Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
My wife does a lot of scrolling. Not just doom scrolling, but also watching animal, political, and humor videos. She also reads a lot and constantly prowls for more books for her TBR list.
Today she was listening to Kristen Key talking about Buffalo Wings and other matters in Buffalo, NY. I found it funny and interesting and thought, let’s share this with the world. Socialize Kristen Key’s humor. Let us all laugh a bit. Hope you enjoy it as much as me.
Cheers
Welcome again to Satyrda, home this month to August 30, 2025. The sky is blue but small white clouds are sneaking in, then slowing to loiter, waiting for other clouds. I think they’re up to something. 61 F now, we’re peeking at a coolish day, with a high of just 91 F. Smoke free, our Air Quality hovers around 28, a solid green and healthy showing.
My sis-in-law and her boyfriend of six months are visiting this week. They met through a senior dating app. My wife is already annoyed with the new BF. He’s rejected all advice and insights offered but then asks for more advice. They’re arriving in SFO and driving up to Eureka for a night. Then they’re driving on to our place via Highway 101 and 199. They’re staying in a spa resort that’s actually outside of the town. Little is around it except a car dealership. We suggested places in town to stay where they can step out the front door and enjoy our small city. No; BF didn’t want that. They also specified no hiking and no walking, no river floats, no boat rides. They want to drive to Crater Lake, drive around it, and then back. Okay. Then, after three nights here, they’re driving to Carmel, south of San Francisco. O-kay. Sounds like a plan. Not a fun one, to me. They’ll be in a car quite often. We shall do what we can to provide them with good memories and a pleasant visit.
Today’s music is “Desire” by U2. Papi the ginger blade prompted it with a request for his special treats. Checking out Trump’s plans and disgusted by his love of money, The Neurons agreed that “Desire” is a good choice and thrust it into the morning mental music stream. After all, the band sings, “For the love of money, money, money, money, money.” For the love of money, power, and adulation, Trump and the GOP will do anything except anything good. Their love of money and power perverts their sense of justice and stacks their sense of entitlement and privilege to higher levels. Nothing is beneath them in their pursuit of money and power. Just when I think they can’t be an crappier as human beings, they lower the bar.
Hope that grace and peace find and hold you today and always. Coffee has found me once again. Here we go, onward. Cheers
I feel like I’m on the edge. See, I’ve been writing a novel manuscript. Almost at the end, confrontations are underway. It’s tense and violent. I don’t want to stop writing, but —
Yes, life is littered with buts, those interruptions to intents and purposes. Several buts are engaging me. First, honestly, is my derriere, aka, my butt. I’ve been sitting and typing for about 80 minutes straight, and my butt is crying, “Up, damn you, up. Give me a break.” It’s classic writer’s butt.
My stomach is also complaining that it’s been too long since food was introduced to my mouth. And my coffee is cold. Just two swallows remain.
A war, then, is raging between the Writing Neurons and the Practical Neurons. The Writers want to stay and keep writing. “Damn it, man, you’re on a roll. Don’t stop now.” But the Practicals are urging, “Go get food. Run errands. Get other things done.”
The final piece of it all is time, though. Time is the empress. Much as I want to keep writing, I have real-world commitments to fulfill. So how do I feel?
Well, resigned to the inevitable brought on by the buts.
My wife exercises three mornings a week at the local Y. I’m typically abed, reviewing dreams, when she leaves. She normally comes by to say good-bye. I generally wave a foot or hand in acknowledgement.
Well, today, I was buried in sleep and didn’t respond to her. I got up and did all my usual things. As I finished dressing, I heard her arrive home. I didn’t go out and say hello, as I had something going on in my head.
Coming down the hall, she called, “Where are you?”
I didn’t answer but I walked around to meet her. She said with real relief, “Oh, thank God. I saw your car in the garage. Then I didn’t see or hear you anywhere. You didn’t give me a wave when I left this morning. I thought, oh, no, he died and I didn’t notice.”
We laughed but I had to note, “You are such an optimist.”
Reminders and insights from others.
One must see this! Attribution is still unknown.
Made for a vacationing comrade.
I am a known coffee-shop regular. The manager gives me a wave and a grin as she deals with the guard picking up the previous week’s take. I put in a fake order, an oat-milk iced siracha dusted with chocolate. The barista laughs. My usual order already awaits me at the pickup station despite five people in line ahead of me.
My favorite corner table is available. I’m soon in the writing realm, pretending to be a famous novelist. Habib approaches, bag in hand. “Michael? Cinnamon.” I don’t catch the other words as a wave of sound takes them out to sea.
I know it’s not mine. But I know another Michael is here. He’s one of five other regular Michaels I see coming through.
“No, it’s Michael’s,” I tell Habib, pointing out the other Michael. The other Michael waves and then gives me a thumbs up. Habib pivots his way.
This is how it goes in the life of a regular.
One of my co-vacationers is a retired schoolteacher. While his specialty and favorite were teaching six-graders, he taught a kindergarten class one year. One of the young students brought in his pet rat for show and tell. As the littles gathered around to ogle the rat, the teacher did a James Cagney impression, saying, “You dirty rat.” A child instantly leaned in and continued the Cagney impression, “You shot my mother.”
The teacher was flabbergasted. He asked the child, “Where did you learn that?”
The child replied, “That was in a Jim Carney movie.”
Of course, the Cagney quote never happened, except in the Jim Carney movie.
Michael Seidel, writer 