Tag: humor

Octmonedai’s Theme Music

Mood: hopeful

Welcome again to Octmonedai in Ashland, where the bears are large and the pets are wary.

Octmondai comes four to five times each year. These are the Mondays (Monedais, or Moon Days) in October. We’ll have five this year. Many people observe these days by getting out of bed, dressing, and rushing off to work, meetings, or schools. I celebate by drinking black coffee. Salute.

It’s October 2, 2023. Over 75% of the year is done. Ninety days remain. The clock’s digital numbers are running on anything you want done in 2023.

It’s fifty degrees now, that’s Fahrenheit, under a spotted white and blue sky. Sunshine has arrived but doesn’t seem too interested in getting warm. Today’s high will be 64 F, and rain will come this evening. I still keep my fingers crossed that a pleasant Indian summer will be enjoyed this month.

I’m in a hopeful mood today. That’s brought on by some news last week. Judge Engoron’s ruling regarding Donald J. Trump’s real estate valuations said — paraphrasing a little — they would be more at home in Dungeons & Dragons and other fantasy existences rather than the real world. Score one for justice. Trump’s civilian fraud trial begins in New York this week — today! — and is expected to go on to December. Knock wood and fingers crossed, justice will prevail.

In other news regarding Donald Trump’s indictments, one of his co-defendants, Scott Hall, plead guilty and has been sentenced in the Georgia election racketeering case. One down, eighteen to go.

A temporary funding extension was achieved for the US government. The process behind it demonstrated the lack of a Republican will other than to generally support Trump (and ignore anything bad said about him), a great deal of party infighting, and their inability to govern. That, combined with the poor showing that was the GOP debate to find their presidential nominee, reveals a narcissistic and confused political organization.

We went to the AIFF outdoor showing of E.T. the Extraterrestrial last night. The event’s organization was a bit sloppy. Starts at 6, they said. Well, no, playing the movie didn’t start until 7. Multiple food trucks were due to be there but only one was now available. They offered Carribbean food, and weren’t ready to serve food until almost 6:30. There was beer, wind, and popcorn for a small donation, but they seemed sadly unprepared for children. Only popcorn for them and water for them.

E.T. was as I remembered it, solid pacing, with an interesting basic story and plot. The dialogue in the movie’s first quarter seemed lamer than what I remember; my wife reminded me that it was a different time back in 1982, and that might account for that dialogue. Drew Barrymore was definitely the best actor on screen. The temperature grew colder as the film rolled on, with a sharp northern wind visiting us as we sat chairs, but we were zipped up and under blankets, with gloves on, and endured.

I have “Walk On” by U2 ringing out in the morning mental music stream (Trademark reckoning). I don’t know what prompted The Neurons to call it up and put it on repeat today. Although the song has noble intentions (Aung San Suu Kyi’s fight for democracy and her house arrest for her activities), the 2001 song left little mark on me. I prefer the live version much more than the studio rendition. Live version is more energized and uplifting.

Stay pos and strong. Chase the day and lock it away. Coffee drinking is finished until the next roun in about an hour. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

A woman in the coffee shop accosted me today. We’re both regulars. We see each other there, sometimes nodding. I’m always at a table, using a table to write. She’s a few years older than me and typically buys something to eat, checks her phone, and reads a book.

Today, we said hello. I was in the midst of revising a page. She asked, “I notice you always a wear a green hat.”

I do; it’s a Tilly. I nodded.

“Is there a reason for why you wear it?”

Deeply seriously, I replied, “Yes. It has a foil lining built into it.”

Puzzlement folded into her expression. “A foil lining?”

“Yes, you know, to protect me.”

She studied me. I think she was trying to decide if I was joking. Smiling and nodding, I returned to my writing.

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Floofnight

Floofnight (floofinition) – The secret and mysterious period in the night when animals became magically energized and gallop around, exploring, playing, and having adventures. Origins: First written about by Silence Floofgood in a letter to the editor of The New-England Courant in 1722. Silence Floofgood was later discovered to be the pseudonym of Benjamin Franklin’s cat.

In use: “Leaping from deep sleep to full wakefulness faster than a sneeze, Bob listened to the noises and realized, it was floofnight once again, and his fur friends were having fun.”

In use: “Although first-time pet owners are warned about floofnight, many don’t fully appreciate it until they’ve experienced a two or three AM awakening from their furry housemates running up and down the halls and leaping up on them in bed.”

