Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: speculativitis

It feels like a diluted summer day. An archapelago of gray fuzzed small white clouds spill across the sky. Today’s blue is diluted into a pale hue. Weirdly feels like rain is possible in the cold mountain air shouldering me through the window. But it’s 70 F at my house and will top off at 99 F.

Of course, summer is on its heels. Autumn is crowding in again. This is Friday, September 6, 2024. Diluted, the door is also pregnant with a sense of finality. I don’t know what pseudo psycho-quantum vibes has me feeling that.

I read my fill of the story about the Apalachee school shooting. The alarm buttons in the IDs. The congratulations that the system worked and kept the loss of life down, spoken without irony. The continued reporting that the system failed because the kid had been investigated by the FBI who couldn’t tie him to the social media threats he’d previously made about carrying out a school shooting. The later news that the father had been arrested for his role after giving his son the murder weapon for a gift — after the child had been investigated for making the threats.

The wonder, the murder weapon was a Christmas present. Ho, ho, fucking, ho. Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men. Anyone care to bet that it was part of a Black Friday special? How sinisterly ugly is that?

The wonder, what were the dynamics in that household, with the kid allegedly making these threats and also apparently asking for mental health help, and Dad giving his boy, a troubled 14 year old, a killing machine? The wonder, what is the truth, and will this shit ever change?

Bet there are a lot of hopes and prayers being offered the family of the dead. They can take those hopes and prayers and add five dollars and have a coffee at Starbucks as they grieve.

All this has The Neurons playing “Once In A Lifetime” by the Talking Heads in the morning mental music stream (Trademark cracked). The 1981 song has a refrain that goes, “Same as it ever was. Same it ever was.”

You get where I’m coming from. I mean, mass shootings are a recurring part of the U.S. news scene. And let’s not overlook the other shootings. Children accidently killing themselves or another child because they found Mommy’s gun.

Let’s not overlook how frequently police officers are being ambushed and killed with firearms.

Yeah, but we don’t have a problem. Thoughts and prayers will take care of that shit.

Meanwhile, I’d read of Don Old Trump’s response to a child care question. This is part of it:

“But I think when you talk about the kind of numbers that I’m talking about — that, because look, child care is child care, couldn’t — you know, there’s something — you have to have it in this country. You have to have it. But when you talk about those numbers, compared to the kind of numbers that I’m talking about by taxing foreign nations at levels that they’re not used to. But they’ll get used to it very quickly. And it’s not going to stop them from doing business with us. But they’ll have a very substantial tax when they send product into our country. Those numbers are so much bigger than any numbers that we’re talking about, including child care, that it’s going to take care. We’re going to have — I look forward to having no deficits within a fairly short period of time, coupled with the reductions that I told you about on waste and fraud and all of the other things that are going on in our country.

And nothing in the rest of the answer will stop the swirl of ‘what is he talking about’ that’s circulating around many people’s head.

Also, though, I’m amused by the cognitive dissonance needed for this question to be asked in the first place. Project 2025’s architects wants women to return to the home and take care of the family. She won’t be working; ergo, child care isn’t needed in their heads. Plus, they want to remove barriers against children working. So the child won’t need anyone to take care of them, because Mom will be home, or when the child is old enough, they’ll be at work to help support the family, which will be needed now that Mom doesn’t work.

Asking Trump, which Project 2025 specifically mentions throughout its contents, with many of the authors directly tied to him, what he’s going to do to help with child care costs for working women, demonstrates that some folks just aren’t paying attention.

Hah, same as it ever was, right?

Pause. Or maybe the person asking the question knew and got the answer that they wanted: he’s not thining about it, and is incapable of forming a coherent sentence about it. If so, brava to her.

Alright, let’s roll on. Be strong and stout and positive, and vote blue. Here’s the music. Cheers

Once in a Lifetime

Day 2. He rode in silence. Forty miles an hour. The open car drove itself, allowing him to gape at the scenery.

So gorgeous. He knew now what breathtaking meant.

Although he’d eaten breakfast after an overnight stop, he snacked as he went. Nervousness.

Other people weren’t encountered. Only bots. They didn’t interact. Once this had been cities. New York. Pittsburgh. Philadelphia. As climate changed and space travel advanced, people departed the planet. Pockets of humanity remained. Some worked for the place he visited, the Great Earth Library. Built in the twenty-third century, trillions of books lined the high, massive shelves. Paperbacks and hardcover books were still being published on less advanced planets.

