Democratic Experiment

Dear you,

A hell of a time to be an American.  I identify with this: "Dozens of monkeys escape from US research lab." Run, babies, run. They are used for experimentation.  We are now  subject to experimentation too. Our mad-scientist-captor is a big MAGA blob called the Trump regime 2.0.  Our Republic has always been an experiment in democracy. Now, the majority of us who voted in the recent presidential election decided that the experiment needs tweaking, it needs a strong man and a team of oligarchs to straighten things out. Like those beautiful monkeys imprisoned and used for experiments, acceptable losses for someone's twisted idea of a greater good, we too should run. Only a week after Trump's win, we are informed of the following:

Elon Musk and Vivek W. will handle the economy, the structure of governance, through a brand new thing called the department of economic efficiency. My oh my.  Musk. We know his intentions. Musk’s Twitter/X is the Blueprint for a MAGA Government. Fire everyone. Turn it into a personal political weapon. Let chaos reign. Don't get me started on their love of cryptocurrency and what that will mean for the US dollar and banking.

Matt Gaetz is Trump's nominee for Attorney General. Gee, since the new GOP controlled senate will allow recess appointments and wouldn't object even if Matt had to endure a confirmation process, I think we know what this means.  He is loathed by so many in the GOP, but hey, who cares?  What the new autocrat says goes.  They will turn their heads and kiss the ring.  This is Trump's test for the GOP senate: stand with me no matter how absurd my choices are.  Disagree? You will pay. 

Mike Huckabee is the ambassador to Israel. Mike, the guy who thinks Palestine should not exist.  The far right Christian dude who offers lip service to Netanyahu because he sees Israel as a part of the ultimate "second coming" plan. The great nation of Israel is just a useful tool, part of Mike's dream narrative of the return of his wildly fictional savior. Meanwhile, the starving children in Gaza . . . 

I refuse to even mention the names of the other barbarians who will now be in charge of national security, defense, and for the love of god, that man who will choreograph the "mass deportation" horrors to come.  They shall remain nameless.

America just voted itself into a cage of fear, inhumanity, and devolution - backwards and downwards we go. Many, millions of us, are not having it.  We reject the cage. 

Tennessee Williams:  A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.

Never, never, never give up! Shake the bars. And if necessary, run baby run.

Love,

Joyce

The Morning After

 Dear you,

So, my America has voted to elect a convicted felon for President. More than that, the felon is going to (try to) erase many, so many, democratic institutions we have long fought to build.  Well, there is that. And then there is also this:

Competing images of the new head of oligarchy-style USA:  What does this mean?  It is so simple, so obvious, so easy to diagnose.  The photo of our next POTUS (big orange Donald to the right of Harris) on solid news sites like CNN, CBS, or MSNBC depict this:

While on FOX, his acolytes depict him as something like this:

Ah, the grinning fool (which he is, but add dangerous to that description) versus the "strong man" scowling at his liberty loving enemies.

A picture is worth more than a thousand words.

Trump won America in this election. Shocking? Not really.  But the millions of us who still love what we are meant to be woke up this day sad but resilient.  Tomorrow is another day.  And we, millions of us, know the grinning fool who poses as strong man does not wish us well.  He is our next president, a poser. With power. He is indeed the scowling dude who is also a grinning, deeply dangerous fool.  Sleep well, and get ready for what comes. 

Here we go. Carry on! 

Love,

Joyce 

The situation . . .

 Sit·u·a·tion:  a set of circumstances in which one finds oneself; a state of affairs.

Dear you,

My oh my, we are all in perplexing situations.  Whatever they may be, the king of stoicism suggests the following:

Marcus Aurelius:  "It stares you in the face.  No role is so well suited to philosophy as the one you happen to be in right now."

What is my current role? A few: citizen, annoyed/amused Florida condo owner, feminist-lioness, cat-lady, exercise lover, and eternal student. Suited philosophies? Aurelian stoicism (face it), Aristotelian "push" (just do it), Epicurus (eat, drink and be merry because . . . you know the rest).

All these thinkers, if sitting on a what-should-Joyce-do panel, might suggest the following: If an old, orange man says he will be my 'daddy' whether I like it or not, stay calm, tell him to fuck off, and have a cocktail.  If a random condo "manager" lies and mucks things up at my Villas, stay calm, tell him to fuck off, and have a cocktail. If a sad local is ranting about how women are wrecking the country by being all "free", stay calm, tell him to fuck off, and have a cocktail. If someone hustling for money suggests you sign on to a shady contract (be it a phone deal, condo agreement, or ubiquitous streaming forever-binding document), stay calm, tell her/him to fuck off, and have a cocktail.

