Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Some relatable humor for your Saturday. Cheers
Blue skies and sunshine immediately informed me that it was a cold day. “Must be cold out,” I said to the cat. “Ooop,” he replied, rushing for the door.
Papi’s first response to almost all stimuli is to rush for the door. Loud noises like fireworks dictate a course to his hiding spot in the primary bathroom.
Today, though, he was hitting the door, exiting the back, into sunshine. I went with him. The measuring device told me it was 42 F. I felt that even with sunshine bathing me. Back inside, I asked the various digital prophets what the weather be like in Ashlandia on Sunda, April 13, 2025. All agreed it was going to be ‘more of the same’ — sunshine and clear blue sky — with a high of 74 F. As they used to say in another era, I can dig it.
I was thinking about words as I motored from coffee maker to kettle to sink to bowl to cat feeding station, doing the necessaries. The thinking about words came from thinking about news stories. For a while, I had Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine performing their 1986 hit in the morning mental music stream, “Words Get In the Way”.
Then The Neurons abruptly pivoted. I can’t source the pivot’s origins. I only know that I began humming a different beat. A melody began rising, then new lyrics flowed into the morning mental music machine: Jesus Jones” with their 1990 techno-pop offering, “Real Real Real”. My mind seemed to be stuck in that period, 1986 – 1990. As it often happens with The Neurons and their mysterious ways (oh, now we have U2 in the music stream), there’s little explained.
Well, now I’ve slipped back to 1991. I remember when “Mysterious Ways” song was first heard for me. My wife and I were enjoying a Sunday morning on our apartment deck in Sunnyvale, California. We’d only lived there for seven months. The cats, Jade, Crystal, and Rocky, were sunning themselves and washing. We’d just finished a breakfast of fresh croissants, bought at Milk Pail Dairy and baked at home, and fruit, and were talking about what to do that day. It’s strange that this scene is so vivid for me. I have no idea what else we did that day. Memory is a funny thing.
Coffee has lived up to its commitment. Ready to rock another day. Sunlight is guiding my way. There’s a promise of a decent day. Hope you have the same. Cheers
Winter is still taking a knife to spring. You feel it in the air.
“It’s cold,” my wife says.
“I know. Thirty-nine degrees.”
“Isn’t April tomorrow?”
I confirm that my Fitbit tells me that it’s March 31, 2025. “This is Ashlandia. What’s that have to do with it?”
My wife stares at the window. “I don’t see any blue sky.”
I look out with her. “It’s raining. Happy Monday.”
She’s off to her exercise class. I am alone in the house. I’ve not been alone in the house for almost three weeks. Not like that will cause me to run around naked. I do that even if she’s here. “You’re a frustrated nudist,” she tells me.
“Maybe.”
It’s supposed to be 50 degrees as a high today. Probably will make that but will feel like 48. Even with the house to my self, I putter through the standard processes. Coffee, exercise, and food is still needed. The cat’s routine is focused on me so that didn’t change.
Papi isn’t pleased with the weather, either. The wind has died. That’s a plus in the cat’s mind. When the wind is blowin’ hard, he vacillates about where to go and what to do. Without the wind, he’s willing to risk the rain for a chance of sunshine. When that doesn’t appear, he sounds the alarm to get back into the house. Then we start again.
I found him sitting on the entry way bench yesterday. That was once Tucker’s domain. The bench is located at the intersection between the main hall, foyer, and kitchen. The big black and white cat loved being up front where he could observe everything going on and greet visitors.
“I guess you are the number one cat,” I told Papi. Apparently my tone annoyed him. He jumped down and marched into the living room to groom.
I have the Young Rascals’ jumping cover of “Good Lovin'” in my morning mental music stream. The Neurons who put it there are mum why. Coming out in 1966, it played on the ten-year-old me’s radios all the time, it felt. I love the organ work. The group later shortened their name to the Rascals. The ‘young’ addition to the band’s name was to avoid conflict with the Harmonica Rascals. There was probably a group called the Guitar Rascals that didn’t make it. Funny, but ‘rascals’ is another of those words with an old-fashioned feel and has faded from use.
