Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
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
Sitting here reading a food review. It’s a food gift basket for Mom. Reviewer says that the food in their gift basket was “delicious and tasty”.
My Neurons sat up straight. Aren’t those the same?
No. I always thought of them as being closely related but displaying a difference of degrees. Tasty is a less enthusiastic embrace of something.
“How was the chicken?”
“It was tasty.”
That’s a thin endorsement to me. I’m hedging. Something was wrong with it but I’m trying to put a positive tag on it.
Delicious, however, is an unreserved endorsement.
“How was the chicken?”
“It was delicious.”
To me, if it’s delicious, I’m unabashedly pleased.
So they’re not literally the same to me but in this world, they probably could be said to be literally the same. But in no way I would ever describe something as tasty and delicious. It’s one or the other.
I’m chatting with the barista. He tells me my order will be up soon. I ask him, “Did you ring me up?”
He’s completely confused.
I straighten it out, explaining that I wanted to know if he’d charged me, and walk away, laughing. It used to be — a classic beginning to an explanation about change — that cash registers made a ringing sound when transactions were totaled for payment. How long has it been since I’ve heard a cash register ring? As a result, ‘ring me up’ entered society as a popular expression for paying for purchases.
As an aside, my wife had one of those mechanical, ringing registers in her house. Her father, a grocery store manager, procured it when his store upgraded to an electronic system. The register’s ring reminded him of the little stores where they’d shop in his small town.
He said that he never wanted to forget them.
I found myself thinking about Chris Woods this morning. He’s a friend who died of cancer a few years ago.
Egregious: that’s why I was thinking of him. I was using the word in my head. That triggered The Neurons to remember a time when I was having a beer with Chris and he used the word. One of many reasons I enjoyed Chris’s company is because he would correctly use words like egregious. As one friend said, “my conversations with Chris were never long enough or ever finished.”
And then, since the door was opened, apparently, I thought of the late, great Quinn, a little sweetheart of a cat who lived with me for over ten years. Like Chris, cancer chased the life out of Quinn. Never more than eight pounds, he packed a huge personality into that little being.
It’s weird and odd and other words about how our mind works on its own. So don’t mind me and my memories of the dead.
I don’t mind.
Quinn, not Chris, watching something.
Weird how subpar is unacceptable or below standards for so many things, but it’s pursued as a good outcome in golf.
Words. I’m telling you, they’re literally fascinating.
Michael Seidel, writer 