Newest of the new years!

  

Dear you:

Just a few hours away from the eve of 2014.  Join me, Anderson and Kathy via screen.

I cannot promise the rule shown on Mr. Cooper's sign shown above will be obeyed.

Let it rip!

Kisses,
Me

Another semester down and done - can it be 2014 on the way?

Hello dear you!

Yes.  Here in the Panhandle, I wrapped up a full fall semester at the new college -- composition, American Literature, and some sort of strange reading-prep course (which was peopled with many adorable types who really didn't need remediation).   This is another show closed (until spring semester gives me another gig and gaggle of students) and it featured:  bad girls who fought each other Jerry Springer style in class, literature students who didn't find it necessary to read the texts, formidable paper writers among the "let me pass this course" crew, and a generally surprising success rate.  According to me.   I may or may not be teaching this coming spring -- enrollments and the usual factors to be considered-- so I press on to the 2014 project.  Any suggestions there?



Today's posting photo:

  Yes, I am one of those shoppers who randomly purchased something at Target between Nov. 27 and now.  And yes, that puts a target on me for identity theft etc. since the newsworthy break occurred.  Something like 40 million shoppers got their card numbers (both credit and debit) hacked.     I have no concrete news of strange transactions, but I am screaming with my 40 million friends:   OH HELL NO!!!!!

Bad time of year to be checking your accounts every three seconds.

Tra la.

Seeing Mom for Christmas, in her Rehab-hospital world.

And then, the New Year here in Beach World.  The theme for 2014:  the year of inappropriate behavior.  Why not inspire something out of my current busy-survival-but-chilled-out mode.

Continue the struggle :)

Ms. Joyce here, there and the next place . . .

November!!??

 

Dear you:

Two months have passed since my last mini-entry, and you can blame the gap on fall semester biz:  Composition, American Literature, and a very strange "basic reading" class to teach.  Here in La Panhandle, at "GCSC" (abbreviation will suffice), I am grateful for the gig and actually surprised enough work came through.  Meanwhile, a flurry of goo spins us around:  a killer typhoon this week, internet system dramas halting the ACA implementation, and the usual suspects shutting down the government to "protect us" from that Affordable Care Act.  Clearly, the resistance is all about the President.  The star of this fiesta is the man from Texas featured in the telling photo above.

Seriously, Dude.  What are you doing with that rifle and ammunition-clip-looking thing?  Going after dancers, professors and ACLU members?

He should provide LOTS of comedy in the next election cycle.
Crazy Cruz.

Beach-life still rules.   The Gulf is clear and blue-green wonderful.  The water is cooling now, but I shall buy a wetsuit for full immersion.   However, yes, I am slightly alienated here, well, largely alienated. (Reading the late David Foster Wallace's biography and essays again reminded me of a term he would say applies:  solipsism. I avoid "going there", but trips to the college or Walmart -- OHN-- aren't that stimulating.  Whatever.)   However, it is worth it, keeping the neighbors at bay.

Gratitude month is here.  Thankful.  Quickly followed by the horror of America's obsession with Christmas.  About that, I saw a local commercial featuring a car salesman whose southern accent would rival the Duck Dynasty cast.  He droned on and on about how his business was "Christmas friendly" and then the camera turned to his children.  It gets worse.  The well-rehearsed offspring then chanted, "Happy Birthday Jesus."  Where the hell am I?  Really, I know they must be good people, but something about this huge demonstration of BELIEF (as opposed to FAITH) creeps me out. 

It's a brave new zip code :)
Must run for TV news input.

Love,
Joyce Here and Now

All is well . . . but location oddities continue here in the Panhandle :)

  Hi you!

In Reese's movie, her character says at one point:  "you need a passport to come down here."
And that is what I am saying too, referencing some of my confusing encounters here and ESPECIALLY when I drive up to visit Mom in not so sweet and certainly not "home" Alabama.

All is really (seriously) well as this adventure continues.  The local, fabulous college has loaded me up with a rich roster of classes (from American Literature to Composition) and even as the rain falls and falls and falls, I am staying afloat.

So . . . the world:
What the hell is up with Syria?
Does that Kruz dude from Texas really think he can shut down the government?
Why on earth did the Patriots lose to the Detroit Lions this week in a preseason game?

As I ponder those head-tilting questions, I will say goodnight for now.
Just rushing.
And being.
And loving my dips in the way warm Gulf of Mexico.

