The Loop of Inanity

Once again, the Loop of Inanity swirled through my life. If you’re not aware of it, the Loop of Inanity is part of the Cycle of Enshittification.

Cory Doctorow coined enshittification for us. Miriam-Webster expanded on its meaning:

“Enshittification is an informal word used to criticize the degradation in the quality and experience of online platforms over time, due to an increase in advertisements, costs, or features. It can also refer more generally to any state of deterioration, especially in politics or society. Similar forms include enshittify and enshittified.”

As part of enshittification’s decay process, many companies will invoke the Loop of Inanity. The Loop of Inanity is recurring cycle in which an organization or system produces contradictory or self-defeating actions because its processes operate without shared awareness, accountability, or context.

In example: American Family Insurance provided my home and car insurance for several decades until a few years ago. A letter was received that they were no longer insuring homes in my area, southern Oregon. Oh, and since they weren’t insuring my home, I was no longer ‘bundled’. Therefore, my car insurance rates were increasing.

In response, I shopped for new home and auto insurance and canceled my policies with American Family Insurance.

Yet, here was a piece of mail from American Family Insurance asking for my business. Urging me to BUNDLE AND SAVE, they also assured me that I WAS PRE-APPROVED FOR THEIR INSURANCE.

Bite me, I said, tearing up the mail and tossing it.

American Family Insurance would have to be the last insurance company in the world before I’ll give them my business, because I don’t like how they gave me the business.

It’s all part of the enshittification of modern life.

February 6, 2026 0

Mixed Signals

As part of a celebratory do my wife recently organized, we ended up with 100 plastic plates. Small, white, with gold trim, we’d purchased them so guests could enjoy some finger foods.

She had them stacked in the sink and mentioned that she had to wash them. I asked, “Want me to wash them?”

My wife replied, “I didn’t want them to go into the landfill, and I think they can be used again. I already washed them, but I think they feel greasy, so I want to wash them again.” Then she walked away.

I washed the plates.

February 3, 2026 1

Saturday’s Theme Music

It’s Saturday, January 31, 2026. Almost time to close the books on 2026’s first month.

Colder air returned to Ashland as last night’s temps found the mid-thirties. We’re already close to our high now, 57 F. This remains a hell of a lot better than places like Pennsylvania, where my sister told me it was 9 degrees F during our text exchange.

It’s still a dry winter for us in Ashland. Mt. Ashland, our local ski resort, is closed due to a lack of snow. Even snow machines couldn’t create the needed conditions. That doesn’t spell good news for our local tourism, and that ripples out to employment and the economy.

Our local economy is already suffering with tourism and college enrollment down, utility prices up, and wheat exports cratered. Southern Oregon wheat farmers had a bad 2025 as fertilizer prices jumped and wheat prices fell. It can take years to recover from setbacks like these for farmers, and right now, the Trump solution is a handout. Long term solutions aren’t being addressed. It feels like we’re dying from a thousand cuts.

As American states dig out from Winter Storm Fern’s effects, I’m watching for the Trump Effect (TE). The TE is the combination of unforeseen circumstances brought on by short-sighted decisions and the Trump philosophy. Short-sighted decisions were witnessed when Trump unleashed Elon Musk and DOGE last year. Firing people and breaking systems, the Trump Administration then needed to rehire people to come back and fix things — or train people to replace them.

The Trump philosophy (TP) is about the Federal government’s cutback on services and assistance given to states. For example, the Mississippi Emergency Management Agent (MEMA) said the Trump administration announced the disaster assistance threshold for Mississippi was increased from $5.5 million to $22 million. That leaves a gap that MEMA doesn’t think it can cover.

As with everything — deep breath — we’ll see.

Trying to raise my spirits, Papi the ginger wonder and I played this morning, a game of chase with a laser pointer. Papi endured it for about 2.25 minutes but during that time, he was a wild thing. Watching him, Les Neurons popped “Gimme Dat Ding” by the Pipkins, a 1970 novelty song. It was perfect for Papi’s red dot pursuit — “Gimme dat! Gimme dat!”

Hope you have a comfortable day wherever you are, no matter the season, and that peace and grace come along with some props. Cheers

January 31, 2026 5

A Coffee House Moment

Coffee house hissing, loud laughter, and boisterous conversations swam around me. Waiting in line, a barista prepared quiches and burritos and told me about her cat until I reached the register.

