Grinchy critique of the family Christmas card . . .

Dear you,

The day after 12/25, I am thinking about certain versions of Christmas cards.  The ones I appreciate most are generic, from acquaintances like my mail carrier and dental office staff.  The mail carrier is awesome and surviving the strangling efforts of her boss, that DeJoy man.  Her card, left in my mailbox before Christmas, thanked me for being a good customer.  The image was traditional, a sleigh in the snow, evergreens, and a wish that my Christmas and New Year be bright.  The card did its job as a messenger of good vibes.  I can say the same about the dental card.  Nothing self-serving.  Just good wishes and touching images.  The mail carrier and dental office greetings are wildly different from another kind of card I received, one of those “fabulous life” cards featuring the smiling nuclear family. You’ve gotten these before.  You see the family sitting together in a boat or something somewhere exotic. Their tans are complimented by their freakishly white clothes and teeth. These cards are the old-school versions of selfies, self-promotion cloaked as sharing and they bug me a little bit.  Yes, we all pose for self-congratulatory vacation photos, but we don’t all use them as Christmas cards. There is usually a tasteful reason to not do that.  I would say one tasteful reason is that Christmas is also considered a holy day (for some).  Probably a good idea to avoid the “look at me being all A-list” messages on holy days.

I got one of those fabulous life cards this year from a realtor I know.  Beneath each photo (there were several making up the front, back and center of the card) was a little summary about what this or that posing person achieved in 2021.  The did-list shared the highs.  Little Janey is graduating from an expensive California university and headed to the perfect internship with a company famous for making expensive things.  Little Bonita is killing it with her online influencer gig, and just take a look at that handsome boyfriend who joined us for the trip!  The husband and I are busy perfecting our backhands on our new tennis court and breaking sales records every week.  Real estate is hot, hot, hot! What a phenomenal year!

Yawn.  Look, I appreciate the good fortune of others, but this just sounds like bullshit.  Boring bullshit.  Why not share the lows?  You want to hook your audience, tell the backstory baby:  Little Janey will graduate with massive student loan debt. You aren’t paying for anything because she was a train wreck her entire senior year, binge drinking, binge eating, and binge f-ing all the wrong people.  You hope the internship at your uncle’s Ferrari dealership will get her back on track.

Little Bonita claims she is looking for a real job since her internet gig is “toxic”.  She’s been looking for five years now.  She’s 32 years old and lives in your basement guest room.  As for the boyfriend?  You all know he’s gay.  Bonita says he’s simply polyamorous; they’ll work it out once they’re married.  What can’t be worked out is his tendency to steal money from your home office petty cash drawer whenever he visits.

Finally, there’s you and the mister. He is cheating on you with your receptionist.  How cliché, right?  Couldn’t he have hooked up with someone further up the real estate food chain?  You don’t care because you are having an affair with your tennis coach.  And the guys who installed the new tennis court.  And the lawyer who is handling your IRS audit (those record sales will cost you).

Now that’s a card I want to receive.  Instead of the fabulous life posing, send me a TRUTH OUT Christmas message. Something the Grinch would enjoy.

Candor is sublime.

I hope your holidays are/were sublime too.

Love,

Resting Grinch Face Joyce

Artemis, help us!

 Dear you,

Events piling up. Post-Thanksgiving, I felt like a witness to everything troubling, standing by and carrying on but without words.  I need to channel my inner-Artemis, my power goddess of choice. We all do. So it is. Today, I have some words again about my body, my books, my cat, and my fourth estate, things I imagine Artemis defends.

Begin with the body.  Not specifically my body, but the body female.  That Supreme Court decision to let Texas do their anti-abortion, bounty hunter thing was expected but still shocking.  How can something expected shock? We see it coming and still reel from the blow.  Justice Amy hurts the most.  Dear girl, your declaration about pregnancy not being a burden, that was brutal.  Barbaric.  Why am I typing “her body is none of your business” in 2021?  Because conservatives are broken in ways I can’t explain. Don't mess with my body. So it is.

My books.  Apparently, literature, fiction or nonfiction, that irritates parents must be banned.  The irritation is caused by the pinch of truth.  In the best books, that pinch becomes a slap.  A good thing for those who want to be awake and aware and not dumb as hell.  The list of selected forbiddens includes Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye (and of course Beloved too). The protagonist, Pecola Breedlove, lives in a racist Ohio community and prays for blond hair and blue eyes.  The problem for the banners seems to be references to sexual abuse in the novel.  Nice excuse.  Their real problem is having to acknowledge the society they prefer breaks people like Pecola on the daily. Slap, your bleached-out identity preference is soul-killing.  And then there is Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, a graphic novel (memoir) about the author's father coming out and her own lesbian identity. This was on a high school reading list (Nevada) and pulled.  Not second grade mind you, high school.  Those readers would have enjoyed the book; many would have been elated to know someone like them is out there.  Speaking.  Can’t have that, can we?  Don't mess with my books. So it is.

My cat.  Baby girl has a lump on her head, right between those gorgeous gold eyes.  It has gotten bigger and sometimes bloody.  I have got to get her to the Vet now, no more procrastination and letting nature take its course.  I called a popular animal care group in Rosemary Beach and booked an appointment.  But overnight, I wavered.  They only do curbside drop off of pets due to Covid protocols. They grab and go while owners sit in their cars feeling sad and guilty.  I get it.  There is a pandemic.  But to hell with that.  I am taking her in the examining room in her little soft carry bag and staying there till the poking, prodding and whatever-must-be-done is done.  Where can I do this?  I did a little research and found a place right across the county line (I am in Walton, just to the east is Bay) where I can enter with kitty and never leave her sight.  Even in the examining room.  We’re booked to see the doc next week. I am traveling into deep, deep red territory (even redder than my county) to be with my cat and ease her fears.  And mine.  Is this selfish, careless?  Yes, I don’t care.  I am triple-vaxxed. I love this creature. I am not dropping her at anybody’s curb.  Don't mess with my animal. So it is.

My fourth estate.  Honest journalism is barely hanging on, at least in TV-land.  Last night, during prime time, I watched Liz Cheney presenting facts about Trump-crowd emails related to the 1/6 insurrection.  These were presented as reasons to charge Mark Meadows, Trump’s chief of staff, with contempt of congress.  My favorite came from Don Jr.  He was pleading with Meadows to convince Daddy to “condemn this sh*t ASAP”.  There were many others, notably from Fox cheerleaders.  Even Hannity was begging the madman to shut it down.  I was getting this from MSNBC. Kind of important news, I would say. I wondered how Fox was covering the Cheney statement and switched the channel.  They weren’t.  No Cheney.  No news.  Just dudes blabbing about defunded police and Vice President Harris (supposedly) trying to gas-up an electric car.  They called her Kamala. Ouch.  Little boys, derisive assholes having a blast not covering the big political story of the day because they would rather take a shot at two of their favorite targets, the first female VP and progressive transportation.  I suppose they would argue they’re simply framing issues of the day, see Wiki definition, “The term fourth estate or fourth power refers to the press and news media both in explicit capacity of advocacy and implicit ability to frame political issues.”  Oh, they are framing all right.  Framing and undermining and advocating the worst. Don't mess with my fourth estate. So it is.

As 2021 winds down in America, women’s bodies are under state-government control, excellent books are being banned, my cat has a weird lump on her head, and the fourth estate is fighting for its life, subverted from within.

So it is. 

Looking forward to 2022, days away, a new year where I can replace that dour period with happy exclamation points: “So it is!!!"  Artemis willing, so it shall be.

#Persist

Joyce