Black Bears on Crack, ah Floriduh!

Dear you,

We sizzle.  Real feel temperature in Seagrove beach today is 100 degrees. That is positively comfy in contrast to other parts of our USA.  We sizzle and deny, deny, deny this very real climate change.  Florida continues its war on Mother Nature with edicts from the governor, #DeathSantis, like these:  1. The Gov declares no laws in Florida shall mention "climate change".  (Very "don't say gay" in intent.  Forbid the saying of the thing, the people, then  both shall cease to be real.) 2. The Gov also signed into law HB 87 that allows for the slaughter of Black Bears who are displaced by development and extreme weather. Sierra Club tried to gather support against the bill that "would have disastrous consequences for the welfare and safety of Florida wildlife and residents alike. Built upon the falsehood that Florida faces an epidemic of “crackbears”, HB 87 would usurp the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission’s (FWC) sole constitutional authority to regulate wildlife and exempt people from any administrative, civil or criminal penalties for killing a bear if: The person is believed that it was necessary to avoid imminent death or serious bodily injury to their self, another person or a pet; and the person didn’t intentionally or recklessly put their self or pet in a situation where they would need to use lethal force."  

Yes, anti-wildlife, fearful folks will pull the trigger if Yogi and BooBoo are digging through a garbage can searching for food. The comical reasoning about crack came from one representative who said bears have consumed drugs and are now on a rampage.  Again, from Sierra Club, their Florida Political Director Luigi Guadaramma, “Rather than addressing real problems like the property insurance crisis, climate change, or affordability, legislators have prioritized a fantasy. There have been zero people killed by ‘crack bears’ in Florida, and there are zero reasons why HB 87 should be signed into law.”

But of course it was signed into law. #Floriduh. We sizzle, we deny, we kill.

You and I know who is on crack, and it isn't the bears. 

Keep your head up!  Hope is hard to tap into now, but we have to try.  Do what you can.

Bless the wild things everywhere.

Joyce out

Post-Trust Days

Dear you,

Post-D Day tributes, post-Trump criminal conviction, post-trust.  Here we are.  My day began fully post-trust when a scam caller tried to convince me someone had opened a checking account in my name at an institution I do not bank at and this person had also used Zelle to send money to someone named Jennifer.  "Let me connect you to a Zelle Rep to clear this up."  Uh, no.  I said I would just call the bank in question directly and take it from there.  Click.  As expected, big scam.  Such a shame, isn't it?  So very post-trust.  I don't even trust my supermarket, a behemoth chain here in Florida.  The pricing is ridiculous, gouge-worthy indeed.  And they are running a TV ad now that is perplexing and insulting.  Cue music for "Bittersweet Symphony".  

Hear the lovely orchestration?  It is mysterious and lovely.  The ad only uses the music, no lyrics. But for those of us who know the song and its lyrics, this choice seems way off for a store that wants to keep it light, happy, wants to emphasize the shopping pleasure found in its aisles.  Put simply, the lyrics are dark:

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, that's life

Tryna make ends meet, tryna find somebody then you die

I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down

You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah

You know I can change, I can change

I can change, I can change

But I'm here in my mold

I am here in my mold

And I'm a million different people

From one day to the next

I can't change my mold

No, no, no, no, no

So, paying attention to the words the music sets up, I guess the grocery company defines me as someone who just tries to make ends meet, buys over-priced foodstuffs, and then dies. I cannot change or resist the mold of shopping normalcy.  If they want my trust, they shouldn't assume I won't recall the lyrics when I hear the music; they shouldn't assume I am that stupid and memory-free.  I am now totally post-trust in terms of this company.

Don't worry, I won't starve.  Walmart just opened a new marketplace store just a few miles down the road.  It is clean, sells upscale products and fresh-fresh produce, and is staffed by chill, not-fake-friendly workers. That I can trust.

Word to those who make us post-trust:  we won't fall for phone scams or TV ads that assume we have no cultural knowledge.

We CAN change our molds enough to survive post-trust and work for a trust renaissance.

Cheers to that!

Love, Joyce

Tell-Tale Couch

Dear you,

Memorial Day.  Solemn and gracious memories we offer to those who serve and served.  I recall my Dad who fought in WW2 and the Korean War and Mom who worked as an Army nurse. Their serious service makes me proud.  I remember them, recalling stories large and small.  On the small side, I remember how they had a hard time parting with old things, especially furniture.  Our beach house had a stained wreckage of a couch in the den that they just lived with.  Here, in the beach world of hard-to-find labor, I suppose it was easier to do that than struggle to hire a handyperson.  Which brings me to my recent "crime" of ridding myself of a final piece of a hideous sectional couch:

A week or so ago, I couldn't take the old couch thing being in my world any longer.  I dragged it downstairs and placed it under the stairway.  Unwilling to take the tacky and easy way out (which is when owners dump their old furnishings and even appliances in our garbage dumpster enclosure),  I told our somewhat sketchy property manager what I had done and asked for his assistance to remove the thing.  As expected, no responsive action.  Days passed and finally another owner in my building had a handyman on site to do some work.  I tossed him a twenty and asked if he could take the blob away to wherever he took disposables.  "Sure!"  Hurrah!  But that was not the end of it.

