Tag: Information

Twozdaz Theme Music

“Right now, it’s 71 degrees in Ashland,” Alexa burbles. Yeah, bull. I check my Oregon Scientific home system. 58 F. That feels correct. Wherever Alexa gleans her weather, it’s down in the valley, where the sunshine has cleared the mountains and trees enough to burn off the mountain night chill.

This is Twozda, September 23, 2025. Autumn has grabbed the season. Trees are doing their leafy transformation. Travel ‘n tilt are spinning us toward the cold in the Earth’s uppers. Summer is coming down under. Still, sunshine will unfold and coddle us in Ashlandia until we’re crisping in the mid 90s. That’s F. For Fahrenheit.

Headlines are blushing about one of Trump’s newest EO. Dancing off shards of his alternate reality, TACO declared antifa a terrorist organization. Antifa is neither of those things. But that Donnie’s showing his inferior mind skills. Also blasts open impressions that he’s not the spear tip of a fascist movement. What better says that you’re fascist than to outlaw an antifascist movement? The question to put to Donnie and his ilk: how many terrorists attacks has antifa been behind? But we know Donnie will bluster something like “three hundred million,” without moving a wrinkle. He’ll smoothly lie, “Antifa was burning down D.C. Making it unsafe to walk the streets in Los Angeles, Chicago, Memphis.” His brain and mouth cannot connect with truth, facts, and reality. Like, it’s rightwingers who are the primary source of U.S. violence. Most prevalent among them are white males bleating about how unfair life has been to them. Like Donnie. Look at the gun facts. Men, and white men, are more likely to be a shooter. They’re usually conservative to right-wing. Like Donnie. But in Donnie’s alternate history, he is a hero, and not a feckless bully, fool, and coward. Otherwise he’d come right out and fess up to his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein.

I was thinking about Trump’s sentences. How they tangle. Lines of Christmas lights. Hoary spider webs. Restaurant clink and babble. Some words pop up in a brief burst of sense. “Then he said that he wasn’t going to do that. I got so angry.” Then the tide of indecipherable overwhelms again. Some cheeky Neurons responded with “Blinded by the Light”. Manfred Mann’s Earth Band had a hit out of it. Bruce Springsteen wrote the lyrics. It’s one of those songs that even when you know the words, some troubled region still queries, “But what does it mean?” That’s how I think of much of what Delicate Donnie says: but what does it mean? The gibberish is almost English as spoken by someone not tethered to precepts of logic, history, and sentence structure.

Hope peace and grace get out from under the rock and comes out and gives us some support. Coffee has found a place among my Neurons. Here we go. Cheers

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‘Nother DIY Done

I reaffirmed my firm position as a budgeteer DIYer. My wife kicked this one off.

“I think we need new breakfast bar lights.”

A zillion responses went over my brain’s hill and dale. One landed. “Sounds good. What do you have in mind?”

She had a general description. Phase I began: we began the search. Found them. My wife asked, “Do you think you could install those?”

“Of course,” I confidently replied without consulting any Neurons. The Neurons freaked. “You fool, what are you saying? Did you learn nothing yet?”

“Pshaw,” I replied. The Neurons knew I was nervous but my wife’s easy acceptance that I could the job. I couldn’t let her confidence in me down.

Phase II, we ordered them, received, and inspected them. They came across the country from Philadelphia, PA, on a truck. Eight days in transit.

Next phase: install the suckers. Installing lights aren’t a BFD. Technically. However…they’re mounted on a high vaulted ceiling. I dragged out our tallest ladder and climbed. At a few hairs short of being five feet eight inches tall, I could’ve used two to three more inches to have a comfortable reach for the screws and wires. Beyond that physical limitation, the hardest thing was removing and adjusting the stems to make them level and a height that satisfied us.

But it’s done. Results achieved, and no injuries scored. BTW, those bulbs are our emergency bulbs. Batteries built into them. They work like normal digital bulbs. But when the power goes off, they become emergency lights which provide illumination for six to eight hours. They’ve proven to be a great buy in the last two power outages. Coolest of all, they can be unscrewed and carried around like flashlights.

Next: a new dining room light. I have no doubt I can pull that off. The Neurons are a little worried, though.

