Tag: Apple

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Last night was beautifully clear and cool.The temperature dropped into the 50s. We were rewarded with a coolly comfortable house in the morning, third day in a row. I credit the skunks for some of that. We usually open our windows at night, and our doors for a few evening hours, to naturally cool the house. Skunks, though, were getting busy at eleven at night, releasing their odor and forcing us to shut the windows. The skunks have taken an August recess. Hope they’re not ending it soon.

Today is Satyrda, August 9, 2025. It’s 75 F now, feels 85 F, and is going to reach 91. Tomorrow, we stalk the century zone again. I think about how pleased I am that I used the cool stretch to get outside work accomplished. The flip of that is, while I was doing that work, I discovered — or sometimes, re-discovered — other work to be done at there. I’m bristling about it a little now because today and tomorrow are swamped with calls for other activities, like a memorial service for a friend. There’s too many of those things going on.

We’re going on vacay, too. Detailed planning plagues the days leading up to our planned departure. Food is the subject. We’re sharing a house with two other couples. Those four are a decade plus older than us. We all live under food restrictions. No this and that. I now have my own list. They all want to cook in the rented home. That’s apparently part of their vacation ethos: “Let’s go away and cook.”

Each couple is to provide dinner one night. We’re on our own for breakfast and lunch. My wife and I have a surprise dessert planned, a vegan fondue smorgasbord.

As I sat reading news and sipping my coffee, my wife said from her part of the office, “We don’t need to worry about him. He’s golfing today.”

“Not true,” I answered. “Thanks to modern technology, he can text something or call someone and launch a new round of craziness.”

Although we never said his name, we’re talking about the human wrecking ball named Trump, who is also known as TACO. My wife and I share some laughs over FAFO stories, like the Trump Burger guy who ICE picked up and plans to deport, Roland Mehrez Beainy. Beainy responds to the claims against him, “Ninety percent of the shit they’re saying is not true.” Well, that’s probaby so. This is the TACO regime. They’re addicted to lying, just their leader, TACO himself.

Shifting tones, my wife and I are angry about reports of how big tech is helping the TACO Regime. Apple’s investments, and Tim Cook’s gold offering to Trump sicken us. Amazon Web Services gave Trump a billion dollar discount. Gag, groan. Google slashed cloud services for the TACO Regime. OpenAI is giving Trump’s agencies access for $1 per year. Ordinarily, I’d think, look how great this is, with these companies helping the United States. But they’re not helping the U.S. Nothing Trump does helps the U.S. It’s all about him. And these companies are bribing him to stay on his good side.

Today’s music is “Pride and Joy”. This is a 1983 rock blues offering by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble. My wife and I are both fans of SRV & DT, and we enjoy this song. But I don’t understand any segue that leads from what I dreamed, thought, or observed that led The Neurons to pull this one out and slot it into the morning mental music stream. It’s just one of those brain things, I guess.

Coffee has been sucked up. Its off to the races. Hope grace and peace finds and keeps you. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s first world blues time again.

Emails slide into my inbox. Netflix, Amazon — sorry, Prime — Hulu, et al urge me to watch shows I’ve already seen. ‘Based on my history’, they recommend shows nothing at all like the ones that I’ve watched. In fact, looking at their recommendations, they’re throwing everything against the wall to see what clings to my mind. Netflix urges, ‘We think you’ll love these” and shows me “Paul vs. Tyson”. I have never watched boxing, wrestling, or fighting anywhere, so WTF?

They’re so bogus. Little of what any of them from Apple to Amazon offer reflect my watching patterns. If they did, they’d be zeroing in on darkly comedic/quirky British, Australian, and Scandinavian shows. Encountering these weak, pathetic recommendations jars my brain. They’re pretending to be caring and involved with me and my viewing habits when they clearly lack all insights. In fact, when they do this, a deep glower spreads across my mien. They’re wasting my time and mocking my intelligence. A vow to not watch anything they offer begins to burn deep inside my brain.

