Resolved!

Dear you,

And now it's time for those New Year's resolutions! I googled the tradition and read some hilarious pieces about what NOT to add to that list.  For example, Realbuzz.com advised readers not to quit their jobs: "Surely drunkenly calling your boss up on New Year’s Eve and leaving an abusive voicemail about where they can stick their job is one of the worst New Year’s resolutions you can ever act on? Quitting your job over the festive period is bad news if you don’t have a new job to go to come January."  Sound advice. Advice I didn't take; in fact, I sent a few rude emails to my online tutoring gig team leader recently. I am pretty sure that working relationship is over. Acting like an asshole was NOT on my 2022 resolution list.  Now I have to find a new job, maybe one where I have to wear a visor and be a people-person. Karma's a bitch.  Anyway, the point is that kind of rash sassiness shouldn't make your 2023 list.  Here's some other things I would advise you not to resolve for 2023:

1. Make peace with Uncle Zippy who attends Trump rallies.

2. Learn to love unwanted facial and body hair; just let it go, baby!

3. Join a church whose philosophy repulses you to prove you have an open mind.

4. Replace expensive cigarettes with homemade smokes (fry beef jerky in skillet until golden brown; wrap it in toilet paper and ignite).

5. Sign up for the pickle ball team at the local senior center.

Yes, the resolved actions are pretty specific and that is supposed to be a good thing in terms of execution, actually accomplishing something.  But I advise you to do the opposite in all cases; instead, please resolve to:

1. Reject toxic family members.

2. Attend to your beautiful self and eliminate body hair.  All of it.

3. Stick to your principles without fear of judgment.

4. Embrace your expensive addictions.

5. Be a joiner if  and only if the joining makes you smarter, faster, and sexier.

That said, here's my list for 2023:

1.  Sell this damn condo and buy a quiet home somewhere civilized. (God in heaven, let this year be THE year this happens.)

2.  Read more poetry and watch fewer Bravo Below Deck episodes.

3.  Eat Chinese takeout whenever I want, even for breakfast.

4.  Keep resisting the pressure to wear flip-flops in public. Those things are for the beach or the shower. 

5.  Revel in the best, the sweetest memories; don rose colored glasses when looking back.

6.  Stay young and don't die.  

So resolved, so it shall be.  

Best for 2023,

Joyce

Potential

 

Dear you,

Continuing my search for a new home in this slim and costly market, I thought about Panama City.  Not Panama City Beach, but the town. Hurricane Michael almost erased that place, but the locals (who are really locals) have hung in there and aim to bring it back.  Yes, the crime rate is staggering. Numbers from bestplaces.net note that on a scale of 1 to 100, the Panama City violent crime score is 43.6. (The US average is 22.7). The Panama City property crime score is 84.6. (The US average is 35.4). Not good. But crime aside, there is an effort to make the town a real place again; see Harrison Avenue downtown, organizations like the Panama City Center for the Arts on East Fourth Street, and the Historic St. Andrews neighborhoods in general.  Definitely potential here.  But . . . money is walking elsewhere, to the beaches and the surging 30A "scene".  How to shift the focus and make PC a real town where smart, competent, cultured people can live?  People have to take a risk and imagine the possible, the potential.

Semi-persuaded by participating in that potential, I drove East over the Hathaway Bridge to check out an open house in that area.  It wasn't downtown, literally, but I thought it was near the town center.  I drove as directed by Google through the Panama City strip-mall scene on 23rd Street and then headed north on Hwy 231.  Forever, I traveled this road and could not find the street noted as the first turn off. After 30 minutes of wandering, I turned around and headed back south.  Forget the open house; I decided to just study the area.  I am a camera:

1.  Approaching Panama City from Hwy 231, I saw countless shuttered stores.  The only open businesses were nail salons and auto shops.

2.  For miles, no decent food options, just a few fast food joints that looked beat.  I observed a few employees sharing a smoke in a Burger King parking lot.  They looked beat too.

3.  About a mile outside PC, an older man had set up a roadside Trump 2024 station.  He was eating peanuts under a "Biden and the Ho Gotta Go" banner. The car ahead of me slowed to cheer his patriotism, lots of arms emerging from rolled-down windows doing that thumbs-up thing.

4.  Back on 23rd Street, I passed better stores like Dillards, decent grocery stores, and a few acceptable restaurants.  Parking lots full of big, big cars and pickup trucks.  Pedestrian life limited to the movement between car and store.  Obesity reigned.  So did whiteness.

5.  Right before Hwy 98 and the road home, I saw another half-dead strip mall.  The open venue was that Trump Store featured in the photo above.  Yes, they also sell coffee.  One must sustain rage; caffeine is required.

My point?  Convincing diverse, interesting peoples to make their homes in PC, to be part of a mini-renaissance, is going to be a difficult task.  The types needed to create an urban environment are going to be repelled by that "1 through 5" reality.

Potential Panama City?  Possible, but the odds don't look good. The damage done by Mother Nature (Hurricane Michael in 2018) can be repaired.  But the vibe of despair and prevailing lifestyle (cars, strip malls, acrylic nails, fast food, enraged Trumpers) might be beyond fixing.

Still, I might give the town another look. Roll the dice.

Potential cannot be realized without risk.

Still trying,

Nomadic Joyce

 

Dear you,

Happy holiday confusion! Tis the season to be on high-alert. No relief. The lines between my eyes are deepening daily as I continually scrinch my face in the "what the hell is going on?" way.  Someone should do a study on that.  Working title - Scrinchface, facial distortions in the early 21st century: the side-effects of giving a damn in an absurd world.  

My recent personal scrinch-inducers:

1. Kanye-Yay "likes" Adolf!  2. An ex-POTUS suggests we erase the constitution and install him in the Oval Office, forever! 3. My 30A scene should be quiet now since it's snowbird season, but no. The rip and roar of killing machines taking down trees to accommodate Airbnb assholes is the soundtrack of our lives! 4. The damaged and dim Herschel Walker could be elected to the Senate!

My use of exclamation points there is meant to signal alarm, not yippee-joy.  But here's the thing.  So many Americans would interpret those statements as good news.  "Hell yeah!"  What are we to do with them, again them? WTF?  Navigating this territory (oh look, there's another pickup truck with a "Fuck Biden" sticker in my parking lot) takes self-control.  During my morning workout, I repeat the basics of Toltec wisdom:   

Be impeccable with your words

Don't take anything personally

Don't make assumptions

Always do your best

That's the ideal.  But I need to vent. So. First of all, I have some pretty impeccable words for Yay, Ye or however he's spelling himself: Please just go away, you sociopath.  As for taking things personally, you bet I am taking Donald's attempts to erase democracy personally.  Please join Kanye in exile, you giant troll. Regarding the tree killers, I think it is perfectly logical to assume they are soulless bastards. See the evidence. To be brief, fuck them.

Rule four? I am trying to do my "best".  At this moment, I am trying my best to NOT toss eggs at the Deplorable's truck below my window. I'll aim away from the Biden slur and target his "Guns and God" sticker instead. Is this dude worth my $6 eggs?  Should I sacrifice a beautiful, fluffy omelet to annoy him?  Am I contemplating a criminal action here?   I Googled "egging cars" and found links to sites like absolutebailbonds.com and this post title: "How Eggs Can Get A Person Into Trouble."

OK, no.  I am not doing time just to annoy some redneck. He's not worth it.  And neither are Yay-Ye, Donald, or the Airbnb assassins.

Whatever the fuck is up with them, or why the fuck they do what they do, it is best for me to use my words.  Best to save my eggs for eggnog.  And better still to save my face from schrinchdom.

Wishing you a WTF-free holiday season,

Joyce 

Banksy and creative care . . .