Kisses -
Ms. Fleming


 

Sister blogger . . . I got your back!

Hello you!

The daily news features yet another crime by the humorless against the humorous:




This is a former reporter from a Huntsville, Alabama (of course) news channel, Shea Allen.  She got canned for being . . . clever.  And for thinking the First Amendment applied to her. 

Here's an excerpt from the story on www.today.com:

"Even though it was written during time off from work, a blog post titled “No Apologies: Confessions of a Red Headed Reporter” didn’t fly well with her bosses.
Among the “confessions”: she’s frightened of old people and refuses to do stories involving them; her best sources have a secret crush on her, and she’s gone without a bra during a live report — and no one noticed.
Allen thought it was all in good fun, but her bosses clearly didn’t get the joke. Allen says she was fired three days after she posted the “confessions.” The station has told NBC News that it couldn’t comment on personal matters.
“I was being snarky and funny; I certainly didn’t think it would come to this,” she told NBC’s Janet Shamlian in a report that aired Tuesday on TODAY. “I know it sounds like a cliché, but I’m in this business to make a difference. My ability to do so has been taken away.”

WTF is going on?

Well, sister, I wish I hadn't deleted my previous years of blog entries about St. Pete and its college that got me . . . implicitly, if not directly, ousted.  (Hell, I didn't care.  I was moving anyway!)

But really, when will this Puritanical nonsense stop?

Everybody get on board, and read Allen's blog.
Cheers to you, lady.
You are well out of that place.

Love,
Joyce

Techno-rage and Mom in the hospital . . .

Dear you:

Hot July wraps around me/us and I am wasting too much time trying to connect to devices:

1.  My lovely mobile phone and its provider (the big V) drops and fails and I need this since the news on Mom is she is in the hospital. Her leg is being treated for an infection she tried to fix herself . . . in denial.  Mortality.

2.  My lovely internet connection went down as I tried to work online for that educational company (the big P) --  I am trying to avoid litigation with this abbreviation strategy, sorry.  Other techno-tools necessary for that work were all "glitching" too.  I love that.  Whenever I contact the tech wizards in any institutional/corporate situation,  they simply say things are "glitching".

I am going to adopt that phrase!

Scenario:  When one of my credit accounts (let's say the big C) wants a payment, I can just shrug and say I can't "due to glitching".

Next scenario:  When an annoying person calls me from, for example, the past and done creepy St. Pete., I can just hang up and pretend the dissing of said caller is "due to glitching".

These imagined scenarios could go on and on.

But why spin in the dark side?  There is a new royal prince in the U.K., pro-football pre-season is not far away, and the garbage pickup is on time today here in the Panhandle.

Those are really lame reasons to be cheery, aren't they?  But that is the best I can come up with.
That is probably "due to glitching".

Wish luck to Mom -- healing in the institutional zone of hospital world.

Love and other attitudes,
Ms. Joyce

No no no no no . . . an atrocity in our judicial system.

The verdict is in. Zimmerman was found not guilty.

This is simply horrifying.  A young man targeted for who he was . . . physically.  This is an awful, awful night for us all.

Gun owners get to do what they want simply fueled (and apparently now justified) by a fantasy fear?  This is a nightmare.

And here I am.  All free and fine.  I could bop into any random condo complex here in north Florida and not be "seen" as dangerous.  Not so for Mr. Martin.

Mr.Martin, just walking around.  Just going home.  Just being.  Just being.  And now, just dead.

I know there was doubt and doubt is enough to not convict someone.  I get it.  I should want that always to be the rule.  But . . . there is more.  So much more in this case.

I am sad, so sad, and wonder why I am here, in a fucking Panhandle locale that is virtually all white.  All white and all wrong.  Oh my.  What can I do?

My sorrow and regrets go to this young man's family.  And I wonder now, what the hell can I do?

Where do I live?  What is this great lie of "freedom"? 

The farce of "stand your grand" law needs to end now. 

Regrets. Do continue in spite of the bullshit.

Your Joyce

4th of July drama drama drama . . .

Dear you:

Happy 4th?  No!  This should be my my job now:




Redneck water ballet.

Check out the last 3 days of weather in the Panama City Beach area.  Record breaking rains and maniac flooding.  I need this, not.

Here in the beach house, the front lawn is now a lake and water is seeping in through the south walls.  I am now skilled in sopping up flood water with beach towels.  Add this to my other new and unwanted skill:  grounds keeping.  WTF.  To make things worse, random "neighbors" keep cruising by in their behemoth vehicles, causing a mini-surf to roll into my lake-yard.  That really helps!  Thanks for driving by, neighbor.

