Satyrdaz Wandering Thoughts

As I sit here typing, I’m aware of a hair. It sits on the left side of my left eye’s vision. It’s been pestering me for two days. It’s from the Eyebrow Tribe. At first, I just brushed at it. Then I tried finding it in the mirror and pasting it down. When that failed, I tried jerking it out with my fingertips. Should’ve gotten tweezers to seriously address it but no, I was in the middle of something else and was rushing myself. Or should I just clipped it back. Tsk.

And here it is again. Sitting on my vision’s edge, mocking me.

Curse you, little curly hair. Curse you. This isn’t over.

Wenzdaz Wandering Political Thoughts

A little antitrump to help us get through the week.

Trump said he was ‘sharper than I was 25 years ago.’ Then he spent an hour appearing to doze off – again

It’s now 80 murders. Let’s call them for what they are. Crimes.

Yes, Dozy Donny is killing in the name of the United States to provoke Venezuela into retaliation, giving Trumpy a paralegal excuse to invade the oil rich nation.

I’m sure Trump will whip out the autopen and pardon this criminal soon. It’s the Trump way!

Wenzdaz Theme Music

Dawg, what a gray, wet day looking in on us. It’s up to 36 F with clearance to soar to the mid 40s. Sunshine is lacking and what sun shows up is shaded in fifty shades of gray. This is December 3, 2025.

Today’s music emerges from an exchange with my wife. She was leaving for exercise class. I was still abed. It’s her habit to check on me before she leaves to ensure I’m alive. Hearing her coming, I held my breath and stayed motionless. “Is he alive?” she teased. I felt her hand pressed on my hip. Then she pressed on my scalp. After about ten seconds, I sprang up and proclaimed, “I’m still standing.” We laughed like idiots.

But that’s how “I’m Still Standing” by Elton John arrived in the morning mental music stream on this Wenzda.

Reports on Mom shows her doing pretty good. Sis has stocked Mom’s lair with her favorite munchies and drinks so Mom has some independence of others. Mom has become better at using Alexa to call for assistance. The one major complaint now is that Mom has her television at supercharged levels. Sis says it’s so loud sometimes that they can’t hear their television upstairs over Mom’s TV. I used to complain about the television and radios’ volume (yes, that’s a plural on the radio) when I visited Mom. She always blamed Frank. Guess it’s the ghost of Frank cranking up those devices now.

Lot of news rolling out about Trump falling asleep at meetings. ‘Member when he used to criticize and mock President Biden for falling asleep? Now he can’t seem to stay awake.

Some say it’s because he can’t sleep at night because worries about the Epstein files revelations drive him to midnight sessions of shitposting. Rumors are that Epstein’s ghost has begun haunting him, whispering in Dizzy Donny’s ears reminders of what a failure he is, how weak and vulnerable Deceitful Donny is, and how Duplicitous Donny’s failures are catching up to him. Once BFF with Epstein, TACO now tries to claim he barely knew the guy.

Got my coffee and I’m out of here. Hope peace and grace show up and sing you to sleep. Here we go, into another Wenzda. Cheers

Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

Starbucks hurt my feelings.

They spent capital convincing us that Starbucks cared about the community. More, they cared about people. They opened their doors to homeless folks. Come in and rest. Be safe, comfortable, warm, dry, cool. Charge your phones here! Use our restrooms! We care! They put out announcements telling us that they want people to come and stay, make it a place to meet, a place to be. And we believed them. We did.

As did the homeless. I’d see them trickle in each day, a regular group I came to know by name. I learned their preferred seating locations, treated them to food and/or drink from time to time, said hello, chatted about the hot dry days, the freezing fog, the traffic, dogs, etc. Chatted about life.

Then Starbucks swiveled. That campaign wasn’t reaping the benefits they’d hoped to get. Within days, the restroom doors were locked and coded. Had to ask for the number at the counter. The homeless were politely shooed out, police called if they resisted.

Then, though, oh, look at the numbers. Starbucks decided they needed to close the place they’d encouraged us to make a home away from home, a community center for everyone and anyone. It just wasn’t making enough money.