You know, each of those things happened to me today already.  If I acted as advised, I would have exceeded my daily F-bomb limit and be ripping-tipsy.  And it's only 4 P.M.  But at least I would be very, very calm.

Perhaps I'll cut the "fuck-offs" and just elegantly face "it" (whatever the situation is), do something productive, and eat, drink, and be merry.  I am NOT cutting the cocktails.

What is your role, dear you, what are your philosophies?  Good luck, in any and all situations.  Especially the ones we are in today. Keep calm and carry on.

Love,

Joyce

Will versus Worry

Dear you,

I don't know the source of this quotation, but I love it and whoever said it:  "The beauty of life is in denying mortality, not arranging your life around it."

Thank you. Truth! The trick is striking a wise balance and asking myself "am I just procrastinating and avoiding realities I must face or am I seeing things clearly enough to be sensibly fearless?"  After all, worrying about daily glitches and that end-of-life thing is pointless.  I'm all in for delusional feelings of immortality! And yet, I worry about the here and now which makes me feel very mortal and kind of old:

I worry about the newly inflated HOA condo fees and the number of for-sale listings I see here in Villas land.

I worry about the weird little beep my car makes when I shift into park.

I worry about the tiny gash on my left elbow, not remembering when or how that happened.

I worry about the horror of a possible Trump return to the White House.

I worry about the hurricane survivors who have no water.

I worry about Ukraine, Israel, and Palestine (and now Lebanon).

I worry that I bore my cat.

No matter how much I strive for the "don't fear the reaper" attitude, the worries make me feel very, very not mythic.  And mortal. I know taking constructive action is best; don't worry/be an action figure!

I will chose a real estate broker and get this condo sold.

I will shop for a new vehicle.

I will pay attention to where my body is in space and limit my dancing-flailing approach to movement.

I will vote and send more money to support #Harris/Walz2024.

I will find out how to get that water running and back whoever can make that happen.

I will continue to stand with Ukraine, Israel, the people of Palestine and Lebanon.

I will now play with my cat who needs her person to not be such a drag.

The wills make more sense than the worries.  Even if I am delusional/immortal, I can still deal with the glitches, still(as Aurelie Sheehan wrote, this time I have the source) know that "everything matters utterly - you are made of the minutes you spend."

We are made of these minutes we spend, even if we pretend to be immortal with unlimited minutes.

Here's to the wills and not the worries.

Carry on,

Joyce

Damage

Dear you,

Well, here we are.  A few days from a nation-changing election and I am embedded in Trump country keeping my head up.  Or at least trying to.  Of course, reality looms large, such as the damage done by hurricane Helene.  We do not even know the total death toll or extent of damage.  And while we work to do our best to help, the freaks on the far right are undermining the truth about aid, about help from FEMA, and as you have all heard, they even suggest the hurricane itself was created by whatever they think the left is.  See the infamous MTG of Georgia:  "they can control the weather."  Wow. I am more powerful than I realized! But oh her words, and those of others, do damage.  Undermining truth and undermining what is actually happening to aid those in desperate circumstances. 

And speaking of intentional damage, we face an election in Florida that includes an amendment that would protect abortion rights.  But look first at what the amendment states and then see what the state of Florida added to "comment" on that amendment #4: "No law shall prohibit, penalize, delay, or restrict abortion before viability or when necessary to protect the patient's health, as determined by the patient's healthcare provider.  This amendment does not change the Legislature's constitutional authority to require notification to a parent or guardian before a minor has an abortion."

Here follows some commentary added to the ballot summary sent to voters: "The proposed amendment would result in significantly more abortions and fewer live births per year in Florida . . . An increase in abortions may negatively affect the growth of state and local revenues over time." 

An economic impact prediction/spin?  Really?  A female's autonomy be damned; "let's consider cost."  OF COURSE THERE WILL BE FEWER BIRTHS.  Fewer FORCED births.  Anyone who looks at this issue through the lens of economic impacts is seriously damaged.  Cold, darling.  Just cold. And wrong.  And barbaric. And damaged.

