Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I watch people cross the street and they’re indifferent. All ages and genders. Car coming? So? Hit me or stop. Your call, their actions proclaim.
Yeah, and I’ve been in those days, walking and thinking, I don’t care. Hit me. I’m fine with that today. I think most of us have been at that nadir.
My wife and I were out shopping for new sheets and pillows last weekend. She came to me with a mug and a grin.
“This is you.” She handed me the mug. “I’m buying it for you.”
She’s right. After running it through the dishwasher with a load, this is now my morning coffee cup.
Thanks, sweetheart.
I’m chatting with the barista. He tells me my order will be up soon. I ask him, “Did you ring me up?”
He’s completely confused.
I straighten it out, explaining that I wanted to know if he’d charged me, and walk away, laughing. It used to be — a classic beginning to an explanation about change — that cash registers made a ringing sound when transactions were totaled for payment. How long has it been since I’ve heard a cash register ring? As a result, ‘ring me up’ entered society as a popular expression for paying for purchases.
As an aside, my wife had one of those mechanical, ringing registers in her house. Her father, a grocery store manager, procured it when his store upgraded to an electronic system. The register’s ring reminded him of the little stores where they’d shop in his small town.
He said that he never wanted to forget them.
She’s riding her bike. Looks about fifteen years old. She’s in the bike lane. Headphones cover her ears. Her hands are busy with her cell phone.
Yes, she has no hands on her handlebars.
She passes in a flash, steadily pedaling. I’m both admiring and dubious. It’s a busy street and she’s going along a stretch with many business entrances and several intersections.
I admire her confidence but I’m a little dubious about her decision making. Ah, youth.
Those of a certain age may recall the saga of New Coke. Once upon a year, Coca Cola changed its soda drink recipe and announced with a blaze of commercials that they’d changed Coke, and wanted you to drink this New Coke. Turns out many had been happy with old Coke, which quickly became framed as ‘Classic Coke’. My wife and I don’t drink soda except for root beer once in a while, so we witnessed the battle of New Coke vs. Classic Coke from the side.
I was thinking of it this morning because of Dawn. Dawn is a dishwashing liquid soap. We use it at our house. I bought a new bottle the other day and saw today that it has a label declaring that it has a “New Clean Smell.”
After smelling it, I wanted the old dirty smell. The new smell has a chemical scent that annoys me. Could be that the hyperbole just irritated me.
If they had said nothing, I’d probably wouldn’t have noticed. But since they called my attention to it, give me the old scent.
We can call it Classic Dawn.
It’s a recurring theme for me. I see old people and wonder what they were like when they were young, and I look at young people and wonder, what will they be like when they’re old.
Like her, in the floppy sun hat, green pants, and multiple pastels scarves, short grey blonde hair and wire-rimmed round gold glasses. When did she become that person?
Or take her for example, the blonde early tweener with blue hair and fringe bangs, dressed all in black, with a long-sleeved shirt and tight shorts, white crew socks, and white canvas shoes. She’s a gregarious presence in her small knot of companions. What will she be like in the future?
Weird thing: thirty-five customers by my count in the coffee shop. Four of us are male. Two of the men are working on computers. It looks like the women are all socializing.
Contemplating the dynamics and speculating about people is an attractive way of engaging my mind as I sip coffee and the muse comes to write.
Two more puzzles were finished this week. We finished a Wysocki last Wednesday. I shot a photo of it with my phone. Then my phone’s software updated and suddenly my phone wasn’t sharing photos with my ‘puter. Gotta investigate settings and figure out what went wrong.
Anyway, couldn’t share a photo of the completed puzzle so here is a photo of the puzzle box. We’re taking it back to the library tomorrow.
Meanwhile, friends had a visitor and she brought them a puzzle. They didn’t put it together but loaned it to us to complete.
Well, we started it Friday night and finished it Saturday night. One thousand pieces. As you see from the photo, it’s candy. Mostly candy bars.
