Tag: life

Thirstdaz Theme Music

Another sunny summer day has been born in Ashlandia. We shall name this day Thirstda, July 24, 2025. Temps right now are moderate at 83 F but if you stand in that sunshine and let it beam down on you, the sweat comes fast. Today’s high will peak at about 92, 93 F, I think. Clouds, dust, or smoke hazes some of the sky’s blue, but I don’t smell smoke. The ol’ schnoz seems unafflicted by particulates today. Yea for me, I guess.

Hulk Hogan has passed away. I greet that with a shrug. Ozzy Osbourne passed a couple days ago. I mourn him more, but it’s remote mourning. I’ve been expecting him to pass. Thanks for the music and entertainment, Oz.

A net friend, Annette, posted a reflective post about family, wealth, and change. It melded well with my mood and thoughts after long exchanges with my sister about my mother, Mom’s health, and her living situation. Life, mortality, and death seem to be draping themselves all over me as I observe others’ situations and reflect upon my own. Make hay while the sun shines, right? Because storms can crash in and change everything in an eyeblink.

Over on the political spectrum of my existence, I grimace to more news about the enshittification of things. Yes, it makes me unhappy. Reading opposing opinions about things like cuts to NPR and public broadcasting, the celebration of their potential demise depresses me. Others are scornful and dismissive of any positive impact they may have on people, communities, and civilization. Some things seem to be strictly defined through a narrow scope of costs, profits, and losses, as if this is what life is about. The debt, the debt, some scream, we must do something about the debt! More tariffs! More tax cuts for the wealthy! More tax write-offs for the ultra wealthy. Less help for the states! Less help for the poor! And so it will go until they need help from other states, need help from the poor, say, in a war, for example, or to work. Yes, I’m disgusting by the right-wing tilt going on. I think it counterproductive to common goals and needs. The tilt benefits a few at the expense of the nation.

Today’s theme music is both homage to Ozzy’s memory, my own life, and how I view the current world situation. Yes, it’s “Crazy Train” from 1980. I told others while commenting on Ozzy last night that I’ve been on the crazy train. I’ve seen my family on the crazy train, and friends. A friend replied, “I think we’ve all spent some time on the crazy train.” Now I think the world is climbing on the crazy train.

Crazy, but that’s how it goes
Millions of people living as foes
Maybe it’s not too late
To learn how to love and forget how to hate

Mental wounds not healing
Life’s a bitter shame

I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
(Let’s go)

I’ve listened to preachers, I’ve listened to fools
I’ve watched all the dropouts, who make their own rules
One person conditioned to rule and control
The media sells it and you live the role

Mental wounds still screaming
Driving me insane

I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train

I know that things are going wrong for me
You gotta listen to my words, yeah, yeah

Heirs of a cold war, that’s what we’ve become
Inheriting troubles, I’m mentally numb
Crazy, I just cannot bear
I’m living with something that just isn’t fair

H/t to AZLyrics.com

Coffee has infiltrated me again. Time to rock another day, even if it’s only a gentle rock, just a little more than a nudge. Hope your day fulfills you in ways you need. Cheers

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Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts

It was a fascinating little play. Two young girls entered the coffee shop. Each in shorts and tank tops. Brown hair over their shoulders. Eleven and twelve, I thought with a measuring glance as I typed. They zipped to a table, pulling out chairs and sitting. One had a phone. She said, “Wait. Let me ask Mom.”

Deftly she thumbed a message into the phone. The younger child gazed around the shop as the older did this. In about a minute, the other said, “Mom said we can have ten dollars. She’s sending the money now.”

Seconds more came and went. “Got it,” the young girl in the red shorts said.

The two girls rose as one, passed to the counter and put in an order.

Modern life. Much different than what I’d experienced, back when I was eleven or twelve, collecting glass soda bottles to turn in and buy a treat. But then, look further back, to before there were glass bottles. Before we had stores offering ‘treats’ for sale. Before we, as children, wandered on such missions, which even now, is beyond starving children, even starving adults, elsewhere in the world.

Life really is a continually evolving spectrum of different existences even as we co-exist, together but apart.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Sunda, July 20, 2025, has entered the play. 73 F, summer is currently riding the norms in Ashlandia. A high of 90 F is expected and the sky is cloud-free blue. Smoke scents surf the wind, enough to be a smelly irritant but not enough to change the air quality or discolor the sky.

