Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Medflooftation (floofinition) – A relaxed, introspective state induced when relaxing with animals. Origins: 1970, California, USA.
In Use: “When Michael sits down to read, a floof often joins him, and he soon finds himself doing medflooftation while stroking fur.
In Use: “One of Brenda’s favorite moments after work was when she arrived home, kicked off her shoes and enjoyed medflooftation with her cats and dog on the sofa with a glass of wine, and light comedy on the tube.”
Last night was beautifully clear and cool.The temperature dropped into the 50s. We were rewarded with a coolly comfortable house in the morning, third day in a row. I credit the skunks for some of that. We usually open our windows at night, and our doors for a few evening hours, to naturally cool the house. Skunks, though, were getting busy at eleven at night, releasing their odor and forcing us to shut the windows. The skunks have taken an August recess. Hope they’re not ending it soon.
Today is Satyrda, August 9, 2025. It’s 75 F now, feels 85 F, and is going to reach 91. Tomorrow, we stalk the century zone again. I think about how pleased I am that I used the cool stretch to get outside work accomplished. The flip of that is, while I was doing that work, I discovered — or sometimes, re-discovered — other work to be done at there. I’m bristling about it a little now because today and tomorrow are swamped with calls for other activities, like a memorial service for a friend. There’s too many of those things going on.
We’re going on vacay, too. Detailed planning plagues the days leading up to our planned departure. Food is the subject. We’re sharing a house with two other couples. Those four are a decade plus older than us. We all live under food restrictions. No this and that. I now have my own list. They all want to cook in the rented home. That’s apparently part of their vacation ethos: “Let’s go away and cook.”
Each couple is to provide dinner one night. We’re on our own for breakfast and lunch. My wife and I have a surprise dessert planned, a vegan fondue smorgasbord.
As I sat reading news and sipping my coffee, my wife said from her part of the office, “We don’t need to worry about him. He’s golfing today.”
“Not true,” I answered. “Thanks to modern technology, he can text something or call someone and launch a new round of craziness.”
Although we never said his name, we’re talking about the human wrecking ball named Trump, who is also known as TACO. My wife and I share some laughs over FAFO stories, like the Trump Burger guy who ICE picked up and plans to deport, Roland Mehrez Beainy. Beainy responds to the claims against him, “Ninety percent of the shit they’re saying is not true.” Well, that’s probaby so. This is the TACO regime. They’re addicted to lying, just their leader, TACO himself.
Shifting tones, my wife and I are angry about reports of how big tech is helping the TACO Regime. Apple’s investments, and Tim Cook’s gold offering to Trump sicken us. Amazon Web Services gave Trump a billion dollar discount. Gag, groan. Google slashed cloud services for the TACO Regime. OpenAI is giving Trump’s agencies access for $1 per year. Ordinarily, I’d think, look how great this is, with these companies helping the United States. But they’re not helping the U.S. Nothing Trump does helps the U.S. It’s all about him. And these companies are bribing him to stay on his good side.
Today’s music is “Pride and Joy”. This is a 1983 rock blues offering by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble. My wife and I are both fans of SRV & DT, and we enjoy this song. But I don’t understand any segue that leads from what I dreamed, thought, or observed that led The Neurons to pull this one out and slot it into the morning mental music stream. It’s just one of those brain things, I guess.
Coffee has been sucked up. Its off to the races. Hope grace and peace finds and keeps you. Cheers
My wife and several of her friends lunched together to catch up. They dined at a small local restaurant called Sauce. It’s normally a very popular lunch site.
“It was weird,” my wife related. “Besides us three, there were only two other people in the restaurant. None of us had ever seen it so empty at lunch time.”
It got better (worse?). After she ate, my wife went clothes shopping. Few places in Ashland offer new clothes; we instead have several ‘used-clothes’ boutiques, such as the Good Will. She says she’s outraged by the new clothes being sold, less by the prices and more by how cheaply they’re made. She’s bought stuff and had it fall apart after one or two outings. This infuriates her.
Her second point about buying used clothes is that it makes her feel better about being a consumer. “I’d rather buy used clothes and give them a second life, than have those clothes thrown away and filling landfills.”