Dear you,

Let us be careful, not careless. Full of care as in mindfulness, yes, full of the spirit of WOKE.

I hope to get better at that and be awake always, responsive to amazing grace. See the art of Banksy above in Ukraine.  Amazing grace.

Oh, the beautiful things we can make and do when we care.  And oh, the damage done when we are careless. We push and pull against the likes of Elon Musk playing with people's careers and a major social media site; care be damned. Is it worth it, Elon? Is it worth it, Putin? Is it worth it, Federalist Society? Is it worth it, censors of art and literature? Why do you need to break beautiful things?

As for art/literature, see Florida (once again), Indian River County, momsforliberty.org. Their intention is to do more than limit student access to literature; their intention is to keep "those books" OUT OF THE STATE.  The state itself.  What does that mean?  A bunch of morality police with nothing better to do intend to control libraries, bookstores, online book sales?  Well, consider the source:

Storm trooper boots. Tight denim. Big smiles! Enjoy the purge! They pose as caring, so grateful for "your" support: "Thank you for fighting with us for our children! We invite all who know that parental rights are always the MOST important. Whether it’s medical freedom, curriculums, overreach of public servants (school board/superintendent), or whatever else stands between us and the best education for our children, we will be stronger together!"  Woo.  "Parental rights are always the MOST important"?  Of course, because sassy-hand-on-hip-gal looks really qualified to assess the merits of anything academic.  And the "80's wants their skirt back" mom will most definitely be a contender to monitor History of Fashion course materials.  I could go on, but won't.  

 Pure carelessness, this.  Carelessness posing as protection. Words from one famous challenged text come to mind. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald:  "They were careless people . . . they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made."

Let's be careful.  And make beauty out of their mess.

To close, on a lighter note, I share this hilarious  #Thanksgiving2022 greeting from James Clow in NYC.  This would really piss off the liberty moms:

😄 Joyce

Sweet Dreams!

 Dear you,

November 8, big election day.  Quite an understatement.  MSNBC analyzes and experts predict while I attempt to clear my head by chatting in e-space.  Today's topic, inner space, my dreamscape.  A couple of nights ago I had a very vivid and obviously symbolic (if you believe that sort of thing or adore Freud) dream.  It wasn't blurred or erased when I woke, as I said, vivid. Spin this:  I dreamt about doing laundry.

Use your Google tool and search "dreams about washing clothes"; the interpretations are easy to guess:  you are seeking a spiritual cleansing, you are overwhelmed with tasks, you are tending to the banal instead of the critical, if the laundry is filthy, you are a hot mess. But here's the thing, my dream laundry was pristine and the rinse water pure.  I knew this because the washer had broken and I had to go inside the machine and fix it.  This is where it gets dreamy.  The washer was also a copy machine, like an old Xerox from the office-cubicle days.  When I opened the paper jam drawer, there was a lovely bright yellow and white striped towel hanging neatly over a rod.  I moved the towel from the copier rod into the washer bin and the machine started working again.  So what does this mean?  The clean, lovely laundry did not appear to need washing.  And instead of being frustrated and obstructed during the breakdown, I fixed what was broken.  I like that spin! 

Okay.  That was the inanimate object part of the dream.  There was also a human player on the scene, a young dude who looked like Kid Rock.  (Now we are veering into nightmare territory.)  We were conversant because he had something I needed, quarters, for the dryer I suppose.  After the transaction, I opened my hand and discovered only a few quarters and lots of pennies and a marble.  So what does this mean?  Am I feeling short-changed or ripped off?  Probably not, in the dream, I recall being calm but also calling him a "fucking idiot".  Kid Rock's feelings seemed hurt.  And then I woke up.

The one thing about this dream that made literal sense is the Kid Rock character. At the time, a group from Indiana was staying in the Airbnb across the landing from me.  One of the young men was a dead ringer for Kid R.  He even had that unwashed-probably-smelly thing going on. So I guess he seeped into my subconscious mind. Anyway, our only contact during their stay was when I passed him as he returned from the beach. I was headed to the garbage dumpster . . .  carrying his group's garbage.  They had left this gargantuan bag of crap by their door and I just wanted to make it go away.  So, as I passed Kid R., I lifted the bag and said "I love doing this."  He just smiled.  He either thought I meant it or he didn't give a damn. The Kid Rock in my dream was a lot nicer, even if he was a fucking idiot.  He gave me a marble.

And that is my dream journal for your contemplation on this massively important day.  Spin away and interpret as you will.

As for this night, I will probably pass out with the television on, tuned to MSNBC of course. Then I'll dream about Steve Kornacki!  He will be announcing an unexpected BLUE WAVE, a reprieve from creeping authoritarianism.  A disco ball will drop above the commentators' desk and a band of shirtless young people wearing Kornacki style pants (and no tops) will dash in from the wings and dance with wild abandon.  Random celebrities will appear on set to join the party. One  of the celebs will be Kid Rock. Rachel Maddow will interview the weeping Kid, saddened by the defeat of his red friends. Then I will appear on set as well.  I will give Kid Rock a pristine yellow and white striped towel, a few quarters, pennies, a marble, and a bag of garbage as a consolation prize.  And then I'll wake up.

I hope that dreams comes true.

Good luck, everyone. #persist 

Joyce

Tally Ho! Tally No.

                                                            Interpret this, as you will.
 Dear you, 

Halloween approaches and things are feeling very ominous, or omen-ish. My first point of scary discussion is about my predicted move to Tallahassee.  I journeyed there again a week or so ago and did another round of house tours with an agent.  The best candidate was a relatively new build in a development.  Clean, two story (which I like), good appliances and bathrooms, good location.  While nothing in Tally is really pedestrian friendly, like other towns and cities we know, at least this location was within walking distance to a library, a little park with trails and a baby lake.  The price was inflated and I had reservations, but compared to the randomness of this 30A beach scene, I decided to say go.  I told the agent to draft the offer; I would sleep on it and call her in the morning.  But then this . . . 

I returned to the hotel, which I have stayed at frequently, and as I enjoyed a cold beer by their little lake, I heard sounds of panic and screams near the front entrance.  I went to check this out and saw a car in flames in the parking lot.  No management or experienced person-in-charge was present.  Apparently, the "authority" assigned to handle this, or anything that might go down, was what appeared to be a sixteen year old girl at the front desk.  She was just standing there and ANSWERING THE PHONE! "Thank you for calling (fill in hotel name).  How may I help you?"  Oblivious.  I slapped the counter and told her to get management, now.  She stared back at me like I had asked her to time travel.  Forget this poor child.  I went out to join the scene, and at least found members of the janitorial/cleaning staff running around with fire extinguishers.  I asked them not to approach the car. (Explosion could be imminent.)  Had they called 911?  Yes. Luckily, the hotel bartender did that. Tick tock. The flames were about to engulf a worker's truck parked next to the burning vehicle and a nearby (formerly) beautiful oak tree.  There was no "commander" on site to hold back the crowd or restrain this worker/guest who might be in extreme danger. Ignoring cautionary advice, he did move his truck, slightly scorched, just as the fire department arrived. Ten minutes later the fire was out. The owner of the car, weeping and screaming outside the hotel entrance, wasn't a guest but a random local who had just been evicted from her apartment. She had nowhere to go. And, according to a hotel maid who comforted her, she had no insurance. Scary. And heartbreaking. She went somewhere with the EMT people who arrived with the firefighters. Fifteen minutes later, the douchebag manager showed up, tucking his plaid shirt into his kakhis. I suppose one must be tucked when pretending to handle an emergency. He passed me at the entrance and I said "You had no one acting as management in your abscence. You abandoned your hotel, your guests, and that child working the front desk. You are a horrible little man. I hope you enjoyed your "massage" break."

