving to a new duty location by San Antonio, Texas. A huge blizzard struck. We made the decision to get the hell out of there and drove several hundred miles through blinding snow.
Thinking back on that time, I looked through a pop list, remembering songs. I’d been overseas. This was pre-Internet, pre-satellite TV, etc. When I returned to the U.S., I felt a deep disconnection with the nation. Looking at a list of songs from that time, I saw “Follow You Follow Me”. I know the song but there’s no memories connected to it, much like a lot of music I know from that period. It’s just there, floating in my mind, unmoored to anything.
One good thing emerging from the two snow days for us is that we used the time to clean the oven and pantry. My wife was the major mover on the pantry, emptying it, tossing outdated stuff, wiping the shelves. I only helped with the reorg and handing things to her.
The bad thing about the snow days is that she kept getting sucked into the bad news cycle. Infuriating to watch the checks and balances disintegrating in the face of GOP complicity.
Coffee and I have ran into each other in the kitchen, so we sat and had a cup to talk about the day. Hope you enjoy a good one. Cheers
August 29, 2024, crept into our world as clocks finished a round of counting.
It’s Thursday, so named for the day of the week when the poor were served free drinks at ale houses and taverns. Don’t look it up, because I made it up.
We’re expected a high of 97 F plus this afternoon. For now, though, the windows are closed because it’s a chilly 58 F in my environs. Air quality is marginally good. Blue sky reigns o’er most of the valley, but some hazy, formless clouds have popped up on the northern and western horizons.
Reviewing news, I see talk of Trump’s ‘campaign’. That agent of chaos is spreading more disinformation, still lying about the 2020 election results, spinning accusations out of air, and trying hard to disrupt intelligent discourse on anything except maybe the askance wondering, WTF is he doing?
Take the Arlington National Cemetery kerfluffle. This was an event planned for the families of thirteen service members killed earlier this year. They wanted it private. Trump, true to his tone-deaf self-centered character jumped at a chance to show that he really does support and respects the military and its members. That’s despite his claims that he’s smarter than generals. Or that military members, especially injured or dead ones, are losers. Or his sniveling that the Congressional Medal of Honor given to military members is less worthy than the Presidential Medal of Freedom. His audacious reasoning was that soldiers and their medal is ‘worth less’ “either in very bad shape, because they’ve been hit so many times by bullets, or they’re dead”.
What brilliant logic.
Meanwhile, there is Trump’s photo op. Grinning like an idiot, giving a thumps up.
Such respect.
What was sadder was how his supporters jumped to protect his actions. One wrote in comments that ‘at least he was there to honor them.’ Yeah, idiot. Number one, that’s not why he was there, and that’s obvious to us all outside of the MAGA circle jerk. Two, the families resquested that this not be politicized. They wanted privacy to grieve. Trump turned it into a circus. The MAGA commenter showed that they’re as tone deaf and out of touch as their master. CORRECTION: Two families had invited the Trump show. But that doesn’t change that it’s against policy and practice to desecrate Arlington with politics and campaigning.
Moving on.
My theme for the week still centers on songs with time in the title. Up to the challenge, The Neurons leaped forward with “Time for Me to Fly” by REO Speedwagon. It’s playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark timed) like it’s playing on the radio in 1978.
Stay positive and be strong. Lean forward and vote blue in 2024. Coffee is wending through my systems with its magic fingers. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 