Think about Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart".  In that story, a man murders an old dude with a creepy eye and stashes his body under the floor of his flat.  Not the end of that disposal either, he is haunted by the sound of a beating heart that drives him mad.  His crime will not let him go.  The old man, in his way, remains.  So it was/is, sort of, with me.  After the handyman's removal of my couch, I discovered it hadn't gone far.  While strolling around the condo complex, I looked over to a construction site next door.  By their dumpster sat the big blobby sectional, muddy and ratting me out.  Who does that?  Well, sketchy property manager probably saw it and thought I did that, dumping junk at a neighbor's construction site.  Now, many days later, it still sits there.  Like the tell-tale heart, it testifies to my failure to get rid of my junk in a responsible way.  Crimes in the name of minimalism.  Dad and Mom would never do that. (Smile.)

Best to all on this Memorial Day.

Be mindful of what you imagine you've disposed of.

Love,

Joyce

Inflation Pressure!

Dear you,

Morning news informed me that the inflated cost of food is headed down, slightly and slowly.  Good news on that topic.  But, my chosen brand of smokes now costs $15.29 a pack.  Interesting point of inflation, the oft-claimed election year top ranked concern for voters. One gal's inflation might just be another gal's motivation, another opportunity to expand her resiliency skills.  Why resilient?  It takes "bendiness" and bounce-back to not blame the current powers that be (in The White House) for our aching wallets and feelings of forced austerity.  The Dems have nothing to do with this.  Or any of the rising prices of edibles and smokables.  And I am tired of hearing rants about how a change in leadership (a.k.a. surrendering to MAGA/Donald) will make all things better, cheaper, steadier.  

Many ranters from the red side are denying the relevance of the erasure of women's rights, the hair-on-fire need to deal with climate change, the creeping loss of intellectual and even personal freedom.  Their "top two" issues?  The border and inflation.

Who are these people who buy into those programmed, heavily advertised fears? Who is that gal who runs to bow before the probable autocratic next reign of Trump simply because her cigarettes cost more than some world citizens earn in a day?

She ain't me.  I am resisting that pressure.

Now, as for how to adjust, resiliently handle this wallet-shock, here is what I can/will do as advised by Indiana University Health.  Instead of reaching for that cigarette: march in place, drink water, brush and floss, play with my cat, sing, do laundry, take a walk. Okay. Since I do those things frequently already, what are they advising?  Should I bloat myself into an H20 coma, annoy whoever is under me in the condo with maniacal stomping, interrupt my cat's napping hobby and start washing one pair of socks at a time?  At least those actions are somewhat necessary anyway and will not DRIVE me to smoke like these suggestions:  go to an amusement park, explore my genealogy, hug someone.  Amusement parks are hell; discovering dark ancestral secrets could be traumatic; hugging the locals and guests in this zone, yikes.  Thanks for the tips, but I prefer to shell out the $15.29. And, as confessed before, continue to pretend I'm immortal.  And rich.

Time to catch up on the Trump trial coverage, the cross-examination of Michael Cohen. Yikes again. This too will drive me to light up.

Stay cool, stay frugal, and avoid inflation-fear ranters.

Love, 

Joyce

The War on Stupid

Dear you,

Futile and exhausting. My efforts to rise above the prevailing tide of stupid here in the Florida Panhandle are, currently, in epic fail mode.  I'd say at this point, after five years of ownership in condo-world, I have a total of five allies, five out of more than a hundred.  The favorable five don't just echo my views. They do, however, share my aim to not be STUPID. We six are seriously outnumbered in our war on stupid. Here's an anecdote, an example of what we deal with in enemy territory:

A few nights ago, the owner of the ground floor unit in my corridor informed me that she "personally didn't like Biden" (personally?) and is supporting RFK Jr.  Instead of walking away with a cheery "have a good night", I went there (so yes, that was STUPID of me) and asked "You support the isolationist, anti-science, anti-vax dude?"  Ground floor gal voiced her fear of the COVID vax specifically because she "read" it changed our bodies in a bad way.  Me:  "Are you talking about that whole DNA idiocy?"  Her:  "Yes."  Me:  "Then you've studied this mRNA vaccine carefully.  Educate me on the basics. What is the difference between RNA and DNA?"  Her:  "Well, I don't really know but blah blah blah blah." This time I made the not-stupid choice and walked away. It could have ended there but NO.  I just had to toss a double "fuck you" over my shoulder.  Rise above effort, epic fail. But why am I the one who has to make an effort?  RFK Jr., really? 

