Broken things, steady friends

Dear you,

My gig website is not functioning.  When attempting to download a writing submission, I get the spinning “processing” sign that goes on and on and on.  If I finally receive a document to work with after enduring the spin cycle, I hit another wall.  When I complete the writing review that takes at least thirty minutes, I cannot submit the work.  More spinning processing signs. Wasted time and wasted instruction, lost in the matrix.

Is it the fault of my internet service provider?  Is it the fault of my strangely haunted laptop?  Is it just faulty me, going through a phase of failed “processing”?

The source of glitching is irrelevant.  I just cannot do this anymore, rely on broken things for work or information.  For every problem, there is a solution, right?  Not in this case.  I have danced on this broken glass for months now and I surrender.

And as I type, just now, another thing broke. My Mediacom cable died. The sign this time is a black screen with a box informing me of a “scrambled channel or weak signal”.  So much for my beloved MSNBC background news stream.  Solution for this problem?  Nothing I can do in this case either.  Out of my hands.  I surrender again.

Carrying on, I turn on something that (for now) is reliable, the radio voices of NPR.  I am hearing updates about the Olympics.  I am hearing Wall Street news.  I am hearing political chat.  And none of this is glitching.  The only way this connection can be broken is if the power goes out.  And even that won’t matter.  This radio is battery powered too, part of an old school CD player/radio device.  It’s adorable.  And probably impossible to replace.

Carrying on considering late evening entertainment, I can turn on another reliable machine.  The DVD player.  If the cable is still down, I can pop in a classic like Sex in the City.  Which I have seen 5,678 times but whatever.  Sure, I could stream something on the Smart TV laptop connection, but I don’t want to risk possible “processing” annoyance.

And then for later-later, I have these things on my nightstand called library books.  They won’t burn my eyeballs like screen time.  They are physical and operate on their own power.  I can fall asleep on them or drop them on the floor without fear of breakage.  And that power outage thing?  I have a battery-operated camping light, good enough to read by.

I know if my cable is not back on tomorrow or if my gig-website drama continues, I won’t be happy.  I’ll be frustrated because I want those things too.  I just wished the new stuff worked as well as the old stuff.  I am not a Luddite.  I am a glutton for connection, the classic and the cutting edge. But I recall someone in one of those library books assessing that edge.  Something like if you live exclusively on the cutting edge, you are probably going to bleed.

I refuse to bleed over laptop spasms, digital-cable tantrums, or internet crashes (even as I attempt to post this blogette).  I won’t.  It just doesn’t matter.  I have my darling NPR radio, DVD player, and library books. 

Good friends don’t break. 

Invest in those.  And, oh, it's probably wise to get a landline too.

Love,

Joyce

Please mess with Texas.

 

Dear you,

My parents gave me a “Don’t Mess with Texas” coffee mug in the 90’s, bounty from one of their road trips west.  I loved that mug, perfect size, bright colors, amusing slogan.  It reminded me of good Texas stories and people, like the formidable Governor Ann Richards, strange Matthew McConaughey and Queen Beyonce.  Unfortunately, about a month ago, I dropped the mug on my stone floor.  Goodbye little cup.  I think perhaps this was no accident (see Freud).  I think, subconsciously, I was weary of Texas political antics and their freak governor (King Abbot) and took it out on an innocent souvenir.  Texas has gone so nuts their democratic legislators had to leave the state to stop the passage of a voting restriction bill.  Exiled in D.C., when they return the killer bill will pass anyway.  At least they tried to mess with Texas. 

Others are trying too.  Many are fighting this:

“Starting September 1^st, the state of Texas if offering a $10,000 bounty to any private citizen willing to sue another person who, in some way, helped make an abortion possible.  The potential list of targets for such lawsuits is endless: from a pregnant person’s doctor and nurses, a therapist or pastor who offered moral support, a partner who helped pay for the procedure, a friend (even an Uber driver) who drove the patient to the clinic.  Under the new law – which a group of doctors, clergy and clinic owners sued to block Tuesday – any or all of them could be taken to court by a stranger with no connection to the patient whatsoever and forced to pay a minimum of $10,000 each, plus legal fees, for “aiding or abetting” an abortion.”  (rollingstone.com, 7/13/21).

Even an Uber driver.

This is all so very disappointing.  I liked to think of big red Texas as out there in libertarian land.  Do your thing and I’ll do mine.  Now they are among the biggest and reddest puritanical purge zones in America.  Just imagine the havoc this bounty thing will create.  Every small or big town goody goody will be ratting out hot young women who might just be suffering from belly bloat one day and then got over it the next.  “I swear to you Roxanne was fully with child yesterday when I saw her at the Whattaburger.  Now she’s back to normal.  She should go to jail. And I’m calling my lawyer on that liberal pastor of hers.  He denies the truth about the Earth being 6,000 years old and I just bet you he had a hand in this.”

Things are going to get really ugly in the Lone Star State.

Good luck to the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, every owner of a “Keep Austin Weird” coffee mug and all the Roxannes too.

It is time to totally mess with Texas.

Love,

Joyce

 

 

 

Messy Holiday

 

Dear you,

How was your 4^th of July holiday?

The Gulf of Mexico was on fire near the Yucatan due to gas/oil leaks and corporate errors.

Afghanistan began falling to the Taliban after our exit.

Ransomware attacks continued.

Our “new” climate produced a heat dome in the northwest that killed millions of seashore creatures.

SCOTUS laid down a decision to further eviscerate The Voting Rights Act.

Surfside residents die in a condo collapse.

These events, and others, muted the expected joy associated with the 4^th of July holiday, at least for me.  I try not to be a Debbie Downer, but attempts at celebration fell flat.  Even our fireworks along the 30A coast were underwhelming, dampened by weather and something else in the air.  I can’t find the perfect word for that something else, but it’s like the feeling I get when I pass other condo units whose guests leave garbage outside their doors.  The above photo is one of the less horrifying examples.  I passed some of the occupants and complimented them for their “fabulous art installation”.  They had no clue what I meant.  “You know, that interesting pile by your door.”  Clue given.  Expressions shift to glares.  Twenty-four hours later, the pile is bigger.  They are free to do this.  And I am free to not clean up their mess.  Messy.  That’s the perfect word for all of this, the significant things like the above list and the insignificant things like filthy condo guests.

What should I do?  I do need to clean up this mess.  Keep pushing politically to reign in (or end) the fossil fuel industry.  Send checks to organizations who can, maybe, help the Afghani women.  Push for cyber-security as a key part of infrastructure.  Watch my own carbon footprint.  The Supreme Court and Surfside?  I don’t know.  For now, right this minute, I’ll start with the insignificant.

I am heading downstairs with a monster size garbage bag and cleaning up that mess by unit 10D.

My belated 4^th of July celebration.

Happy-Messy 4^th of July! 

Love,

Joyce