Ethology
Ring
Ping
ChimeHeads turn
Conversations slowFeeding
CommencesDigestion
FinishesAgendas
ResumeWhere were we?
At the Store
I was going through the frozen food section, toying with the idea of buying ice cream. This was definitely an impulse thing. Although several interesting flavors called me, I wasn’t sure I was going to buy any.
A couple shopping behind me had some frozen object in hand. He said, “This says it’s three and a half servings.”
“Three and a half!” The woman laughed. “No way. I’ll just eat that myself.”
She tossed the item into their cart and they moved on.
I smiled. We’ve all been there.
Floofstalgia
Floofstalgia (floofinition) – 1. Emotional distress caused by worry about an animal. Origins: 2005 article, “Floofstalgia: a new concept in human and animal anxiety”.
In Use: “Brenda didn’t see Murder M, automatically triggering floofstallgia because this was not like Murder M at all.”
2. Fond reflections about a previously known animal.
In Use: “While searching for a pen, Wade discovered the purple collar Bella used to wear, soaking him with floofstalgia.”
3. Yearning for a time before living with animals, especially housepets.
In Use: “Sweeping up pet fur after cleaning up food bowls, floofstalgia raged in Carey — cleaning wasn’t as time consuming when she didn’t have pets!”
The Morning eMail
My wife heaved a sigh. She’d just come into the home office with her tea and settled down on her computer to check her email.
“My NYTimes is again in my junk folder, along with Ashland News,” she announced. “Two pieces of junk mail are in my inbox.”
“It’s probably the AI that’s supposed to be so helpful,” I answer. She laughs.
Complaints about her emails have been going all week. She uses Hotmail, which is now Outlook. Or maybe it’s the other way. Whatever you call it, she’s displeased with its performance. Every day, she has to check to see where her trusted emails have gone and delete the spam that now hits her inbox. As a product, the Hotmail/Outlook app seems to be going backwards.
It’s not consistent, either. It first started with her saying last Monday, “I didn’t get my NYTimes newsletter.” Then she said, “I found it in my junk mail.” That continued for several days before it went back to her inbox. That’s when Ashland News went to junk mail.
“I don’t understand,” my wife said. “Why is it doing this?”
A search of the net suggests many ways to try to fix this problem. None of them mentioned why the problem began. I decided to use AI to see what it said. ChatGPT blamed new adaptive AI which Microsoft introduced last year.
I passed that on to my wife, who laughed. “Great. AI is screwing up my email. What a perfect metaphor.”
I laughed, too. “I don’t know how much I trust of what one AI says about the other. It’s like wondering, what does your wife think of your girlfriend?”
Trump Fantasies
Donald Trump is scheduled to give a State of the Union address to a joint session of Congress tonight. This is an opportunity for him to tout what he’s done and shape messaging ahead of this year’s midterm elections.
It comes at an interesting time. As trends now go, Trump’s popularity is falling. At least 31 Republicans in Congress announced that they’ll retire instead of vying for re-election.
I expect Trump to brag about wars he ended or stopped. I think he’ll talk about how great he thinks the economy is, perhaps even mention beating affordability — a Democratic hoax in his mind — and ‘ending inflation’.
Trump seems to fantasize about what he’s doing, dreaming up a result, then acting like it’s reality. To me, that’s exactly what the video he made of himself as a hockey player winning an Olympic gold medal is all about, along with the video he made before as a superhero.
This also explains why Trump is so terrified of the Epstein files being released that he keeps trying to stall, redact, and distract from it. Like his taxes, the Epstein file will reveal a truth that Trump hides, dashing his fantasies about who he is.
It’s funny, too, in a very sad way. The hockey team won a gold medal as a team. Trump sees himself as achieving success while being part of a team, but never actually acts as a team player.
What I would like to see from Trump’s State of the Union address is an announcement that he’s resigning. I’d him to say he’s retiring from the public eye and, paraphrasing Spiro Agnew, we won’t have Trump to kick around any more.
Since I’m fantasizing this, I think I’ll treat it as reality. It’s a done deal.
And as Trump might say, it’s the most beautiful thing ever.
Memories & Laughter
In the last few months, a parent, stepparent, and two friends died. Last week, Mom threatened suicide and is now in a nursing home at 91.
Mom used to light up when I came through her door. She always wanted to feed me. Her cooking was excellent – especially her potato salad and spaghetti and meatballs.
She loved playing games, especially cards. She always told me that she enjoyed how I made her laugh.
Thinking of her made me remember others. Grandpa Paul passed in 1976, age 65. Multiple uncles and cousins followed, and a half dozen friends made during my military service.
I mostly remember their laughter and the fun of being with them.
That brings me joy.
Of all that was endured, it’s the laughter and fun which remains.
Floofbadour
Floofbadour (floofinition) – An animal who likes to entertain themselves and others with melodic or lyrical sounds. Origins: Floonch , from Old Floofcitan floobador, from floobar to compose, from Flooftin floopus trope. First noted in writing 1858, “Songs of A Traveling Floofbadour”.
In Use: “Starlight considered herself a floofbadour and especially enjoyed offering others her musical stylings at 3 AM.”
A Little Yellow Car
I was prescribed post-surgery meds and went to the drug store to pick them up.
Walking through the drugstore parking lot to buy them, I saw a small yellow car. Circling closer, I confirmed, 1964 Dodge Valiant, just like my stepfather drove. Might have been a different year but it was the same model and color.
I remembered him bringing it home although I don’t recall what he drove before that. I rarely rode in it. This was ‘his car’, something to commute to work and go off to bet. George was a gambler and went to the horse races five or six days a week, trying for a big score. He won big twice. Once was a $25,000 Daily Double payout, providing the down payment on a newly built brick ranch in Penn Hills.
Later, he won enough to buy a new 1976 Chevy Camaro. Like his Valiant, this was pale yellow, three-speed on the column and a black and white checked interior. Sis hated that car.
All of us disliked driving with George. Tending to drive about five miles an hour below the speed limit, he also liked to get into the faster lanes but not go faster. This terrified us as other drivers pulled up, slowed down and then sped past with blaring horns. Mom would often snap, “My God, get out of this lane.” George wouldn’t budge, though, sailing on without regard to others’ opinions.
The yellow Dodge in the drugstore parking lot had tiny tires and petite chrome bumpers, appearing small and fragile among the huge SUVs and a couple of ‘compact’ Toyotas and Hondas. All the modern vehicles were white, black, gray, or silver. Nowhere was another yellow car.
Seeing it still brought a smile as I walked on, reflecting, what a different world. And yet, back in the 1960s, that Valiant would have shown up as so much different than the preceding decades.
Who knows what our 2026 cars will look like compared to the cars of 2086.
Michael Seidel, writer 