Jessie, the cashier, has grave eyes with a welcoming but cautious smile. As she rang up my order, I tilted my gaze to a cheap-looking white ring on her third finger.

Wondering if it had symbolic meaning, I suggested, “That’s an interesting ring.”

Holding her hand up, Jessie regarded the ring and chuckled. “My sister-in-law lost her wedding ring in the ocean one year. I started worrying that I’d lose mine, so now I only wear my wedding ring on special occasions.”

Turning the ring on her finger, she looked off and smiled to herself. “I wear rings like this instead. I have a bunch of them and let my daughter pick them out for me. She’s say, ‘Today, you’ll wear pink.’ Or, ‘I think you’ll wear orange.'”

We laughed together. Walking off, I imagined her daughter giving her a pink ring to put on her finger.

January 27, 2026 0

The Price of the Prize

In an old news story — two weeks ago, ‘old news’ in the smash and grab Trump news cycle — María Corina Machado, 2025 Nobel Peace Prize recipient, gave her prize to Trump.

I suspect she was secretly paid to give her prize away.

An effective front man for the executive branch’s growing lawlessness, keeping him placated is paramount. Otherwise, he began obsessing on losing the 2020 elections again.

Frustration was high. Nothing seemed to lift Trump’s mood. He wanted Greenland but Denmark wasn’t selling, even though he’d threatened more tariffs. His ballroom’s construction was mired down. ICE’s growing violence was driving his popularity and approval ratings to new lows, and the issue about affordability just was not disappearing. Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos were calling almost every day, ranting, “This is not what we paid for!”

“We need to meet,” Vought hissed to Trump’s cabinet. “Something needs to be done before senators and representatives start growing some balls because they’re going to lose an election.”

“Well, I’m out,” War Secretary Hegseth said. “We already abducted President Maduro from Venezuela. I thought that would make him happier.”

“I know,” Noem said. “We’re doing everything we can over in Homeland Security but now judges are growing a spine. Who do they think they are?”

“I agree,” Miller said. “I thought adding Trump’s name to the Kennedy Center would make him happier.”

“I have an idea,” Bondi suggested. “Let’s approach Machado and see what her price is for giving Trump her Nobel Peace Prize.”

Vice President Vance nodded. “A Noble Prize, yes! That sounds like the perfect pacifier for him.”

Feelers were put out to Machado. Their pitch was basic. “We’re in charge of Venezuela now. We can put you into office. Support you with the strength of the U.S. military. Fund your campaign. All you need to do is give Donald Trump your peace prize as a gift. Come on, what will it hurt? You said that you thought he deserved it. And the record will always show that you won. It’s a win-win.”

Officially, they said Machado came up with it on her own, perhaps in an effort to gain Trump’s support.

As far as they could tell, it worked. Other than another diatribe at Davos about losing the 2020 election again, Trump stayed on track.

“It’s still early days,” Miller reminded the rest at the next meeting. “I think we need to do something bigger, something to really put a smile on his face.”

Everyone’s shoulder’s slumped. “Think,” Bondi encouraged. “What can we do? Doesn’t anyone have any idea what will make him happier for a little while, at least until the midterms?

“Arrest Biden?” Miller said with wide-eyed eagerness.

“Too much,” Hegseth answered.

“What about this?” Bessent said. “Let’s have a Trump coin minted.”

Trump’s cabinet and advisors held their breath in thought.

“That’s more tangible,” Miller said.

Eyes bright and large over a grin, Hegseth exclaimed, “No living president has their name on a coin.”

Vought reached for the phone. “I’ll call our legislative lackeys and get them working on it.”

“Make sure it’s gold,” Bessent said.

Vought sneered. “Of course. We know that Trump is a fool for gold.”

“Okay, I think we’re done for today,” Bondi said. “Americans are getting angry. New polls will probably show that.”

Miller scowled. “That’s because he’s so great, misunderstood, and underappreciated.”

“Anyway,” Bondi continued. “We need to get ahead of the curve.”

Vought smiled. “Of course. Let’s get to work on those memorial gates he keeps going on about. We need some kind of TrumpCares program, too. Doesn’t matter what it does.”

“I’ll take that on,” Kennedy replied. “I know how he thinks.”

Relieved, the group filed out, feeling happier about the future for the first time in days. “It’s good to know to have a direction,” Vought said to Kennedy.

Kennedy nodded. “I just hope it makes Elon happy.”

