Tag: Information

Sunda’s Theme Music

Chilly. Rainy. Foggy. Those were yesterday’s descriptors. It didn’t get to anywhere near the theoretical high of 51 F around my zone of life.

Today is sunny. Windy. Warmer. 52 F. Clouds and blue sky mingle like it’s a company holiday party. The high will be 62 F.

Today is Sunda, April 27, 2025.

My wife and I are setting up for a trip to the coast. Our usual house sitter is available. Reservations have been made. We have worries. This will be Papi’s first time being alone. He knows the house sitter. Doesn’t run from her. Let’s her pet him. But with spring pointing toward summer, the wildlife has grown busier. Raccoons come by. Coyotes, bears, cougars are out there, along with opossums and skunks. Rats and mice. We’ll set things up as best as we can and cross our fingers.

Today’s music is “Bloody Well Right”. 1974 song. Supertramp. I was singing it to myself after different topics traversed the sticky gray zone this morning that I call thinking. Not much of it was of import. Just the usual forays into novel writing, fiction I’m reading, cat, family and personal matters, health, politics, news, government, dreams, and memories. I’ve been experiencing a wealth of dreams, for instance. What does it all mean? And I’ve set up a dental appointment for some overdue work. Then there’s house repairs. Call to Dad. Text to Mom. Mother’s Day card and gift. Flowers, candy, food, or…what? It’s all underlined by what is perceived as a time of drastic change in the country.

Coffee is singing its songs to my cells. Sunshine is shining. Plans are underfoot. So is the cat. Hope you have an awesomely solid day, devoid of crises and problems, and maybe with some good food. Here we go.

Cheers

4

Floofcrastinator

Floofcrastinator (floofinition) – Someone who puts off doing things because of an animal. Origins: From Flooftin floof (animal), crastinus (“of tomorrow”), from cras (“tomorrow”). First noted us 1920, United States.

In Use: “Sherry had every intention of picking up her list and getting things done around the house, but Temper found her while she was sitting on the sofa and fell asleep against her looking so adorable, Sherry felt like the Universe was telling her to be a floofcrastinator. It turned out to be a great nap, too.”

In Use: “Ella was normally an orderly and organized person who immediately did things but as soon as she adopted a rescue dog, she became a floofcrastinator, at least until she could re-prioritize to spend time with Penny while still getting everything else done.”

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Papi cat is not happy. I know this because of the shouting meows. Not just the sound. He faces me and leans into it. Stretches his jaws wide. He’s Maria Callas using his diaphragm to belt it out.

“I know,” I tell him.

Rain fell all night. Sometimes in buckets. Papi is not a friend of rain. We also re-installed the pet door. In days past, Tucker slept on the mat in front of the pet door. That meant no other animal was entering. With Tucker gone, we decided the food bowls needed to be moved further away.

Background is, we had a buncha cats at one point. They usually didn’t get along. So we had three feeding stations. One in each the laundry room, the office, and the bedroom. In the bedroom, the feeding station lives by the wall beside the sliding door where the pet door resides. We thought it needed to be moved further away so that some passing animal didn’t sniff the kibble richness and come in through the pet door. Since Tucker is no longer guarding the pet door.

But all that change has Papi irritated. Pour the rain on top and he feels that the world is a cruel and injust place.

“I know,” I tell him. “I had to change my diet due to high blood pressure. It sucks.”

“Meyeah,” Papi wailed back.

Yes, it has rained all night. It’s wet and chilly this morning. 44 F and rain. The high will be 51 F and rain. The low will be 41 F and rain. The rain is good for the land, we remind each other. The pep in our pep talks is petering out, though. Everyone wants sunshine until they don’t. Then we want rain. Until we don’t. It’s the cycle of complaint. Weather version.

This is Saturda. April 26, 2025. Still spring in Ashlandia. And typical Ashlandia spring weather.

I’m a little miffed. I had yard plans. I’d been making progress. The rain has placed a pause on the cause. I can’t do the things planned, cause rain and electric power equipment. I’ve read somewhere that they are not a good combination.

