Tag: writing

Trump in his Own Words

A brief history of Trump claims through the years.

How Epstein is a close friend. Trump will fix affordability; affordability is a hoax! He’ll balance the budget. Iran’s military has been destroyed.

I suspect that if someone confronted Trump with all of these claims, he would scream, “Fake news!” He’d claim, “That’s not what I said.” Then he would attack the one confronting him. Call them vile. Nasty.

That’s his MO. He cannot face the truth and can’t handle the facts.

For the record, affordability is a crisis for many Americans. Oil and gas prices are flirting with record highs.

His war with Iran is nearing its fifth month.

The Epstein files are still not released. The ballroom is still being built, and the US taxpayer is being billed.

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More First World Blues

My wife lost her phone.

So, I’m changing information in online accounts. The procedures were all originally all set up for us do online — technological DIY, if you will — back in the Internet’s infancy. Since then, the net has been terrorized by security threats and thefts.

Anway, the saga begins…

I log into my account. Navigate to my profile. Go to the phone numbers. Try to change the number.

Can’t!

Because I have already added that number.

I attempt to delete that number.

Can’t!  

In order to do that, they want to text me a security code on the number I’m attempting to delete because the number is no longer valid.

Yet, that’s listed as the primary contact. I can’t move the other name up. It has a strange, inexplicable logic to it.

No other options are available online. My only choice is to call them and explain it all.

It’s a technological catch 22.

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A Windy Night

This post is part of SoCS, promoted by Linda Hill:

After drinking beer, he got his wind up, passed some wind, and then ran like the wind when he realized he was late for his flight to the Windy City.

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First World Blues: The Phone Saga

I entered the house.

My wife looked at me with hope. “Did you find my phone?”

“What?” I asked.

She explained. She’d called and left messages. She’d lost her phone.

My phone never rang.

After cursing that, I examined my settings. The phone should have rung. It’s possible it rang and I didn’t hear it.

Anyway…

My wife lost her phone. She thought it happened at the coffee shop. I called them to ask if they had found it. They looked all over as I called the number.

“No, sorry,” Katie told me.

We drove over to the coffee shop to look for ourselves. No sign of the phone.

Then I got a phone call from her phone. Children were making a prank call.

I tried talking to them. I offered a reward. I texted them with an offer to buy the phone back.

No response.

After two days of trying, my wife accepted, the phone was gone. She needed to cancel the service for that number.

She called the support center.

A bot answered. It explained it was a bot and asked her what her problem was.

My wife explained the situation.

“Hold on,” the bot said. A few minutes later, it came back on the line. “Can you explain your problem again please?”

My wife did.

“Please hold,” the bot said. “I’ll be right back.”

The back came back and suggested, “Turn your phone off and on.”

“No,” my wife replied. She explained again: she did not have her phone. Her phone was lost. She needed to cancel the service.

“Hold on,” the bot replied. It went away. My wife listened to hold music. The bot came back: “Turn your phone off and on.”

“That won’t work,” my wife answered. “Let me speak to a human.”

The human had her sorted in thirty seconds. If she had spoken to the human in the first place, the call would have been under a minute.

Instead, she was forced to endure having a bot tell her, “Turn your phone off and on.”

AI.

Right.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Ashland, southern Oregon — Friday, July 24, 2026.

It’s a hot, sunny day. 85 F now, 95 later. But the air is free from smoke.

Fasted last night so I could go get some blood tests done today. So then went off and ate breakfast after that was completed.

Then the morning got a little complicated. My wife lost her cell phone. Children found it and wouldn’t return it. Yes, rewards were offered. She didn’t have the phone locator turned on, a choice she made years ago but now regrets. She also didn’t set up phone security. Fortunately, she used it for nothing except texting, games, and phone calls.

BUT —

It was the primary number for receiving security texts for different accounts. So I’ve been going through the very painful process of changing that number with several companies. It isn’t just ‘log in and fix it’; it’s log in — or, call us. Give us your name, DOB, address, social, UserID. Now, take a photo of both sides of your driver’s license. And a selfie. Now hop on your right leg three times, turn in one complete circle, spit toward the sun, and declare, “New phone number” three times.

Classic first world blues.

It’s pretty apparent these days that Trump’s shallow thinking has exhausted its ability to come up with new ideas. Deeply into repeating himself, Trump is inflicting new tariffs on us (even though the US is projected to refund $85B in tariffs and our customs duties receipts are negative $26B in June) and trying to add his name to another building as part of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!

Not surprising, given Trump’s flat ideas and bullying leadership style, Trump is losing staff. Those he chose who were approved by the Senate are escaping while they can. Could be that they know that the mid-terms are looking like another Trump disaster — like:

No worries; he’s not.