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

Well, Steve died. 85 years old. Diagnosed with cancer in his liver, kidneys, and lungs, his decline was a full slide down a steep hill. Just a few months ago, we were laughing, talking, enjoying drinks and music at a lake in the late afternoon sun. The question before us is, did he use the cocktail? This is Oregon where we have right to death laws. Steve had requested a cocktail to end his life and planned to use it. Laws control when the cocktail can be used. His wife was just requesting the cocktail last week, so we suspect that Steve died on his own yesterday, September 21, 2025.

I support the right to death, BTW. I’ve witnessed too many people growing feeble and drained by their disease to wish that on others. Many people can no longer probably communicate as they hang on by their skins. Sickness, pain, disease, and medication twist and torture their personalities into new folds. By the time of their death, they’re barely the person they used to be. But I also understand and respect others’ needs and desires to hold on as long as they can. Dying and death are complicated matters.

The thing about Steve is that we only knew each other for about three years. Our rapport was immediate. Our wives were good friends and we all became good friends, socializing multiple times at plays, concerts, and dinners. It just seemed like he and I knew each other forever.

Meanwhile, sis reports Mom has moved into her new room. Except Mom’s clothes are still upstairs. That’s a major matter. Although Mom tends to wear a series of night clothes and casual active wear these days, her closet was rigidly organized by season, color, and fabric. Tough transition for her, to cull the threads to current needs only.

This growing old, though. Coping. It’s tough. I’m at the coffee shop thinking and typing. A casual friend of two decades comes by. She uses two canes now to get around but her smile remains as bright as sunshine off snow brilliant.

All just thoughts to help me sort matters, matters which I’ll probably continue sorting until I do my own self-checkout. I won’t even try to predict when that’ll come. From what I’ve seen, change can be sudden and complete. Then again, some demises are a long trip into night.

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Mundaz Theme Music

Autumn is in through the door. The temperature slipped to the upper 40s. Even stoic Papi came inside to slip, nesting in the living room Malabar chair, where a pillow case is draped over the cushions as a fur collector. 74 F, we expect 86 F as today’s upper limit in Ashlandia. Summer will not go easily. Trees are shedding leaves though. The ones hanging onto the branches are leaving their greens behind. This is Munda, September 22, 2025.

I’m off to a late posting start. We did our monthly Food & Friends delivery this morn. Then my wife wished for breakie so we went to a restaurant for that. Back home, it was 73 F in the house with sunshine streaming in, but she was cold and cranked up the office space heater, poor dear.

Right-wing insanity offers me deep reasons for new headshaking. We have a Catholic cardinal comparing Charlie Kirk, spreader of hate and bigotry, to St. Paul. Even as that ‘say-whaat?’ is processing, I read an excellent Daily Kos piece about Nebraska, Arkansas, and Tennessee FAFO farmers lamenting Trump’s tariffs and their impact on their soybean crops.

Trump-loving farmers want blue states to bail them out again

Just as Trump and the GOP are claiming free speech for them but not for thee, meaning anyone who opposes their right-wing authoritarianism, these farmers want their safety nets for them but not for everyone else.

Today’s theme music is born from thinking about MAGA et al. “Hey You” by Pink Floyd from The Wall from 1979 was brought into the morning mental music stream by The Neurons based principally on a few lines: “Hey, you! Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all. Together we stand, divided we fall.” Enuff said.

Back in the saddle again. Time write and roll. Hope grace and peace find us, and soon, damn it. grumble grumble old man mutterings, etc. Cheers

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Sundaz Theme Music

Another still chill morning embraces Ashlandia. Sunda, September 21, 2025. Awakening at 7:07 AM, I stare at the time and the light, noting how much morning light we’ve already shed as we edge forward and autumn gets ready to pounce on us. 66 F, 76 F is the day’s expected high, with muddled clouds squatting on us.

My wife is angry with her phone today. Not a phone savvy person. It makes noises at her and she barks, “What,” and picks it up with a malevolent gaze. It wouldn’t surprise me if she throws it down. She and phones are not friends. She plays a video of the “We Don’t Care Club” which has us laughing. Here’s a sample.

