Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Do you ever catch yourself doing something that prompts you to ask yourself, “What is wrong with you?”
Yeah, it happened to me yesterday. I was in Costco, and as I walked along, I started singing Christmas carols to myself. That’s right, Christmas carols, on February 8.
I hope it’s not some harbinger of Christmas starting in February. I mean, what the hell?
M.F.W.I.C., aka MFWIC: (Catfinition) – Mother floof what’s in charge, a reference to the household queen who organizes the other pets, and enforces order and structure in the floofhold.
In use: “She wasn’t big nor vocal, but she was the MFWIC, and touching any of her charges – the other household pets – meant you had to first pass her scrutiny, no exceptions.”
He never spoke of it to anyone, and had only written of it once, in his private notebook that nobody ever read, but he had a talisman. It was always carried with him when he was leaving the house; he’d often also pick it up, holding and playing with it, keeping it close to him, even when in the house. He felt it gave him something. He loathed to describe it as confidence or power, but the talisman’s presence reassured him.
He was particular about keeping it in a safe place, where only he would go. Panic flooded him whenever he couldn’t find it. Searching, he would retrace steps, urging himself, “Think. When did you have it last?” Room from room, he’d prowl. Maybe he’d absently – foolishly – set it down in the bathroom. Or in the kitchen, or the living room, or the bedroom, the garage, the dining room – perhaps he’d dropped it. He had to find it.
When he did find it, he heaved a relieved sigh and held it against his chest, refraining with only a huge application of strength from whispering, “My precious.”
All my cats know what no means.
They know their names, and they know the other cats’ names. That they know so when the others are summoned, they can come to me instead and cat-block their fellow felines.
All my cats have learned the sounds associated with food – certain doors, drawers and cupboards opening, the sounds of can openers on cans, or can pop-tops, the rustling of food bags.
They know the sounds of us going to bed, and getting out of bed.
None of them know that the sound of rain on the roof or windows means it’s raining outside. It’s always an event that astonishes them.
They’re very selected about what they know.
Got my head out of bed
And my ass across the floor
Staggered through the hall
Hit my face on the door
My eyes were still closed
Couldn’t see where I was
Couldn’t even think
I needed a coffee buzz
Fumbled into the kitchen
The cats almost tripped me
Made it to the counter
And started huntin’ them beans
Found leftover grounds
But that weren’t much
My mind began howlin’
For its caffeine touch
The can was empty
So was the bag
There wasn’t even Sanka
This mornin’ was becomin’ a drag
I sucked on a used filter
To see me through
And licked up the dregs
Left from yesterday’s brew
My heart beat was flailin’
My thinkin’ gave out
And then my legs
And I started floppin’ about
The cats all gathered
But they was no help
The situation was dire
I began to yell
Then my wife came in
And bent down low
And said, “We’re out of coffee
But I guess you know.
“So I went to Starbucks
To get you a cup
‘Cuz I knew without it
You wouldn’t be much.”
I thanked her with tears
And sat up straight
And then drained the grande
And began to feel great
Then the horrible truth struck
‘Cuz my need was laid bare
I needed a second cup
But do I dare?
I’m compelled to rant and ask, to determine if this is something that happens only to me. I tell myself I’m trying to understand, but WTF, this is a rant under the mask of being curious.
Why do some vehicles run stop signs and rush out into traffic, only to slow down? Has this happened to you, or is it Just Me? But here I am, cruising along at the speed limit, 35 MPH, alone in the land for about a quarter mile in either direction, and this white Ford pick up (and how many times is it a truck?) pulls up on the stop sign on a road to the right, slows down to a fivish MPH roll and trundles out in front of me.
So I’m coming up on him, coming up on him, foot off the gas, reaching for the brake, looking ahead, waiting for him to pick it up, but he levels off at twenty-nine.
That’s step one, the person who rushed to get out in front of me only to slow it down. Are they being passive aggressive? Is it being directed at me? But why?
Step number two. We go down the road at twenty-nine on this glorious morning until – wait for it – we reach the next zone, where the speed limit drops down to twenty-five. What does this man driving this white Ford pick up do? Did you guess that he accelerates his vehicle?
As I slow down to match the speed limit, he takes off as though it’s been raised. WTF is going on in his head?