This is the Apollo 11 moon-landing anniversary. One giant leap, all that. Seems like it was last night that I sat in our Penn Hills wood-paneled basement game room, watching the news on the big color television as a 13 year old. Then I went outside and looked for the moon again. Seems like we progressed for a long time after that, but now as a nation, as a world of people, we’re falling backwards. Bummer to consider as my body curves into its 69th year. Of course, history slides on its own spectrum of peaks and valleys as nature and political wins and losses bend the trajectories. Time will tell what we’ll be remembering as history in 2075, and how a person like me will look back on it.

I perused this morning’s news with sighs. Flooding and deaths in South Korea, questions about Trump’s state of mental health, death and disaster in more places, lawsuits, etc. As far as Trump’s worsening gibbering, I don’t expect his loyalists to do anything about it because that would disrupt their power trips. That’s what it’s all about for enablers like Noem, Biondi, Kennedy, and the whole Project 2025 gang.

We went dancing yesterday. An annual thing, a troop of fifteen humans and one dog met on the shores of the Lake of the Woods Resort at 3 PM. Chatting, dancing, eating, we enjoyed being outside in sunshine, cooler air, smoke free air, enjoying Lisa & the Dynamics as they ably covered pop, rock, and country hits. Nice being away from the routines and the news for a few hours.

Today’s song comes from yesterday’s outing. “Everyone just have a good time,” was said and The Neurons said, “Kick it.” So, this morning has “Party Rock Anthem” by LMFAO from 2011 in the morning mental music stream. The song was a pretty big hit back then, was frequently heard via television and radio while I was traveling and running errands, but I haven’t heard it in a few years. Synth music, it’s made for dancing and has simple lyrics.

Back to Sunda I go. Hope you have the best day possible. That’s what I’m gunning for. Cheers

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The 11/22 Dream

Young, I was outside at a gathering surrounded by friends and many other festive souls. I was waiting to begin a trip, but I didn’t know any details. Seated at a small white table with matching chairs, people would come by and say hello or they’d pass and I’d call out greetings. It was all very carefree and relaxed. At one point, I decided to make some of my hair light blue. Then, tiring of it, I’d wiped the blue hair almost completely out, leaving just a streak of light blue.

On the white table were three tall glasses with ice. I knew that these had been Long Island Ice Teas, and I’d consumed them. A fourth glass was 3/4 full with another Long Island Ice Tea, but I’d decided not to drink it. Besides those was a flat white napkin thick with light blue; that had been my hair before I wiped it off.

I’d met a new person, a young man named Robert. We chatted and got along. I started calling him Rob or Robby. Then I heard someone called him Bobby. I asked him about it and he said, “Yes, I prefer Bobby.” I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bobby was going away, to the same place where I was going. But Bobby had all of his details about when he was going and how, and he was leaving the next morning. People asked me, “Why does Bobby know but you don’t know. That doesn’t make sense.” I shrugged it off but it began to bother me.

Several things I did know was that I was leaving on 11/22, and that was a week away, and I was flying, and someone else was making my arrangements. I decided to try to find out more. I brought out my laptop and then inserted my hard drive, which I’d removed for safety. But then, I lost interest in knowing, thinking, they will tell me and there’s no hurry.

Dream end.

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Figs!

My spouse is a fignatic, a figinista, a fan of high magnitude of figs. She loves figs. Through her, I’ve come to enjoy them. Knowing this, a friend has been supplying us with figs. I snapped this photo Wenzda; we have three bowls of figs like this. Or had, as we’ve eaten a few.

This is the second go round from this fig supplier. These are huge beauties. So delicious, so nutritious, and a good source for calcium, potassium, vitamins C, A, K, and B6. We just eat them rare, although I’m cautious, as they’re high in oxalates, and can cause kidney stones. I already have that issue.

Figs been hard to come by at the stores and have become expensive. The last pint we purchased was $11 and had five small figs. None were in good shape, so my friend’s largesse is happily accepted.

Good to have friends like this.

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Frida’s Theme Music

The work week is at its end. That’s what we used to call the Monday to Friday gig. Don’t know if that’s still the handle.

