Worse things than the Epstain — sorry, Epstein — files are taking place. What’s fascinating is how Trump is diligently trying to deflect and distract from it. He’s metaphorically jumping up and down, trying to point to anything else, everything else, as long as it’s not the Epstain — sorry, did it again — Epstein file.
Of course, with almost legendary projection, Trump accused others of breaking the law while he breaks the law with impunity. Did it as a citizen, and has done it as POTUS.
And yet, this time, it doesn’t seem to be working.
But my real point here is, what shall we call this? The Trump-Epstein Scandal?
I’m sipping on a smoothie. Wild blueberries with banana, water, pear, and spinach, it’s a personal favorite. It is not going down well.
My abdomen aches from the bottom of my sternum to an inch below my belly button. Last night, I had a mini croissant. Freshly baked frozen thing from TJs. Ate it about seven PM. At 3:30, my gall bladder spasmed, telling me it didn’t like what I’d done.
Fortunately, the emergency room had given me meds for this moment when I visited them on July 6, 2025. I did a pain killer and an anti-nausea pill and then rolled with it back in bed for several softly groaning hours. I sometimes dropped into a sketchy, uncomfortable sleep. Deeper sleep came after full sunshine was lighting the yard.
Awakening, my esophagus felt raw and burning. Bile’s taste pushed into my throat. I sipped water. That made it worse. A small spoon of manuka helped ease all of that. Then back to bed, where deeper sleep comforted me for a while.
Finally at one thirty, I got out of bed. My wife and I made the smoothie together. Now I sit, trying to coax it down. Another pain pill might be in order if I’m gonna get any writing done. I’ve been taught a lesson, again: be more mindful about what you eat. I’ve learned it before.
Mom participates in a sleep study once a month. An emphysema sufferer, she wears a mask at night with a machine that helps her breathe.
This study, though, I don’t know. Full disclosure: I’m not a sleep expert. Fuller disclosure: I’m not an expert in anything. But from a point of view that I have lived a bit, I question the quality of the sleep study. They have her turn up three hours before her normal bedtime. Then they require all the participants to sleep in their clothes. This idea is so they can get up and leave faster in the morning.
About the morning. They wake the sleep participants up at 5 AM to scoot them out the door. And, Mom complains that they keep the place freezing cold and don’t provide anyone with enough blankets. Not much sleeping is done, Mom says.
Again, I’m not an expert, but it sounds like this sleep study is in the deep throes of full-on enshittification.
Frida, July 25, 2025, landed on Ashlandia with a gently familiar thud. Weather is a relaxed blue-sky & sunshine state of being. 70 F now, we’ll be clicking on the low 90s by daylight’s end, which is about our average. No smoke bothers me. The Cram Fire is the largest, 95K of acreage, 77 % contained, north of us. South, in California, is the 19,000 acres Butler Fire. Prevailing conditions are keeping us safe, knock on wood.
Being Frida, the news front is slow and lazy. A shooting at a college in New Mexico results in more gun violence death. Couple police officers were ambushed elsewhere, shot and killed during their lunch break. This will all generate more handwringing but no action. Another handwringing moment hangs in the air as it was revealed that under the guise of ‘shipping out criminals’ during the Venezuelan swap, the United States imported a convicted killer of three. Terrific. Yes, the Trump Regime is always sloppy about vetting the details. But hey, he’s white and male, so it’s okay, right? Beyond that, the story still smokes about how Trump lied to Jerome Powell at the Fed, was called on it, and just blew it off. Lying is what he does, along with posting and sharing fake information, and splashing the world with bellicose hatred. This is the current face of the United States.
Today’s song is an ode to the cat. When he was served up and chowed down, he purred and chirped like, this is just what I needed. Which, yes, compelled The Neurons to serve up the 1978 ditty, “Just What I Needed”. Whole thing gives me a happy smile. A new wave pop song, it was part of the regular FM radio cycle for a while. So easy to hear, easy to understand, non-offensive and easy to sing along to, the cat gets it.
A smoke smell pesters my nostrils. The windows are closed for the day, to be re-opened tonight. I don’t see any discoloration in the sky. Air quality remains good. It’s just me and my olfactory processes working overtime.