As I type, more rain is falling.  We are beyond record breaking levels.  I've stopped looking for the "inch increase" news on the Weather Channel.  According to the locals, this has not happened here in Inlet Beach -- ever.  (Other than during hurricanes, but that is another "thing".)  So, now that I live here -- more or less -- we have the crappiest 4th of July weekend in commercially recorded history.  I could be trapped here for more days; I am going on four now.  I am so bored.  And so confused.  What is going on in my experience zone?  Since 2011, it has just been bizarre.  Tedium challenges, like this flood-in.

Meanwhile, a jet crash lands at San Francisco airport, a coup occurs in Egypt, and the Zimmerman trial continues. George is way too cold (except when his relatives get on the stand and speak glowingly about him -- then, he gets all teary because it is all about HIM). 

I suppose I should close with a good thought.

Give me a minute, I am trying to come up with one.

Oh, never mind.

Kisses and basic regards,
Ms. Fleming - still in exile

Miss Paula and Master George . . .

 
Hello you!

Oh, that's the wrong Paula.  But I'd ask the same (sort of) question featured in that image to the other, not-so-cute Paula.  The one all over today's news-buzz.  Seriously, Ms. Deen, are you high?

What is up with this "I grew up in another time and place" crap?  I was born in segregated Birmingham and that messed up situation is something I never "absorbed".  In fact, it was like living in a Twilight Zone episode. If there is a generation who should totally shun racism and any of its weapons or words, it should be us -- those raised in the Southern sinkhole of Jim Crow, Paula D. and me.


But what do I know.  I'm an ex-dancer and an adjunct English instructor without the proper apologetic credentials or modest underwear. 

Today, CNN is featuring the Paula Deen drama in tandem with the latest on Mr. Snowden, Mandela's precarious health and the George Zimmerman trial.  But it is the "little" stories of Paula and George that are fusing in my head.  And I don't mean the stories of Paula Abdul and Boy George (I wish).  Fat Paula and fearful George represent the new reactive mentality, prompted by the election of a brilliant, dark President (who is someone I support even as I throw dishes across the room when I consider Gitmo, First Amendment violations and considerable support given to the horrible oil companies).

Chauncey De Vega's blog says it just right.  This is what I am thinking, and Chauncey says it better than I can:

"Food celebrity Paula Deen’s admission in a recent anti-discrimination lawsuit that she routinely uses racial slurs such as “nigger”, and how she yearns for a return to Jim and Jane Crow America, is an almost perfect moment where she broke the metaphorical fourth wall of racism in the Age of Obama. 

In her deposition she explained how:

[W]hen asked if she wanted black men to play the role of slaves at a wedding she explained she got the idea from a restaurant her husband and her had dined at saying, “The whole entire waiter staff was middle-aged black men, and they had on beautiful white jackets with a black bow tie.

“I mean, it was really impressive. That restaurant represented a certain era in America…after the Civil War, during the Civil War, before the Civil War…It was not only black men, it was black women…I would say they were slaves.” 

Such images remain potent in American popular culture. And for some white folks of a certain age, as well as those possessed of a conservative, Right-wing political orientation, such images embody “real America”, and a "simpler" time before black and brown folks "forgot their place", the gays and lesbians came out of the closet, and women embraced feminism." 

Hooyah, Mr. De Vega.  There it is.

Now, imagine my joy (read this as sarcasm please) when I drive up to Alabama this week to visit Mom and get to hear the bigots spew "reverse racism" nonsense in defense of that Crisco-dripping-kitchen-hag, Paula.  And, similarly, their defense of George, the man who uses his Second Amendment rights because he can't handle a verbal battle or (if this is what happened) a manly little fist-fight.  

So.  What I know is this:  their time is up.  With or without them, we are moving on.

Depending on what state you live in.

Signing off with kisses and so many cheers for the Miami Heat's NBA victory.  Gotta love that.

Your Joyce

Absolutely fabulous!

Dear you:

There she is . . . Miss Utah . . . speechifying.  Something like "create better education" was her response to a question about income inequality.  Your major bloggers are way ahead of me here, posting comparisons to Miss South Carolina's response about why Americans didn't know basic geography (map shortage -- like in "the Iraq").  Seriously, Miss Utah sounds positively Mensa material compared to her southern belle comrade in pageants.