Yes, today is Frida, July 18, 2025. Today in Ashlandia, we’re at 73 F and expect a high of 95 F under skies that go on forever blue and steady sunshine.

More sucky news fills the cyber pages. I’m one who prefers to skim the net and read the news rather than turning to streaming or OTA tv. A news piece touched me with serendipity. From the 1440 Daily Digest was a summary of a new procedure to reduce disorders in newborns.

Mitochondrial disorders, affecting about 1 in 5,000 births, are transmitted via the mother and can cause vision loss, diabetes, and heart issues. Six of the eight babies showed a 95% to 100% drop in mutated mitochondrial DNA, while two showed reductions between 77% and 88%. All eight remain healthy; one experienced and recovered from an irregular heartbeat.

I had read the news elsewhere before. On the same day that I read the news, Jill Dennison shared the song, “In The Year 2525” from 1969. One stanza struck me from the song in connection with this news:

In the year 6565
Ain’t gonna need no husband, won’t need no wife
You’ll pick your son, pick your daughter too
From the bottom of a long glass tube, whoa

I guess my point is that I have always felt that’s the general direction we’ve been headed: manufactured people, whether it’s through cloning or genetic manipulation, or some other technology. I always think there will be dire unforeseen and unintended consequences. Time will tell, right?

My morning mental music stream music is much lighter than that other song. “Take the Money and Run” by the Steve Miller Band, is a 1976 offering about robbery and murder, but with a peppy pop beat. I’s about whims and things that go wrong, and how the consequences. A detective chased them and they remained on the run forever. But to me, the song was always about opportunistic criminals, like those populating the current GOP. Do what you can and need to get yours and screw all others. Yeah, you knew I’d turn this political. LOL. That’s me. At least, that’s why I think The Neurons put it in the morning mental music stream.

Have the best Frida you can. That’s my goal. Here we go again. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Happy Wenzda. Jumped out of bed (it’s an expression), and went to the windows and —

“Alexa, what’s the air quality?” I asked. Because looking west, smoke sheathed the view. What fresh hell was this?

Alexa told me the air quality was good. Yes, I did not smell smoke. Windows were open. Cool 66 degree F air was flowing in. But that smoke was turning the blue sky gray. Must be from one of the nine fires burning west of us. Or one of the several blowing along mountain ridges from the fires burning south in northern California.

Supposed to be 97 F today. That’s what we saw yesterday. Ashlandia summer is in place.

I can become obsessive about things. My routine soon incorporate sniffing the air for smoke smells and looking out the window to see if the smoke was becoming better or worse. Some crow was yelling something the whole time. Another was responding from further away. I don’t know what it was about. I don’t speak crow.

Reading about Trump’s irritation with the Epstein files. While he’s still burning down the U.S., his base is upset about the Epstein List. Trump, being true to his core of caring only for himself and lying and throwing aspersians at others when he gets upset, lashed out on a lie-filled text. I read a good rebuttal with a timeline and a reminder, Presidents Obama and Biden didn’t have anything to do with it. It was during Dubya’s administration and Trump 1. Staunch Republicans Barr and Acosta were involved. Indisputably, though, Trump and Epstein were runners together. Photos exist. Trump talked about Epstein in glowing terms. No doubt, Trump is in that file.

Today’s music is a 1998 Eve 7 offering, “Inside Out”. The Neurons had it playing in the morning mental music stream for a bit, slowly turning the volume up. Finally hearing the part that goes, “I’m not as
Ugly sad as you. Or am I origami folded up and just pretend, demented as the motives in your head.” Knowing some lyrics makes the modern net useful for finding the song’s details. Once those details were rehoused in my awareness, some memories about where and when I often heard it — in the car, driving around the bay area, Alex — stacked.

Now I’m feening for coffee. Off we go. Have a most excellent day, as we used to say. Cheers

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

We were at the store to buy supplies for my wife. I was bagging as she was paying. The whole thing was less than $20. She was going through her, taking things out and mumbling how hard it is to find things in her purse, a familiar song. I dove a hand into my pocket and whipped out a twenty.

My wife said, “It worked.”

“What?”

“I was hoping that if I took too long to get my money out, you’d pay.”

“I thought it was all our money,” I said.

She laughed. “Not when it’s in my purse.”

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