Tag: crime

Mundaz Theme Music

Home is underfoot again. All is as expected and hoped for upon return. Nobody missing, nuttin’ burned down, etc.

Going from the Oregon’s coast 62 F offering to 100 F at home demanded adjustments. From the booming waves crashing like the soft thud of small, distant mortar shelling to here and now’s thundering mutter and sullen air invited mental wow and gosh darn reactions. I’m a little down on my return for a myriad of private reason, mostly induced by churn about life, changes, and aging. I acknowledge my life has been decent and some carry way heavier loads. That’s all logic, though. This is emotional afterbirth. They might come from the same slice of existence but they’re born and live differently.

For the record, today is Munda, August 25, 2025. A friend just announced her husband has been diagnosed with liver, brain, and lung cancer. Triple yikes. Two of the other four with me on vacay battle cancer. My wife battles her autoimmune disease. She aches and fights against being cold. We slept with the heat on at 70 F on the coast. Weirdly, despite my health issues, I seemed to be the healthiest and most energetic of the vacationing sextet.

My sista sent photos of Mom’s new addition. Completion comes soon. Other changes are being contemplated, like shifting the tub out of the first-floor bathroom and putting the washer and dryer in there. It make sense although it doesn’t seem like it overlooks any real long-term needs, problems, and plans. Her beau has lost another five, and now weighs 145 pounds, down by forty pounds. The prognosis for him is dimming.

I see the connections emergin’: like others, I’m losing friends and relatives at a turbulent rate.

Doesn’t help that we returned to news stories that basically paint Trump as convinced that he can do what he wants, because he’s prez. Double standards help stoke my GRRRRRRRR reflex. Like, he’s firing someone (Lisa Cook) because of mortgage fraud allegations? Aren’t there several books about Trump and his financial fairyland tales?

He lies about every effing matter and isn’t subtle. More GRRRRRRing arises from so many GOPers and MAGAteers bending over with glee as the nation they profess to love is destroyed from within.

Example of Trump lies: he claims states and cities led by Democrats are bastions of violent crime and lies that violent crimes don’t exist in ‘red states/cities’ — those led by Republicans — is low or non-existent. Facts, evidence, and history displays the truth.

Today, Der Neurons introduced “Hometown Glory” by Adele. This was a byproduct of both thinking about going home to Ashlandia but also reflecting on things happening ‘back home’ where Mom lives. Where Mom lives always seems like home.

Hope your day was filled with grace and peace. We’re unpacked. The laundry is done. Dinner is eaten. A long day, which was also a short one, is over. That’s the nature of vacation dayz. Cheers

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Sundaz Theme Music

Early morning’s bruised sky promised rain in Ashlandia. Within an hour, that threat evaporated. With sunshine, we were still buried in the 60s F. At that point we were packing the car. Papi brought his floof skills to the scene, silently inspecting every movement and bag. The floofsitter arrived on scheduled at 10 AM. Watching her come in the house, Papi watched her from the living room’s far end. After we exchanged greetings, she said with happiness, “There he is. There’s Papi.” Papi stood, stretched, and left the house. We left a few minutes later.

About four hours of driving had us at last on the Oregon coast, cruising into Florence in the mid-afternoon. Traffic was light although an aggro driver had us exchanging commentary and watching this tailgating driver diving in and out, cutting people off to get one vehicle ahead in a parade of vehicles. Stupid stacked on stupid. Once to Florence, we enjoyed hot sunshine and warm, cloudy day.

Other than discussions about Trump meeting Putin and more signs that the economy was heading downhill with increasing speed, it was a news free day. Now we sit in our room, watching the tide come in, waiting for sunset. What time will sunset be? One source pegs it at 8:02 while another says 8:18 and a third declares sunset will be at 8:30, all in PM. They do agree that high tide is coming in at 8:02 PM. We sit and watch and wait, me with a beer in hand.

Today song comes from discussing the tide time. Once The Neurons heard me think ‘tide’, they summoned Blondie’s 1980 new-wave cover of “The Tide Is High” to the mental music stream. I’m not familiar with the original offering.

Beer has breached my body and I’m turning to the mellow side. May the mellowness find and hold us all. Cheers

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Just A Reminder

Just a reminder of Trump hypocrisy, duplicity, and priorities.