Not just streaming services doing this to me but they’re the worse. Amazon recommends ‘Picks just for you’. Sounds so sweet. Like they went about picking flowers and arranging them. “Here, a bouquet pour tu.” They show me pots and pans collections. Frying pans. Kate Spade purses. Like, WTF? I’ve never shopped those on Amazon or anywhere online.

They all must have me confused with another Michael.

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It’s Simple Sometimes

“That’s it,” my wife said. “I think my computer is dying.”

K has some Apple Power Book variation bought years ago. I believe it was 2014. Uses it every day. Apple is her style. All she’s ever used as her own computer. This is her fourth.

“What’s it doing?” I asked from across the office.

“I can’t control the cursor. The touchpad isn’t working. It’s going all over the place.”

I walked over. “Show me.”

She talked me through what she was trying to do (answer an email to Jan about Jan not making it to the book club tomorrow because her husband has a new heart problem) and showed me how the cursor ‘just takes off’.

Wasn’t just taking off. It was scrolling down. “That looks like a scrolling problem,” I said. Reaching over, I pressed the down arrow. It wouldn’t go because it was pressed in and stuck. Sharper pressure released it. The scrolling stopped.

“There. Fixed.”

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“Spirited” Movie

My wife wanted to see “Spirited” last night. I shrugged. Okay.

If you don’t know, Spirited is a movie streaming on Apple which was written by John Morris and Sean Anders, directed by the latter. It may be in theaters or streaming elsewhere. I don’t know.

It’s campy. Will Ferrell, Octavia Spencer, and Ryan Reynolds star, and it has a strong cast beyond them. Will Ferrell plays a meek, mild fellow while Reynolds is a PR barracuda and Spencer is Reynold’s assistant. Set in New York, the thing about the movie is that it’s a musical, kind of sort of sometimes, with an ongoing joke, “No, not another song, it’s not needed.” The second thing is that it’s a holiday offering based on the ideas presented by Dickens in A Christmas Carol that there are ghosts and supernatural beings out to change folks using some time-travel. Naturally, Spirited contains a modern twist or two.

It’s a neat and fun idea. I liked thinking about how the idea may have evolved, finding it a clever application of the basic premise. To understand more, you need to watch it or read actual, thorough reviews of it.

I did enjoy it, especially the take on the expression, “Good Afternoon”. Again, you’ll need to watch it. The singing and dancing was energetic and well-executed. Some of the songs had a sameness to songs from other musicals by the musical power behind Spirited, Pasek and Paul, sending my wife to google what other works they’d done.

Yeah, not much of a review, other to say it entertained and diverted me, but I prefer not to give more away. If you have a problem with that, well then, good afternoon to you.

2

A Dream of Smells

This dream happened just before I woke up. It was a very simple dream. Naked, I was in the bathroom using a blue washcloth to wash my body. As I ran the wet cloth over my face, a sweet smell rose. Stopping, I identified, watermelon. Where did that smell come from? I wasn’t using soap. My washcloth had no scent. Resuming, I washed my arms and chest. Then I smelled, cantaloupe. So fresh and sweet, it was a wonderful smell. After checking the washcloth, I sniffed my arms and hands. Yes, they smelled like cantaloupe. But where did the smell come from?

Continuing with my torso, the smell changed to blackberries. By now, laughing and mystified, I kept washing, but looking around. No others were in the bathroom; the house was silent. Washing my legs and feet, an apple smell rose.

Stopping, I smelled my arms. They still smelled like cantaloupe. When I moved my arms away, I could smell apples. Watermelon, cantaloupe, blackberries, applies: all fruits. What did it mean? I chuckled about smelling fruity.

At that point, I woke up to birds singing outside the window, but smelled…nothing… The dream’s vivid scents remained in my mind so I sniffed my arm.

Yeah; nothing.

0

Another COVID Dream

COVID-19 and wearing a mask featured in this dream. There was also a meatloaf cap, fruit for cars, and I was back in the military again.

Arrived at a new assignment, I was learning where to go. A new joint base (name unknown), the buildings, walks, and streets were all newly constructed and of the highest order, a very impressive place.

