Sometimes I feel like we’re just two surfers passing by on the web.
Sunday’s Theme Music
Mood: spacey
The numbers are in for today, Sunday, June 9 2024. 55, 65, 83, our low, current, and expected high for Ashlandia, all in F. The numbers show that our sprummer run remains intact.
My cats are doing well. Still lovin’ sprummer. Tucker has been reborn. But that encourages him to think he’s a young ‘un. Now he wants to spend all his time outdoors. “No,” I tell him. “You’re an elderly housefloof. You’re better off indoors.”
“YOOOWWWLLLL!” he shouts back. “YOOOWWWLLLL. MeeeOWWWLLLL.” He’ll do this until my wife or I leap up and open the door, telling Tucker, “Fine, go get eaten by a cougar but don’t complain to us when it happens. We tried to tell you but you won’t listen.”
Tucker usuallly replies with a haughty, “Murpf.” Everyone owned by a cat knows what murpf means.
It’s National Donald Duck Day FYI. I’m not celebrating it, myself. I’m sure it’s a big deal to someone on this world.
No, I’m celebrating Space Appreciation Day. This is not the same as National Space Day, celebrated in May. Space Appreciation Day is not about the region beyond Earth’s atmosphere or all that ‘out there’ in the dark, starry night.
Space Appreciation Day is about private space. Leg room and elbow room during air travel or in movie theaters. Or room in bed to turn over without leaving the mattress. That’s what Space Appreciation Day, often shortened to SAD, is all about.
Take, for example, writing at the coffee shop. SAD comes into its own there. I don’t want to hear others’ phone calls. First, I’m usually only hearing one side of it, forcing me to provide the other end. Like:
“It’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon,” I hear in the coffee shop. Which I fill in to mean, the contract killer is making the hit.
Nor do I want to be a close party to others’ sneezes. Likewise, I don’t want to share my sneezes with others because I see the accusing, wary looks they use afterward. (“What does THAT guy have? He looks like he migh be dying. Maybe I should leave or mask up.”) Ideally, I’ll have a radius of twelve feet between me and anyone else in the coffee shop. And that’s what I pray for when I dance and make sacrifices to the Gods of Space on SAD.
The Neurons wanted to play along but when I thought about space and the distance between me and other objects, they came back with the realm outside of planets’ atmospheres. So I ended up with Muse singing “Starlight” from 2006 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark out there).
Be strong and positive, and enjoy your SAD, however you decide to celebrate it. Vote Blue 2024. I’ve begun the coffee ingestion process, and we have lift off. Here’s the music. Cheers
Xenofloobia
Xenofloobia (floofinition) – A condition where an animal’s hatred or intense dislike about other animals causes them to behave aggressively. Origins: New Floofin, early 19th century. Related: Xenofloofic
In Use: “Many people owned by floofs with non-compete clauses to their living situation exhibit xenofloofbia, growling or issuing angry indignation at the trespasser through the window whenever any other creature enters their domain in any capacity.”
In Use: “Karen didn’t know the extent of her cat’s xenofloobia until the little critter met another cat at the door and launched a yowling charge.”
Monday’s Theme Music
Mood: Persistfee (a sense of persistence fueled by coffee)
It’s a day of indifferent clouds and sunshine, this Monday, June 3, 2024. Rain spits and dries. Temperatures fall and bounce. 76 F, thermometers declare, but a chiller feel hangs in the air. Today’s high temperature is at hand.
Spoke with Mom this morning. She related bureaucratic issues keeping her hospital bed from coming on. I depend on her for the info so I can only accept her explanation. According to the PCP’s nurse, aka John, everything has been forwarded to the company who will deliver the bed. But they claim something is missing and hold that the bed can’t be delivered until this unknown element is delivered. It all has Mom and I swearing and wondering.
She sounds good, spirited and energetic. She’s been cleaning, she said. So what will the hired help clean when she comes this Thursday? Mom declares, “I’m not going to pay her to come if there’s nothing here to clean.”
My sisters and I predicted this as a real possibility. Mom prides herself in a clean house. It’s a large part of her persona. Once the cleaner began coming, Mom rose up and began cleaning in anticipation of the cleaner’s arrival. She’d already said the cleaner wasn’t allowed to clean the kitchen because that’s Mom’s territory. Nor could the cleaner help with the laundry; Mom is very particular about how her clothes are washed and dried.
I think Mom is taking a narrow view of having a cleaner come in every week or two. Mom has rallied now but is that sustainable? When will she overdo her poor stenosis-plagued back and cause herself a new injection of pain and immobility? What if she falls – again – and hurts herself? Those are what-ifs, and pieces of logic. Mom’s issues with cleaning are emotional and psychological. Just one son’s opinion. I hope that these worries never see light.
Today’s song is “Green Tambourine” by The Lemon Pipers. The 1967 psychedelic pop hit is playing in my morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried), and I don’t know why. Following the usual course, I interrogated The Neurons, but they closed ranks and shut down. Couldn’t even get a word out of them after plying them with coffee. Stupid little boogerheads.
Off to the coffee shop to let the muses play with words. Be strong, stay pos, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers
Raised Eyebrows
After Donald J. Trump, former POTUS, and forever liar and criminal, was found guilty of 34 counts of falsifying documents last May, Republicans jumped up to whine about the legal system.
“The weaponization of our justice system has been a hallmark of the Biden Administration,” Johnson said, “and the decision today is further evidence that Democrats will stop at nothing to silence dissent and crush their political opponents.”
h/t to Huffpost.com
Hilarious, Speaker Johnson, just hilarious. Love how you’re conflating New York state’s legal system with President Biden’s DOJ, a part of a Federal branch of government.