Interesting outfits on the band in the video. They appear to be wearing compression stockings like the ones I wear. Disappointing sound quality, though.
I have supped with coffee again and now I’m on my way. Hope your day is worthy of your attention. Cheers
I popped the final radish into my mouth and crunched away. That was the last of my lunch. Cleaning up, I noticed my coffee cup still had a few swallows in it.
3:15 PM. Probably not too late for a quick swig.
Swig. Tumblers fell together. Memories cracked open.
Dad offered me a cup. “Here, take a swig of this.”
I don’t remember what was in the cup. I was arrested by swig. “What’s a swig?”
“You never heard that before? It’s a sip, a drink.”
I’d heard of them, along with gulp. Mom was always telling me not to gulp while Dad would encourage me to take a gulp.
I took a swig of the coffee and then another before pouring the rest out and cleaning out the cup. One good swig deserves another.
Many of us who oppose Trump, whether he’s running for office, in office, or just breathing, have consistently pointed out that he uses others. Yet people voted for him by remarking that he speaks for them. And we replied, “Then you’re racist. Sexist. Anti-knowledge. Anti-history. Anti-fact. Anti-science.”
PINO Trusk is proving us right. His supporters and the low-information voters may never realize it. Okay, one to three percent might. (Isn’t that two percent? Yes, and that’s based on some marketing knowledge I acquired years ago.) But what’s that about action speaking louder than words?
‘Equity,’ ‘trauma’, ‘women’, and ‘female’ are among the words that could bring research grants under scrutiny in the US. The National Science Foundation (NSF) is reviewing thousands of ongoing grants to ensure compliance with executive orders issued by former President Donald Trump during his first week in office. These orders mandate the recognition of only two genders, scale back diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives, and have led to the creation of a list of words whose use may trigger a review of funding, according to internal documents reviewed by The Washington Post.
Can it be more clearly stated that you’re sexist if you don’t allow the word ‘women’ to be written? Over half of the population of the United States are women. A vibrant and critical part of how we arrived here as a species and civilizaton, and women can’t be mentioned in National Science Foundation reports in the new Trusk administration.
How fucking backward is that? I thought Trusk, the GOTP, and Project 2025 wanted to drive us back into the 1800s. Wrong; they’re going further than that. Women as a word has been in use since the 12th century. That’s how far back the Trusk administration and the rignions — right-wing minions — are trying to take us.
“He speaks for us, he’s one of us.” And that’s why Alabama went big for Trump in 2024.
They’re probably pretty happy about their pretty situation now.
Here’s how much NIH cuts could cost UA, Tuscaloosa
President Trump’s tariffs: Why Alabama’s thriving car industry will see biggest impact
Trump’s job reduction order could hit most at this major Huntsville employer
Trump executive order leads to $100 energy bill hike for hundreds in Alabama
Alabama Arise: Federal funding cuts could undermine healthcare, education, vital services
Yep, less than a month in, and it’s all going great for Alabama!
Flooflemma (floofinition) – A usually unpleasant choice faced by an animal. Origins: First known use in 1523 in Europe.
In Use: “Facing a major flooflemma between being bored in the house or being outside where it was cold, Papi chose to keep going in and out, causing some friction with his hooman room mates.”
In Use: “Forced into the flooflemma of not eating or eating food she didn’t like, Sunshine lived up to the Floof Code and walked away from the food.”
Mood: hotimeinthehouse
Today’s theme music comes fresh out of The Neuron mill. Walking through the house this morning as dawn asserted its presence, the heat was running. The furnace temp was set on 68 F but the air out of the vents felt blazingly hot on my skin. My SO and I went through our usual comedy skit of me commenting on the hot air and my wife asserting, “Warm at last.”
The Neurons almost instantly fired up “Summer in the City” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark toasted). The 1966 Lovin’ Spoonful song is a paean to a city’s day heat and its impact, and then how life burst forth at night, after the heat has retreated. A perfect song for Wezda, January 15, 2025 in Ashlandia, where it’s 28 F at my place. The sun is shining and the frosty valley is tranquil under a deep blue sky. There’s a freezing fog warning out for us. They said it will expire in about seventy-five minutes. Today’s high will supposedly be 59 F. Supposedly couches the prediction for me because we didn’t get anywhere close to our supposed high yesterday.