See the recent interview with Bill Maher. Candidate K asserted that "There is 25 percent of Americans who believe that they know somebody who was killed by a COVID vaccine." And your point is what, candidate? That 25% of us are delusional? They believe things like "information" found on South Carolina's government website.  There, they declare that "the Pfizer mRNA vaccine is contaminated", containing pieces of DNA that are "likely to damage the human genome". When this 25% was googling away looking for facts that fit their beliefs, they clicked deep into that shit! I guess they skipped the piece from Scientific American (Jan., 2024) titled "No, COVID mRNA Vaccines Won't Damage Your DNA", the article opening with something you would hope they never had to say:  "You have a better chance of becoming Spider-Man than being harmed by DNA from COVID vaccines." 

Look, I know I might be very wrong.  All I know is that the COVID vaccination might have made me sleepy and achy day one, but it didn't kill me.  In fact, since I was immersed in a COVID-denying locale dealing with unmasked, un-vaxed sneezers and geezers and never caught the virus, I am thinking the vax probably saved my life. And even if future research reveals that I will indeed transform into Spider-Woman, I'd rather be an arachnid than an idiot.

End!

Love, Joyce

SCOTUS depression

Dear you,

Our Supreme Court is depressing me again.  During arguments about whether January 6 Rioters could be rightly charged with interrupting an official government proceeding, justices raised questions like this:

Alito:  "Let's say that today while you're arguing, five people get up, and they shout either, 'Keep the Jan. 6 insurrectionists in jail,' or 'Free the Jan. 6 patriots.'  And our police officers have to remove them forcibly - would that be a violation of this statute?"  Ridiculous.  Trying to compare a vocal interruption with a violent attempt to take over the Capitol and stop the certification of a presidential election. Well, we all know what Alito wants. 

And then there is the stellar case about whether homeless people can be fined for sleeping outside in a rural Oregon community. The homeless people in Grants Pass have camped out in a park near a pickleball court, apparently bringing too much reality to the game players there.  A raid emptied the tents of many, including one that sheltered an eighty year-old man and a woman blind in one eye.  They were at risk of being fined for staying too long.  Fined.  As if they have the means to pay that fine.  Cruel, just cruel.  As is often said these days, I suppose cruelty is the point.  Who knows how this case will be decided, but considering the callous makeup of SCOTUS, I fear those homeless folks will be even more screwed than they are now.

Power to punish the homeless; power to protect insurrectionists. It is all just so backwards.  And depressing.

Antidote for this, a way to get my mind off of Supreme disfunction?  Eyes up, look out:

There they are, green again, leafy and swaying in the breeze. The crepe myrtle trees that survived the HOA's (a condo version of the Supreme Court) instructions to annihilate some of them (or most) defiantly thrive.  So pretty, so perfect, so above it all.  Glorious.  And soon they shall bloom:

That's it.  That's enough for today.

Love,

Joyce

Blasphemy 101

Dear you,

So many weeks since I've typed something here. I 've been eyes-wide-open stunned into speechlessness once again by the local, the national and the global.  

Local:  Spring break nearly broke us on 30A.  Early March brought mindless noise-makers from Tennessee and Texas who rocked the neighborhoods. Party in the condo!  Early April brought large crowds from the metro-Atlanta area who rocked everything - Walton County law enforcement had to close the 30A beaches to minors after 7 P.M. for a week. 

National:  Donald Trump rules the airwaves with his increasingly vile rhetoric and grifter stunts.  My favorite recently?  His personally endorsed TRUMP BIBLE for $59.99. The Bible. WTF? Who would buy that?  God in heaven, who is that blasphemously stupid?  Answers can be found on X.  One cult supporter who often posts with the hashtag "persistence" is a surefire customer.  Today, he celebrates efforts in Pennsylvania to register voters at gun shows, an upcoming WrestleMania event, and among the Amish community.  The Amish.  I just can't.

Global:  Wars rage on; Palestinian children starve; Ukrainians fight on - without enough bullets or air defense - as our far-right GOP bows to Putin and denies aid; the earth quakes beneath our feet in Taiwan and New Jersey; and another hot summer is on the way.

Enough already.  I have no fresh perspectives on any of this.  However, I do have The Onion, my favorite satirical news source, to at least lift my spirits.  See their "Best Parts of Trump's $60 'God Bless the USA' Bible".  Loving these bits:

"Jesus encounters 5,000 hungry people and runs them over with pickup truck."

"Israelites have been renamed - In order to make them seem less Jewish, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob now go by Tucker, Rudy, and Ted Nugent."

"Blasphemy Matches - The inside cover includes a set of easy-strike matches for burning all heretical, non-Trump versions of the Bible."

"Upgradable - For an extra $20 you can get one that says adultery is okay."

Hilarious!  I may be short on sassy thoughts these days, but at least I can still appreciate the sass of others.  There is an art in their kind of resistance. And if things go badly in November, we are going to need a massive amount of "art".

Cheers to those who never lose their words.

Love,

Joyce