His response:  "We don't have 24 hour management here."

My counter-response:  "It's a 24 hour business.  This is a legal and safety issue. And oh by the way, it's five o'clock in the afternoon, not exactly the middle of the night.  Do your job."

The incompetence and the goofiness I witnessed felt like an omen, a signal.  Here, many of the people "in charge" are irresponsible and shifty. If this is how a busy hotel handles business in Tally, what was my future going to be like with similar goofy, dodgy "professionals" I needed to handle my power, cable, Wifi, water, sewer, dental issues etc. etc. etc.? This did not bode well. Just another Florida zip code with the same Florida problems.  Cue spooky Halloween music with a voice whispering "GET OUT; SAVE YOURSELF!"

So, as the remains of the car smoldered, I decided I was out.  I returned to my cold beer, my room, and a hot bath.  I packed and left the next morning.  Of course the shady manager was present then, and when the desk clerk who knows we well asked when I would return, I said "never."  "Why?!!!" "Because I cannot be in a place that lacks intelligence and accountable leadership."  Shady manager could not resist butting in and screeched "that's just your opinion."  "No, you horrible little man, it is an empirical fact."  Exit Joyce.  

I hit the road west back to Seagrove Beach.  At a rest stop I called the real estate agent and said "no deal."  I am out of there.  "Did you pray on it?"  She really asked me that.  Bless her heart. I suppose in my own world-immersed way I did "pray on it". Amen.

Well, that was fun. I really enjoyed my little trips to Tally.  But, something scary hovers there. Maybe it's the Ted Bundy thing. Anyway, Tally Ho! is now Tally No!  Live and learn and begin the search again . . .

Back in Seagrove Beach, the scene was as usual.  This time the maniacs were Fall Breakers (are these kids ever in school?).  This week is calmer and deceptively lovely since the air has cooled.  But I cannot be lulled into complacency because:

1. The very MAGA HOA board for my condo just raised my fees from $517 to $700 a month.  (The notice said something about covering the cost of "free" internet. Don't ask. They are dumb as hell.  Yes, I am so happy to pay for our "free" internet. Whatever. And of course, something about skyrocketing property insurance costs.  This, thanks to those dudes in Tally who are rolling in dough because they are complicit in and profiting from every aspect of inflation.  Don't blame Hurricane Ian or Mother Nature.)

2. Florida is tilting back towards a win for Governor DeathSantis and Senator Little Marco Rubio. I still have hope, but ... you know.

3. I don't have real neighbors here and when something old-lady happens, I might need help. Like yesterday when I bounced up the stairs to my unit carrying heavy grocery bags and then bent to fix this insulation strip that keeps sticking out of my door frame.  One heavy bag was on my left shoulder, another on my right shoulder, a third in the crook of my right arm, and the fourth (a half dozen eggs) was held protectively in my left hand.  While squatting to do that insultation fix with my right hand, I lost my balance. With those heavy bags hanging off of me like a pack mule and no free hand to restore balance, I tottered and fell.  On my butt.  Because I didn't want to drop the eggs. God in heaven, I am approaching that phase of life where my decision making is whacked.  My old self (or rather my younger self) would have dropped those eggs so she could grab the door and get steady in a heartbeat. Anyway, achy butt aside, no real harm done. This time. Keep in mind my broken hip days are looming large and nobody is next door to intervene.  My neighbor-next-door now, across the landing, doesn't exist.  The unit is an Airbnb.  No comment.  I hope the owner posts my butt-fall, captured by their door security camera, on YouTube. Category: Old people are funny.

4.  Flesh eating bacteria is spreading throughout the state. How apropos. Florida is highly resistant to culture, education, green energy, responsible governance, fitness, reproductive choice, or anything "woke". But flesh eating organisms?  Come on in! Our state mascot should be bacteria.

Enough.  All that to simply say, decision made.  Tally Ho?  Tally No.

The exploration continues . . .

Happy (?) Halloween.

Joyce 

Useless/Useful Advice?

 Dear you,

Another busy week, notably related to hurricane devastation across Florida and still in Puerto Rico.  That, and the usual attacks on democracy and far right lunacy.  So, all this in mind, what exactly is up with the inane articles that Google selectively delivers to my phone?  Mixed in with relevant news, I find startlingly silly titles.  Alas, this is based on previous searches; omnipotent algorithms have decided I need to know this stuff, now.  A few days ago, dear Google brought these stories to my attention:

From Southern Living, "Should You Point Silverware Up or Down in the Dishwasher?"

From Insider.com, "I'm an Interior Designer.  Here Are 10 Things in Your Living Room You Should Get Rid of."

I don't use my dishwasher.  Even if I did, why would this matter, really?  And as for my living room, the "I'm an Interior Designer" person ordered me to remove all book or DVD collections from that area.  Of course, all that pesky artistry might discomfort guests who may or may not use my improperly washed flatware. 

Something else came to my phone recently, not from mind-reading Google, but via text from a friend (James in NYC). He was actually being helpful, sharing ideas about my next move (this interminable project).  His link featured an article listing the top ten places to retire. This was useful, but the candidates for my silver/golden years came with caveats:

Charleston, S.C.  (Floods and ghosts.  Seriously, that town is haunted.)

Orlando, FL.  (Floods here too. See Ian and the evacuation of nursing homes.)

Cincinnati, OH.  (Relentless Trump rallies and J.D. Vance.)

Miami, FL.  (Hurricanes.)

Ft. Lauderdale, FL. (Ditto above.)

San Francisco, CA. (Expensive as hell and I smoke. Smokers in Cally are shunned or institutionalized.)

Scottsdale, AZ.  (Relentless Trump rallies and Paul Gosar.)

Wilmington, DE.  (No clue about this place.)

Tampa, FL.  (Ditto again on flood dangers and a ticking hurricane clock. They got lucky last week.)

I can find reasons to resist every suggestion in useful advice as well as useless advice.  But I will try to keep an open mind.  Let me check the Google thing on my phone now and see what pops up. Okay. The standout news bit in the useless category was this:

From News-Medical.net, "Increased Risk for All-Cause Dementia in People Who Abstain from Alcohol".

Excellent.  A "scientific" reason to knock back a few cold ones on a Sunday in a fractured, nomadic world. Imagine the Bacchanalian displays popping up in The Villages right now.  "My Google Doctor told me to drink dementia away!"

Useless?  Useful?  Probably just stupid and possibly misleading.

Is any of this advice worth taking seriously?  Time will tell. I'll let you know a few years from now when I am not living in Ohio, not obsessing over silverware washing techniques, and not purging books from my living space.

Curmudgeonly yours,

Joyce

My Q problem.

                                                                                

 Dear you,

I'd like to believe the exquisite angel pictured above exists.  I quasi-believe she does, just without the wings.  Why do I indulge in such fantasies?  Why do I believe what I believe? Why do we believe what we believe?

Zoom out and consider a group of "true believers". The latest Trump rally reminded us that the QAnon gang is still around, unconvinced their god lost the 2020 election and more convinced than ever that the Dems, the liberals, the educated, the whatever that is not them, are their Deep State enemies who must be destroyed.  This really ugly belief system is not going anywhere.  Like that strange stain on an old 1970's shower insert, it can't be scrubbed totally away.  During that rally, the Q brigade honored Donald with their one finger up salute. Photos show the Orange One wearing a Q lapel pin. His support is now literal. Accessories don't lie.  

Why be concerned? Because we know who these people are. Recall the height of the pandemic a year or so back.  Remember the Q pediatrician from Houston, Stella Immanuel, who claimed hydroxychloroquine would cure Covid?  This, according to Vox.com, is the same whacky physician who "declared, among other things, that ovarian cysts are caused by sex with demons, that scientists are experimenting with alien DNA, and that reptilian humanoids are running the government." 

