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