I agree with that. She went on, “Besides that, we have an older population in Ashland. Most are retired professionals who have generous retirement incomes. A lot of times, I can find new clothes with the tags still on them.” And, because of those factors which she cited, the used clothes tend to be from better brands.
So she went shopping at her favorite used-clothing store today, Deja Vu in the Ashland Shopping Center on Ashland Street. When she returned home, she said, “Michael, you should have seen it. They had so many pieces of used clothing, the store was filled. They had it piled everywhere. But there were only two or three other people shopping. I heard an employee say to another customer, ‘Nobody is buying. Everyone is selling.'”
Don’t know how much these anecdotes reveal about the state of the union, but they say volumes about what’s happening in little Ashland, Oregon.
Dad and I spoke for almost an hour today. The conversation energized me, boosting my mood into a happier place. On the surface, a high percentage can be attributed to relief: Dad was home. No greater problems were found during his latest hospital visit, and it was a short one. He and his wife were both friendly, engaging, and happy on their end. Undoubtably this fed me and my spirits.
I also insist, though, that some of this came from just speaking with Dad. He and I are familiars. We mock and respect one another. He’s one of the few people I sense I can really spill myself to regarding what’s going on, whether it’s politics, writing, relationships with my wife, Mom, and sisters, or my DIY projects.
We’ve not always been like these. It’s been a long evolution. I’m glad we made it here, though. It’s taken time. We followed a torturous path. But here we are.
Finally.
Fridaz political observations from the worldwide net to anger and amuse you, and one to remind you to hope.
Interesting, innit?
Greetings from Ashlandia. We’ve gotten to another Frida. It’s been predestined to be called August 8, 2025. Last night was a sharp, clear night in Ashlandia. The fullish moon unloaded buckets of light. Stars crowded in like Swifties at a concert. Cool air sweet with freshness took the house’s heat out of it. Now dawn has broken. Sunshine has bulled out over the green land. Heat is coming up. Today will scale to 90 F. Tomorrow, red flag alerts are out as we push past 90, and Sunday, we’re expecting 102 F.
I called Dad and spoke with him and his wife for over an hour. He’s back home and doing well. Both were in good spirits. Trump’s actions and behavior deeply disturbs Dad. He’s worrying and wondering what the country will be like in four years. Other than that, we chatted about other family members and heating and air conditioning. That last was triggered by a task I’m doing: going up into the attic to switch the blower fan for the A/C and put it on high. I really should get a switch installed for that. It’s no fun at all climbing into the attic above the garage to deal with the horizontally-mounted blower for the central system. And I need to do it in the morning in the summer, before it get’s blazing hot in the attic. Complain and moan, that’s me.
Worrying about tariffs, I did order a new computer. It’ll arrive in a few days. Nothing fancy, just something for TSPG: typing, surfing, posting, gaming.
I surveyed a blizzard of news a little bit ago. Court cases the Trump Regime won and lost. More speculation about the Epstein files. Canyon fire growing in California. Troopers shot in PA. New record temperature in Arizona. These are all Trump era trends.
Reviewing some of Trump’s recent lies, The Neurons came up with a Queen song, “Liar”, from 1974, in the morning mental music stream.
And, fueled with coffee again, I’m off. Hope peace and grace finds you today and everyday. Cheers
A hotter day is on hand for Ashlandia today but it’s not insurmountable. Thirstda, August 7, 2025, came in at 62 F and will climb the thermometer until the upper 80s are engaged. Skywise, it’s mostly blue with some curious cumulo type clouds peeking in to see what’s up.
Mom’s addition to her Penn Hills home in Pennsylvania is progressing fast. This will be her new bedroom. Located right off the short hall between the main floor bathroom and the kitchen, with easy access to the living room, this will ease matters for her. My brother-in-law, who specializes in plumbing but has been in construction all of his adult life, is doing the work and managing the site. Ever-reliable sis is managing the project. Completion by August’s finish is feasible. The latest hang up is about the ramp. ADA guidelines end up dictacting a 24 foot long ramp. That’s another five grand, and Mom’s BF, Frank, is against it.
Dad’s in the hospital again. Same matters as before. Feels like he’s doing a slow drain circle. I’ve been through this with other people, in and out of the hospital with declining health and worsening prognosis until it’s finally decided to move them to hospice. Don’t mean to sound blase about it but this is modern U.S. life, it feels like. I imagine that my end will be something similar.