It feels like it’s a betrayal. It’s not. Just business as usual. And that’s the thing about corporations. It’s all about making money. Profits and losses.

It’s not about humanity. That’s just strategy. Don’t let them fool you into thinking otherwise.

Old Friend in A Store: A Dream

I woke up with an old friend in mind.

Was he still alive?

Would he still be my friend?

We were high-school classmates. Graduated in 1974. I haven’t seen him since 1979, when I was home from the military. He was a good friend for the times, at the time. But we have all changed, haven’t we?

I dreamed I encountered Keith at a store. Don’t know what kind of store. We were both the young people we were in high school. Someone else was with him, hanging back in the shadows, behind him. I don’t know who they were. Keith told me he was running for office. I was very surprised. Keith, reserved, a little shy, with a sharp mind and a dry sense of humor, didn’t seem destined for politics. I asked why he was doing that. He gave me a detailed response about problems he’d had with several local businesses. He’d felt cheated but everything the businesses had done were legal, so he was running for office so he could change things. As he gave his response, he showed me his phone, where there were records and newspaper and media articles about the businesses and Keith’s issues. I said something about him using his phone as evidence. He replied, “Good lord, no. I have too much porn on it to ever show anyone my phone.”

Dream end.

Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

Sort of funny how we use the word charge and how its meanings has shifted.

We used to say things like, “Then he charged at me,” or, “That animal charged me.”

More often for a while, we heard charge in, “He was charged with the crime of soliciting,” or “He was charged with drunk driving.”

Later, charging things via credit cards were in vogue, such as, “I’m going to charge it for now, and then I’ll pay it off later.”

Now we say, “I didn’t charge my phone and now it’s almost dead. I have to find a charger.” Imagine hearing that forty years ago, if you’ve been alive that long. What were you charging in 1985?

Of course, imagine back in 1970 if someone asked you, “Do you have a laptop?” You’d think they were crazy, asking such a question.

C’est la vie.

Satyrdaz Wandering Thoughts

My laptop computer informed me of its battery status.

Battery fully charged 100% Fully smart charged

I thought, WTF? Isn’t that just three ways of saying the same thing?

The Neurons pursued that a little. I suppose someone somewhere, reading that their battery was fully charged might wonder, “Does that mean 100%?” And another might wonder, but if it’s fully charged and 100%, is it also fully ‘smart’ charged.

Admittedly, I don’t even know what ‘smart charged’ is. Probably means something to someone, but not me. 100% charged is good enough for my math.

Fridaz Political Rant

I read about Trump bragging about his golf game, oh boy. That rekindled a lot of memories, like, many many memories.

Dizzy Donny Trump — Donny T, I called him — Donny T, he like that — Donny T and I used to golf together. Like, all the time. He was so impressed with my game. He told me many times, “Your swing is the best swing I’ve ever seen. Your swing is so beautiful. It’s the greatest swing I’ve ever seen and I’ve golfed many times with many many famous golfers, professional golfers, even. None of them swing as well as you.”

Beside my swing and my drive, my putting skills stunned into stupefied admiration. “My god,” he said after I sank a thirty-foot putt. “Do you ever miss?” That’s what stopped us from playing more. I was always beating him, and he finally told me, “You know what? I can’t take it any more. I’m not playing you anymore. That’s it. You’re just too good.”

I know what he means. I am that good. We used to talk about it a lot when we were flying around together. I used to fly him all over the place, lot of times cause he was meeting with his friend, Jeffrey. Dizzy T told me that I was the greatest pilot to ever fly him. I replied, “And can you believe it? I never even took a flying lesson. I signed up for them but once they started teaching, I kept correcting them because these experts didn’t know how nearly as much as I knew about flying. Once I showed them I could take off and land, they just gave me my pilot’s license.”

Trump was wide-eyed with envy. “I wish I was like that,” he said. “I would fly myself. I also am a remarkable pilot. I never took a lesson, either. I could just do it. Military pilots I fly with always tell me, you should have been a fighter pilot. You’re amazing. I know they’re right but I was too busy with other things, like winning the Nobel Peace Prize.”

I nodded. “I know. Same here.”