Oh, how they lie.

And then there is Oklahoma, whose school board is requiring schools to include Christian biblical texts in their courses.  This, even if the course is not "World Religions".  And those biblical texts that must be included are ones that insert documents such as the American constitution, the Declaration of Independence, etc., oh, like the recently published TRUMP BIBLES?  Damage.  Damage done to spiritual truth, to the separation of church and state, to essential intellectual coherence.

Well, there you have it.  Meanwhile, here I am in Seagrove Beach, Florida, during what people call "fall break".  This means tons of super-loud pickup trucks with excessive amounts of "short term renters" pulling in to the Villas and taking over. The damage they will do this week is already visible.

Signing off now.  I have to wander around my over-priced parking lot and pick up trash (oh, you don't want to know exactly what that trash includes) tossed from those Trumpy pickup trucks.  Enjoy your stay, assholes! 

Hang in there, everyone.  Damage is done, but truth and hope must rule!  What is the alternative? Be strong.  Be, I hope, all in for #HarrisWalz2024.

Love,

Joyce

Reality versus delusion

 Dear you,

Today, I hear bell hooks - "The most basic activism we can have in our lives is to live consciously in a nation living in fantasies . . . you will face reality, you will not delude yourself."

This, as Trump/Vance lie about immigrants, this as those in charge of my condo world refuse to alert us to what is coming (millions of dollars needed to repair structural decay due to previous management/board avoidance), this as 30A pretends to be the Hamptons of the South. One big cluster of delusional nonsense.

And also this: the death of a lovely orange bougainvillea that once grew by our pool to the east.  Weeks ago, during another mindless "landscaping" frenzy at the Villas, a worker was ordered to take a chainsaw to that gorgeous plant.  Why?  Because the new plan did not include the reality of existing beauty.  Delusion driven, the committee or whoever ordered this stupid action, imagined something they deemed better:  pine straw and a couple of sad little yellow flowering plants that will not survive this hot September. 

Yet another sad, pointless reality to face, a seemingly small thing, a very micro-local thing, but large in terms of meaning. There will always be differences of opinion regarding aesthetics, but come on.  Pine straw v. a colorful, flowering beauty?  I cannot assign malevolent intent to those who ordered the take-down, but I can confidently conclude they are deluded.

So, do something, right? This weekend I am heading to the garden center at Walmart and buying a baby bougainvillea.  I will convince one of the landscaping assassins to plant it in the space where its predecessor thrived. As for the bigger picture "this" list above, I will also continue to donate to the Harris/Walz campaign and hope, hope, hope, realism defeats delusion in November.  I will keep speaking truth about the real financial jeopardy owners will face at this condo. And I will do my best to not get aggravated by the false comparisons penned by silly tourism boards.  (Anyone who has ever been to The Hamptons knows our 30A scene is in no way comparable.  Reality:  We are still best described as the Redneck Riviera.  Own it.)

Keeping it as real as I can day by day,

Joyce

Childless?

Dear you,

Childless.  When did this become a thing to bemoan/criticize?  Gee, all my reproductive hot years, according to the breeding-is-best-advocates, were wasted. And here I was thinking I had happily chosen to go solo and not be a breeder.  As a feminist, and a human being, who is/was audacious enough to consider her singularity valuable, I never imagined the popularity of this newly twisted adjective. Being less without child.  Other derogatory "less" modifiers come to mind:

Hopeless

Meaningless

Joyless

Helpless

Expressionless

Ambitionless

Less as in lacking the noun base thing or quality.  On the other hand, there are positive "less" descriptive words:

Ageless

Boundless

Fearless

Breathless

Hurrah!  If described these ways, I am immune to the effects of age, I live without boundaries or limits, I am not afraid of anything, and I am capable of awe that takes my breath away.

How can I spin an adjective that denotes the NOT joyless experience of avoiding parenthood?  Instead of less, consider "free".  I am a child-free woman of a certain age; there is not less-than or lack here. There is only good old autonomous me. 

Let's see how long this "childless" criticism lasts. If we do elect Harris/Walz, eventually (with time and persistence), the cultural value of choosing to go solo will regain its former luster.

Resist twisted adjectives!

Love,

Child-free Joyce

Voting in red red Florida is really fun!