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Sediflooftary

Sediflooftary (floofinition) – Locations, habits, or practices relating to, formed by, or containing animals. First used in 1760 in Italy, in A Roman’s Guide to Floofs (translated). One chapter was devoted to sediflooftary issues, with insights about how house animals become protective of their favortite sleeping locations and how people often honor these sediflooftary spots.

In use: “A sediflooftary dip revealed Tucker’s favorite sleeping location atop the back of the living room sofa.”

In use: “Upon investigating sounds arising from a small cardboard box, four sets of puppy eyes revealed the soaked container was sediflooftary.”

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Floofuage

Floofuage (floofinition) – The private and personalized idioms shared between animals and their people.

In use: “In their house’s floofuage, ‘nom-nom’ meant treat, ‘bub’ was floofhand for an insect or spider, and ‘wa-wa’ was water or drink, all worked out during interactions between the human and their furpanions.”

In use: “The dog always barked in an odd way when the mail carrier came to the house. It sounded like ‘nark-nark’ to Carol, so ‘nark-nark’ became her floofhand with Charley about the mail carrier.”

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I heard about a wedding — and this wasn’t my nephew’s recent wedding, I hasten to clarify — where the best man didn’t know what he was going to say, so he asked AI for help. AI provided him a speech. The best man then personalized it. After he spoke, no dry eyes were found.

That AI realy knows how to push our buttons.

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On Becoming A Geezer

For a friend…

Becoming a geezer, if I may be so bold,

is more about a state of mind than growing old.

Geezers look back on time with misty eyes,

lamenting the lack of truth and the growth of lies.

They’ll disparage the young — “This generation” —

they say with a grunt and a sniff,

“Does so little no wonder the country’s adrift.

“The way it used to be is so much better,

“Like communicating with loved ones with a postage letter.

“And the things which they watch,

“The things which they say,

“The way that they dress —

“That’s not my way.”

Then they break off with a mumble and words which aren’t clear,

And say to the server, “Please bring me another beer.”

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Circumfloofar

Circumfloofar (floofinition) – Found or discovered in the vicinity of a floof. First known use in 1686.

In use: “Judging from the circumfloofar collection of torn toilet paper rolls by the puppy and kitten — not even pointing out the pieces stuck to the floofs — they were guilty of a first rate case of floofhem, but both little beasts acted wholly innocent, as though the surrounding mess had nothing to do with them.”

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The Writing Moment

It was mid-Saturday morning.

I’d arrived in my favorite coffee locale for my writing session. Vintage soulful music with a jazzy edge was playing on the overhead speaker system. The baristas were busy with drive-through business. Only one other person shared the tables with me, a young woman in a far corner who displayed predatory interest in her cell phone. I’d seen her there before, never with anyone else, and always engaged in her cell. As usual, she was dressed in a sloppy style of what looked like pink and gray pajamas. Her solitude, isolation, and deep focus on her phone piqued my writer side. Oddly, I’d never caught her name from the baristas when her order was called.

I’d pulled my laptop out and had it set up. My mind was already in writing mode. I’m halfway through the first revision of a novel-in-progress with a weird working title, Yum. With my nephew’s wedding and the travel to Pittsburgh and other activities it entailed done, I was eager to delve into the story I’d written. Its speculative nature readily engaged me, and I’m really pleased with what I have so far.

“M, your coffee is up.”

The speaker was the barista, Nate, a good-looking, dark-haired man who seems in his early twenties. I gt along with him quite well. He’s always in a good mood, and we’ll often talk about subjects outside of coffee, inclding smoke and politics.

I headed up to collect my cup and discovered it filled to the brim. Grinning at me, Nate said, “You said you wanted no room.”

I laughed. “Clever.” I reached for a straw.

“Want me to pour some out?” Nate asked while making coffee drinks.

Shaking my head, I gave him a severe look. “Pour out fresh coffee?” Its steamy smell filled my nose. “No, no, challenge accept.”

Inserting the straw into the hot beverage, I sucked some up so it wouldn’t slop any over when I walked. Nate watched and laughed.

“Good job,” he shouted as I took my drink and headed for my table.

“Damn straight,” I answered. If coffee was to be wasted today, it wouldn’t be at my hand.

Time to write like crazy, one more time.

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