I was attached to the command staff, so my office was in the headquarters building. Leaving there, some kind of plan to paint a sign with black paint was in my head. I don’t know what the sign was supposed to say, but I had black paint on a brush. It kept dripping, marking the unblemished new walk, mortifying me. Staying in a wheeled office chair to go paint the sign exacerbated the mess. As I was outside, I don’t know why I was in that chair. That realization came to me in the dream, and I abandoned the chair and paint.

Next, I needed to find my way to my new quarters. I had a rough idea of where to go. First, though, I ended up in the lobby of the visiting officers’ quarters. Recognizing my mistake, I made to leave. At that point, I realized, I don’t have a mask on. I hadn’t been distancing. Oh, no. Others were sometimes masked but most were staying six feet apart.

I was still in the lobby and made my way to leave. At that point, a young couple, both officers, were trying to leave through the door. Their hands were full, so I held the door open. But I couldn’t keep six feet away and help them. Aha, there was a doorstop. I put it in place. Problem solved, I left.

I was now along a food court where military people in uniform were eating. Along one side was also a small commissary. I saw an advertisement for meat loaf. Then, I saw sliced meat loaf being worn on a cap. As I expressed astonishment, a young woman near me explained that it was a promotional gimmick. I then saw that it was being worn on a friend of mine, Randy. Randy had passed away several years before, so what was he doing here?

I wanted to catch up with Randy but he disappeared in the crowd. With a dream shift, I was in my car. This happened to be an orange 1974 Porsche 914 that I used to own. I was happy to have the car again. Before driving away to the quarters, I decided that I would put fruit on the ground for other cars. Leaving the car, I spaced a peach and an apple at a distance about five feet apart. I figured that spacing would let the car pick it up more easily. Even as I was thinking this in the dream, I was thinking, WTF are you talking about, in the dream. How would a car pick up fruit? Why would it want to? But I persisted in this plan, rationalizing that there were be opening under the car, and I was putting them at just the right space for the opening.

In my car, driving toward my quarters now, the dream ended.

0

Frozen Apple

My wife owns an Apple. She owns several; only one currently functions. She loves her Macs, except for three things.

  1. The magnetic connection to the power supply. That thing is always falling out. She tapes it into place.
  2. The freaking battery. Can’t be replaced, you know. Once that dies, buy a new Mac.
  3. The computer freezes. When it does, only a hard reboot fixes it.

But she’s loyal to the brand. She always buys Apples.

Of course, she is a stockholder.

3

A Failure

I failed yesterday.

I’m one of those optimists who believe they can do anything, if they think, work, and try hard enough. I believe this despite my multiple failures at doing everything that I’ve tried, or coming up short. I’m just a freaking optimist.

Yesterday’s failure involved my wife’s Macbook, specifically her Retina A1398 15″ Retina edition. Her touchpad started malfunctioning. Her cursor would freeze and become unresponsive, or act like a crazy trapped bee. It’s been going on for a month.

I’ve fixed computers before. In my mind, fixing a computer is like replacing the points and plugs in a car. (Remember when cars had points and plugs?) Hell, I said, it might just be a new touchpad is required. Let me buy a new one and try to replace it. It’s only a few dollars.

Sure. Why not?

I ordered and received the part, opened up the Mac, disconnected the power, and attacked the battery. 

I should say, the damn battery.

I’d read stories, but scoffed at those others who tried and failed. I AM MICHAEL, right?

Well, I couldn’t remove that battery, either. Nobody was exaggerating when they noted as Apple glued that sucker in there. It’s a fascinating solution, essentially six packets of different sizes glued into place along the leading edge and behind the touchpad. However, it’s also disturbing because it’s not easy to replace that battery, which means those Macs probably get trashed because their batteries failed and can’t be easily replaced. That means more toxic trash will be put into our environment, even though the computer still works. More depressing is that other manufacturers will probably follow this course because they can design smaller and lighter machines.

So, I failed. I don’t mind. As with every failure, I learned quite a bit. I just can’t worry about failing, or I wouldn’t try anything, right?

The kicker is, after I put the computer back together, her cursor worked fine, and has since that time. We rationalize that it must have been undue pressure on the touchpad, and that I’d relieved and shifted that pressure when I disassembled the computer.

I’m sure this story isn’t over yet.

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