It’s like his hypocrisy, duplicity, and dishonesty about the Epstein Files. Trump claimed and promised he’d have them released.

Exclusive: Trump Reposted Promise to ‘Expose’ Epstein Network in 2022

Now, though, now that Trump is the person in charge, it’s a whole other story being told.

Fact-Checking Trump’s Epstein Defenses In the face of mounting discontent over his administration’s handling of the Jeffrey Epstein files, President Trump has turned to deflection, denial and downplaying.

The con man carries about nothing but himself and his image and power. If the Epstein Files carried so much damaging information about Democrats in it as TACO has claimed, there wouldn’t be an ice chip’s chance in hell for it to not be released.

No, this file is about him. Trump. And that’s why this twisted liar fights against getting it released. Trump is scared of what’s in it.

Donald Trump with Jeffrey Epstein and others.

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Frida’s Theme Music

The work week is at its end. That’s what we used to call the Monday to Friday gig. Don’t know if that’s still the handle.

Yes, today is Frida, July 18, 2025. Today in Ashlandia, we’re at 73 F and expect a high of 95 F under skies that go on forever blue and steady sunshine.

More sucky news fills the cyber pages. I’m one who prefers to skim the net and read the news rather than turning to streaming or OTA tv. A news piece touched me with serendipity. From the 1440 Daily Digest was a summary of a new procedure to reduce disorders in newborns.

Mitochondrial disorders, affecting about 1 in 5,000 births, are transmitted via the mother and can cause vision loss, diabetes, and heart issues. Six of the eight babies showed a 95% to 100% drop in mutated mitochondrial DNA, while two showed reductions between 77% and 88%. All eight remain healthy; one experienced and recovered from an irregular heartbeat.

I had read the news elsewhere before. On the same day that I read the news, Jill Dennison shared the song, “In The Year 2525” from 1969. One stanza struck me from the song in connection with this news:

In the year 6565
Ain’t gonna need no husband, won’t need no wife
You’ll pick your son, pick your daughter too
From the bottom of a long glass tube, whoa

I guess my point is that I have always felt that’s the general direction we’ve been headed: manufactured people, whether it’s through cloning or genetic manipulation, or some other technology. I always think there will be dire unforeseen and unintended consequences. Time will tell, right?

My morning mental music stream music is much lighter than that other song. “Take the Money and Run” by the Steve Miller Band, is a 1976 offering about robbery and murder, but with a peppy pop beat. I’s about whims and things that go wrong, and how the consequences. A detective chased them and they remained on the run forever. But to me, the song was always about opportunistic criminals, like those populating the current GOP. Do what you can and need to get yours and screw all others. Yeah, you knew I’d turn this political. LOL. That’s me. At least, that’s why I think The Neurons put it in the morning mental music stream.

Have the best Frida you can. That’s my goal. Here we go again. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Happy Wenzda. Jumped out of bed (it’s an expression), and went to the windows and —

“Alexa, what’s the air quality?” I asked. Because looking west, smoke sheathed the view. What fresh hell was this?

Alexa told me the air quality was good. Yes, I did not smell smoke. Windows were open. Cool 66 degree F air was flowing in. But that smoke was turning the blue sky gray. Must be from one of the nine fires burning west of us. Or one of the several blowing along mountain ridges from the fires burning south in northern California.

Supposed to be 97 F today. That’s what we saw yesterday. Ashlandia summer is in place.

I can become obsessive about things. My routine soon incorporate sniffing the air for smoke smells and looking out the window to see if the smoke was becoming better or worse. Some crow was yelling something the whole time. Another was responding from further away. I don’t know what it was about. I don’t speak crow.

Reading about Trump’s irritation with the Epstein files. While he’s still burning down the U.S., his base is upset about the Epstein List. Trump, being true to his core of caring only for himself and lying and throwing aspersians at others when he gets upset, lashed out on a lie-filled text. I read a good rebuttal with a timeline and a reminder, Presidents Obama and Biden didn’t have anything to do with it. It was during Dubya’s administration and Trump 1. Staunch Republicans Barr and Acosta were involved. Indisputably, though, Trump and Epstein were runners together. Photos exist. Trump talked about Epstein in glowing terms. No doubt, Trump is in that file.

