Tag: Information

Winday’s Wandering Thoughts

The Starbucks lobby was locked. A sign said, “Sorry, lobby closed for maintenance.”

I considered Remix across the street. It was already busy and its seating had never suited me.

Back in the car, I headed to Noble’s on 4th, my other go-to place. I mostly mix it up between those two these months. My spouse has been campaigning for RoCo lately, so I veered over to East Main to hit it up.

I used to regularly visit RoCo. Named the Roasting Company back then I haven’t visited since BC; Before COVID. A small converted home, it was frequently packed. Outlets were limited and that’s needed for my power hungry laptop.

But my wife claimed it had changed. I trust my wife so I found parking and headed in.

She was right. Much lighter than it used to be inside, they’d added power strips screwed to the benches so outlets were plentiful. Not very crowded this day, either.

Classic rock played. Who can argue with Bowie, Pat Benatar, the Animals, the Mysterios, Stray Cats, and Pink Floyd providing background music?

A productive writing session was won. Of course, this is Saturday. Things change on weekdays. But it worked out today and I liked it, so I’ll try Monday. See if I have another good coffee writing session.

That’s what’s important.

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Winday’s Political Thoughts

I read a disturbing Slate article today.

Remember that thing we used to learn about some truths being self-evident?

Under the GOP, that’s no longer directionally correct.

“The Wrong-Direction Election” by Ben Mathis-Lilley delineates exactly why the GOP has become so half-assed. It’s about being ‘directionally correct’.

Not familiar to you? ‘Directionally correct’ is a way of covering the GOP’s collective ass about Trump and Republican lying. Orwell is likely shaking his head in amazement. From the article:

“And being directionally correct—or sometimes directionally accurate—is, according to many of Donald Trump’s supporters, something that Donald Trump is very good at. His claims about trans athletes, immigrants, and the 2020 election might not be strictly true, these advocates say, but they are directionally so, because he’s talking about a real problem, or at least a feeling that there’s a real problem.”

Isn’t that precious?

The Republicans have become masters of bullshit. If I get the gist of it right, my saying that that the GOP are all unprincipled hypocritical, gun-loving, women-hating sexist, greedy, anti-democracy lying racist bigots, I’m directionally correct, because there’s at least a feeling that’s there’s a real problem with them and their lying campaigns in response to every critical moment in the nation’s recent history.

Take fer’instance if you will, their claim ‘Harris controls the weather’ and are ‘aiming it at red areas’. Or their bullshit (yes, let’s just call their lies and misinformation for what it is) that FEMA is being ordered not to help Republicans.

Or maybe I’m just directionally accurate.

Vote blue in 2024 so we can start cutting the heads of this monster.

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Floofcronym

Floofcronym (floofinition) – Another name given to an animal based on the initials of words being used to describe their looks, personality, or behavior. Origins: 1940, first noted in Greece.

In Use: “The kitten was formerly known as Princess Go-Lucky, but soon became referred to more often as SAFT — Small and Fast Thief — with a penchant for stealing chips, cheese, and doughnuts whenever someone turned their back on their food.”

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Two Dreams of Helping

The first dream found me and my wife living in an apartment. A nice place, well lit, spacious, and quiet, it had some problems with ventilation and water, but I’d fixed them. However, one window gave me some trouble, so I went to adjust it.

I was surprised when I pulled back the window’s sheer curtains; another window, to another’s apartment was directly opposite, about a foot away. A man was over there. I easily looked into their pleasingly furnished place of overstuffed furniture (it was their living room) and then, as I thought was right, apologized to the man and made haste to shut the curtains and pretend they weren’t there.

But the woman, short, with thick, dark hair, was hurrying forward, calling, “Wait, wait.” So I did. She rushed up and asked, “How did you fix your ventilation?”

I had no real answer, explaining that I’d just kept tinkering with it. Impatiently, she interrupted, “Well, can you fix ours?”

Weirdly, there were then two other windows I could see in other people’s apartments. A woman was at each, a man behind them asking, “Can you also fix ours?”

I was taken back. I hadn’t done anything special that I could explain. I’d just kept addressing it. But I couldn’t tell them no; they wouldn’t let me. So I agreed to fix their places.

Dream end.