“Absolute injustice,” Sen. Tim Scott (R-S.C.), who is vying to be Trump’s vice presidential pick, said in a statement. “This erodes our justice system. Hear me clearly: You cannot silence the American people. You cannot stop us from voting for change.”
Yes, sure, Sen. Scott. I think the American people on the jury spoke clearly, but you didn’t listen. They, after listening to testimony and examining evidence, said, “GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY.GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY.”
And what, Sen. Scott, is the ‘voting for change’ that you’re pursuing? You planning to change the Sixth Amendement to the U.S. Constitution?
As the Jennifer Bendery and Arthur Delaney Huffpost article notes, Republicans aren’t denying that Trump isn’t guilty. Nope, they just lobbed accusations without evidence or proof, and whined.
Except for a small number, the GOP has become such an abhorrent party of empty-headed sycophants.
Saturday’s Theme Music
Mood: Coffbulant
June has pounced. Hope you weren’t too surprised.
It’s Saturday, June 1, 2024. The year is plowing into its second half. Probably will be as fucked up as the first half, perhaps more. The board has been set for that.
I’m back home, where I’m happy to be, although I was living a good life back in Penn Hills, visiting with family and enjoying Mom’s company. I can tell you about the long day of travel to reach home but I made it unscathed. Although it’s much better than taken wagon across the nation or driving backroads in something like a Ford Model T, this mess of late arrivals and departures, full flights, and constant jockeying for a place in an aircraft feels like the new norm. Airports must be thrilled; bet business is up at all those airport restaurants, and that’s probably good for the restaurant. Airlines are probably indifferent: the bottom line is financial and not customer satisfaction.
It’s a pleasant 79 F here in Ashlandia, where the ground is dry and the greenery is browning. Left the house Thursday at 5:30 AM back in Penn Hills, got home Friday at about 1. Been playing catch up since. That’s what you do when you return from traveling. But my wife, cats, and house all seem fine, as does the town.
I leaned about former POTUS Trump’s convictions while traveling. I was surprised. I honestly anticipated a hung jury and can tell you I’m really happy to have been wrong.
Listening to reactions since amuses me but brought little surprise. His stout supporters, which seems to be most of the GOP these days, still insist that the doddering, inept individual who is too old to be POTUS has pulled another one over Trump and the GOP. While I don’t agree with their characterization of President Biden, even the GOP must admit that their party and its candidate must be woefully unprepared and even more inept to allow President Biden to take down the GOP and Trump as he’s apparently done. I mean, to cast President Biden as so incapable and then have someone that’s so incapable beat Trump and the GOP down so completely must feel like a huge burn.
But no; they can’t hold such reasoning in their mind. Even though some of them claim Trump is sent by God. Guess their God abandoned them. It’s bizarre and sad thinking over there in MAGA Land.
Telling you, though, I think this trial chewed Trump up. Here he is, one unsullied by justice and the legal system suddenly being forced to sit in a courtroom and listen to the truth being told about him. Hearing 34 times that he’s guilty. Hearing twelve impartial jurors saying that he’s guilty.
Look at him. He looks tired. Worn out. OLD.
Listen to that speech after he left the courtroom. OLD. TIRED. LISTLESS.
Yes, his mojo took a big hit.
Today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark unsullied) comes from Taylor Momsen. Seems that a bat bit The Pretty Reckless vocalist when they were opening for AC/DC. I thought, that’s pretty fucked up.
Bang, The Neurons leaped on that. See, one of The Pretty Reckless’s songs is “Fucked Up World” from 2014. It’s a fairly raw rocker:
Back to these back door bitches begging me to behave
Jamming Jesus down my throat, no, I don’t wanna be saved
Ain’t a chain on my brain, I’m nobody’s slave
I got one foot in the cradle and one in the grave
h/t to Genius.com
Be strong and positive, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers
Thursday’s Theme Music
Mood: flightrupted
It’s Thursday, May 30, 2024. Beautiful light blue sky with a little haze is outside the window. Sunny and 52 F.
I’m seeing the world through the Pittsburgh airport windows waiting for my Alaska Air flight. I was supposed to be leaving at 7:50 AM. About six minutes from now. Instead, estimated take off is now 9:18 AM.
That prevents me from my next leg, which was to be my final leg, Seattle WA to Medford OR. Now I’m going from Seattle to Salt Lake City to Medford. Instead of arriving about noon in Medord, I’m arriving about midnight. That sucks for my wife, who is picking me up.
Yeah, it’s all first world blues, innit? Still have food and a decent life. Just a series of bumps on this travel day, so I’m whining about it. I mean, I’m not out in a storm or getting shot at. I’m wired with a computer and reading the news.
And there’s a comic aspect. As I cope with these fight changes, the airline is urging me to start planning my next flight with them.
With this skewed schedule echoing in my head, The Neurons have Molly Hatchett performing “Flirtin’ with Disaster” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark delayed). The 1979 song isn’t quite right for the situation but I’d need to feed them more java before The Neurons will come up with something better.
Thank you to my sweetheart of a little sister and her daughter for getting up and picking me up and driving me to the airport. They’re both awesome people. They’re always doing things for me and treating me like a friggin’ prince, so I’m always in debt to them.
I’m coffeeing up. Stay positive, be strong, and lean forward. Let’s Vote Blue this year, shall we?
Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofsize
Floofsize (floofinition) – To have something upended or knocked over by an animal. Origins: late 1890s, first noted in Mississippi.
In Use: “Karol the Terrorcat walked along the dresser, leaving floofsized bottles and items on the floor in her wake.”
In Use: “Galumpfh, originally named Wilson by the family’s youngest member, often floofsized furniture when he galloped through the house, shaking the floor with his floofnormous thunderpaws.”
Michael Seidel, writer 