Today’s music is a 1998 Eve 7 offering, “Inside Out”. The Neurons had it playing in the morning mental music stream for a bit, slowly turning the volume up. Finally hearing the part that goes, “I’m not as
Ugly sad as you. Or am I origami folded up and just pretend, demented as the motives in your head.” Knowing some lyrics makes the modern net useful for finding the song’s details. Once those details were rehoused in my awareness, some memories about where and when I often heard it — in the car, driving around the bay area, Alex — stacked.

Now I’m feening for coffee. Off we go. Have a most excellent day, as we used to say. Cheers

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Frida’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Just putting out reminders who Trump is because he likes pretending he’s someone else. I know I’m getting numb to it; I’m sure others are, too. We’re angry but numb.

Angry But Numb might be a good rock group name.

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Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts

A new scam is out there. “Scattered Spider” is behind it, according to the FBI, and they’re targeting airlines and airline passengers.

The FBI said the hackers, known as Scattered Spider, use “social engineering techniques” like impersonating employees or contractors to convince the target company’s IT help desks to grant them access to internal systems. “These techniques frequently involve methods to bypass multi-factor authentication (MFA), such as convincing help desk services to add unauthorized MFA devices to compromised accounts,” the FBI said. “They target large corporations and their third-party IT providers, which means anyone in the airline ecosystem, including trusted vendors and contractors, could be at risk.”

I first learned about it a few weeks ago. Friends reported they’d been scammed. After struggling to get airline tickets, they called the airline. On the phone for about forty-five minutes, they finally were able to purchase their tickets.

None of it sat right with them. They called the number back and got air, so they decided to go to our local airport in Medford and address it at the ticket counter. There, they were told, “You have seats but no tickets.” That confused the agent as much as my friends. Further research was pursued with phone calls at the airport, and then the agents leaned in to my friends across the counter and said, “I’m afraid it appears that you’ve been scammed.”

Since that first time, two other people were scammed in similiar ways. All thought they were dealing with the airlines; but they’d been redirected without their awareness. People pretending to be the airline helped them out. The end, except it wasn’t.

Credit card companies were contacted. As their credit card numbers were now out there in con artists’ hands, new cards were needed.

All of this may or may not have been the ‘Scattered Spider’ group. Could be copycats or just others acting in parallel. It’s a messy, ugly world. It doesn’t look like it’s getting any better.

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Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

I’m on a doom-scrolling slowdown. I wasn’t even generally doom scrolling. I was just going through the news and blog posts. Too often when I did, I found myself muttering, “Bastard,” after reading something. Like, the tale of the manhunt for the father who killed his three daughters. “Bastard.” Or the Trump appointee idiot who doesn’t know the U.S. has a hurricane season. Is he American? How long has he lived in the United States? If he’s been living in the U.S., has it been under rocks in Utah or somewhere? “Stupid bastard.”

There is Trump, of course. Donald J. “Trump Again Chickens Out” TACO Trump. And Rep. Mike Johnson. Both are bastards. Unfeeling, uncaring, unprincipled bastards. Bastards who have sold whatever was left of their souls.

Johnson was called out for only citing CBO figures as accurate when Dems are in charge. Trump’s budget bill is called the OBBB. They say it means “One Big Beautiful Bill”. I believe OBBB means “Only Bullshit Being Boosted”. More and more constituents are calling their reps and senators on it. Not that the Republican side of things will care. See Joni “We’re all dying” Ernst, for example. More Republicans are reacting to criticism by claiming, “I didn’t know that was in the bill.” See Rep. Mike Flood and Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene for example.

Then there’s hate crimes like the murder of Jonathan Joss, unarmed and shot to death while mourning the loss of his home and pets. Shot dead by some asshole who hates gays. “Bastard.” The murderous bastard who killed Jonathan Joss probably won’t get the punishment deserved. There’s too much systemic hate, bias, and prejudice built into our judicial systems for fair trails when the victims are gay.

This is our nation now, bending over backwards, encouraging us to look away from the shit happening on our streets. People being disappeared by armed masked paramilitary who show no insignia or badges. People killed for being whatever disturbs thin-skinned, cowardly white people.