The next dream found me in a small square waiting room, darkish with heavy wood paneling. I’m not sure where people were waiting to go. I wasn’t waiting but just passing through. A woman escorted me through the room. I came across one individual, a man on the floor. Bearded with curly brown hair, he seemed almost lifeless.

“Oh, that’s Reardon,” the woman said when I asked about him. “He’s a lost cause. He doesn’t have a reason to go on.”

That upset me. Though the woman and I continued on through the room, Reardon stayed on my mind. I finally said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave him like that,” and went back.

Getting to him, I just gave him a long hug and talked to him, telling him that he was special, and that he shouldn’t give up. Then I went on.

I next came back into the room. Much lighter than it was before, a door was open on the other end. People were filing out. Most were already gone. Looking around, I asked about Reardon. I was told that he had recovered and that he was about to go through the door. She said he was very happy with what I’d done and kept talking about me.

I hurried over, calling him as I did. I didn’t want him to have the wrong idea, which to me, was that I was in love with him. I don’t know why I was suddenly worried that this is what he’d believe.

I called his name when I saw him. He turned and greeted me. At least a foot taller than me, I was forced to look up at him. In his right hand was a thick fan of money, mostly $100 bills.

Seeing me, he grinned. “I know what you’re going to say. I know what you’re thinking. You think that I think I’m in love with you, but I’m not. I understand what you did. Honestly, it saved me.”

He offered me money as a gift. I declined, saying something else that I don’t remember. We hugged, my face to his chest. A woman at the open door said it was time for him to go. They were waiting on him. Reardon released me and went through the doorway.

Dream end.

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Snoozaflooflooza

Snoozaflooflooza (floofinition) – An ongoing celebration of sleep which many animals participate in. Origins: unknown, believed by floofologist to predate human history.

In Use: “Not knowing that her cats had decided to join snoozaflooflooza this year, Judi worried over how much the trio was sleeping, fearful that they had an illness.”

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The Can’t-Wake-Up Dream

I’d been working. In the military, it seemed like from clues, but it was never clearly presented. Staying in some manner of mixed work, play, sleep compound. Very modern. Enormously wide hallways. Well lit.

I’d been going to and fro, doing work and receiving instructions, sometimes passing guidance along, when suddenly, I was asleep. Yep, asleep in my dream. And I couldn’t wake up. And I knew this. I new that I wanted and needed to wake up. But my head was heavy with exhaustion and my eyes felt glued shut.

Someone came by and spoke with me. Don’t know what they said. I replied, “I need to wake up but I can’t. I must get up.”

Somehow, I did manage to get up. “Water,” I told myself. “Drink some water. That will help.”

Feeling my way about, I came to a sink and turned on the water. Using my hand to catch water, I guzzled a bit.

It wasn’t working. “Put water on your face,” I told myself. “Splash your eyes.”

Right; yes. That worked enough that at last I could open my eyes. “Food and coffee will help,” I said to myself. “Go find some.”

Dream end. Early sunlight was petering in around the closed blinds. The dream felt so real that I went into the kitchen and drank a glass of water and then went to a mirror to see if my eyes were open. Very strange.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Scandalized

October 9, 2024, is under autumn’s spell. Clouds dab the blue sky, reflecting sunlight and lined in gold. Lemony appearing leaves dapple across the backyard’s grass, thickening into a carpet as more leaves join the exodus from the tree.

It’s Wednesday. 54 F, we’ll graze the low 70s today for our high today before the sun’s trip sends us back into darkness.

Checked on Hurricane Milton first thing on the net. Grew back into a cat 5 last night and has dipped back into a 4. Due to cross over Florida sometime this evening as present expectations go.

This dip into history. Remember when Donald Trump said this back in 2016 when first running for POTUS?

“Hillary Clinton may be the most corrupt person ever to seek the Presidency of the United States. …she’s been taking plenty of money out for herself. Hillary Clinton has perfected the politics of personal profit and even theft.” 

I won’t rhetorically wonder what his supporters think of Trump’s grifting since he made that declaration about the “politics of personal profit and even theft” back in 2016; we know Trump supporters aren’t deep on thinking about him and his actions, except when it mocks, villifies, and denigrates others.

What about this quote, also from 2016: “A candidate under federal investigation ‘has no right to be running.’ Further, it would be ‘virtually impossible for (a president under indictment) to govern.'”

