Frieday’s Theme Music

Take a deep breath. You can smell it in the air: Frieday has arrived.

It’s Frieday, August 12, 2022, but it is Frieday, Frieday, when you can sit back and enjoy some frybread, or crispy and sizzling fried bacon, or hot breaded fried chicken, fish, or shrimp.

That’s how many come to Frieday. Others arrive at Frieday feeling or looking fried. People tell them, “Man, do you look fried.” They answer, “Well, it is Frieday. I’m looking forward to the weekend. I am going to go nuts and do nothing.”

Doesn’t look like our town will fry today. Sunrise started the sizzle at 6:15 AM. Today’s sizzle won’t be much, a low burn high of 86 F. Now it’s a cool 18 C as the mountains bath us with morning air from their tops. Just sixteen hours and one minute from sunrise, the turning away will commence. On the bummer side of this Frieday, air quality has gone down with air particulates pushing the air into the red, scratching the blue sky with brown streaks.

Dreams were long and complicated. I emerged from them feeling good about myself. As I fed cats and ran the morning bifloofalon, I thought about my self-esteem. Those thoughts encouraged The Neurons to break out “Self Esteem” by The Offspring from 1994. A little Youtube scratching found this video of the group performing the song in 1999. I prefer versions where I can see the group playing the music and singing. Doesn’t usually sound as polished as the studio albums, but I like the reminders of the time given by the band’s appearance, the stage, setting, and audience. Feds the flames of nostalgia, yeah?

The boiled black brew is reading for its Frieday tasting. Stay positive, test negative, have a good Frieday and a most excellent weekend, your excellencies. Here’s the music. Cheers

Old Kibbles Blues

Old floof song, usually sung at night, often to the tune of a “I’m A Floof”.

Five o’clock in the morning,

‘bout more than a hour ‘fore dawn.

I’m staring in my food dish.

My kibble’s half gone.

Starvation is standing beside me.

It’s not a good place to be.

All I want is some kibble.

Why do they torture me?

Whoa, I got the kibbles,

I got the old kibbles blues.

If you had to eat ol’ kibbles,

You’d have the old kibbles blues, too.

Floofdegreen

Floofdegreen (floofinition) – Song lyrics deliberately misinterpreted or changed to be about animals.

In use: ‘He loved making up floofdegreens and sharing them with his cats, such as his take on “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”. In his version, it’s “A kitty went into the kitchen, he was looking for treats to steal, he was feeling fine, just marking time, and not willing to make a deal.”‘

The Philospher-Musician Dream

It began with a dark, rainy night. Walking along on a windy tar road under a tall highway overpass, I was looking for a specific house, one where a French philosopher and musician lived. I had some vision but it was extremely dark and wet. As I walked, I realized an animal was not far from me. I veered a bit to go around it and realized it was a large, black dog. I changed course again, then just shrugged off the dog’s presence and walked past it. The dog ignored me; I looked back and found it was two large, black dogs, but they weren’t paying any attention to me.

I arrived at the house I sought. Children let me in and led me to a bedroom. Her ceilings were low, the walls were wood-paneled, windows abounded, and the lights were soft, yellow glows. After a moment, a woman entered; this was the philosopher-musician I sought. She was short and fair, thin, with a black bob. I explained to her that I had an original song trapped in my head. I wanted to get it out but I wanted to duplicate it so others could hear it. Could she help?

Yes. I sat on her bed on white sheets. She asked me to describe the song. I listened in my head and described soft violins that swelled and fell. She began playing music, asking, like this? That kept on until she had that piece down with my corrections. So it went, with different instruments, until she’d captured the entire song in my head. The children sometimes interrupted, coming in to peek at me or asking Mom for something, but it was overall a very productive but intense session.

She gave me a copy of the recording for my use. I left, retracing my steps through dark pouring rain. Seeing a shortcut through a yard, I ventured to follow it, where I saw a bird riding on the back of the turtle. The turtle went through a pool of water and then out onto the land again. The bird was almost dislodged but resettled. Both looked at me. I wondered if the bird was a burden to the turtle and considered trying to remove it but decided against it.

