Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) came to the room’s door. Sitting down, he composed his tail and then looked at me. Then, very deliberately, in a deadpan voice, he enunciated, “Me. Ow. Me. Ow.”
It was so weird. He never says “me. ow.” He says, Mrrrmpf,” and variations of that, like a grumbling old man too bored to bother with a whole meow. Or very loudly, sharply, “Mmrrrrowl.” But “me. ow”? No.
It was like he was doing some offbeat feline impression of Bob Newhart or Steven Wright as a cat. “Me. Ow.”
Still editing a novel-in-progress. Rev 7 remains underway for Memories of Why. I finished page 450 of 575 today. Don’t know if I’ll do a rev 8 until after I read the final chapters. I remember how I ended it but I’m not sure that ending is satisfying. We’ll see.
Meanwhile, I jumped into writing a new novel back on July 19, 2024. It just sucked me in. The working title is Gravity’s Emotions. As it’s a style and kind of novel that I don’t usually write, it stretches my nerves to breaking while engrossing and worrying me. Eighty pages have been written, so it’s been going fast. Breaking a standard rule, I share bits of the novel in walk off lines with my wife. Some of what I tell her freaks her out. That makes me giddy.
But I also need to return to finish Darla. Friends read the first sixty pages that I dashed off and want to read more of it.
It’s so entertaining and stimulating right now, imagining, thinking, writing, editing, revising, planning. I could easily see myself going non-stop writing and editing, but life needs pull me back into life’s embrace.
A middle old person — 75 to 84 years old — has a penny. He asks several other middle-old people if they can read the date on that penny. “My eyes aren’t good enough,” he proclaimed.
Three other middle old people gathering. No, not without my glasses, they were all saying, chuckling. Glasses were pulled from purses and pockets. More folks moved in to try to read the penny’s date. Soon it’s a crowd of seven.
They all fail. The original gentleman takes his penny to the counter and asks the young barista for help. She studies it for several seconds, shifting the penny, squinting, bending her head lower.
A result is announced but I don’t hear it. He pockets his penny and thanks her.
It’s good Tuesday in Ashlandia. With air quality in the good zone — just two on the index — and a temperature of 68 degrees F under a crystal blue sky, we slipped out early and went to the Growers Market. Our hunting and gathering succeeded. We returned home with our plunder of organic, locally grown fruits and veggies. Tomatoes, peaches, blackberries, carrots, greens.
It’s the 30th of July, the penultimate day to the month. Expectations have been lowered and our temperature will crease 88 degrees F. Traffic is light and the day has a comfy, low-key feel.
I perused the Booker long list today and plotted about which I want to read first, etc. Tommy Orange and Richard Powers are favorites of mine, so I go with them, but several other authors buzz my interest.
Other than that, it’s politics and disasters sucking in my energy. I reflect on the heavy GOP rotation of lies and hypocrisy and I’m newly depressed and saddened. Some varnishing of truth and polishing of positions is natural in politics to help candidates gain traction but the wholesale bullshit on display with the MAGA fueled GOP sucks the oxygen out of thoughts. Such lies that they tell. Such plots that they undertake.
And so, Les Neurons who are paying attention treat my morning mental music stream (Trademark buried) to Jewel performing “Who Will Save Your Soul” from 1996. Who will save their souls for the lies that they tell? Not lies to them, apparently; the ends justify the means to subvert others’ wills and take us from being a democratic republic to a christian autocracy. So many potential voters seem to think of this as a popularity contest, asking themselves, which one do I like better, Don Old Trump, or Kamala Harris? Like they’re equivalent, as if Don Old Trump doesn’t have a long list of lies and deceit, as if he has not been convicted of actual crimes, as if he’s not still indicted for more crimes, as if he wasn’t twice impeached as President. Oh, brother.
Be strong. Stay positive. Lean forward. Vote Blue.
Coffee is being processed by the body’s systems. Time to write and roll. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floodiac(floofinition) – The definition of a band of twelve floofstellations dictating the properties and characteristics that floof display. Origins: Middle Flooflish, borrowed from Floofglo-Froof and Flootin. First noted use in the 14th century.