Meanwhile, I’m mourning the passing of a cousin’s husband. I never met him. Haven’t seen her, the cousin, in over forty years. But I know her and love her as family, and always enjoyed her company. And that’s the way that works now, for me. Others might shrug and say, well, I don’t really know her any more and I’ve never seen her, but that’s just not my take.
Over in MAGALand, it’s Trump tariffs, cancelation of renewable energy projects, etc. As Krugman put it when addressing the last jobs report, the hard data will catch up with the soft data. The soft data amounts to anecdotes about rising prices, people being laid off, shortages, etc. A few months later, and the hard data comes, showing the tangible impact of all those decisions, such as tariffs. The same thing will happen with the cancellation of renewable energy projects. First it will show up as lost jobs. Then it will come in revealed as rising energy prices and rolling brownouts or blackouts because demand outpaces supply. But this is the GOP way in the 2020s, to blindly shortchange everything and anything. They ‘don’t believe’ in the climate change evidence, and they think wind and solar energy is inefficient, expensive, and ‘dangerous’. Trump, of course, has all manner of deranged ideas about wind energy causing cancer. But he’s their leader so they eagerly rush down his loony path.
Trump calls wind energy a ‘con job’: Here’s what the data actually says about his tirade on turbines
That brings me to today’s music. Thinking about economic developments, trade wars, declining tourism, and the attack on the education system joined a nexus of thinking about my health, Mom’s health, Dad’s health and their declines. Out of that morass, The Neurons cleverly called up The Fixx with their 1983 song, “One Thing Leads to Another”. That’s the way of living, isn’t it? One thing happening eventually leads to another. On the scientific side of things, I used to enjoy a show hosted by James Burke called Connections. Burke was always tracing discoveries and inventions and how they impacted other discoveries and inventions in unanticipated ways. It was a delightful way to experience learning about history and science, and often, economics and religion.
Dropped my car off for routine maintenance this morning. I left it on a Christian radio station for the mechanics. The driver taking me back home is named Mika. From the Bible.
Coffee has plowed into me again. Here we go on another day. May peace and grace find and hold you. Cheers
It’s the age of betrayal, it’s the era of MAGA. Trump demands loyalty but will instantly betray anyone who sullies his self-image of magnificence.
That idea that he demands personal loyalty means nothings to his regime. They’re true to him, and that’s it. So, with little surprise, I read that FEMA probationary employees are being reshuffled to ICE.
I can imagine how that’s going down. FEMA interviewee: “Yes, I want to join FEMA and help my fellow citizens recover when disaster strikes. I want to comfort and reassure them, and help them rebuild.”
“Okay, we’re sending you to ICE.”
“ICE?”
“Yes. Here’s your mask and gun. Go round up brown people.”
“Brown people? That’s not legal.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just arrest them and let Trump sort them out.”
Apparently, *ahem* this personnel action is being taken because the Trump Regime is struggling to fill its ICE ranks. Rounding up citizens is labor intensive, especially on the scale that Trump envisions. Word around the coffee shops is that ICE is also paying hiring bonuses.
It occurs to me that this might be a good way to resist the Trump Regime. Join ICE, take the money, and then start sabotaging it from within. When intel about a raid comes available, broadcast it to apps to let people know that it’s coming so they can scatter and hide while protestors establish a cover force of protests and harassements.
While I write all this in a blend of seriousness and jest, I find it sad and disturbing that Trump and the GOP have formulated such an atmosphere that such thinking must exist.
Trump has proven to be the greatest at taking things and thoroughly enshittifying them. He is, in essence, the Enshittifier in Chief.
I am apparently a beaucoup sneezer. My sneezes aren’t small blemishes on the aural experience. They explode out of me with Krakatoa force. I’m also sneezing several times a day, basically at home, mostly in the home office (snug), causing me spouse and I to both speculate that something in that region is causing the sneeze.
Well, I let go of three eruptions the other day.
My wife said, “Did you read about the murder in Ashland?”
I was horrified. “No. When did that happen?”
“It didn’t happen yet but I hear that a wife was driven to madness and killed her husband after he kept sneezing.”
Yes, I laughed. She wouldn’t do something like that.
I don’t think.
Michael Seidel, writer 