I’m happy it’s Saturday. The news cycle slows on the weekends. News doesn’t stop but less people are reporting and airing it. Much as I’d like a break from it, we need to stay vigilant against the Trusk Regime’s evil. That evil goes 24/7. Just when you think their empathy has bottomed, they show a lower side. Most recently, they deported a two-year US citizen. Because, Trump. He no like the 16th Amendment. So he decided to ignore it. Because that’s what you do if you dislike laws. It’s the Trump U.S.A. way.

Snark alert: The other ‘good’ news is that the number of measles cases keep rising. Looks like RFK Jr’s plans just can’t get an angle on stopping it. Probably because he eschews using science and medicine.

Final bit of irritating news. Trump says he’s talking to China about the tariffs. China says, “No, he isn’t.” Either side could be lying. Given Trump’s record, I believe it’s him. Trump is lying. Yet again.

Puttering through the kitchen at pre-coffee speed, The Neurons raised a line in my head. “Let me remember things I don’t know.” I further slowed. I know the line. That wasn’t the line. That was a mondegreen: a misunderstood song line. Urging The Neurons into more effort, the song and real line punched in:

“Let me remember things I love, Lord.” CCR. “Green River”.

Coffee has made a safe landing in my body. Dressed, fed, and caffeinated, I am re-animated for another day. Hope you have a day that works in your favorite. It can happen. Cheers

2

Frida’s Wandering Political Thoughts

A Democratic Party insider told me who the party supports as candidate for the 2028 nominee for POTUS.

“John F. Kennedy.”

I raised a salient objection. “He’s dead. Worse, he’s been buried.”

“True, true, true.”

“You’re not talking about a clone.”

“Of course not. That’d be silly. No, we’re thinking, AI.”

“Articial Intelligence?”

“What else? Listen, if corporations are people, why can’t AI be people?”

“I need to think about that,” I answered.

“Okay, let me tell you more. See if I can convince you. What we did is create an AI that’s modeled on President John F. Kennedy’s thinking. We fed all the interviews which we could find, all his papers, speeches, books, diaries, and journals, along with biographies about him, into a quantum computer. It then developed the ability to replicate JFK’s thinking and speaking, giving us a virtual entity who is just like him. It’s uncanny. Wait until you see it.”

I was shaking my head in skepticism. “It’ll never work.”

“We think it will. He polls very well.”

“I don’t think people are ready for AI to be elected to any office.”

“No, no, turns out that almost 80 percent of likely voters who were polled said they could support AI for president. A majority of voters think that AI is more principled and intelligent than many politicians holding office or running for nomination. In fact, more people are willing to vote for AI than a woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, but what about his assassination over sixty years ago? Surely, that’s a drawback.”

“No, no, no. Many people have always believed that JFK wasn’t really killed, that all of that was just a fiction to get him out of office.”

“Even if they believe that, it’s six decades later. He’d be over a hundred years old. Do you really think that people will support a candidate who is over hundred years old after what we endured with Joe Biden?”

My source grinned. “We told them that JFK was cryogenically stored. He’s only fifty years old.”

“They believe that?”

“You’d be surprised what they believe. Just to seal the deal, Elvis Presley is endorsing JFK.”

“Presley?” I laughed. “He’s been dead since — “

“No, no, he wasn’t dead. He was in storage, too. Trust me. We’ve done the research. The numbers support this idea.

“Presley and Kennedy are still alive. Along with Walt Disney and Jackie O. All are alive. They’ve all just been frozen. The time has come for the truth to be told.”

My source leaned forward. “The people are ready for Camelot’s return. JFK will kick Trump’s ass. Remember, you heard it here first.”

2

Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

“What did you do?” my wife asked.

Sixteen million slapdash responses plied my mental waters. I decided that caution should be employed. “About what?”

“Your face.”

I felt like I’d walk in on a conversation already in progress. We were the only people present. My wife definitely meant me.

“What do you mean?” I checked a nearby mirror. “I look gorgeous.”

“Your mustache looks wrong.”

“How?” My mustache looked perfect. Well, as close to perfect as I can get it. Let’s not dive too deeply into those waters.

“One side is different than the other.”

“How?”

“It’s just different. They’re not the same. Look in the mirror.”

“I did. It looks fine.”

My really good mood soured, I went to the coffee shop.

A good friend was the barista on duty. I asked her, “How does my face look?”

Eyebrows quirking up into questioning arcs, she looked at me. Shrugged. “Same as always. Why?”