I haven’t seen Trump in years. He won’t even take my calls. Claims he doesn’t know me. Doesn’t remember me. That’s because his wife once told him that she wished that she’d married me instead of him. But that’s another story.

Don’t believe me? I don’t believe it. I don’t get it. Why not? I sound just like Trump. And as you know, he tells it like it is. He never lies. And neither do I.

I just write a little fiction.

A Dream of Cougars

Sunset was turning the day into a purple cloud darkness. I was getting into a large, shiny black SUV. My wife was with me, and some others, but they’re unknown. As the mechanics of starting the vehicle and guiding it out of a parking lot to a road was finished, I realized that something was on the vehicle’s front end. That something progressed fast from ‘something’ to a full-grown cougar. With that registering, I stopped the car and told the rest what I saw, then stepped out of the vehicle to cautiously approach the animal. Alive, it clung to the front with its claws. I told it, “Shoo.” To my amazement, the cougar departed its space, trotting away from me, amusing, mysterious, bewildering.

Returning to the vehicle, I drove for some time. Arriving somewhere during daytime, my wife and I left the vehicle to shop in some little stores. Not particularly interested in shopping, I found a cushioned bench where I sat. Feeling drowsy, I laid down to nap. I awoke after some unknown time because a small stripped tabby cat was curled up against me and purring in my ear. Fully awake, I put and scratched the sweet, loving animal. It trotted off, tail high, after a short time.

My wife came and I told her what happened. She was marginally interested, annoying me. We went out and found ourselves on the top tier of a large sports arena. Some football game was underway. I gathered this was a college or university. Skirting the game, my wife and I went down to register for classes. When I walked into the administration building, a large cougar leaped into my arms and held onto me. I was so astonished and a little wary but the animal wasn’t threatening. After some seconds of holding the cougar as it held me, a female administrator came by and told the animal to leave me alone, which it did, trotting off down a hall, disappearing through an open door.

After talking about classes, my wife and I, accompanied by a female friend, went out to walk some trails that crossed the campus. These took us into some small, rocky mountains. The day grew hot under a bright sun. My wife decided to sit and rest. I went on a bit. Looking back, I saw that she’d fallen asleep so I laid down to nap. I took off my pants, leaving me in a shirt and underwear, but covered myself with a light blanket. The friend came up. She teased and flirted with me, suggesting she wanted to join me. While I rejected her, I also wanted her, and found the entire encounter intensely erotic.

Fridaz Theme Music

When black Frida comes, it’ll be chilly, with limited, diluted sunshine in Ashlandia. This is November 28, 2025. Just a few more daz and the eleventh month of 2025 will be in the books. Meanwhile, it’s 43 F and a high of 55 F is hoped. Rain? WTH knows?

A little tomfloofery for your day is in the link. Click and enjoy this interaction between two species.

https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1D5u1AAETU

Today’s music was derived from looking out the window. I was visiting the back scene with Papi, gathering some sunshine against my face and gazing on the leaves on the ground. Dead and dying leaves passed through my thoughts. Instantly Les Neurons began a song in my morning mental music stream about dying leaves and dirty ground. The words were there along with pieces of melody and fragments of sound. What was missing were the title, performer, and the rest of the song. As it didn’t come to me, I took to technology to recover the rest. The answers: “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground” by The White Stripes. I thought it a bit cruel of The Neurons to do that to me, trying to me think and remember when I hadn’t even had my coffee yet. Sometimes, I swear, I don’t know what gets into The Neurons.

We had a delightful Friendsgiving, meeting a few new people and visiting with a dozen and a half friends. The food was its usual delicious, the standard for these outings. Standard and straightforward T Day offerings but with organic stuff, vegan offerings, and gluten-free choices.

We chatted briefly about politics. “We ain’t buying it,” was chatted up. We also discussed “A House of Dynamite”, a movie about potential nuclear way now playing on Netflix. One wonders how the Dizzy Donny Regime would respond to detection of an incoming ICBM, given that Donny cut the head off the senior military ranks, replacing them with people more politically reliable to Donny but less experienced. Some had even retired at lesser ranks and were returned to service to take up new positions. Not reassuring.

Hope you had a decent Thirstda. Now out and onward. Cheers

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