In Use: “Based on how their animals race around the house, many people mistakenly think their floof is a Zoomacorn, but in floofuality, zoomies are just one trait among many that assign floofs their sign on the Floodiac.”
In Use: “The way that her cat, Marmie, loved water, Karin knew her girl was born under one of the water signs in the Floodiac, like Aquafloofius.”
In Use: “Chester’s dog’s amazing balance had Chester believing that Cormac’s Floodiac sign was Libfloof.”
When my wife mentioned a duckana, I said, “What the hell is that?”
Turns out that we’re a couple years behind the times.
A duckana is a statue or depiction of a duck emerging from a peeled banana. It apparently began with London Drugs in Canada in 2022. Once I saw one, I found them endearing, clever, and hilarious.
Now I’m reading that people are over duckanas. The thing now is the Avo-cat-o.
I don’t know what I’ve done to Liberty Mutual. They’re a small insurance company. Yeah, that’s snark.
Liberty Mutual does a lot of television advertising. Most of it is pretty corny stuff but with exposure and repetition, you do remember who they are. Guess that’s their goal.
This week, they’ve begun calling me and leaving me voice messages every. Fucking. Day. They also send me three to five text messages every. Fucking. Day. And they call me Vincent.
I don’t know why they turned on me like that. We went for years, ignoring each other. Now, I actively hate them. Their company’s name is forever linked to irritation and annoyance. Just thinking, ‘Liberty Mutual’ has me grinding my teeth.
Another day in Ashlandia, where the night temperatures are hanging round the fifties and the daytime highs take us to the upper eighties. Like today, we’re looking at 89 F. Air is clear, too for the time being. That can change with a wind shift. With so many fires, and several fast exploding across the landscape, I expect our air quality to dip.
As for the date, it’s Sunday, July 28, 2024. Almost time to put the month to bed.
Cats are okay. Wife is doing fine. I’m doing well. Olympics are dominating the news cycle. Trump snuck back in there with more of his anti- whatever stupidity. The man is anti so many things. The latest turn confirms that the guy who wants to be dictator on day one (ha, ha, remember that laugher) is also assuring Christians that if he wins, they won’t need to vote again. Ha, ha, so funny – not. It’s not a joke to his MAGA supporters; they say he tells it like it, that he speaks for them. So there it is, the MAGA GOP is against democracy. It’s been a growing trend in the GOP for the last quarter century.
Now it’s their brand.
Gotta song stuck in my head. I heard “St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)” on the radio yesterday, and it just excited The Neurons. Apparently enthralled by it, The Neurons have been playing the 1985 John Parr almost non-stop in the morning mental music stream (Trademark in motion). Sometimes they also include vignettes from the movie which featured the song, St. Elmo’s Fire. A Brat Pack film, I’ve never seen it. As several of the actors were also in The Breakfast Club, snippets out of that film also circulate in my head.
As far as the phenom known as St. Elmo’s fire, I’ve only seen it in museums and films. It fascinates me.
Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Keep democracy in America. I’ve had coffee. Now a little more is on the menu. Here’s the music. Feel free to sing along. My Neurons do. Cheers
“Christians, get out and vote. Just this time. You won’t have to do it anymore, you know what? Four more years, it’ll be fixed, it’ll be fine, you won’t have to vote anymore, my beautiful Christians. I love you, Christians. I’m a Christian. I love you, you got to get out and vote.
“In four years, you don’t have to vote again. We’ll have it fixed so good, you’re not going to have to vote.”
“But the Trump campaign claimed the comments were about uniting the country.
“Trump “was talking about uniting this country and bringing prosperity to every American, as opposed to the divisive political environment that has sowed so much division and even resulted in an assassination attempt,” a spokesperson told The Washington Post.“
Yeah. Sure. How would claiming to do away with voting in four years unite a democracy?
That’s some grade A MAGAt horseshit and another revelation of how Trump envisions this going. Trump is delusional. He’s not interested in democracy. He’s not interested in freedom for anyone but himself.
He believes himself great. He believes himself smart.