What made a supposedly educated woman, and so many others, believe this nonsense?  Why don't I or you or you or you buy this line of bullshit? How do we differ, empirically?  Researchers claim some are more susceptible to conspiracy theories because their brains are prone to "illusory pattern perception". They make connections where none exist and the cause could be their higher than average levels of dopamine.  Oh, like people suffering from schizophrenia.

I guess I should examine my own beliefs, especially the ones that seem so airy.  Recently, I have been playing with positivity theories, yes, even things like the Law of Attraction, creating energy powerful enough to design/redesign what appears to be reality.  The texts discussing this approach to positive power are benign, in as much as they don't advocate violence or the elimination of the "other"; they simply emphasize a rise-above-create-your-own-story way of being. However, I must admit it feels like magical thinking. Case in point, as I search realtor.com or Zillow for homes for sale in Tallahassee, my ability to think what I want into existence proves to be pretty limited. There are no real estate angels. But why not give it a try, strengthen my unwavering-faith-muscles?  The art of the possible is more fun than the art of the probable. Fun, hope, the sunny side of the street make sense to me. But, according to an eye-opening piece in psychologytoday.com (by Dr. Neil Farber in 2016), some of my sunny beliefs are absolute bullshit. And kinda dangerous. His key points:

The Law of Attraction (LOA) is metaphysical pseudoscience based on erroneous assumptions.

This LOA assumes one is alone and completely responsible for any unachieved goal.

LOA philosophy leads to "apophenia" - the "misguided belief that there is meaning behind random data."

Yikes. I am just a fluffy version of a QAnon believer.  Maybe I am buying into something equally insidious.  That Farber article also cited Rhonda Byrne in The Secret: "If you see people who are overweight, do not observe them . . . if you think or talk about diseases you will become sick.  What you think or surround yourself with, good or bad, is what you will bring upon yourself."  Which leads to this even more repulsive advice from Wallace Wattles, an LOA founder: "Do not talk about poverty; do not investigate it, or concern yourself with it.  Do not spend your time in charitable work, or charity movements, all charity only tends to perpetuate the wretchedness it aims to eradicate".  "Give your attention wholly to riches; ignore poverty."

Oh. My. God.  That is deplorable.  I have semi-bought into a deplorable line of thinking.  Just go ahead and hand me my Q lapel pin. (Hand one to John Gibbs of Michigan too, a Trump backed candidate for Congress.  He argued back in college against women's suffrage claiming the USA has suffered as a result of femmes voting. These people just keep coming out of the woodwork like roaches.)

Man oh man.  America needs a serious belief-system checkup. Our minds are buying into and manufacturing beliefs that are seriously questionable. Just remember what David Foster Wallace said, someone sadly familiar with mental demons:

"The mind is an excellent servant, but a terrible master."

Amen.

There are no angels hovering around me.  There are no laws of attraction manifesting my perfect home, much less world peace.  There are no sexy demons looking for love at the local bar.  And there are no lizards running the government.  (Other than Ted Cruz and Mitch McConnell who both have a suspiciously reptilian look.)

End.

Joyce

Grace Under Pressure

 Dear You,

Goodbye, Queen Elizabeth II.  A model of stability and leadership, a model of grace under pressure.  Today, a random music encounter made me think of her. As I strolled with earbuds in, an oldie station played "Under Pressure" performed by David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. I listened to it through the filter of breaking news, the loss of this queen, the events of the past few days.  On the lighter side, over the weekend we witnessed some joyous versions of grace under pressure:

We watched Tiafoe v. Alcaraz and then Ruud v. Alcaraz in the U.S. Open.  

We watched The University of Texas almost (almost) take down that Roll Tide school.

We watched the Pittsburgh Steelers pull out a victory in O.T. over the Cincinnati Bengals.

We watched Tom Brady come out of his faux retirement and win again. At 45.

The powerful play goes on.

We also witnessed something more notable:

We watched as Ukraine began to make extraordinary gains against Putin.  As I type, reports speak of Russians dropping their weapons and running. The Ukrainians are taking back their country, currently liberating parts of the Kharkiv region. 

The fight for freedom goes on.

Facing pressure, we bend or break.  Sometimes we need inspiration. I saw a woman on the beach this weekend who bore witness to an inspired dance with pressure. Her body told a story. Below her right shoulder blade, was a tattoo from the bible, II Corinthians 12:9.  I took a mental picture of the woman and the body art. She sat, head bowed, on a low beach chair, feet in the surf. She might have been praying or just meditating. She did not seem distressed, but she gave off a vibe of gravitas. When I returned to the condo, I looked up the verse her artful ink recommended:

"But he said to me 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." Glorification of weakness by Paul, Saul of Tarsus, a notable recruit for the post-crucifixion revolution, the creation of a new faith. I am no fan of Paul and this particular verse suggesting his lord revels in our pain annoys me. But my Paul problem aside, this person, this woman on the beach, thinks otherwise. This verse inspires her to handle pressure.  I appreciate that.

But back to the Bowie/Mercury song, with the Queen, Ukraine, stellar athletes, and the woman on the beach in mind, today I seemed to hear these lyrics for the first time:

". . . love dares you to care for/The people on the edge of the night/And love dares you to change our way of/Caring about ourselves/This is our last dance/This is our last dance/This is ourselves/Under pressure . . . 

We are all on the edge of night, under pressure.

It helps to have inspiration during this (hopefully not) last dance.  So, thank you Queen Elizabeth II, freedom fighters, powerful players and tattooed messengers everywhere. You all know the cliche is true: Pressure makes diamonds.

XO

Joyce

Surprise! Redistricting and the Dollar Tree.

 Dear you,

The Florida Primary Election was pure confusion. (Can confusion be pure?)  The redistricting throughout the state came as a surprise to many voters who showed up to vote on 8/23, the official election day, only to discover they were in the wrong polling place.  Surprise!  You've been redistricted.  This happened throughout the state, north, south, east and west.  It happened to me.  Story:

I voted in-person early, the week before 8/23.  Early voting can be done anywhere in your county of residence.  I went to the place I always go for early voting, the Walton County Courthouse Annex near the beach on Hwy 331.  When I got the ballot for Democrats, I saw what I expected.  I selected Charlie Crist for Governor, Val Demings for US Senator, and Daniel Uhlfelder for Florida Attorney General.  What I didn't see was a Democrat choice to oppose Matt Gaetz, the current un-fabulous congressman representing District One.  District One was my district.  Where were the Dem challengers?  (Schiller and Jones.  In the end, Jones won and will oppose Matty.)  I asked the polling workers what was up.  Perhaps Schiller was running unopposed since Jones had previously been pulled from the ballot for some technical reason related to party membership tenure.  Was this the case?  I don't see Schiller because she is unopposed and therefore "in"?  The workers were as confused as I was and suggested that was the case.

But it wasn't.  I had no anti-Gaetz Dem choice because I AM NO LONGER IN DISTRICT ONE!  The beaches of South Walton where I live are now absorbed into District Two, ruled by Congressman Neal Dunn.  This is the district that also absorbed the massive blue-voters of Tallahassee/Leon County's District Five, represented by Democrat Al Lawson. That district had, before DeSantis's shifty decree, included the majority black areas between Tallahassee and Jacksonville as well.  It is now submerged in the pasty mass of District Two, which DeSantis made even larger and whiter by shifting citizens from District One to District Two.  Clever. The majority of coastal voters here in South Walton are, as expected, red Republicans.  Their numbers will help dilute any resistance by formerly blue Tally coalitions. Do the math. Alfred Lawson (D) will now oppose Dunn (R) in November in this "new" blobby, white District Two. Uphill battle indeed. 