Time to advance into the fray. Hope your Frida meets your needs. I’m gonna do my best to fit it to my needs, starting with coffee, I think. Cheers
When I publish a post, WordPress sometimes suggests tags. “Would you like to add these tags?” I look at them. Some suggestions baffle me. I don’t see a connection to the post. I believe I already have others included. I delete the one that seems unrelated and agree to add the rest. The system then tells me, no tags added.
So, the whole process undermines my confidence in WP. If the tags are already there, why doesn’t it recognize them and suggest that they get added? Also, how good is its ‘comprehension’ of what’s being posted if it’s suggesting tags which have nothing to do with the post?
I don’t know. It’s probably just me and my compulsive anal retention obsessions or something.
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
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
Give me some chatter, baby. I like hearing the baristas tossing comments around as orders are given and taken. Add some background music, pop and rock songs which I sometimes know, hovering on my conscious awareness. Pump in some coffee making clinks, grinding, hissing, thumps, and clacks. All that together enhances my focus and concentration.
It’s a melange of familiar and forgettable noises blending into one sound, a combo which is easily shunted aside and ignored. It’s when a quiet rises and spreads that I stop my thinking and typing and look up to see what’s going on.
Sounds different from the norm will puncture my focus. Like, a child’s scream. A dog’s bark. A growing argument or increasingly loud disagreement. These all pull me up from under. But otherwise, with that coffee shop blend percolating around me, I think and type until, oh, damn, I forgot to drink my coffee. OMG, the coffee shop is empty. And, my ass has fallen asleep from sitting so long. And, I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago.
Those are all signs that it was a pretty productive day.
The president is trying to change the subject after the attorney general closed the case on disgraced financier and Jeffrey Epstein. That’s why Donald Trump has lately been harping on Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell. Someone is to blame for some makebelieve problem and Trump wants to be seen as the solution.
But even if Trump were able to redirect the press corps’ attention, he is unlikely to change the dynamics under way among the MAGA faithful. Trump says Powell must go so that interest rates fall, but to the extent that MAGA base was ever motivated by inflation or the cost of living, it was a secondary concern. MAGA’s principal motivation is drawn from a cosmic story about the battle between good and evil, and with the Epstein scandal, Trump has raised doubts about which side he’s on.
Which story? QAnon. It’s the belief that Donald Trump is the epic hero in a secret war against powerful and malevolent (and Jewish) conspirators who have plotted with agents in the government (the deep state), corporations (wokeness) and the media (lies) to sabotage America. The end of the story was supposed to come when Trump released the Epstein files in advance of executing God’s enemies.
Stoehr’s piece of thinking tickled me. I knew MAGALand was infuriated by how the Trump Regime is handling the Epstein Files. Trump promised to release the files so they could know the truth. MAGAts want the files, specifically, ‘the list’, released. The List is supposed to be the smoking gun, the evidence of all the deep shit that Trump has been claiming the hated Democrats and Liberals have been doing in secret while creating and managing their vast shadow government, where they control the weather and scheme against the pure Christians and whites who deserve a nation unsullied by non-whites, a land where education isn’t tainted with facts and truth that makes them queasy.
But after detail after detail is put out there about the Epstein file, Trump finds himself increasingly angry, defensive and isolated. He’s flailing to make the rest of the world turn the damn channel. But as Stoehr points out, MAGALand can’t; to disavow the Epstein files as Trump demands means that they must also disavow the entire fabric of the QAnon universe.
Pulling that thread would unravel their fantasy. MAGALand knows it; Trump is trying to pretend it isn’t true. But if MAGALand is forced to accept that the Epstein files lack all the damning evidence that Trump has claimed is in it, they might be forced to confront, how else has he lied to us? They might even start realizing how much Trump duped them and used them. They might even question if Trump was sent by God. As one of Trump’s far right supporters, Nick Fuentes, said, “You are fat, you are a joke, you are stupid, you are not funny, you are not as smart as you think you are,” Fuentes said, later adding, “This entire thing has been a scam.”
That could be the end not just of Trump but of all those others who spread and supported his fictions. For him, for them, it’s less about if Trump is in the files; it’s more about the Democrats not being in it.
Fingers crossed that this all blows up. Frankly, I don’t give a damn any longer who might be in it.
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
Sharing some political humor from my friend Jill. Most made me laugh, although my teeth were grinding together from the truth behind the humor, but there are a few which really stood out for me. You should go check out the rest.
Michael Seidel, writer 