But look at the picture!  Why are we obsessed with botched answers when the microphone holders reveal a truly shocking truth about America:  pink net dresses and Jersey Shore menswear are coming back.  If we keep this up, we won't need to worry about national security "issues" (I feel restrained and won't even mention the darling boy's name or the current "problem") because we will crumble from within.  Our enemies see it coming:  death by bad fashion.

But who am I to criticize.  I wear Walmart hooker heels (gold tone) and still refuse to dye my ever greying hair.  As for that:  my 58th birthday is/was this fine June.  Where do I go from here? I shall continue to chase academic gigs  here in la Panhandle because, really, we do need to "create better education."

Send me maps for my birthday gifts.

Kisses,
Joyce

The world is more than tornado stats . . .

Hello you!

Life in the new zone continues busily fabulous.  What else would I say?

The literature course I am teaching in a 6 week time frame is and has been rewarding in so many ways.  But my eyes twitch when I get the "I didn't read the material" thing.

I wonder, as I evaluate my preconceived notions and certainly certainties, if we are as free as we think we are?  Clearly, this is the best game going.  I am in no hurry to pack a bag and click my heels towards Canada, Norway or even Australia.  Here I am and  here I love.  Yet . . . there is the nagging discomfort:  Bradley Manning as symbol.   What am I to do with that?

And here in the Panhandle of my darling Florida, I see a vast destruction of space and a lack of "growth planning".  Why is the "no 3 story buildings on beachfront" zoning being ignored or bought out by certain developers?  Why is the population expanding but the resources (like libraries or basic public transportation) not?  Why are there so many Baptist churches and fewer and fewer . . . birds and trees?

Call me crazy.

Everything is possible.  Why are we reacting rather than acting?

And why do my thighs not look like they did when I was 30?

I think the last question answers the one that came before it.

Bring the love!  I am happy and swimming in the Gulf's warm bathtub gorgeousness after prepping for a lecture on Emily Dickinson for class tomorrow.  What more could a middle class princess want?

Kisses and thoughtful provocation -
Joyce - Your Joyce to those who are in the tribe :)

Cinco De Mayo & War

Hola you!


Instead of bottomless tequila shots celebrating Cinco de Mayo, geopolitical watchers are knocking back black coffee(s).  The lead in this Sunday morning's news is Israel and its bombing of Syrian  military research (?) facilities.  What should we have done prior to this action?  What can our USA do without trooping into one more conflict?  Would it matter anyway?

Writing from the beach house -- my residence -- I "hear" the chatter about this new war on cable news, while blogging, while running literary history through my head for tomorrow's class meeting, while scanning the cloudy sky for a break so I can dive in the Gulf.  Here, in one place, and yet connected to other places and other times.  This strikes me as exhausting but necessary.  Staying in touch with current events.  A habit taught in grade school (but perhaps no more -- unless trolling social media counts as information) sticks.  But what do I do?

Email Marco Rubio.
Email the Prez.
Email Super Man to save us from our selves.

So, back to this tiny dot on the map:  we begin a summer session at Gulf Coast State College.  What will the dusty writings from femmes back-in-the-day matter?  I suppose it is yet another exhausting but necessary task -- staying in touch with human events, then as well as now.

I wonder what Emily Dickinson would Tweet?  She certainly had a gift for doing a lot with a few words.

Here comes the sun!
Diving in.
Happy Cinco . . . Seis . . . Siete . . . Ocho . . . Nueve etc. de Mayo.

Love,
Your Joyce

April, showering everything on us.

Hello You!

B Strong.

This Saturday eve I am finally talking at you again.  I have completed the grand move to Panama City Beach, installed in the Fleming beach house, so the last 2 months were semi-lite-madness.

There is nothing really I can say, after the Marathon, after the odd-slow-never here spring.

But I am here; the house is cleaned and slimmed down to nice essence; the Gulf glitters and roars across the way; my literature class should convene starting May 6 at the new and wonderful school; all addresses and licenses are changed and I am (officially) all in.  Plus . . .

I purchased my car.  Oh hell no!  Oh hell yes.  Darling Hyundai Accent 2013.  Eco-efficient.  I call him Armando.

The necessity of mobility rules and there it is.  The last ultimate sign of commitment.  Done.  Dotted line signed and a certain Florida bank now owns me for 6 years.

Ridiculous lush-life complaint, isn't it?

