Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofsmack (floofinition) – Hard floof rock (flock) band formed in Lawrence, Massafloofsetts, in 1995. After becoming a local success and grinding away, fame, fortune, and a new recording contract was found in 1998.
In use: “Floofsmack has had multiple number one albums and several dozen flock hit singles, including “Floofever” in 1999.”
The weather had pivoted. Clear skies scooted out of the way for rain clouds. Gone was the warm sun; a cooler, replacement sun arrived with November’s start. I don’t know who ordered it, but it was here and in place. (I actually thought it defective; it wasn’t very bright or warm.)
“I’m going to make a soup every Sunday,” my wife declared. “It’ll be Souper Sunday.”
She had me on her souper train. She makes excellent soups. First up was the roasted veggie offering. It’s one of my favorites. That doesn’t actually mean much; they’re all my favorites. Next up was another fave, the smoky chickpea offering.
For last weekend, she announced she’d be making her delicious black bean veggie chili. Then she called an audible on Saturday and made her spinach-mushroom-tortellini soup and served it up with a multi-grain ciabatta bread.
Sunday came and another audible: she was making her tortilla soup. Well…okay. It is one of my favorites. She’s a vegetarian, one of the differences between us. I’d grilled some chicken earlier in the week. Some was leftover. She divided the soup (giving me a much larger portion) and put the leftover chicken in for me. That was our Sunday dinner.
Guess what I had yesterday for lunch? And today? And I have enough left for lunch tomorrow, as well.
She hasn’t mentioned what soup she’ll make next. I’m hoping she’ll do either the black bean veggie chili or her other tortellini soup, or her broccoli cheddar. All I know is that’ll be a souper Sunday.
And probably a souper Monday, too.
Homofloofic (floofinition) 1. A person who enjoys being with animals.
In use: “Homefloofic people searching the net often turn from doomscrolling to visiting with Fiona the Hippo or watching dog and cat videos.”
2. Animals who prefer human company and do not like other animals.
In use: “Some animals get along well with other animals, but Flash was homofloofic, happy and loving with her person, but totally aggro whenever another animal came around.”
Infloofuendo (floofinition) – Sly remark or veiled damaging reference about an animal’s reputation.
In use: “After seeing the broken glass, she turned to Charley, who was trying to look innocent, floofuendo sentenced him as guilty.”
I thought I was further along in the novel-in-progress — well, in the story — than I am. I was at a juncture, though, where I was undecided what to do. Normally, I overanalyze a while, take a walk, make some coffee, and then write. I did kind-of the same this time, writing it in my head until I reached a point where I said, “Nope, that’s not how it goes.” Eventually, I found how it goes, and punched on.
While I was doing this, I remembered Stranger Than Fiction, a 2006 movie which I enjoy. The movie, written by Zach Helm, starred Will Ferrell as an IRS employee who begins hearing voices in his head. It turns out that, possibly by quantum entanglement, he’s the main character in a novel that’s being written. The author, Karen Eiffel, is played by Emma Thompson.
I sometimes identify with Karen Eiffel. Scenes show her as the writer contemplating how to proceed. Proceeding in her instance means killing the main character. Her process involves a lot of pensively smoking and walking around while exuding a dark air and snapping at others. In my case, it involved a lot of pensively drinking coffee and walking around while exuding a dark air. So, you know, it’s a weak comparison, because I don’t smoke.
But after all, the movie was fiction.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy at least one more time.
Musical Floof (floofinition) – 1. An animal who likes to sing.
In use: “On one many widely shared videos on the net, a musical floof — a beagle — sits at a piano, hitting keys and howling.”
2. A Flooftish Floofmaican floof reggae (floogae) group formed in Floofminghan, Floofland, in 1979.
In use: “Musical Floof’s song, “Pass the Catnip” was released in 1992 and became a number one hit around the world.”
One Floof Wrecking Crew (floofinition) – Floofdiom used to denote that an animal is extremely messy, causes trouble, or gets into mischief.
In use: “After puking up a hairball, Tucker suddenly became a one floof wrecking crew, letting out banshee yells while gallivanting around the house, stalking the other cats, and scratching his claws on the furniture, drawing Michael’s ire.”
Floof off (floofinition) – 1. A floofdiom which means to engage in idle activity, or to waste time.
