Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I had a minor disagreement the other day.

I had surgery to repair a ruptured tendon last year, in October, 2024. I’ve had pain of various kinds since then. One source of pain was along toes three to five, which was often stiff with burning pain. I’d mentioned it to my surgeon, as it began during my convalescence from surgery. He said that it sounds like a nerve was damaged. I felt the same. Although I’m not a medical expert or doctor, etc., I broke and dislocated a wrist in my late twenties. Pins casts immobilized that wrist and arm. I suffered from a burning, painful sensation along the pin sites after they were removed. My doc back then told me it was probably nerve damage. It did go away after about twenty years. This foot pain felt just like that pain.

While walking the other day, I felt a sudden sharp and painful snap in my foot where the toe pain resides. After gasping and slowing for a second, I resumed walking. Lo, that foot pain was gone. It hasn’t come back.

I was so elated. I went home and told my wife. She responded, “Why is this the first that I’m hearing about this?”

One, it wasn’t the first she was hearing about it. She’d forgotten me mentioning it, but I spoke about in early January of this year. I don’t blame her for forgetting it. We don’t remember everything we’re told.

Two was a broader philosophical position. Basically, I don’t tell her about every pain I endure. I’m aging, and have pains from time to time. Feet, ankle, hips, neck, shoulder, back, abdomen, eyes, etc. Those pains often go away. Their duration can last anywhere from a few hours to a week. Sometimes they limit movement, and more rarely limit my activities. My point is, pain comes and goes. I prefer to not complain. And then means, to me, not mentioning.

And there’s a little history in that. Number one was Mom. Mom as a mother often told us to stop crying, stop whining, stop complaining. She wanted us to be happy children. If we couldn’t be happy, she wanted us to be quiet.

Then there’s history with my wife about this. Long ago, when I was twenty, I was severely sick for several days. We didn’t see doctors back then for things like that. Basically vomiting, not eating, listless, sweating a lot, lot of pain. That pain resulted in some moaning and groaning.

Yeah, I got over it and lived. But about a year later, my wife was speaking to others and talked about what a baby I was when I was sick and hurt. That insulted and angered me. I told her so when we were alone. It since became a theme for her to talk about how often men complain about being sick or hurt when women are so much hardier, and more willing to endure. I finally mentioned to my wife that I disliked this reductivism about men and pain. She’s done it off and on since, and once, after seeing me give her a look when she made such a statement, apologized and claimed that she wasn’t including me. Since then, she’s slowly drifted out of the habit.

But this is how we evolve. We have our basic attitudes and tendencies, and then we react to our environment. Part of that is how we react to what we hear. What is said about us, especially by those we love, admire, and trust. Maybe I’m being thin-skinned, but words matter. Part of my problem, too, is that I seem to have a very strong memory. I don’t easily forget or forgive.

I guess that’s my bottom line.

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

While driving on an errand, I heard a radio DJ — do they still call them that? — talking about boomers. “Boomers hate the word seniors and are out to change it,” she said. “Sorry, boomers, but you can’t. You must own what you are.”

I laughed. I’m a boomer. “Sorry, sugar,” I answered the radio. “I’m a boomer. I don’t need to do anything. I can make up and apply terms and use them as I want. Says so on the net. Just ask Trump. He’s always making things up.” Of course, Trump makes things up in a bad way. I think I do it in a good way.

For the record, I’m not a senior. Nor do I ‘age’. I’m leveling up, as in a video or internet game. The higher your level, the rarer and more special you are. I think this works, as it aligns with some thinking that reality might be a cosmic video game, a simulacrum.

For the record, I’ve at level 69. Mom celebrates level 90 next month and Dad celebrates level 93.

Thirstda’s Wandering Thoughts

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.

Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

Another meaningless irritation has crowded my thoughts. I read a headline:

21-year-old sailor Angelina Resendiz goes missing from Navy barracks in Virginia

My thoughts traveled the well-used circuits of curiosity and concern along the lines of, what happened to her, and I hope she’s alright.

Another part of me rose up with irritation about ‘goes missing’.

I know. It’s a well-established idiom but it annoys me. It’s right up there with ‘I was thinking in my head’. I’ll spare you my irritation with that one. ‘Gone’ missing and its companion phrases like ‘went’ missing irk me. They’re added and unneeded words. They’re unthinking words to me and don’t add understanding. If anything, using that idiom distracts from the news being imparted because some of us pause to note they’ve used the idiom, which is pretty lazy writing.

Anyway, I hope the culinary specialist is found safe. I would add, ‘unharmed’ because that’s what I often read. But…well, you can probably guess why I don’t.

Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

I learned more new stuff yesterday. I’d never heard of ‘reverse harem’. So I looked it up: romance where a woman has multiple love interests.

In the course of exploring that, I discovered vore, a shortening of vorarephilia: an erotic desire to be eaten or to consume someone. I’ve never had such a desire and it’s alien to me. But I can see how it can be a part of a character or plot. Imagine building this into stories about aliens or time travel. How ’bout a vore time-traveler with an erotic interest in eating other time-travelers? Or a human with a desire to be eaten by aliens?

Then I learned about agnotology: the study of deliberate, culturally induced ignorance or doubt.

I’m constantly amazed by how little I know. I definitely need to expand my spheres of thinking and socializing.

Sunda’s Theme Music

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

Munda’s Theme Music

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

Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts

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.

Thurzda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

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!

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