I wasn’t keen on doing it. I like a puzzle with a couple big focal points. This one looks like it has a hundred tiny focal points. Beside that, it has some irregular shapes. Bah.
But it turned out to be challenging but very engaging and a lot of fun. My wife took to it with a lot of zeal. She really seemed to like all those little foci. Details about the candy being offered and their prices and the small details on the packaging was delightful. I enjoyed seeing Sugar Babies, Junior Mints, Clark Bars, and Milk Duds. These were my childhood favorites although as an adult I gravitated toward Payday. But I didn’t put my nose up at a 3Musketeers Bar (my sister’s favorite), a 5thAvenue, or a box of Good & Plenty.
I wondered, though, about the missing candy bars. Nestle Crunch. Milky Way. And what about Twizzlers? Didn’t they deserve to be included?
If you get a chance to try it, I recommend it. But you can’t have this one. We’re taking it apart and returning it to our friends.
In other news that isn’t news, Donald Trump, the GOP nominee for the President of the United States, is upset.
I know, it’s not strong news. Donald J. is often upset. He’s frequently angry at judges, former allies, authors, journalists, prosecutors, the DOJ, media outlets, actors and actresses, women, his lawyers, his advisors, former members of his administration, generals, professional athletes, other billionaires, politicians — especially Democrats, or ‘Dems’ as he likes to say, but also RiNOs — and people who are suing him or serving as witnesses in one of his many trials. Donald J. is not one to shrug it off and sing, “Life is but a dream.” No, he is a serious, angry individual. Just look at his face. I’d share a photo of his face, but I can’t personally stand looking at his face. Sorry.
Aside, though. It used to be common to refer to the POTUS as ‘leader of the free world’. That appellation used to be more frequently used. Maybe it’s just that it’s not used in my silos of information. Could be that the expression is a cold-war relic and went out of popularity with the U.S.S.R.’s collapse and break up.
Anyway, Taylor Swift, a talented, hard-working, world-famous young singer, entertainer, and pop culture queen, endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as her choice for POTUS.
This was bigly news to Trump. Storming stormed around, throwing ketchup, tossing Big Mac wrappers, he swore, “Covfefe!” Aides and advisors familiar with his patterns got out of his way for their own safety and peace of mind.
“Where’s my phone, where’s my phone?” Trump shouted. “I need to text.”
So he did, pouring his feelings out into social media. “I HATE TAYLOR SWIFT!”
All caps. The man was deadly furious. A dam on his emotions had broken.
Lips pursed in a manly scowl, he nodded in satisfaction. “That’ll show ’em. That’ll teach them to endorse other, other, other people. Nobody puts Donald J. Trump in a corner.” Waddling back to the table, he sat down and ordered a soft drink.
“Anyone know where my wife is?” He thought about it for a moment. Did he have a wife? Been so long since he’d seen her.
Trump smiled. No way was Biden going to win. Sleepy Joe. Ha. No way. Just wait. Just wait. He’d show ’em. He’d show ’em all.
Just as he’d shown Taylor Swift.
Whenever I go shopping alone and I’m tasked with picking up something for my wife, it feels like the stakes soar. I must find that product. I must get the right one.
It usually takes a while. Especially if it’s a product she needs but doesn’t have a sample to show me. I’m visual.
On today’s mission, I suggested that I should take my phone and take photos to send home. I was joking and left without my phone. I should’ve had my phone.
Yes, I should’ve had the phone.
Well, I do have the receipt and can take it back.
The barista yesterday asked, “How’s it going?”
“Going well, thanks. You?”
“I’m looking forward to lunch. I have leftover mashed potatoes and chicken.”
“Ah, comfort food,” I responded.
She grinned. “Exactly!”
Well, you can imagine what I ended up having for dinner: mashed potatoes, chicken, and brussies. Comfort food.
Right on.
Michael Seidel, writer 