Wow. Talk about a rigged election.

I have never been confused about my literal place on the election map until now. I don't know why I didn't inform myself about the scope of this redistricting and the fact that it included ME. Perhaps I was too focused on what was happening to Tally itself.  Perhaps I was everywhere but "here" in terms of "yes, it could happen here".  Anyway, I finally caught on a few days after 8/23 when a new Voter Information Card arrived in my mailbox.  There it was, clear as day.  US Congress, District 2.

Thanks a lot, Walton County.  Sending that card out after the primaries was really, really helpful.

Meanwhile, in the mundane daily world of the Panhandle, there are other changes. Surprise!  The Dollar Tree at Pier Park shopping center now offers products for $1.25.  They have not changed their signage yet to indicate they are now The Dollar Twenty-Five Tree. The poor employees now have to deal with irate cheapo customers who had no idea this was happening. They, the employees, were probably the last to know. Surprise! Just like redistricting.

Well, the good news on both fronts is this:  Matt Gaetz is no longer my vile congressperson and the $1.25 items are actually better than the $1 versions; the generic Q-tips are cottony and strong; the matches actually fire up when struck; and the candles don't smell like body odor!

And that is the news from here in the land of the redistricted and confused.

Happy end of August.  

Joyce

Losing my religion . . .

 Dear you,

Primary day in Florida and New York.  We, especially in Florida, seek to select candidates who have the best shots at defeating the far-right wave of fascism, fascism in the name of somebody's "savior".  In the news:

Florida Grace Christian School emailed parents recently informing them "LGBTQ-identifying students will be asked to leave the school immediately."  USA Today quoted the top administrator, Barry McKeen:  "We believe that any form of homosexuality, lesbianism, bisexuality, transgender identity/lifestyle, self-identification, bestiality, incest, fornication, adultery, and pornography are sinful in the sight of God and the church."

Ah yes, all of those things belong together.  Bestiality and bisexuality.  Incest and self-identification. Oh, these people. And what is their problem with self-identification? What does that even mean?  Shouldn't we all self-identify, know who we are essentially?

True, this targeted purge at Grace Christian is not new.  They have always enforced the fundamentalist rules. Even the straight quarterback will be expelled if administrators find out he bopped the head cheerleader (who might be anything). But something else about the current purge makes me queasy.  This:  school policy relies on Genesis 1:26-28 to justify their condemnation of "elective sex reassignment, transvestite, transgender, or non-binary gender fluid acts of conduct."

[Of note there, verse 27:  "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them."  Oh dear, the grammar.  Why does this sound like Yoda from Star Wars?] Now, about my queasiness, think about this condemnation of gender fluid acts of conduct.

That could mean anything. That could be anyone. That could be you, right-wing golfer dude in the PINK Ralph Lauren shirt.  That could be you, big-ass woman with a cigarette dangling from her mouth while she checks her overheated car engine.  (I thought only a man could be that dumb.)  That could be you, young man with gorgeous Goldilocks locks.  That could be you, lady at the pool who is actually swimming with the kids instead of passively watching from the deck, modestly wrapped in a Bible Verse beach towel. That could be me, insisting on a solo, childless life and a room of my own.  It is me.  It is you.  It is everyone with a mind of their own.

We've been here before and we've fought this fight.  Gloria Steinem, in her book My Life on the Road, looks back to 1977 and the first National Women's Conference.  Reflecting on the obstacles women faced as they fought to add an amendment (the ERA) to the constitution guaranteeing their personhood, she recalled resistance from so many Christian fundamentalists.  Among them, of course, were way too many women.  She writes, "I began to see that for some, religion was just a form of politics you couldn't criticize."

We do tiptoe around these McKeens and company when it comes to faith, don't we?  Too often, we take a high road, trying to tolerate their intolerance.  This makes no sense.  Their god, their stories, their twisted "textually" supported arguments are fucking everything up. It's not faith. I'll say it again; it's #ChristoFascism.

Enough. I'll close in a very gender fluid way, no feminine XOs or "Love, Joyce".  Just this: END.

#VoteBlueNoMatterWho

So Not the Summer of Love.

Dear you,

Meet Mark Lombardo (above), candidate for congress, Florida District 1.  I am feeling some love for this man. Nice smile. No Gaetzy creepy vibes.  Hmmm.  Yes, I am definitely feeling some love and I could use some since my love-stash is  running low. But more about Mark later.  First:

Breaking news, New York Times, "The suspected gunman who tried to breach the FBI's Cincinnati field office on Thursday morning is now in a cornfield and surrounded, officials said."

Gee. I wonder who motivated this "patriot" attack?  Trump. Furious over the legal and warranted search of his Florida palace, Donald is once again inciting his minions to violence.  That poor guy in the cornfield.  He is done.  Was it worth it?  I'm thinking the red-right is going to pretend it never happened.  Minutes ago, one dude on Twitter called the event a HOAX, staged to make the MAGAs look bad. That didn't take long.

Our situation, dicey at best, is much more precarious today than yesterday.  It will be more precarious tomorrow.  Are there any Republicans, excluding Cheney and a few others who have already been purged, who aren't afraid of the former POTUS?  Is there anybody in that party who can deprogram millions of Americans willing to lie and die for him?  Who in the GOP actually gives a shit about Cornfield Man?  Someone must. I am looking for them. I am looking for a few sane, honorable Republicans.  Maybe, just maybe,  I found one. Once again, meet Mark Lombardo. Consider this from floridapolitics.com, a few days ago:

"Mark Lombardo is ramping up his assault on incumbent U.S. Rep. Matt Gaetz as the Marine Corps veteran and former FedEx executive attempts to unseat the controversial incumbent in Florida’s 1st Congressional District.

“Matt Gaetz is a liar who doesn’t respect women, generates falsehoods, promotes conspiracy theories, uses gimmicks to get TV airtime, and baits voters with racist and anti-gay siren calls,” Lombardo said in a prepared statement.

“Matt Gaetz is a hypocrite and nothing but a me-first, professional politician who entangled himself in a child sex-trafficking investigation and then sought a pardon for ‘any and all’ crimes to keep himself out of jail. It’s not surprising he used his campaign donors’ money to pay pedophile Jeffery Epstein’s attorney.”

Well, well. Matt has a challenger here in Florida, District 1. And a Republican at that. The Dem challenger will be Margaret Schiller. However, if Lombardo wins the upcoming FL Republican primary and ousts #RapeyMcForhead, I might vote for Mark.  It's gotten that bad.  Lombardo is no friend to progressive agendas, but he's better than Gaetz. Besides, Schiller has no shot. Lombardo does. But . . . wait. Damn. After a quick check of Lombardo's website, I discover he wants to drill baby drill everywhere, reopen pipelines, give border crossing immigrants no shot at citizenship, and (drum roll please) he is on Governor DeSantis' Anti-Woke train.  Well, at least I was amused by some of his Gaetz shade.  He called Matt a "drama queen". Ugly stuff, these primaries.  Conservatives are calling each other drama queens. Knives are drawn; fangs bared. Indeed, this is so not the summer of love.  And I thought last summer was bad.

I looked back at some summer 2021's journal entries to refresh my memory.  Yep, pretty bad.  I raged about the fall of Kabul and the death of the last White Rhino on Earth.  I was locked in Covid caution mode and bitched about vaccine resistors who screamed "my body, my choice".  I worried about the abortion bans in Texas signaling the end of Roe V. Wade.  Fast forward to now, this August, 2022, all that sorrow remains. Just add the possible end of American Democracy, threats of civil war, the actual end of reproductive rights in big chunks of our nation, and, of course,  #Ukraine.  Astonishing.