Sis shared photos of Mom in her new room. Looks warm, full of light, but cozy. I think Mom will be happy there for a while. We hope being on one level will reduce her fall risk. We’re all at least mollified for a while that she should move into assisted living.

Trump’s continued attacks on the United States has me infuriated. More Americans disapprove of his actions. A gap is growing between MAGA and non-MAGA Republicans. MAGA think Trump will deliver them to the land of milk and honey. Polls show that the wealthy, with the financial padding and income to pay more for goods, are increasingly happy with Trump’s policies. Not a surprise. Trump is exercising leverage and power through the Federal structure. The latest is his H1B 100K plan. That’s sure to gouge the U.S. healthcare system, technology development, higher education, and the economy. Trump and the GOP powers will be happy. As the fallout trickles down to the MAGAs, they’ll get upset but they’ll reliably blame Obama, Biden, and Democrats in general. Then Trump will attack another ship or place, kill a few more in the name of peace, and MAGA attention will wander away. Meanwhile, Trump makes himself richer at all others’ expense.

Meanwhile, my wife and I were just discussing someone’s bizarre explanation about how an earthquake shows that God was upset with Charlie Kirk’s death. Next, we might start hearing that Kirk actually rose after three days.

Today’s song emerges from Papi and I doing late night stargazing. Just considering the stars last night, I wondered about those far-off gems. They seem so docile out here but to consider them as explosive places, places with gravity that can suck me in, crush me like a can under a garbage truck, trips the mind into deep wonder. That brought up the line, “Someday you will find me caught beneath a landslide in a champagne supernova in the sky.” And here we are, with the song still playing in my morning mental music stream.

May peace and grace find you, and do it soon, damn it. Off I go, into the mildly cloudy day. Cheers

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Tendflooftious

Tendflooftious (floofinition) – Marked by a tendency in favor of animals. Origins: 1874, probably of Floofman origins but first noted in print in Flooflish in that same year.

In Use: “With three cats, two dogs, a bird, and several fish, his decision making was often tendflooftious, putting concern for his non-human companions above his own.

In Use: “Her love for her dogs drove a tendflooftious attitude, so all of whatever she ate was prepared with an eye to sharing with her beagle and collie.”

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Satyrdaz Wandering Thoughts

A spider set up behind my toiletries. They were a large one of the daddy long-legs variety, often also called a cellar spider.

Sighing, I advised the spider, “That’s not a good place for webbing. I’m always picking this stuff up and moving it around. I think you need to go.” I gently prodded the webbing a few times.

Dropping to the countertop, the spider strode with dignity across the counter, then slipped in between the drawer and the cabinet, disappearing. I admired them. They knew where they were going with amazing surety, and they went unhurried, unruffled.

I wish I had as much poise as they displayed.

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Humor May Help

Stephen Colbert Responds to Kimmel Affair with Hilarious Video

From Diana Ravitch’s Blog, “Stephen Colbert Responds to Kimmel Affair with Hilarious Video“. I think we owe it to ourselves to laugh and mock Trump’s cancel culture.

Trump’s BFF, J. Epstein, would have probably enjoyed it.

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Fridaz Theme Music

Muted sunshine and faded skies greet Ashlandia. New chills float through. It’s Fridaz, September 9, 2025. 68 F, rain’s short shadow hovers the mountains. 86 F will be the high but a sense that it’ll be a cool 86 pervades.

Speaking personally, slumber and I were good friends last night. Residual abdominal pain haunts me. My gallbladder matter tracks in a worsening trend. Each cough and flex ushers in uncomfortable spasms. My gut makes noise like a pen full of feeding hogs. I look forward to my surgery in November. Until then, like others, all I can do is endure and work around the issues.

Political news casts no happy sunshine. Trump and his conservative army of dunces remain bent on Making America Poor and Stupid. Oh, the top 1% will be the richest in the world. On paper, we’ll compare pretty good. Into the trenches of life, most will live the lives of Les Miserables. Hate and stupidity is an ugly brew but it addicts many.