I told her what my wife claimed. She studied me. “I don’t see that. You’re very well groomed. You always are.”

“Thank you.”

Arriving home later, I carefully watched my wife. I was worried. She’d obviously been replaced by a robot, cyborg, or alien. Robot with AI made the most sense. A lot of AI is not all it’s cracked up to be.

What I will need to do is observe her and develop a series of test questions to verify my wife’s identity. I mean, trust but verify, right?

Especially in this messed up Age of Trump.

2

Thirstda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Spinal Tap should be proud.

Preppers are in a tizzy.

Several CEOs met with O2. That’s the One Orange. Frequently living in Florida, he allows time off from his busy golf schedule to sign executive orders. Many of those EOs are about tariffs. That’s what has the preppers wringing their hands. The CEOs run big box stores. They’re retailers. They were warning Trump that the tariffs would soon cause empty shelves, falling sales, and failing consumer confidence so Trump needed to back off tariffs. Which, despite declaring that he never would, Trump did. Because the CEOs are wealthy O2 backers. If not for them, and other millionaires and billionaires, Trump may not have made it back into the White House to bless the world with chaos. Now, this chaos was completely predictable. Trump said he was going to tariff every jot and tittle entering the United States. So it is tres amusing that these big box stores are worried.

The preppers were worried because, doom buying. They wanted to know what is not going to be on the shelves.

The preppers should talk to the truckers and the west coast ports. Because Trump isn’t worried about it.

Stuff enters the U.S. through those ports. Port authorities, freight companies, and dock workers say the ports are gonna be ghost haunts. Nothing is expected in. As critically, little is getting shipped out from the United States. Thanks to sharp price increases caused by the tariffs, orders for U.S. goods are being cancelled. These cancelled orders and empty ships are causing a productivity slow down. People are being laid off or terminated.

Gee, that worked out swell, didn’t it, MAGA?

Sanity was the first casualty of Trump’s personal economic war.

Stability was the second.

Third are workers, soybean farmers, and truckers. All are facing layoffs, or increased costs and decreased profits, or business shutdowns. Trump did the same thing in his first term. Enjoying that experience so much, he’s turned the craziness up to eleven.

Yes, that is a Spinal Tap reference. Spinal Tap used Trump logic to explain why their music is louder.

The phrase was coined in a scene from the 1984 rock mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap by the character Nigel Tufnel, played by Christopher Guest. In this scene, Nigel gives the rockumentary’s director, Marty DiBergi, played by Rob Reiner, a tour of his stage equipment. While Nigel is showing Marty his Marshall guitar amplifiers, he points out a selection whose control knobs all have a highest setting of eleven, unlike standard amplifiers whose volume settings are typically numbered from 0 to 10. Believing that this numbering increases the highest volume of the amp, he explains, “It’s one louder, isn’t it?” When Marty asks why not simply make the 10 setting louder, Nigel hesitates before responding: “These go to eleven.”

h/t to Wikipedia.org

Fortunately for truck drivers, the UAW, soybean farmers, Boeing, and big business in general, they supported Trump’s re-election campaign. He told them he would raise tariffs. They supported him and his positions and voted him into office. They now have what they wanted.

Right?

2

Infloofminate

Infloofminate (floofinition) An animal who does not have a name. Origins: Circa 1999, Internet.

In Use: “They variously called the infloofminate stray visitor, the orange boi, kibbles (for his love of food), the visitor, and window cat (for his habit of appearing at a window and staring in, especially when it was cold and wet) before they officially adopted him and dubbed him Cheddar.”

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Wenzda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

I liked the article’s headline.

 Trump, a ‘humiliated clown’ who always pretends he never backs down, backed down again

That’s Lawrence O’Donnell’s take on Trump. Trump is a clown. I so agree.

Trump was reversing himself on tariffs. Again. Trump claimed before that leaders of all these other nations were calling and begging him to make deals. No evidence of that emerged. If anything, Trump’s claim was 180 degrees from the truth.

You got to ask: if his high tariff approach was working so well and all those leaders wanted deals, why is Trump singing a different song now?

The short of it seems to be business. Stock market losses have people remembering the worse April since the Great Depression. The sliding dollar isn’t reassuring anyone, either.

Trump’s tariffpause is like menopause. Has people running hot and cold and getting emotional, irritated, impatient, and easily annoyed.