Here's something else from that 2021 journal that caught my attention:

After Summer -

Autumn/Winter

Comes again -

The Earth still

Tilts-

This way and that, causing

what we call seasons -

For a brief time -

This version of

The expected -

Carries on . . . 

(I have no shame when it comes to journal poetics.  Yes, I brazenly try to copy Emily Dickinson's mechanics and form.)  Today, I revise the above with 2022 in mind:

During Summer -

We wonder if

Autumn/Winter

Comes Again - 

The Earth, I hear,

Is spinning 

Faster -

Faster than ever, causing

what we call baseline anxiety -

Our former versions of

The expected - 

Slip away . . .

Carrying on morphs to slipping away.  Considering then and now, I guess things can only get better. It is still early August.  Plenty of time to turn things around.

We hope.

Buena suerte, everyone.

Joyce

The Safety Myth . . .

 Dear you,

July was blurry for me, speeding by with shocks and bumps and plenty of screams.  Like me, I am sure you too were frequently on high-alert (mouth agape, eyes wide open, palms up in surrender or resistance).  Yeah, I get it.

But you know what? There is no reason for me to "fear" anything. It's not like I'm running from a wild boar in the woods or dodging incoming fire in Ukraine.  Nevertheless, sometimes I really do feel alarmed, very alarmed. This happens when I regress, lapse back into a Safety Myth state of mind. Crazy tendency. Nothing about this existence is safe. Danger is normal. Danger is my friend. She starts and ends my days. Her messenger, that little Limbic System zing, is my constant companion too. When I am steady, I simply embrace them as part of my morning routine. Coffee, cigarettes, pushups and zing. This morning's zings:

1.  My Phone shrieks an Amber Alert.  A child from Escambia County has been kidnapped.

2.  CBS News informs me "Brain-eating parasite found in Iowa lake, 1 Dead."  The amoeba, if he gets into your head, is 97% fatal.  I also hear the state of Missouri is checking its public drinking water.  Just in case. 

3. I learn monkeypox cases in my state of Florida are on the rise; we have around 300 cases reported in 17 counties.  CNN says that the World Health Organization's chief has advised "men who have sex with men to reduce partners to limit exposure to monkeypox."  Another pandemic.  Another ugly opportunity for ultra-conservatives to target the gay population.

4. My Google news-feed slaps we with unwanted lawsuit updates. Apparently Skittles are deadly. They contain titanium dioxide, also found in sunscreen, plastics, and paint. Heads up; candy kills.

5. A flyer in my mailbox delivers a "vote for me" message from a guy running for Walton County Commissioner.  According to the flyer, David Buchanan will "fight" for "preserving our Christian values".  ("Our" values, David?) He will also "fight" any "effort to teach Critical Race Theory or sexual indoctrination in our public schools."  David apparently loves to "fight".  Total idiot.

6. I discover that my upper arms and lower back are slightly itchy. I am guessing my beloved fresh-scent Gain Detergent may be the culprit.  Laundry is now another subject for cautionary choice.

Zing, zing, zing, zing, zing, zing!  All this before noon.  And the day is still young.  How to stay steady?Repeat, repeat, repeat to self:  "Danger is normal. Danger is my friend."  Besides, it's unlikely I'd ever stop drinking tap water, interacting with people, eating candy or washing my clothes anyway. I'm not that scared.  But, on the other hand, there's candidate David . . . 

Repeat, repeat, repeat to self:  "Danger is normal.  Danger is my friend."

Carry on.

End of July, Joyce

Distance and #Ohio, oh my oh . . .

Dear you,

Intending to visit the state capitol in Tally during my escape from 4th of July beach wackiness, I drove around downtown and could not find a parking spot.  Tally has these intense hills in town, almost like vertical climbs, challenging my little car who is accustomed to flat terrain.  Stopping at the peak of one of these hills at a red light, I felt like the vehicle brake was not going to hold.  Back-sliding felt imminent.  I was losing a grip on the ground beneath my feet, off-center and tilting, distanced from my usual sense of placement on planet Earth. After this, I decided to just pull into a "reserved" space for a few seconds, just long enough to jump out and take a photo or two of the capitol.  See above photo. That was as close as I could get and still keep an eye on my illegally parked car.  Again, I experienced distance from that sense of placement.  Literally outside the seat of power and metaphorically too.  What goes down in the Florida capitol seems/is so out of my control.  I have lost whatever I thought my grip was there too.

Tilting.  Back-sliding imminent. Reversals of power from us to "them".  

One of them, someone who surely feels empowered when she looks at the Tally capitol building, was parked outside a store I visited after my return.  A sticker on her rear window featured a picture of a handgun; the message under the visual read "we don't call 911".  So proud of that, this taking the law into one's hands.  No expertise.  No restraint.  Just force without measure.  Well, I suppose it could be worse.  It could be OHIO.

Ohio.  Last week, the report about the ten year old girl (a rape victim) who was denied access to abortion in that state shocked almost all of us.  Abuse by the rapist and further abuse by the "state".  She was taken to Indiana for the procedure.

Ohio again.  This week I hear about a state Republican representative who put forth a bill requiring educators to teach "both sides" of the Holocaust.  Both sides of what?  I wonder what the other side would openly claim.  No expertise.  No restraint.  Just force without measure.

So ends my 4th of July week.  It ends with a massive space between me, them, and whatever our dream of independence was.

But still, I will/we will persist in our pursuit to be autonomous, to be in control of what goes down in all our state capitols. And our lives.

Dismantle the distancing project.

Carry on.

Joyce

Fuck these people.

Dear you,

No surprise that Roe v. Wade went down.  No surprise that the reddest of states under total fascist GOP control are dreaming up stringent punishments for those who seek abortions. See Alabama.  The rapist is likely to do less time than his female victim who is impregnated and needs an abortion. Florida, my state?  If you are waiting for my governor's next moves, keep waiting.  I don't think he is going to go beyond the current 15 week limitations until after the November election.  He is, as you know, up for re-election and will be challenged by a Democrat, probably Charlie Crist.  If #DeathSantis drops more Draconian rules about abortion now, he knows the turnout for Blue will be big, highly motivated.  It might also push the "moderate" Republicans a step away from Red.  So, I might be wrong, but expect semi-silence from Ron himself until after the midterms.

In the meantime, I know you are all scrambling to support whatever efforts can help support choice.  Women's autonomy.  We saw it coming, but the reality in print on Friday, 6/24/2022 was astonishing.  This was sadistic "jurisprudence" supported by sadistic citizens.  They are filled with glee and praising their savior, doing whatever version of the happy-dance they can execute without feeling sinful. Shall we congratulate these winners?  Should we give a nod to those "nice" Americans blandly smiling and telling women they'd be so happy to adopt their baby?

No.

Fuck these people. 

That's all.

Love (or should I say "moo" since women are now considered cattle),

Joyce 

#Resist

Heat Wave Tips To Stay and Be Cool.

Dear you,

The first killer heat wave of 2022 is messing with our already messy heads.  We need to fight through and for so much these days; these paralyzing temperatures aren't helping.  Pushing to do this or that becomes more difficult.  Juneteenth celebrations go on, but I worry about the impacts on attendants out there in all this. This applies to Gay Pride celebrations too.  See the weather map.  It's a dome that is going nowhere.  Weeks and probably months of this are predicted.  What can we do to stay cool?

1.  Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Yes, we know this. But do it A LOT!!!!

2.  Donate, donate, donate. A good way to feel cool and less paralyzed is to remember those who are fighting something deadlier than heat.  We can't let our minds drift away from Ukraine. I am still obsessed with #AnimalsOfUkraine (see above) and inspired by those working to save them. Suggestions for donations: 

International Fund for Animal Welfare - volunteers work with locals to get supplies to wildlife and animal shelters in the war zones.