Reading on of Peter Sage’s post this week left me with more dispirited headshaking. Peter writes about politics, often addressing it from the southern Oregon point of view. Peter writes,

“Pence, along with Reagan, both Bush presidents, Dole, McCain, and Romney, are the old establishment, the America that isn’t great, the one that paid unnecessary respect to the wrong people. The old GOP leaders accepted laws and norms. That defined “conservatism.” Trump is different. Trump is a rebel. He smashes those laws and norms because they were tacitly part of the oppression. The old order didn’t protect and reward normal White guys and their wives, good Christians.

“Trump is stomping on the symbols and policies of the old order. Stop wind and solar projects. Erase monuments to civil rights. Fire Black leaders in government, the military, and the universities. Cancel medical research grants. Question vaccinations. Stop the slow-motion, checks-and-balances process-dominated government. The establishment respected the wrong people: foreigners and immigrants. It respected diversity, and “diversity” is just part of the groupthink that benefits everyone except people like my correspondent.”

Many of us understand that Trump has used people like Peter Sage’s correspondent as political pawns. They think he’s going to make life better for them. He won’t. We will instead all be interred in a dark existence of poverty and illness. All those regulations which kept the essentials safe for the Joe and Karen average citizen will be swept away in the name of trade and commerce. This will benefit the wealthiest, but not the commoners. And with Trump’s direction, the commoners will be largest, fastest growing segment.

Today’s music is by Hall & Oates. My wife and I went to have our eyes checked. We did this at Costco. Not wanting to be late, my wife guided us there twenty minutes early. Shopping was done in six minutes, leaving time to waste. We did this by drifting through the book, snack, and clothing regions. Quickly bored, I drifted, and when I turned back to my wife, she was gone. That prompted The Neurons to reboot the 1973 Hall & Oates ballad, “She’s Gone”. A short while later, I heard her call out, “Cah, cah.” That’s how we get one another’s attention. So she wasn’t gone. But The Neurons were so amused by this whole turn that they’ve kept the song going in my morning mental music stream.

Time to get up and get out. Hope peace and grace finds you and keeps you standing.

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

Thirstda, September 18, 2025, has landed on Earth. It’s a quiet one in Ashlandia, comfortable with low level aircraft humming, yard work, and cars and trucks busy on missions. 77 F, cloud cover is giving shade and humidity. Thunderstorm’s sullen weight presses down. Today’s high will be 79 F, and the air quality is 30, which is good.

It was a rockin’ night so I’m beginning late. After daring to eat three small pieces of cheese pizza during a going-away fete for a friend, my gallbladder leaped up in indignation at 5 AM. Puking and pain accompanied the passing hours. I bolted down a quarter of an oxy and an Ondansetron. Sleep played keep away. I didn’t get out of bed to anything past the bedroom until after noon, when the pains finished their kicks and let me alone.

While lying there, The Neurons filled the morning mental music stream with “I Heard it Through the Grapevine”. The Neurons alternated between Marvin Gaye’s offering and CCR’s long pop rock rendition. I’m playing both for y’all.

My friends and I briefly discussed Charlie Kirk’s life and death last night. I amused myself with a test, repeating what I’ve been hearing so often about Kirk trying to open dialogues and have conversations with the other side. My companions were shaking their heads before I was halfway through. “He was trying to control and manipulate facts and conversation,” I paraphrase them as saying. “He was muddying the waters about facts. And he supported Trump and brought young men into the Trump camp based on hate and lies.”

So, there we go. Meanwhile, we march on toward censorship as Trump flexes government power through agencies such as the FTC. The right wing, always willing to exercise hypocrisy, vociferously thumped liberals, progressives, and Democrats as cancelling others. Yet, here we are, with corporate toadies seeking FTC approval to merge and buy more entertainment and news outlets, bowing to Trump and firing folks. So it goes too at various companies. Point out what Kirk said at your employment peril. Echo his words and they cry, “Foul.” They’re purifying his image, granting him sainthood in the name of the father, son, and Donald Trump. Such enablers, firing people for speaking their minds, are as cheap and tawdry as the plated gold pieces in Trump’s Offal Office. Eventually, they’ll have a gold-plated little dictatorship. It’ll be called the United States but it’ll only resemble the founders’ vision in name. And those tawdry enablers will wonder, what the fuck happened. Fools.

Time to rock and roll. Hope peace and grace get here in time to save our nation. Hugs ‘n cheers to all, M

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