See, a friend has an old computer that often fails him on the net. He sent an email to me asking for a favor. Sounded like him so I did it. Bought an Apple Gift Card for him to send to a friend for their birthday.
Was his email address. ‘Sounded’ just like him.
Wasn’t.
His email address was likely spoofed. Maybe hacked. There was enough of him and his style available to analyze and mimic his writing style.
I’m just too damn gullible. Along with several of my friends.
Time to crank up another Wenzda. December 10, 2025 in Ashlandia began with sunshine and blue skies. I blinked and suddenly fog is smashing its gray face against the window panes. 45 F now, a jump the high fifties has been projected.
Today’s music is torn straight from the headlines. Not really. It’s more of a reflection on the many people experiencing cruelty and heartlessness under the Trump Regime. When this song was released in 1973, it was a protest against police violence and a police murder of a young Black boy in NYC. Now, “Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)” by the Rolling Stones was brought up by Der Neurons to the morning mental music stream in response to general news as ICE heartlessly chases and attacks people on behalf of Trump’s growing intention to make the United States whiter.
I’d like to tear that Trump world apart. I think there’s growing number of people with that same sentiment.
Alright, coffee jumpstarted the brain and various other organs. Hope peace and grace come give you a big hug. Here we go, world, another rotation. Cheers
Gray, wet, cold. We haven’t even officially started winter and I’m already getting tired of it. One wag said, “Of course, we’ve started winter. It’s December.” I responded with words about the equinox. They rolled their eyes. How dare they.
It’s Sunda, December 7, 2025. 35 degrees F. Gonna be 50 F, the masters of weather tell us through Alexa. I have a problem with that. Last night, I asked Alexa about the weather. She told me the low would be 40. That didn’t strike me as believable so I asked her what the temperature would be at 6 AM. “Forty degrees,” Alexa asserted.
Imagine my reaction when it was below 40 degrees at eight AM. I said, “Alexa, what’s the weather for today?”
“Right now in Ashland it’s thirty-five degrees. Today’s low will be forty degrees with intermittent clouds. The high will be fifty degrees.”
Blatantly lying to me, just like the Trump Regime. “Alexa,” I said, “How can the low for today be forty degrees when it’s five degrees colder than that right now?” Alexa mumbled on about how she didn’t know what I was talking about and then mocked the way I asked the question.
Today’s song is “Your Love Is Driving Me Crazy”. It’s a rocker by the red rocker, Sammy Hagar. Came about when my wife asked me if she could interrupt what I was doing to share something with me. “Go ahead,” I replied. “I don’t mind.” That was even though I did mind because I was reading something and deep into thinking about it and would probably need to start reading it all over again because I haven’t had coffee yet and The Neurons were mumbling, “What are those black things on the screen? What are they? I think I’ve…does anyone have a doughnut?”
Then The Neurons hooked up on the words, “I don’t mind,” and click, “Your Love Is Driving Me Crazy” was playing in the morning mental music stream. Song came out in 1983. Consulting The Neurons, that’s like over forty years ago. I had a friend back then who thought this was the only good Sammy Hagar song he’d put out. He’d turn this one up but change the channel on any other SH offering. When SH joined Van Halen, he declared with deep gloom, “This is the end of them.” He could be so chipper!
Read something about some inane thing Trump said. The press shook their heads. Other liberals grrrrrowled and mocked and raged, etc. At this point, I feel like Heritage Foundation and soulless GOP zombies have taken over the Trump Regime. He’s just a mouthpiece. Way Trump speaks in public these days, it doesn’t seem like much mind remains. Sad in its way, as it’s probably dementia. I don’t want that for anyone but especially someone with control over nukes, someone who others let wander around without oversight and supervision. Seems like the regime lets Trump out to talk and walk in the way that people use toys to entertain their pets or plop their children down in front of a television with a movie to keep them quiet and preoccupied while everything the nation built since the start is torn down. Except the military and police. Yes, I’m a cynic and pessimist at this point. Gimme coffee, stat!
Gonna go make my coffee so I can shut The Neurons up. Hope peace and grace, etc. Here we go. Cheers
I broke out of my writerly cocoon this week. I typically get into the coffee shop, find a table and seat, assume the position and shut down to being friendly. I have met Kim, another writer, and chat with her regularly, but briefly. We each respect the writer’s privacy and methodology, so while we will emerge to joke and exchange words, we shut back down and get down to our respective writing processes.
Meanwhile, though, there are dogs. People bring their pups in with them, a practice I applaud. Living in Europe, it wasn’t unusual to encounter dogs in restaurants, cafes, and shops. I’m fine with them.