Veterinarians Without Borders - a Canadian based group of vets on the ground in Ukraine helping wounded creatures.

Humane Society International - the organization partners with the Romanian Red Cross to transport pet food into Ukraine and care for animals in shelters, homes and on the streets.

All three of these groups can be reached online. Go to any, please, and donate. This will lift your spirits, wrap you in a cool breeze of relief.

3.  Rise, rise, rise above the buzz-killers - Anecdote that applies:  On the home front here in Seagrove Beach, an angry old man threw a hissy fit at our Coastal Branch Library.  The library closed all weekend and tomorrow to honor Juneteenth. Earlier this week, the dude, a typical local MAGA-cap fanatic, read the notice posted on the door announcing this upcoming closure and lost his mind.  He stormed to the checkout desk and confronted the librarian, who happens to be African American and a veteran library worker.  "Why are you closed for three days for that fake holiday?  Isn't it enough that you have your Black President's Day?"  The librarian was Teflon, unperturbed, and simply informed him of the re-opening time on Tuesday.  And then she smiled and wished him a "beautiful Juneteenth".

Very, very cool. Impressive rising.  How did she do this?  I could not have resisted the temptation to mock his twisty ignorance. "Black President's Day?"  Really?  Gee, I never knew Obama had his own holiday.  These poor people, bottomless pits of buzz-killing uncool.  Rise above them.

In summary, ways to stay and be cool:

1.  Hydrate.

2.  Donate to help the animals of Ukraine.

3.  Rise above buzz killers.

Done.

Wishing you all a beautiful Juneteenth!

Joyce

Graduation Season!

Dear you,

The weather people say the high today is 89 degrees.  Don't believe that.  The feels-like temperature is closer to 105.  The 30A beach scene is sizzling, and not in a sexy way.  The atmosphere is dog-day August hot and most visitors are crankier than usual.  They are huddling together in their crowded, overbooked, condos and perhaps pouting over the disappointing vacation.  Many among the current wave of vacationers are here to celebrate graduations.  Lots of car art in the parking lot.  Lots of congrats to the Brittney's, Bradley's and Bennie's scrawled on windows.  They made it out of whatever school they were in.  The messages seem to suggest nothing but over-ness.  But now and then, I see forward thinking messages.  In my building's parking area, I saw something different; I saw "USC 2026".

This car art predicting a future graduation from an elevated West Coast university is not typical of this zone and its visiting demographics.  Who is this youngster and what made her/him aim for the strange of out there, aim for continuing and not ending? I imagine the story, based on the limited facts I have which are the following:  this grad is traveling with 8 other teenage boy pals, their license plates show they're from Tennessee, and they appear fit, healthy, and happy.  They wear t-shirts testifying to prior membership in wrestling, tennis or soccer teams.  They don't walk around drunk or scream "Yeehaw".  And even if they are loud beneath my feet, it's because that's what happens when you load nine teenage boys into one condo.  Testosterone times nine. Now, back to this USC-bound graduate, his imagined story . . . 

Kirby just graduated from a private high school in the suburbs of Nashville.  His mother is a legal aide and his father works at a local bank.  They, the parents, Lucy and Roberto, moved to Tennessee from San Francisco, CA, right after they were married.  The Bay Area was getting too expensive.  Where to go? The couple was fearless, funny, and trusted the randomness of fate.  So, yeah, they literally threw a dart at a map of the USA and it landed on Tennessee. They thought this was hilarious!

Lucy and Roberto didn't really understand the South and they really hated country music.  But they trusted the fateful dart and jumped! Within a matter of months the couple settled into an affordable first home, landed good jobs, and made new friends.  Two years later, Lucy gave birth to their first and (so far) only child, Kirby.  Kirby was a golden child.  He excelled in school and athletics and managed to rise above local "good old boy" influences.  By the time he was fifteen, he could burn through his Dad's daily copy of The Wall Street Journal in an hour.  He also had an affinity for animals; lost or lonely stray dogs and cats gravitated to Kirby's yard.  They seemed to know love lived there.  These two talents, business smarts and a connection to wild things, defined his professional future.  He would become a venture capitalist whose investments supported animal rights causes and wildlife preservation efforts.  Kirby will be one of the good guys, a VC who creates and saves.  But right now, at this moment in the summer of 2020, he is spending time with his best buddies before flying away, possibly forever.  The guys will miss him. They're already planning the next graduation party when he exits USC (summa cum laude) in 2026.  This time they'll decorate his car window with another prediction:  Stanford 2030, The White House 2050.

That's it.  Predictably corny, I know, but I never claimed to have a literary gift.  I can lay down a coherent journal entry but fiction eludes me. Anyway, indulge me if you will. It isn't often that I imagine sweet back-stories for the visitors I live with.  I usually predict these youngsters will be serial killers or racist mall cops. But there is something different about this specific visitor, this "Kirby" and his best buds. I like them (even if they are rambunctious below my feet). Their existence is very reassuring to me during these turbulent and too hot days.  I don't know why. I don't know them at all, but I trust them with our tomorrows . . . 

Congratulations Kirby.

Happy graduation!

Love,

Joyce

Memorial Day 2022

 

Dear you,

Memorial Day, 2022.  Driving back from a visit to Tallahassee, I stopped at a McDonald’s.  Something about road trips triggers my need for fish filet sandwiches and fries.  I indulged a few miles from the condo home.  Snacking in the car, legs dangling out the door, I looked up and saw this flag (above).  The symbol flapped in the breeze, tattered but still there.  Perfect symbolism.  We are a tattered nation, flapping around in random winds.  Such as . . .

Another mass shooting.  This time at an elementary school.  You know the numbers, the faces, the grief.  You also know the excuses.  But we all know those children died while armed men waited outside their classroom.  They waited.  The institutions of protection and defense are playing around with handbooks and protocols that are insane.  JUST GO.  DO SOMETHING.  THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE BUILT TO DO.  They waited.

This was brutal.  This was big.  We are in destructive mode, even in mundane daily encounters. For example, at a McDonald’s in Polk County, not the home of the previously mentioned tattered flag, Tianis Jones went berserk when her pre-ordered Happy Meal was incorrect.  She stormed the store and called 911.  Her rant lasted for ten minutes, “I’m at McDonalds, I’m five months pregnant . . . these people don’t know how to run a fucking McDonald’s.  I want my money.  They tried to cheat me out of my money.  I want my money!”  She then trashed the condiment station and went behind the counter to toss cups.  Before leaving, she made sure to twerk for the security camera. 

Yes, we are feeling rather tattered in ways big and small.  I hear our allies are worried we are about to collapse and making plans just in case.  Google the topic.  You will find op-ed pieces and studies like the one by Canadian political scientist Thomas Homer-Dixon titled “The American polity is cracked and might collapse. Canada must prepare.”  In the editorial he claims that by “2025, American democracy could collapse, causing extreme domestic political instability including widespread civil violence.  By 2030, if not sooner, the country could be governed by a right-wing dictatorship.” He cites the decades long influence of outlets such as Fox News and Newsmax and voodoo-men like Rush Limbaugh as causes.  And the right-wing voodoo-men and women are “armed to the teeth” with around 400 million firearms.  Homer-Dixon agrees with other political experts that predict “under a second Trump administration, liberalism will be marginalized and right-wing Christian groups super-empowered, while violence by vigilante, paramilitary groups will rise sharply.”

Canada is, no surprise, planning ahead.  They are theorizing ways to handle millions of American refugees seeking political asylum in their sane country.  I wonder if Mexico, Costa Rica, Brazil, etc. etc. etc. are doing the same.  Picture it, millions of liberal minded Americans re-enacting the past, fleeing tyranny and despotism just like their ancestors did.  It could happen.