That’s where he came in.

The car slowed. He could have teleported to the location. Where’s the fun in that?

Turning right, the small vehicle approached a librarian station. The car hummed to a halt. A bot came out.

Stiffly he climbed from the car. Stretched. Picked up the packet from the other seat.

The bot said, “Merr Liu-Gardner?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been expecting you. Would you like to sign our guest book? It can be done digitally with your bios or cursive on paper. Many guests prefer the latter.”

“I’ll do cursive.” He picked up the pen. Bic. Blue ink.

A fresh page awaited. He flipped to the previous page. One entry, six years before. Ngato from Mars Station Five.

Smiling, he signed his name, dated it, and added his home, Cixin Outpost, Trisolaria. Despite that name, only one sun warmed his world. Three moons, though. One red. Two white. All beautiful.

His great-grandfather named the planet and led the colonizing expedition. He’d taught his grandson cursive writing, feeling it important to know. “Let’s not let the old knowledge die.”

Poul Liu-Gardner II handed the box to the robot. “My great-grandfather wrote and published these books. The Library was established after he died but Dad always thought the books deserved to be here. Two are non-fiction, a history of our world and another about our city. The other six are fiction.” He smiled. “Three murder mysteries and three thrillers.”

“I understand. Thank you for the gift. These are the first from your world. We will shelve and honor them.”

“I know. There are more books from my world in the car. I just wanted to personally deliver these.”

“Of course. We’ll unload them.”

“Thanks.”

“Feel free to walk the shelves and enjoy the books. You can remove them from the shelves and read them here, but they can’t be removed.”

“Thank you.”

Poul II watched the bot take the books away. Lost and empty-handed, he gazed up at books.

Deep breath. Sigh.

He’d smelled books before. Grandpa Poul had established a library. Of course. Today’s smell dizzied him. Maybe it was the sheer number of books. Perhaps it was the thoughts behind them, or the readers’ thoughts.

Probably all those things. Strolling among the shelves, he thought that he might write a book. He’d always thought about writing one. The desire now was an urgent weight.

Sitting on a bench, he drew out his pad. Opened it.

A blank screen waited.

He could type. Or use voice. Grandpa Poul always printed his first rough draft.

He didn’t have paper.

His fingers tapped.

Once in a Lifetime

Chapter One

The stranger from Trisolaria was a formidable presence.

Saturday’s Theme Music

The cats, my wife, and I agree, it’s pretty outside today. Take spring greenery and sunshine. Splash some gray and white clouds against the sky. Load up a brush with snowy white and slather across the land. Result: a snowy and sunny late winter day. That’s despite a temperature floating around 37 degrees F.

It happened abruptly. I let Boo the Bedroom Panther out at 10 PM. I let him back in at 10:15. There wasn’t any snow in evidence at that time, your honor. Thirty minutes later, my wife announces she’s going to bed to read, and why is it so bright outside? Ah, snow.

Today is March 6, 2021, a Saturday. Solrise was at 6:38 AM. Soldrop will be at 6:07 PM in southern Oregon. For those of you who collect days, you know that this is a unique one. There will never be a day like this again. For some reason, that prompted the Wayback Machine to spooled up some Talking Heads.

Same as it ever was…
Same as it ever was…
Same as it ever was…
Look where my hand was
Time isn’t holding up
Time is an asterisk
Same as it ever was…

h/t to DavidByrne.com

Well, Jill D. contributed to this thinking with her post, The Rich Get Richer While The Poor … | Filosofa’s Word (jilldennison.com). “Once In A Lifetime”, circa 1981, will stick to yer ribs.

Remember, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Cheers

Sunday’s Theme Music

Thinking about how things change and stay the same, even while changing. Details change, but the broad sweeps of progress often take so long, we fail to see them. Perhaps, for some, it’s because we’re buried so deeply into the way things are that we can’t see the change from our vantage. Foremost among all of this, I was thinking about how the Democratic and Republican parties have changed. Once upon a time, the Republicans fought against the expansion of slavery. Now, they embrace white supremacists. It’s the same as it ever was, because political parties hunt the winds of change to develop a political advantage.

“Same as it ever was,” right? Here are the Talking Heads with “Once In A Lifetime,” from nineteen eighty.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98AJUj-qxHI

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