Vance piped up. “By the way, has anyone seen Trump today?”

January 26, 2026 2

Sunday’s Theme Music

**Not my snow; photo from sis in Plum, a suburb of Pittsburgh, PA.**

It’s Sunday, January 25, 2026, in Ashland — if I’m reading my computer right. I trust my machine to tell me the truth but as things evolve into greater complications, it’s not always trustworthy.

We have dry weather, sunshine, and blue skies. The temperature gap has returned. My home system shows it’s 25 F. Online cites the temperature as 29 but Alexa says it’s 40. High temperatures in the fifties are expected.

Two different issues draw my attention as the massive winter storm takes on most of the United States, and Minnesota deals with unrest after another ICE shooting. Fortunately, I have a cat.

Papi’s weather focus is extremely limited. He shows more interest in food, although, power to him, he really likes helping me with yardwork. If I’m out cutting things, pulling weeds, and so on, Papi’s steely green-eyed gaze inspects my work. Both annoying and cute, because I worry about him getting hurt.

He and I went out to salute the sun in the back, our habit going back for years. We came in, I fed him, then began preparing my breakfast. Through the kitchen window, I watched my neighbor across the street. Every day, he walks to the end of his driveway, faces the sun, and stands, eyes closed, for several minutes. Today, with this cold, he was returning to his house within two minutes — about the same amount Papi and I did.

Sis’s on-the-scene report from Pennsylvania said everything is closed, finishing, “Been snowing since it started, middle of the night. ‘Ooo, baby, it’s a white world,’ is the official song.” She sent a photo of her front view, with her son-in-law’s car parked in the driveway. The snow is expected to keep falling through Monday.

Eight southern states are suffering power failures from ice due to the storm. Hope people are able to stay warm and safe.

Likewise, I hope everyone in Minnesota is safe, and stays safe.

Today’s song was inspired by Papi and my wife. Papi wanted food and attention. My wife wants assistance with some running around. The Neurons responded to the exchanges by playing “I’m Your Puppet” by James and Bobby Purify. I admit, I looked up who performed it and turned it into a hit that I often heard on my transistor radio when I was young.

These were the lyrics in mind when The Neurons took the song to my morning mental music stream:

Your every wish is my command
All you gotta do is wiggle your little hand
‘Cause I’m your puppet
I’m your puppet

The lyrics were modified from hand to paw for Papi.

Let peace and grace finally track us down, stay a while, and restore some sense of optimism for the future. Cheers

January 25, 2026 0

A Car & Its Driver

I paced the room, waiting for word about my wife’s 2003 Ford Focus. The car was recently stopping on its own, unsafe and inconvenient.

I resisted thinking it was a battery at first. The car cranked up and fired without any issues but then died.

My wife didn’t think it was a battery. “It starts up. Nothing dims, and it doesn’t have that weak, sluggish sound when it starts.”

I agreed in principle. I checked the battery, confirming, no loose wires or cables, intact and clean. A date on the battery’s side, 05 20, surprised me.

Telling my spouse about it, I added, “I didn’t think the battery was that old.”

We reminisced about buying it. Delivering Food & Friends alone because the COVID pandemic was underway, her car died enroute. She called me to rescue her, which I gleefully did to escape the house.

I reminded her, recent ‘high-discharge’ batteries don’t show the same dying battery symptoms we grew up seeing. Then I recalled, it was cold when the car died on her a couple times this week. Cold affects how much energy batteries can deliver.

I decided, checking the battery was where to begin. An appointment at Les Schwab, a mile away, was made for 10 AM this morning.

I started the Focus without any issue; it died five seconds later. I started it again. Death came five seconds later.

Three times was a charm, but I worried about the car dying as I drove to the appointment.

The Les Schwab tech confirmed, bad battery. “One cell is completely dead,” he said.

That fit, to me. A couple hundred dollars later, we believe we have the problem solved.

Whether the problem is truly solved won’t be clear until the car has been driven normally a few times. I have high confidence it’s fixed, though.

But — knock on wood.

Just in case.

January 22, 2026 0

Floofmulus

Floofmulus (floofinition) – An animal’s private secretary or personal attendant. Origins: Floofman, from Flooftin for servant. First use noted in print 1854, “The Travails of A Royal Floofmulus”.

In Use: “Two days after adopting a rescue cat, Becca realized she was a floofmulus, scheduling checkups and planning meals while ensuring she’s safe, comfortable, and entertained.”