However, I refuse (at least for the moment) to let gun nuts, abusive twerkers and super-empowered “American Christians” run me out of this gangster nation.  On this Memorial Day, I think about all those good dreamers who wanted something better than what we are.  They don’t want me to run.  I imagine they would say:  JUST GO.  DO SOMETHING. THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE BUILT TO DO. 

I think we can do it.  We outnumber “them”.  Let’s mobilize as well as memorialize.

Forward, not back.

Joyce on Memorial Day, 2022

Things that truly suck!

Dear you,

We got a picture this week of our galaxy’s black hole, Sagittarius A*.  It is 4 million times the size of our sun and 27,000 light-years away from Earth.  These holes suck in everything that comes near them; they’re massive gravity pits.  But this one, experts say, is tame and not aggressively on the hunt. I feel bad about that. Look at that photo!  He’s adorable.  Maybe little Sag* just needs encouragement.  He needs tempting snacks.  Let’s feed this little sucker some of the things that really suck here on planet Earth.  That would be a win-win for both of us. These people and things suck and deserve to be sucked up (suckage karma), banished from our Milky Way:

Republican Senate candidate Kathy Barnette:  Some of her tweets have surfaced saying things like “banning Muslims is NOT unconstitutional” and (my favorite) “Please PRAY for my babies and me.  We are about to board the plane and there’s a homosexual female.”   [There’s a homosexual female where?  On the wings of the plane?  And why is this prayer-worthy?  If God is gay, and he probably is, I don’t think these prayers will be appreciated.]  Kathy, Kathy, Kathy. #SheSucks

Cryptocurrencies:  The current stock market dips and dives are making us sick. CNBC won’t stop talking about things like Bitcoin and their plunge in value. I don’t know anything about Bitcoins or crypto in general, so now I am forced to self-educate and stumble through tedious articles on Yahoo Finance filled with incomprehensible (to me) stuff like this, “One difference between the current environment and other prolonged downturns such as the ‘crypto winter’ in 2018 is the amount of institutions now involved in the market, which may be a source of support, said Paul Veradittakit, a partner at digital asset manager Pantera Capital.”  I lived through a crypto winter four years ago and didn’t know it. I’ve never heard of Pantera Capital.  Don’t they make sandwiches or something? Oh, wait, that’s Panera. This makes me feel old and crypto-ignorant.  #ThatSucks

Marvin Peavy and Herschel Walker:  The Trump Won, Let’s Go Brandon banner guy down the street just added a third piece of visual pollution to his vulgar house on 30A, a Herschel 2022 banner.  Herschel Walker, former football player, recipient of a restraining order for domestic violence, and bloated head-case suffering from dissociative identify disorder, wants to be the Georgia Republican candidate for the US Senate.  He hopes to replace the honorable Raphael Warnock.  For the love of god, Sagittarius A*, make these deplorable men go away.  #TheySuck

Leaf blowers and lawn mowers:  In addition to the stomping and slamming noises produced by our condo “guests”, I have to endure the nerve-shattering screams of gas-powered leaf blowers and lawn mowers. I remember talking to someone from California once about these devices.  She was shocked and asked, “but aren’t they illegal?”  Sure, if you live in a civilized state. These damn tools aren’t just noisy, they are nasty sources of carbon emission and air pollution.  CNET.com’s Brian Bennett wrote about this and quoted the California Air Resources Board as saying “just one hour of gas leaf blower use is the equivalent of driving 1,100 miles.  Running a gas lawn mower for the same period equates to a 300-mile drive.” They blow.  They mow.  And #TheyReallyReallySuck

My bad mood:  Covid, the Trump thing that won’t end, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, inflation, the housing shortage, global warming, etc. etc. etc.  I have a million reasons to be in a bad mood.  But I am sick of being sick of things.  Please, Sag*, take my bluesy mood away.  #ItSucks

There’s today’s menu for my new friend in the galaxy.  Surely, there’ll be more suggested entrees next week, and the next, and the next . . .   

Help us, Sagittarius A*!  Bon appetit.

Love and kisses from your favorite Earthling,

Joyce

Confusion, ball tanning and more!

 

Dear you,

I am confused about many things, but today I’ll focus on two “lite” sources of perplexity.

Confusing thing #1 – Ball tanning. Ball tanning is in the news, thanks to Tucker Carlson.  One of his culture wars obsessions is virility or, as he would claim, a virility crisis.  Men are becoming unmanly!  It’s a plot by the left!  His cure involves shining a red light down under.  He is not kidding.  Quote rollinstone.com, “As with many outlandish claims supported by no evidence, the notion that low-level laser therapy will increase testosterone and fertility is not new.  Red light therapy – or as the Hungarian scientists named it in 1967, photobiomodulation – is experiencing a renaissance in potential treatments for muscle recovery, depression, and wound healing, topics regularly discussed on far-right wellness podcasts with affiliates links to massage guns and infrared saunas.  Which naturally led some men to strip naked and point the light at their balls.”

Naturally.

Kinda like drinking Lysol or ingesting horse meds to fight Covid.

Naturally.

Take a mental picture of this.  These men are straddling a laser device and pointing the light at their balls. What is wrong with these people?  As far as I can tell, there are tons of men-on-top structures and assumptions that still dominate as norms.  So what is this panic all about? Why burn your balls?  Is it about me and people who think like me?  Are we destroying virility? Case in point, the local Thunder Beach Motorcycle Event taking place now in Panama City Beach and all along 30A.  I’ve been embedded in these events for years now, and I have NEVER EVER EVER seen this:

A female in front, driving the bike, with the dude in the back, arms wrapped around her waist.

Always, always, the girls are hanging on and out of control.  The exception is when two women are on the bike.  That seems to be accepted, sister and sister front to back on the Harley.  But even then, the picture mirrors the man-woman model.  Typically, the driving gal is bigger, butcher and the passenger gal is smaller and “fluffier” (more bedazzled touches on her denim or pageant hair blowing in the breeze).

Why is this the way it is?  Why do we women have to sit at the back of the bike? Tucker should take comfort in this gender norm.  No need to ball tan your average biker dude.  Unless he happens to be a Democrat.

Confusing thing #2 – DeSantis v. Disney, Disney potentially losing special business status.  Yes, Governor DeSantis is still on a roll finding ways to punish those who oppose his whims.  The latest I heard today is the legal challenge by Disney may be strong; #DeathSantis might lose this one.  However, I wondered about his counter moves.  If Disney keeps its status, will he attempt to spread the wealth and gift this to other, more Floriduh-conservative friendly theme parks?  Who will he choose?  His perfect candidate, Church of All Nations at Holy Land Experience.

Located in the Orlando area, the park/church/whatever opened as a Christian-based theme park.  It enjoyed a non-profit status and offered services, exhibits like a replica of ancient Jerusalem, activities for children and little theatrical events like reenactments of the crucifixion.  That sounds fun.  Anyway, this park closed in 2020, not due to Covid, just a loss of money. 

Hmmm, DeSantis might muse, the closure of a godly play space for my Christian supporters could be blamed on the left too.  They used their insidious Mickey to lure our children into the happiest place on Earth, i.e. their gateway to hell and grooming station supreme.  The power of this evil theme park overwhelmed the goodness of the Holy Land Experience!  I can bring them back, give them the special status and tax breaks they deserve!  I can give them incarcerated Floridians to use as free labor! And I can make their park even more competitive and holy by constructing a Ball Tanning Ride for the male customers!  Ball Tanning for Jesus! 

This is not really happening, but it is within the realm of the possible here in Florida, where confusion reigns supreme and biker chicks know their place.

So, I close this little diary-chat.  I hope you are confused by ball tanning and Governor DeSantis too.  If those two things ever make sense to you, call 911.

I wish you clarity!

Love,

Joyce