Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofpes (floofinition)– Internet slang. Literally, ‘floof tropes’, overused cliches and outmoded themes about animals. Origins: Worldwide Web, early twenty-first century.
In Use: “One floofpes children often heard as they grew up was that they were ‘fighting like cats and dogs’, which many of them doubt as they see videos or personally witness dogs and cats getting along very well.”
Neofloofthic (floofinition)– Belonging to a previous animal and now outmoded. Origins: 1865, Sir John Floofbock.
In Use: “She thought that the dog’s toys were neofloofthic relics of another era when she began taking care of her daughter’s cat for two weeks but on the first day, the cat was attacking everything that the dog used to play with.”
Nan shares Mary Trump’s take on Uncle Donald’s latest grift. I was thinking about D.J.T. and his grifts and thought it wouldn’t be surprising if he put out a set of ‘commemorative Presidential Seal watches’. Sure, it’s illegal to use the the seal, and subject to fine. But with the SCOTUS ruling about Trump’s immunity, I’m sure oddsmakers believe there’s a good chance that Trump will do just that.
Long as it’s making him money.
My wife chastised me for ‘using too much soap’ when I was cleaning the cat’s bowls.
I apologized, having been unaware the restriction existed. Ignorance is not a defense, of course. I await my sentencing.
Mood: Frigruff
Some artists got together and painted us the bluest sky. Brill sunshine was dabbed in o’er the goldenish green trees towering across the backyard. Cats and I were well-thrilled with this autumn display, frolicking in a mature way in the 50 something F air. We’ll plumb the mid 80s F today but autumn is bigfooting its presence on Ashlandia.
This is Friday, September 27, 2024.
I’ve circled at the usual AM stops and found some part of me meditating on What Constitutes A Healthy Breakfast? Trader Joe’s sheet cake was inviting me for a taste but that’s not healthy, is it? Well, it could be. Pumpkin and spices. Probably all artificial. But tasty.
Laboring through the morning news. Hurricane Helene did the wreckage as expected. Still rampaging. NY’s mayor indicted. The noble and dignified Trump hawking watches. They say they found the world’s oldest cheese, too. I thought that was in my fridge. I checked; still there. So that’s another example of fake news, innit?
Maggie Smith passed. 89, which is now considered a youngerish sort of age. Suppose because I’m closer to that yardstick. Beloved is an often overused word, up there with superstar. Beloved seems apt for Maggie Smith.
Alice in Chains is dominating the morning mental music stream (Trademark trademarked) with “Would” from 1992. I check and learn, yes, I used “Would” before as theme music, in September in another year. I have detected a trend of having the same songs come to me in the same months of different years. Serendipity? Random psychosis? Bullshit observation? I don’t know. It’d take more study and I haven’t had enough coffee to pursue it past my fingers bashing a keyboards.
I sneeze several times. My wife isn’t here so I need to tell myself, “Godzilla”.
Which inspires Blue Oyster Cult and their ode to the creature terrorizing Tokyo. It’s been pinned as theme music here too and doesn’t feel synchronized to my day, although nothing else does, either.
Then, clicking and muttering, I’m lead to Stevie Nicks’s new offering, “The Lighthouse”. Nicks said that she’d been on the road, listening to a newscaster talking about Roe v. Wade being overturned. Thinking of what it would mean, she had to write a song.
Nicks sings,
Because everything I fought for
Long ago in a dream, is gone
Someone said
The dream is not over
The dream has just begun
Or
Is it a nightmare
Is it a lasting scar
It is unless you save it
And that’s that
Unless you stand up
And take it back
And take it back
h/t to Genius.com
Yes, this feels like a song for today. Hope you give it an ear.
Be strong and so on as we wade through the days, 39 of them, until November 5, 2024. Coffee still tickles my throat in measured swallows. Here’s the music. Cheers
Pecfloofniary (floofinition) – Of or related to the money spent on an animal, or an animal’s worth.
In Use: “After Jared spent money on his floof’s medical needs, many people focused on the situation’s pecfloofniary aspect, but to him, his dog’s companionship was priceless, and he would prostitute himself if it brought in the money for his dog’s medicine, surgery, and x-rays.”
I shared one of my posts to Facebook the other day. I often used to do so, inviting friends and family to ‘see what I’m up to’.
Facebook informed me that it had been blocked as spam. It was the second time in as many months that they labeled one of my posts as spam, claiming something like, I was posting it or sharing it just to get likes.
The nerve.
This happened to be a Floofinition, one of my silly pursuits. Of course I was posting it on Facebook for likes. Why does Facebook think people post on their social media accounts? Likes is one of many reasons for sharing things on Facebook, but they used to encourage me to do just that.
I protested their unilateral condemnation of my post, but my protest is limited in scope to their pre-canned reasons for doing so. And those are flawed and incomplete. It assumes a set of paradigms which frankly just displays how fucking lost thy are. And after I completed that, I thought, I never heard anything back from them about that one last month.
No, you never do. They reach out like some hidden Gods, do their thing, and then watch us like we’re ants running around after their anthill is damaged.
That pissed me off.
The clincher came the next day. It was like, “Michael, here’s a memory of something you posted before! Share it to remind others.” So sweet. So friendly.
And yeah, it was one of my floofinitions. Like the one they condemned as spam and removed for being posted to get likes.
Well, fuck you, Facebook. I’m done with you and your capricious two-faced arrogance. They are already a repository of right-wing memes and misinformation, so they were treading on my last nerve before. I know, they’re quivering back at Meta headquarters, wailing that they’ve alienated me and lost my support. “Oh, boo hoo. We lost Michael. Woe is us.”
That’s okay. It makes me feel better. Just as their community used to do. It’s like they say, the more things change, the more they go to shit.
My wife and I were out shopping for new sheets and pillows last weekend. She came to me with a mug and a grin.
“This is you.” She handed me the mug. “I’m buying it for you.”
She’s right. After running it through the dishwasher with a load, this is now my morning coffee cup.
Thanks, sweetheart.
I’m chatting with the barista. He tells me my order will be up soon. I ask him, “Did you ring me up?”
He’s completely confused.
I straighten it out, explaining that I wanted to know if he’d charged me, and walk away, laughing. It used to be — a classic beginning to an explanation about change — that cash registers made a ringing sound when transactions were totaled for payment. How long has it been since I’ve heard a cash register ring? As a result, ‘ring me up’ entered society as a popular expression for paying for purchases.
As an aside, my wife had one of those mechanical, ringing registers in her house. Her father, a grocery store manager, procured it when his store upgraded to an electronic system. The register’s ring reminded him of the little stores where they’d shop in his small town.
He said that he never wanted to forget them.
Michael Seidel, writer 