Two traffic lights and less than a quarter mile later, we’re side by side at a red light, awaiting the signal change. We’re still in a 25 MPH zone. I’m curious about what he (for the record, a white middle aged male with short cropped gray hair, yes, wearing a tee shirt) will do. The light changes. Traffic moves forward. I accelerate to twenty-five. And I leave him behind. Traffic backs up behind him.
Maybe there’s a problem with the truck.
Maybe he’s a zombie. I don’t think zombies are very good drivers.
Yeah, I’m trying to be kind. Really. I…am…trying.
Others will ask, who the hell cares? It didn’t matter, you still reached your destination, and he clearly didn’t slow you down, because you passed him. What did it do, add a few seconds to some segment of travel?
Yeah, I know.
First, we must consider, what do we mean when we say Food has ‘gone bad’?
Short of Food killing other Food or leaping out of the refrigerator or cupboard with weapons in their hands or explosives strapped around its jar or box, it’s often difficult to determine when Food has gone bad. Some will consider Food bad much more quickly than others, refusing to eat it because it’s ‘gone bad’, while others, particularly bachelors, will dismiss claims Food has gone bad and eat him anyway. This is often true with Food like Pizza, but not Beer and Wine. When Beer goes bad, it becomes skunky, with a foul taste, or flat. Wine takes on a sour, bitter tone that reminds you of Bitter Ben.
Milk, on the other hand, doesn’t fake it when it goes bad. Beware of Milk that has gone bad. Milk that goes bad can become violent, even explosive, with lingering results.
Also watch out for Fish and Meat that has gone bad. You know what I mean.
Food can go bad for many reasons. Food sometimes goes bad as an acting out mechanism when he’s not getting the attention he thinks he needs or deserves. Sometimes Food isn’t happy with his home life, or he gets left out of activities, locked up and forgotten. He might go bad because of his environment. The temperature might be too low, permitting low life bacteria to affect Food. Or Food is shut up with undesirables who put out gases, pressuring Food to spoil.
But that is the nurturing aspect of Food going bad. Sometimes Food goes bad because he was born bad, co-existing with other materials that negatively affects Food, like when Food wasn’t washed properly after he was picked. Personal hygiene is very important to help keep Food from going bad.
When Food goes bad is like many problems throughout human existence, with multiple facets to consider for dealing with the situation. Constant monitoring and early detection is important to save Food. Sometimes bad Food can be saved by re-purposing it. Some Food can be frozen and used later when they go start going bad. The thing to remember is that every Food is unique, and what you learn about one Food may not apply to other Foods. If in doubt about whether Food has gone bad, ask a cat. If a cat walks away from it, the Food has probably gone bad.
Cats just don’t tolerate bad food. Just ask any cat person.
Note: no food was harmed while I wrote this post, but several cats were annoyed and disappointed. Now they want something else that isn’t ‘Food gone bad’.
I live on spectrums. My moods and energies slide through seasons – or seasons slide along my spectrums. I’m not certain of their true relationship or the degree to which these things are fixed. I don’t know how to predict them. Don’t know what tilting, spinning, revolving, and rotating affects them. I can define specific, larger personal seasons. Lethargy, laziness, apathy, anger, blackness, joy, happiness, excitement, restlessness, I know these seasons among others. Some would call these moods. Moods, a temporary feeling, happens within the seasons, much like you can have a cold summer day or a warm winter day. I can experience a shift through a mood from my season but the season dominates. Moods are more temporary.
I’m in full blown writing season this week. Writing becomes effortless, but more, writing and thinking about writing, rises up. It seems like every thought, observation and experience triggers a desire to write about it. Words, sentences, scenes flow like runoff from a huge rain storm.
Seasons like this have taken me in other realms, too, so they’re not specific to writing. People in other professions and endeavors know what it’s like to be ‘in the zone.’ That’s how this feels. I know about being in the zone from sports and analysis. My vision, thinking and focus are all sharpened, my concentration is heightened. Time becomes more personal and slower. I can feel and sense micro-shifts that position me to be ready.
It’s a beautiful experience, no matter where and when it comes, from sports to math to art, performing, and writing. When it’s a good season, like this, it’s best to enjoy the time. The seasons do turn.
Michael Seidel, writer 