Oh, how HAPPY I AM to be out of St. Pete and that NOT-college gig.  Oh yeah.  But the tropics, the heat?  Of course I miss that much.  But it is an easy trade and necessity rules in this instance too.

Enough.

So, I'll stop writing these fragments and take your eyes back to the top.  Boston:  B Strong.

And there you have it.

Love, in my way,
Joyce - on the next page

The PopeThing - Yet Another Award Show!

Hello you :)

The "living in 3 places" situation is coming to an end, at last.  Mom is doing well in Birmingham (even though the neighborhood is . . . iffy); the beach house in PCB is prepped for move-in; an instructor gig is lined up for summer.  Voila.

Exhale.

I could detail the irritation of being back in St. Pete at the condo and clashing with the brain-disruptions these people give me (like the fact that I cannot get out of my contract early even though I have been a FABULOUS renter), but why?  Bigger brain-disruptive (and more comedic) action exists outside this zip code:



Is that photo-shopped?  Or did lightning really strike the Vatican the day the Pope pooped out?  Apparently, according to the "news", the selection committee hasn't been given the definitive word from god yet as to who the next P will be.  So the next dude to wear the red shoes is still a big mystery.

How exactly does god tell these guys who to vote for?  Doesn't god have to chose from a preselected bunch of Cardinals?  What if god wants someone who is NOT a priest to be Pope?  What if god has a sense of humor and a love for pop culture trash?

Maybe this is his top ten list of Possible Papal People:

1.  Pamela Anderson
2.  Me
3.  Kanye West
4.  One of the Kardashians -- you choose; he said it doesn't matter
5.  Pitbull with JLo -- a dual popedom
6.  Geraldo Rivera
7.  Me (I know I am on the list already, but you shouldn't question divine logic)
8.  The guy who fixed my washing machine at the beach house in record time for a low price
9.  Donald Trump
10. All of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders (they work as a unit anyway)

More regular postings to come, now that I will be settling in 2 places rather than 3.
Loves and kisses,
Joyce Marie

Grammy Awards and Clothing Rules . . . in America?

Hello you!

This is still me for the next few weeks:


Busy on the road and in the air, I just am not posting enough.  Regrets, but I am visiting Mom frequently in the Bama home and setting up fabulous residency in our Panama City Beach home.  The best news in the zone is I will continue teaching college there.  Big smiles and lots of relearning happening . . . like how to drive and pump gas and not insult an Alabamian.  The latter is hard to avoid.  I should know, I am one . . . sort of, again.

So.  CBS has advised the musician types at this evening's awards party to not show body parts.  Something like that.  What does this mean?  Is this an award show for accountants or high school teachers?  And when did we decide that body parts were all scary for the "innocent youth" watching these events?

Straight up, Carl Rove's shiny bald head and frightful droning on Fox News is much scarier.

So, I have totally spun darling Kanye's absence tonight as not a slap at the corny-whiteys-who-run-the-pop-music-machine.  He will no-show because he wanted to wear this on the red carpet:


So not Kanye anyway.

Meanwhile, a blizzard hits the northeast as I storm on with my relocation actions.  All is so, so good.  And I wouldn't change a thing.
Kisses,
Joyce Marie

Still new to 2013 -- according to Eric Beeman, a very Brady New Year (as in our darling Tom)

Dear you:



What is he screaming?  "Be perfect"?  "No mercy"?  "Give me my ring"?
Whatever.  He is playing the game.  And that is me.  And that is us.  It just doesn't stop does it?  And that is good, very good.

Commuting between Birmingham, Bama to visit Mom, Panama City Beach to set up the shorehouse for my residency and Old St. Pete to take care of business -- thank you Elvis, TCB -- makes me feel phenomenally fearless.  Driving my Dad's Chevy around is hilarious!  Who knew I had a NASCAR vibe.

Funny, how good things are when you don't have to fight for your right to be joyful.  I miss my students (the fabulous ones only, not the vile, white trash annihilators of life) and Dr. Gordon (of course) but am so happy about this relocation.

I have an interview for teaching at the local college.
I have an old friend who can help with all things "housey".
I will be just down the road from Mom.

What could be better?  I love leaving the bitter elements right here in area code 727.

Ms. 305 is on hold a bit.  Thanks for your patience.

Real words and ideas will be coming to you in February.   You know I miss lighting fires; they will be coming soon :)

Kisses,
Joyce Marie
Tip:  keep reading Chauncey De Vega (spelling?) for hard and true commentary about events political and social.  He says it right.