This is Trump’s America. The land the MAGAts want, a hateful place where the truth is spit upon, where science is dismissed and undermined, where murder and violence is called for by the POTUS against anyone deemed ‘his enemy’, where the past is being whitewashed of contributions by any person that TACO doesn’t like or admire, and that is a long list of honorable, intelligent people who refuse to kiss his ass.

“Land of the free and home of the brave?”

Not in Trump’s America.

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Twosda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

The headline is startling.

Urgent manhunt for former Arkansas police chief imprisoned for rape, murder It’s a gritty tale, thick with drama and hyperbole.

As law officers search Arkansas’ rugged Ozark Mountains for a former police chief and convicted killer who escaped prison this weekend, the sister of one of his victims is on edge.

Grant Hardin, the former police chief in the small town of Gateway near the Arkansas-Missouri border, was serving lengthy sentences for murder and rape and became known as the “Devil in the Ozarks.”

I’m surprised that he’s on the run. Trump just pardoned another convicted sheriff. His own DOJ was behind the prosecution and sentencing for former sheriff Scott Jenkins. Jenkins was found guilty and sentenced for bribery. But Scott Jenkins is a Trump supporter. Naturally, Trump pardoned him.

I figure that Grant Hardin should turn himself in, declare himself a massive Trump supporter, and ask for a Trump pardon. All he’d need to do is make a few speeches about how Biden was behind his prosecution and wax about how brilliant Trump is, and how the mango one is the greatest president ever, and a Trump pardon would surely be forthcoming. The violence shouldn’t matter. Trump is not that far removed from accusations of rape, and he eagerly pardoned all the Jan. 6 insurrectionists, even though people were killed through their violence. I figure another pardon for another convicted rapist and killer is fitting for Trump, the ‘law and order’ president.

It’s the kind of nation we’ve become.

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The Gun Dream

This dream played out in three parts last night. Wasn’t much of me in it; I played a frustrated bystander.

I was with one of my younger sisters. We were milling, killing time waiting for something to go on. Details about that aspect were spare.

In walks a young man. Swarthy, with a cushion of dark, curly hair and a skinny, ripped body. Wears a tight maroon shirt and black pants. I barely know him but take it he’s a young man interested in one of my other sisters. He’s not very talkative. Chatter is going on around us but I’m a magnet on him. Studying his moves. Because something is off. I’m keen to know what.

I notice that as he shifts, he has an automatic handgun. He’s trying to hide it. I think he’s going to do something stupid with that weapon. Then he goes off.

Awakened for a cat matter, I reflect on the dream. It’s not out of my usual book of dreams. I lack clues about what it means.

The dream’s second act starts with me and the guy and my sister. I think the guy’s name is Paul. I try to talk to him. He’s truculent. We’re taking refuge in a garage that’s been converted into a bedsit sort of situation. The small space’s walls are cinder blocks painted white. Flourescent tubes give us stark lighting.

My sister is resting. I’ve covered her with a blanket but I’m watching Paul. Food is available, along with an old microwave. I offer to prepare something for everyone, talking to them about what’s available and what they might want. Paul is pretty furtive. I notice he has a black ski mask. Slipping it on, he leaves.

Figuring that Paul is off to rob someone, I’m angry. I rush out to chase him down and tell him not to do it. The door opens to an alleyway lined with a fence and thick with junk, like barrels, broken wooden pallets, and cast-off tires. It’s raining. The late afternoon light is anemic. Unable to see Paul, I return inside and put something into the microwave.

Another cat break is endured. During that time, I see that Paul resembles my sister’s father. She’s my half-sister, I should clarify, with a different father. I wonder about that as I tuck back into bed and fall back into sleep’s grasp.

Segment three has Paul returning. It’s much darker in the garage, and I don’t see him well but come to see that he’s still wearing a black ski mask. “What did you do?” I ask him several times, to no responses.

Someone pounds on the door. Adjusting his balaclava, Paul goes to the door. Aiming the gun at head level, he jerks it open. I wonder, police? Some other criminals? I hear speaing but can’t understand it.

That is where the dream ends.

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