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