His tariffpause seems to come from CEOs warning him about empty shelves and declining sales.

The CEOs of Walmart, Target, Home Depot and Lowe’s, all of whom delivered a blunt message about interruptions in the supply chain and its effects on consumers, were invited to the White House as part of an ongoing internal campaign to make the case to Trump about the real-world impact of his policies, administration officials said.

Trump’s tariffs have placed significant pressure on the retail sector. The business leaders warned that store shelves across America could “soon be empty,” two people familiar with the meeting said, as they presented a dire economic picture that could come into sharper view within weeks.

Gosh, no one saw that coming way back when Trump brayed about imposing tariffs.

Yes, that’s some 24-karat snark.

0

Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

“Priscilla wants Peeps. She’s providing them.”

My wife informed me of these things as we shopped for Easter Brunch ‘garnish’ last week. Chocolates, jellybeans, Jordan almonds, gummi Easter treats. Quite a cornucopia of sugar.

I was glad we weren’t buying Peeps. I dislike the marshmallow concoctions. Recent flavors like Dr. Pepper doesn’t sell them to me. My sister loves them. Especially stale Peeps. Gads.

I joke about Peeps flavors with friends. None of them like them, either.

“What if they were beer flavored?” I asked.

My friends seem horrified and mystified. “How will that work?” one asks. “Will they be sweet?”

“Yes, marshmallow beer,” I answer.

Eye rolling and groans meet this answer.

Priscilla provided a bowl of neatly organized Peeps. She’s always organized. Just her way.

I was staring at the bowl. She joined me. “I don’t see any of the new-flavored Peeps,” I said.

“No.” Priscilla frowned. “I only buy traditional Peeps.”

Hours later, clean up began at the Brunch. It looked like the bowl of Peeps had lost one. I had not seen anyone eating any.

“Want to take some Peeps home?” Priscilla asked.

“No, thanks,” my wife and I sang together.

Priscilla nodded. “We’ll probably just throw them out.”

But I wondered: will she really eat them in secret later?

0

Wenzda’s Theme Music

The Ashlandia spring churn has us in her grip. Chilly to cold nights. Depends on your body’s personal heating and cooling system. Was 39 F in the night. Now it’s up to 54 F. Heading to 68 F. Wind loaded with mountain iciness regularly clocks in. It’s sharper in the shadows.

I’ve been cutting stuff, pruning plants, weeding, trimming back grasses. Papi has taken to nesting in one of those spaces. Early sunshine washes it for a few early morning hours. Used to be Tucker’s spot. Before that, it was Quinn’s, and before them, it was the Scheckter spot. I think I still sometimes spot their ghosts curled up, sunning there in the early hours. I’ve always called it the cat’s sun nest.

Man, it was a clear and gorgeous night here last night. I traipsed out midnightish each to taste the chill and discovered a star filled black sky. Serenely quiet and fresh, a briskly solitary moment. After I was there about three minutes, Papi called out to me and trotted along to rub against my legs. “What do you think of the stars?” I asked. He purred.

Music today comes from the Beatles. The Neurons have “Helter Skelter” playing in the morning mental stream. Kicked off by a dream. I had the same dream before, but the dream went into an extended edition. Awakening, realizing it was a repeat — dream repeats already, so early in the year — The Neurons cranked up the song’s lines that go, “When I get to the bottom, I go back to the top of the slide, where I stop, and I turn, and I go for a ride, till I get to the bottom and I see you again.”

The song always called up ideas about going through the same thing again, again, once more, one more time, etc. A repeating dream was a natural dive board for The Neurons to use to jump into the song.

The song got stronger as a I read news accounts for Trump lies and declarations. “I never said that. I’d never do that.” Etc. Here we go again.

This video is Paul McCartney playing it in concert sans the other Beatles. I saw him perform it in Germany once. It’s lively energetic song.

That’s my opinion. Loads of friends and family were not “Helter Skelter” fans. When I played it on the stereo and cranked it to close to stadium levels, my little sisters’ expression looked like they’d just eaten candy covered with dog fur. “What is this?” the older asked. I laughed.

Coffee is lifting me higher again. Hope something is lifting you. Here we go, rocking and rolling on into the future. Then we’ll do it again. Cheers

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