There I go, grousing again. Grousing is just not a word that I hear much these days. It was Mom and Dad’s favorite. Both of them would use it regularly in conversations, as in, “Your Aunt Jean was grousing about her children again today.”
After thinking about it part of yesterday, I inserted it into several conversations. Turned out to be a conversation stopper. Fer instance, my wife had gone to a “girls’ night” at a friend’s house. These girls are all in their upper sixties and beyond. The original intention had been to do the do at night but they all protested, “No, I can’t drive in the dark.” So girls’ night was moved to the early afternoon.
When my wife got back, I asked, “Do anyone at girls’ night grouse about anything?”
She stopped and stared at me. “Grouse?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t heard that in years.”
I nodded. “Me, neither. I thought I’d bring it back.”
Alright, coffee and I have signed another cooperative agreement. I have a doctor’s appointment to hit. Then it’s grocery shopping.
Be strong and fly your flag high. Hope your day is going well, wherever you are, whatever the weather. Hope that the wars end soon. That the right wing regains its senses and became less negative, reactionary, and hateful. Hope that the California wildfires are stopped with no more loss of life so they may begin rebuilding.
In other word, I hope. Remember, this year’s word is courage. Here’s the music video. It’s an interesting one to me, watching them perform this song sans any sort of cords, wires, amplifiers, or microphones. Cheers
This is a favorite comment for me. Brian Aldiss was the first editor to reject a short story submission from me. But he was kind and gentle, reassuring me that I obviously had talent and to keep trying. Well, I put writing aside for a while, but I remembered what Mr. Aldiss said and eventually resumed trying.
His rejection reminded me how our words can affect others. I’ve tried to keep it in mind.
Feeling a hungim, I went out and picked up breakfasts burritos — egg, cheese, and potatoes — from our local Market of Choice. A ‘hungim’ is a ‘hungry whim’ for the uninformed.
I’m just trying to keep the language moving forward, or movfor, if you will. Hey, come on, how do you think they emerged with words like ‘yesterday’ in the past?
Now I’m back to drinking my blafee. Yes, black coffee. Cheers
Mood: sunpleastic
December 1! Here at last. Turn the page and count down the days until your holiday of choice and the end of this year as the majority reckon it here in ‘Merica.
That cold front from out of the Arctic is still dominating. Sunday, it’s 32 F out there. Cold air throws our valley. See, that doesn’t work there, does it? Although through is a synonym for blanket, it only works in that capacity as a noun, not a verb. No wonder we’re so often confused.
While it’s 32 F now, that’s up froom the 18 that greeted me at dawn’s start a few hours back. 56 is the whispered high. We’ll see. Yesterday’s projected high was never approached. I think we topped out at 40 F. We have a stagnant air alert going on, and that always affects the temperature’s dance moves.
From a dream comes today’s theme music, “Beat It”. The 1983 Michael Jackson hit is in my morning mental music stream (Trademark icy) after a dream began playing it when the dream faded out. No credits were rolled for the dream, though. I have no idea who produced or directed it. I did star in it but I don’t know the other stars. They weren’t recognized. That’s not to say that they’re not stars in their own rights; I only have access to my dreams. They may have starred in other dreams which were only released to the individual having them.
“Beat It” came out when I was living on Okinawa, an island that’s part of Japan, and site of a major Pacific battle in dubya dubya two. I was there for almost four years as part of my military service. My neighbor, Carol, was so excited about this song and its video. In retrospect, she was a Michael Jackson fan girl. I was okay with the song. Has some interesting vocal and musical elements and tones. I don’t know why it was chosen for the dream’s closing sequence. It didn’t seem at all related to the dream’s context and action. I queried The Neurons about it but they’re as transparent as brick.
Hope your Sunday is a good one and a fine start to December. Coffee and I have renewed our vows and I’m sipping in bliss. Here’s the music. This video shows Slash from GNR standing in to interpret Van Halen’s original solo guitar. Hope you enjoy it. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 