And the dogs are fine with me. But because they come and visit me, I end up chatting with their people. Then the people open up with their curiosity about what I do there each day. In explaining, others overhear. They volunteer later, privately, that they’re a writer, too. It’s a veritable writing hive.
I also ventured out of my cocoon on my own. A woman sat down beside me yesterday as I was wrapping up. She put a book down, along with a notebook. Always interested in people’s reading material, I glanced over. The book’s title was A Wild Life, a book about women in botany and their discoveries. I have several botanist friends, learned, intelligent, charming people who are passionate about botany. I said, “Pardon me, I saw your book. Are you a botanist?”
“I wish,” she responded.
We chatted about the book and why she chose it. A local person, Lucretia Saville Weems, is the author, and the woman saw it in Bloomsbury’s local authors section and was interested and bought it.
Packing up, I said my goodbyes to her but wasn’t done socializing. I’d noticed a young couple. She was wearing a One Piece sweatshirt. My wife and I are One Piece fans, so I had to pause to compliment her on her top, and then we talked about the television series and enjoyed some laughs.
Probably just something in the air for a few days. I’m back in my cocoon today, ready to get to it.
As I sit here typing, I’m aware of a hair. It sits on the left side of my left eye’s vision. It’s been pestering me for two days. It’s from the Eyebrow Tribe. At first, I just brushed at it. Then I tried finding it in the mirror and pasting it down. When that failed, I tried jerking it out with my fingertips. Should’ve gotten tweezers to seriously address it but no, I was in the middle of something else and was rushing myself. Or should I just clipped it back. Tsk.
And here it is again. Sitting on my vision’s edge, mocking me.
Curse you, little curly hair. Curse you. This isn’t over.
I’m busy typing at the coffee shop but the conversation going on with the newcomers to my left pluck me out of my fiction and into the real world.
The woman was catching up with her father. So I gathered because she asked, “What do you drink, Dad?”
“Black coffee.”
“Cream? Do you want a little cream?”
“No, black.”
They sat and talked. Her healthcare premiums were going up. That’d forced her to change insurance coverage, reducing it to reduce her monthly costs. That meant getting less insurance. Her deductible would now be $9,000 for her. Only her. Her monthly payment now would be $448 a month. She discussed the notices she’d received about her reduced subsidy now dictated by the Big Beautiful Bill.
Dad commiserated. Mentioned, you’re like one of those on television, facing tough choices because of the new bill. Lamenting that the legislators won’t take it up.
Then she said, “Thank God I’m healthy.”
I bit my tongue. Wondered about their politics. Shrugged.
It’s now 80 murders. Let’s call them for what they are. Crimes.Yes, Dozy Donny is killing in the name of the United States to provoke Venezuela into retaliation, giving Trumpy a paralegal excuse to invade the oil rich nation. I’m sure Trump will whip out the autopen and pardon this criminal soon. It’s the Trump way!
Dawg, what a gray, wet day looking in on us. It’s up to 36 F with clearance to soar to the mid 40s. Sunshine is lacking and what sun shows up is shaded in fifty shades of gray. This is December 3, 2025.
Today’s music emerges from an exchange with my wife. She was leaving for exercise class. I was still abed. It’s her habit to check on me before she leaves to ensure I’m alive. Hearing her coming, I held my breath and stayed motionless. “Is he alive?” she teased. I felt her hand pressed on my hip. Then she pressed on my scalp. After about ten seconds, I sprang up and proclaimed, “I’m still standing.” We laughed like idiots.
But that’s how “I’m Still Standing” by Elton John arrived in the morning mental music stream on this Wenzda.
Reports on Mom shows her doing pretty good. Sis has stocked Mom’s lair with her favorite munchies and drinks so Mom has some independence of others. Mom has become better at using Alexa to call for assistance. The one major complaint now is that Mom has her television at supercharged levels. Sis says it’s so loud sometimes that they can’t hear their television upstairs over Mom’s TV. I used to complain about the television and radios’ volume (yes, that’s a plural on the radio) when I visited Mom. She always blamed Frank. Guess it’s the ghost of Frank cranking up those devices now.
Lot of news rolling out about Trump falling asleep at meetings. ‘Member when he used to criticize and mock President Biden for falling asleep? Now he can’t seem to stay awake.
Some say it’s because he can’t sleep at night because worries about the Epstein files revelations drive him to midnight sessions of shitposting. Rumors are that Epstein’s ghost has begun haunting him, whispering in Dizzy Donny’s ears reminders of what a failure he is, how weak and vulnerable Deceitful Donny is, and how Duplicitous Donny’s failures are catching up to him. Once BFF with Epstein, TACO now tries to claim he barely knew the guy.
Got my coffee and I’m out of here. Hope peace and grace show up and sing you to sleep. Here we go, into another Wenzda. Cheers
