Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
I cleaned the kitty litter today. The excavated taters were shoveled into a paper bag. I then went through the house with the bag of kitty litter to dump it into the trash. As I went, I held the bag up and called out, “Ho ho ho, merry Thanksgiving.”
I thought it was good symblism for the holiday season upon us.
Monday’s Wandering Thoughts
Sitting here reading a food review. It’s a food gift basket for Mom. Reviewer says that the food in their gift basket was “delicious and tasty”.
My Neurons sat up straight. Aren’t those the same?
No. I always thought of them as being closely related but displaying a difference of degrees. Tasty is a less enthusiastic embrace of something.
“How was the chicken?”
“It was tasty.”
That’s a thin endorsement to me. I’m hedging. Something was wrong with it but I’m trying to put a positive tag on it.
Delicious, however, is an unreserved endorsement.
“How was the chicken?”
“It was delicious.”
To me, if it’s delicious, I’m unabashedly pleased.
So they’re not literally the same to me but in this world, they probably could be said to be literally the same. But in no way I would ever describe something as tasty and delicious. It’s one or the other.
Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
I wrote this eight years ago. I remembered it this morning as I was thinking about my life. “I gotta do something about” remains my life’s expression. Cheers
Supfloofvisor
Supfloofvisor (floofinition) – Animal who oversees or takes charge of organizing or directing activities. Synonym: Supfurvisor. Origins: 1970 United States
In Use: “Border collies and corgis are two dog breeds known for being supfloofvisors, and often want to round up other animals and guard things.”
In Use: “Popsicle, aka Pop, always arrived for meal preparation, setting himself as supfloofvisor, meowing and waving a paw until he was permitted to sniff each ingredient.”
Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts
It’s first world blues time again.
Emails slide into my inbox. Netflix, Amazon — sorry, Prime — Hulu, et al urge me to watch shows I’ve already seen. ‘Based on my history’, they recommend shows nothing at all like the ones that I’ve watched. In fact, looking at their recommendations, they’re throwing everything against the wall to see what clings to my mind. Netflix urges, ‘We think you’ll love these” and shows me “Paul vs. Tyson”. I have never watched boxing, wrestling, or fighting anywhere, so WTF?
They’re so bogus. Little of what any of them from Apple to Amazon offer reflect my watching patterns. If they did, they’d be zeroing in on darkly comedic/quirky British, Australian, and Scandinavian shows. Encountering these weak, pathetic recommendations jars my brain. They’re pretending to be caring and involved with me and my viewing habits when they clearly lack all insights. In fact, when they do this, a deep glower spreads across my mien. They’re wasting my time and mocking my intelligence. A vow to not watch anything they offer begins to burn deep inside my brain.
Not just streaming services doing this to me but they’re the worse. Amazon recommends ‘Picks just for you’. Sounds so sweet. Like they went about picking flowers and arranging them. “Here, a bouquet pour tu.” They show me pots and pans collections. Frying pans. Kate Spade purses. Like, WTF? I’ve never shopped those on Amazon or anywhere online.
They all must have me confused with another Michael.
Monday’s Wandering Thoughts
Ah, I feel so much better.
Just took my first shower since October 30th. Don’t know if others are as binary as me on this, but I’m a firmly committed shower guy. Baths in a tub will only do if a shower is out of the question.That felt so good. Washed my hair and everything. Had been doing that in a sink, with help from a measuring cup to pour water over all of my head. It worked but it wasn’t satisfying.
Well, when I was booted up, showers were out of the question. Had to keep that sucker completely dry. Which meant it was bagged in plastic and resting outside of the tub. That forced for into additional contortions and requirements. My wife had to be my hands while I held myself up with my foot out of the tub. My remaining bandage and wound could be damp but not wet, and I was to keep soap off it. So I showered with the affected foot thrust out like I was a posing dancer. Then I had to pat dry the affected area.
Let me say this: we have a standard tub. Just one out of the two baths. The other bath has a shower stall. That tub isn’t large enough for mature adults. I mentioned this to my wife. She replied, “I’ve already decided that my tub in our next house is going to be bigger and deeper.”
Agreed.
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
I was thinking of a cozy mystery series based on pizza. I decided to challenge myself with ten titles for the series.
Family Size Murder To Go
A Slice of Death
Murder with Extra Cheese
Pineapple, Pepperoni, and Death
Deep Dish Murder
Personal Pan Killer
Pizza, Salad, & Murder on the Side
Three Slices of Death
Killer Delivery
Chicago Style Murder
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
I witnessed a coffee house conversation that threatened to escalate into violence.
It was a mildly busy day as people gathered and socialized with pleasant autumn weather outside. Many were bent over phones, laptops, or notebooks.
One table hosted an octet of chatting women not far from me. Their age hovered around my own, which is to say sixty to seventy-five years young. They were mostly laughing and talking about books. Somehow their conversation rolled into the important question everyone wants to know, “How much paste should you put on your toothbrush?”
I haven’t read any books on the subject, and I didn’t study it in school, but I agreed with one brunette woman. She said, “Oh, I read that you just need a dab. Especially with an electric toothbrush.”
“No, no, no,” a red-haired woman erupted. “That is wrong. You need to cover the bristles from end to end with paste.”
Coffee shop conversations dropped off a cliff. Focus went to the table of women.
Other women at the table started disagreeing with paste woman. You’d think they were assaulting her grand toddler from her reaction. Voice rising into a screech, she declared, “No! No!” It was like she was channeling Khruschev addressing the United Nations. “The paste must be on all of the bristles! Anything else is wrong!”
I expected a duel to erupt. Pistols at twenty feet on the sunlit sidewalk outside.
Maybe she’d had too much caffeine. Maybe she didn’t have enough. The other women, wide-eyed with alarm, were backing down fast, trying to placate the redhead before she whipped out a sword to defend her toothpaste position.
Thank God they weren’t discussing politics.
Michael Seidel, writer 