We’re becoming the land of the poor, sick, and broken under Trump. According to a Harris Poll, 95% of U.S. adults believe the country is facing a severe affordability crisis.

Still living in a fantasy, Trump thinks the next president will have it great.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

The other way that we can take this quote is that Trump made another Freudian slip. He’s actually acknowledging that he’s doing a shit job, and that anyone after him will look much better in comparison.

Given his declining physical appearance and the way he often babbles, I wonder if he’ll be alive to see the next Oval Office inhabitant.

Maybe Trump will pull a Mitch McConnell. That might be even why the GOP isn’t trying very hard to prove Mitch is still alive; they’re testing the waters to do the same with Trump.

Today’s song came to me as I was driving and thinking, returning home from my lab visit. I had the radio off, thinking about my dreams from last night. With my daily routine shifted, I thought, “Come up for air.” From that, “Miracle Mile” by Cold War Kids began playing in my morning mental music stream.

May the season’s winds carry you to a happy, healthy, and safe future.

Cheers

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The Sisters Dream

I was with several of my sisters. We were all younger than now.

Don’t know where we exactly were. Outside. Mostly flat and sort of muddy to start.

I’d been off doing something and then returned, looking for them, as it was time to go. I found them by a large broken cement sewer pipe coming out of the base of a dirt hill. Multiple bottles and trash was there.

One of the sisters asked, “Michael, can you help us? We want to clean up these bottles but we don’t know how.”

They had two large plastic containers with a spout on top. Way too small to put the bottles in. So I tore the top of the plastic away. They thanked me and we loaded the bottles up, often breaking them. Some bottles were already broken. As they warned me to be careful, I picked up the bottles and put them in the plastic. Then I carried those away, depositing them somewhere safe.

I was ready to go, so I began walking. My sisters were several hundred yards away. I wanted time to myself. Deciding to avoid them, I began running. My sisters called my name: I ignored them, running faster.

I crossed the muddy plain and then ended up on a highway’s wide shoulder. Traffic was heavy to my right. Dusk was coming. Left was a lot of new constructions: houses and stores were being built, but was suspended for the night.

I thought, wow, that’s a lot of construction. The construction and changes threw me off. I hadn’t been in the area for a while. Confused about where I was going, I decided to go back to my sisters.

Turning around, I gawked with some amazement. I hadn’t realized how far and fast I’d run. Running back, my speed amazed me even more.

I reached the spot where I’d last seen my sisters. They weren’t visible. I called them; no answer.

Then I found them, along with their previous husbands, and more of my family. I looked for my wife but she wasn’t there. I saw my younger sister’s ex-husband, JJ, and said hello to him, adding, “Good to see you.”

The group told me we were going to Sharon and John’s. She’s my sister and that’s her husband. Then the group kind of wandered around, dawdling. Impatient, I went to Sharon and John’s house.

It was a small place. In the dining room was a large oval, polished wood table. Arrayed in front of it on one side were three rows of seven baby highchairs. They were different colors and ages. Each had a placard on it.

I was mystified. Like, what’s going on here? Is this where they expected us – adults – to sit? We wouldn’t fit in those chairs. No, they seemed to be set up for something. Classes for children?

Then the chairs rearranged themselves. Many disappeared. Matthew Perry was seated at one of the tables. Reprising his role as Chandler Bing from “Friends”, he did a few scenes. Except, he was the size of a baby.

John came in. I said, “How was that done,” gesturing to Perry/Bing in a highchair. John explained, “Oh, that’s Matthew Perry. He was in “Friends”.”

I answered, “I know all that, but that’s not him. That’s the size of a child. Is that a puppet? Animation?” It was completely lifelike.

We went back and forth, with John explaining the same thing in almost the same ways. I kept asking questions, trying to clarify it, but never got an answer. My sister came in, interrupting us to announce that there were sandwiches in the other room.

Dream end.

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The Writing Moment

Finished the first draft of “A Tribe Called Death” today.

Began it on impulse in December, 2025. Set it aside to finish “Unfocused”. Wrote and revised five drafts of “Unfocused” before setting it aside to cool at the end of May of this year.

Then I returned to “A Tribe Called Death”. It managed to flow out in very satisfying ways. I didn’t want to write or talk about it because I didn’t want to jinx it — knock wood — so I only spoke about it to my wife from time to time. Never talked about what it was about; only told her about generic writing progress.

Today, I wrote The End.

320 pages. 70,000 words.

A vampire, detective, and the Ministry of Death.

Now I’ll set it aside. Let it cool. Pick up “Unfocused” again tomorrow. Revise and edit it again.

Prepare to submit it to somewhere, someone.

And go on.

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