Yes, he said it, baby. But under Donald Trump’s Silly Putty moral standards, such declarations don’t apply to himself. Why, he’s a victim of the deep state, he squeals. Totally innocent! They’ve weaponized the DOJ against him.

Never his fault. Never, never, never. He can only take credit, not criticism, and certainly not failure, despite his long string of failures.

Thinking about Donald Trump and his endless lying litany, whining, and empty bragging and boasting brought The Neurons awake. They went along the lines of, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Next thing you know, they have The Cult with “Fire Woman” from 1989 rocking the morning mental music stream (Trademark burning). It’s a classic wall of sound thumping beat stadium rock offering.

While the song is about temptation, love, and sex, it’s also about being hypnotized by something to the point that you’ve lost control. While it goes on, “Fire woman, you’re to blame,” my mind paraphrased, “Fire man, you’re to blame.” I was thinking of the deep polarization we’re experiencing as a nation, and the schisms Trump has created and widened through constant lying and wheedling. But his folks can’t see — or won’t. He’s got the power over them. Got them satisfied and pleased about being openly and defiantly hateful, racist, bigoted, and sexist.

Moving on.

Stay positive. Be strong. Vote blue in 2024. Coffee has come by on its mercy mission. Here’s the music. Just as a note, I don’t think I’ve heard this song on the radio in years. Well, there’s so much music out there, isn’t there?

Have a good one. Cheers

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Haplop

Haplop (floofinition) – Happy gallop that animals do when feeling joyous or energized. Origins: 17th century obscure Floofman.

In Use: “Hearing that he was going for a w – a – l – k, Scotter grabbed his leash in teeth and set off on a haplop for five laps of the apartment.”

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Mumday’s Theme Music

Mood: Mumstheword

It’s Mumday, October 7, 2024. The night had a chilly mountain breath but the sun is again restoring warmth, a practice that’s been going on for millions of years. 64 F now, blue sky and sunny, nary a worrying cloud, we’ll top out in the mid to upper 80s. Air quality is again close to excellent.

Many are familiar with expressions about ‘staying mum’, ‘keeping mum’, or ‘mum’s the word’. These imply that they’ll be silent on a subject. Many don’t know how the expression is derived from the same origins which gave Monday it’s first ancient name: Mumday.

The Mums were a religious sect. Their original idea of ‘being mum’ began as a process for honoring the dead. The society was a small religious outlier in ancient Egypt, where the practice of preserving the deceased involved mummifying them. The Mums would wrap their heads as though they were mummified and remain silent in a day of worship and respect of the dead. During the day, they were tasked with doing good deeds and charity in the name of the day, all without speaking. They were allowed to utter, “Mmmm,” to acknowledge that they heard. As this day was often done the day after Sunday, the day after Sunday became Mumday in recognition of the practice. Later societies modified the expression into Monday, which was supposed to be a nod to the Moon. But historians ‘dug up’ the truth while excavating sites where mummies were found.

Later, after the switch to Monday and the re-discovery of the Mums in the late sixteen hundreds, the popular variations on ‘being mum’ evolved.

Always good to start the day with a new fact, isn’t it?

All kinds of music is inspired by Monday, but The Neurons went with a rocking pop tune. “Walk Like An Egyptian” by the Bangles occupies the morning mental music stream (Trademark mum). The Bangles did’t write it, though. From Wikipedia.org:

Liam Sternberg said he was inspired to create the song while on a ferry crossing the English Channel. When the vessel hit choppy water, passengers stepped carefully and moved their arms awkwardly while struggling to maintain their balance, and that reminded Sternberg of the depiction of human figures in ancient Egyptian tomb paintings.

Ah, hah. He did a demo of it and offered it to Toni Basil. She turned it down. Lene Lovich recorded it but never released it, and then ended up offering it to the Bangles. Three of the four Bangles share lead vocals. Lovich deemed the drummer’s efforts, Debbi Peterson, so Debbi was relegated to backup vocals. If you check out the accompanying video, you can see that Peterson also isn’t playing the drums; that was accomplished by a drum machine while she played tambourine. Can’t be surprised to learn that the dual actions about her role caused some tension in the group. Nonetheless, the song became the Bangle’s first number one hit. It’s a fun song to me, a good one to energize a Monday.

So happy Mumday. Be strong and positive. Vote blue and don’t stay mum. And yes, powered by coffee, I made all that up about Mumday. My tongue was firmly in my cheek.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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