In use: “For animals, one of the joys of being accepted as a housepet is that it frees them to floof off by sleeping, playing, and pretend wrestling.”
2. A rude expression employed by animals to tell another to leave them alone or go away.
In use: “Henry was a solitary cat with solitary ways and didn’t hesitate to tell other animals to floof off with a swat, snarl, and hiss.”
Pet Shop Floofs (floofinition) – Flooflish floof pop (floop) duo formed in 1981, known for their synth sound and dance music.
In use: “Inspired by T.S. Floofiot’s poem, “The Waste Floof”, “West End Floofs” is one of the Pet Shop Floofs’ best known songs.”
As a writer, I’m forced to work from home during the pandemic. It’s not my preferred place. For some reason, the rambunctious noisiness of coffee shops draw out my muse. I think it’s because I’m there for the purpose of writing.
Unlike home. At home, it’s me, my wife, the cats, the phone, and the world outside my house. As with any job, distractions arise at home that interrupt the work flow. For instance, this morning forced me to address a major distraction: what is that stuff between and around the keys on my keyboard, and how do I get rid of it?
I don’t know why. Maybe I’m embarrassed by the key jam (you know, like toe jam?). I don’t know why; nobody sees my laptop and its key jam (key crust?), so why should I be concerned?
But logic doesn’t always drive my thinking. Neither does emotion nor physical input. There seems to be other realms forcing behavior.
I’ve had this HP Envy for six years. I’ve noticed the key crust before. I’ve tried cleaning it off before. Today, as I finished a second page, sipped coffee and addressed what happens next, I stared down at the crust. Resolution filled me: the crust must be removed.
First, though, the HP Envy name amuses me. Nobody has ever expressed envy at my laptop. The name seems like wishful marketing.
I’ve attacked the crust before. Compressed air has been used on previous machines. (My god, I’ve been using and cleaning computer keyboards since 1981, part of me thinks with a little horror.) I also have a little whisk tool. I’ve used these on the Envy, but the crust is impervious. I next employed toothpicks, q-tips, and various other slender pieces of things. None worked.
But now…ho, ho. I purchased an eyeglass repair kit this week. It has a thousand screws. The screws were what I wanted. I already have two sets of eyeglass screwdrivers. Between my wife and I, we have five pairs of glasses that we use that have suffered detached lenses or stems. In each case, a screw had popped out. As the glasses were otherwise fine, we certainly weren’t going to dispose of them. No we needed to repair them.
We’ve both been wearing prescription glasses since our early teens, dutifully going to doctors, get new prescriptions, and then buying new glasses as regularly as full moons. (At least, it seems like that.) We have a basket full of glasses. We often give old prescription glasses to charity so others can use them, but we have sentimental favorites that we can’t abide to surrender. Naturally, these are the afflicted glasses.
Although I’ve had the tiny screwdrivers for two or three lifetimes, they’ve never been at hand when I stared down at the key crust. Since I’d repaired a pair of glasses last night, the screwdriver set was right there beside me.
And the crust was right before me, almost…mocking me.
This had to end.
Selecting the smallest screwdriver, I carefully worked it around and under the keys, appalled and fascinated by the stuff I was recovering. This, I figured, was an amalgam of cat fur, human hair, and dandruff from us both, along with what the hell else, you know?
I had to employ an exact, tender angle. Each key was individually addressed. Rushing was out of the question. After a relatively short time (yeah, I have no idea how long), the key crust was gone, and the keyboard presentable once again. It really looks so much better.
Then, because I’d been at it so long, my coffee was cold, and but a swallow remained, so fresh coffee was required. Also, since I’d been sitting an hour, some quick exercise. Also, since it was lunchtime and breakfast had been four hours ago, lunch. Also, since my wife made some energy balls yesterday, a couple of them wouldn’t be remiss. Also, I hadn’t checked Facebook or emails (there could be something important there, right?). Also, it looks miserable outside (whose truck is on the street? Why are they parked across from my house?), so what’s the temperature? It rained all night – how much rain did we get? (Less than an inch.) How many more days will it rain? Oh, there’s a winter advisory out for snow over four thousand feet. That’ll end tomorry. Well, we’re not going anywhere, anyway – COVID-10, you know.
Finally, though, it was all addressed and out of the way. Now I’ve got fresh coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Now where the hell was I?
Michael Seidel, writer 