I went on and came across a large party under sunshine and tents on the grounds of a Marriott Hotel. I knew it was a Marriott because of the big, red letters. It wasn’t raining; I was dry and the land was dry. I saw two of my tall cousins. Going to them, I said, “Hey, let me buy you a drink,” and handed one a twenty. Each already had a drink in their hand but stopped and looked at the money.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s not enough,” one cousin answered.

“Isn’t this happy hour?” I returned.

“Yes,” the other cousin said, “But my vodka is nine dollars a shot, and this is a double shot.”

Dream end.

A Ragtag Dream

I was staying in a disheveled sort of place, a ramshackle series of hotels connected to a large, decrepit aircraft hangar. The hangar was white; the hotels were pale green and light pink. A number of friends and my wife were there. We seemed like refugees trying to pull it together and move on.

Activities were taking place in all of the hangar. One person with us was S, a short, energetic woman who’d been an office manager where I’d worked. S and I met up by an aircraft in the hangar. The jet was something like a 737. We planned to take it to leave. But before we could board, S said, “We need to have all the rivets sealed.” She had a rag and some stuff. Showing them to me, she went on, “A little of this needs to be rubbed on each one.”

Looking up at the aircraft, I answered, “We would need to start at the top and work our way down, section by section.”

S said, “It needs to be done in about an hour. Can you organize people and get this done?”

I replied, “Sure, okay.”

She thanked me. We parted.

After we walked away, I thought, we don’t need to do that. That’s overkill. I’ll talk to S about that.

I kept going. I saw some other friends just arriving. They had some clothes. I recognized the clothes as some stuff I’d left behind. They were returning them to me.

But we didn’t meet up. I needed to get back to my room to get my wife ready to go. As I wend through people across the hangar to my hotel section, I saw another pile of my clothes on the cement floor and scooped them up to wear, then went to the room.

My wife was still in bed. I roused her. Our room was small and cramped, with a bed and a tiny bathroom. She was confused about what was to happen. I went about, explaining it to her while packing. She climbed out of bed; she was wearing gray pajamas. As she started moving and looking for clothes, she went into the bathroom. In there, I saw a huge cobweb with a dead mosquito eater hanging in it. I pointed it out to her, saying, “That’s been here the whole time that we’ve been here.”

She agreed, then as she moved around it, we saw other, larger ones.

We exited the bathroom. She said, “I need to think.” She took out four small gray rectangles from a bag, then set them on the floor, spacing them about four feet from one another. I didn’t know what she was doing.

Bending to the first one, she pressed a button on it. Music began playing. She repeated this with the next two. I recognized the music with each. She began dancing and singing to the music coming from the third. It was an old pop song by Abba, “Dancing Queen”. Then she moved to the fourth and pressed its button. She stopped dancing and singing, listening. I realized that it was playing “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen and sang along with it. She seemed unable to hear the music and stood listening.

Dream end.

Two Unheard Questions Dream

We were located in an old service station garage. Tall glass garage doors along either side. It’s raining on one side. Just splatter against the window. Through it, I can see another building. I know it’s a coffee house. I can see one person in there, a tall, slender, white, blonde woman with short, curly hair. I want to go over and have coffee. I will when I’m done, I keep telling myself.

I’m conducting two activities in parallel. In one, I’m in charge of a class where people are learning to play music to calm and relax people. Mixed in with the people learning that are people there for advice on retired life. Both are packed classes. One group is filling out paperwork and asking me questions; the other group is selecting music, playing it on radios, and asking me questions. I walk among them, helping, talking, instructing. We’re all tired. We’ve been up a long time. I’d been up over twenty-four hours. I want to go get coffee. Then go to sleep.

We’re done. Classes are finished. The class members all lie down on the floor to rest just for a few minutes. Two ask me questions, one from each class. Settling on the floor with them, I answer, “I didn’t hear your questions. Were they about music or retiring?”

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