Dear you,

Walton County primary voting was really, really fun!  Meaning, not.  I should know to just keep my head down and not interact with anyone here, especially far-right sign-wavers.  This is a seriously Republican county and the candidates for most local positions are all super R's. As a registered Democrat, I was only allowed to vote on three primary choices: the Democrat challenging our dreaded "Skeletor" Senator Rick Scott, the property appraiser, and for some strange reason, the commissioner candidate for a district I don't even live in, nothing makes sense here so that is pretty much SNAFU.

Seeking input about my limited choices, I approached two smiling women and a very hyper dude, all aggressively waving signs for their favorite fascists.  The smiles didn't last long when I told them I was a Democrat, one of those dangerous liberal elites.  Admittedly, that last bit was a weak attempt at humor, but the dude seemed amused.  He laughed, perhaps a bit too maniacally, and walked away while the women stayed focused, doing their best to answer my questions. During this info session, the dude came storming back in full asshole-mode. He was screaming, I kid you not, screaming, the usual complaints such as "you people are ruining the county; you and that Kamala aren't patriots" and (as expected) bits of unintelligible nonsense about "the border, the border, the border."  I didn't flinch, told him to calm down, and that made him even madder. Oh, baby, these angry white men. What is it about liberal, fearless women that sets them off so violently?  Rhetorical question.  We know.  But I do appreciate the two gals who stood firm. They gave him "back off" stares that shut him up. 

As for their advice, I did use it.  I voted for the candidates they opposed.  They can thank their angry-asshole pal for that. 

I left the voting site unscathed, except for a yellow fly bite I suffered during the "info session". You see, even the insects in Walton County hate liberals. Like I said, voting here is really, really fun!

See you in November, asshole dude, I'm not running away.

Love,

Joyce

#HarrisWalz2024

Authenticity

Dear you,

Hot August thoughts in my 1,028 square feet of shelter.  I am preparing for something as I hide from the heat, shut out construction noise, and come down from political sugar highs.  I am in listening mode, taking in thoughts from others, their shared experiences and reflections on whatever "this" is we are doing. Via book form, I listen to Richard Todd in The Thing Itself, On the Search for Authenticity. He writes "The landscape is literally contested turf, a battlefield of competing dreams."

Hot August strife in our little nation, indeed the landscape of contested turf and competing dreams.

Some of us dream of a place where people are tightly wrapped and constrained.  They dream of everyone and every venture fitting their points of view:  old roles and rules must be followed, the wild world must be tamed and strip-malled, chatter must override thinking, posing must be judged as superior to unsettling authenticity.

Then there is a competing dream: We dream of the unique individual running her/his life. (I heard Kamala Harris' vice presidential pick challenge the constraining forces on this point in his first rally, "Mind your own damn business." Yes, sir. Exactly.) We can dream of a lush world that is cherished and not exploited.  We can dream of knowing what is real and privileging that above the scam of commercialized everything.

Dreams inspire action. Successful actions are fueled by intelligence.  Intelligence is gained from study, observation of the very real (which is here behind the veil), and authoritative listening, knowing we have the power to distinguish between facts and lies. Are you thinking about The Matrix now?  In that film's world, reality must be found.  What seems to be is not there; it is a blue-pill side effect. Todd references that movie in his book, an obvious example of our search for authenticity. And who can think of The Matrix and not think about Keanu Reeves, the actor portraying the ultimate searcher?  Yes, I get it, he's an actor who isn't really searching, just a guy playing the searcher.  But the actor himself spends plenty of time thinking about reality and growth. Hence, the photo above and his words:

"Be aware of the quiet ones, they are the ones who actually think. The smarter you get, the less you speak."

And on this hot August day in my 1,028 square feet, I thank Reeves and Todd for dropping by. I'm listening. 

Let us all be the quiet ones, the smart ones, the ones searching for authenticity always.

Abstractly yours,

Joyce

History/Herstory, Kamala Harris for POTUS

Dear you,

I write this night with  gratitude.  I thank President Joe Biden for his service and for his decision to, as they say, pass the torch.  Happy, so happy, to welcome Vice President Kamala Harris into this fight for democracy, leading the charge.

I exhale.  I knew this would happen.

But let me zoom in, to the local, as I always do, and share the "scenery" on 30A in Seagrove Beach.  I refer to the signage on Marvin's house to the west of me.  After the assassination attempt, he hung signs saying "bullet proof" and (hold on for this one), "you missed."  You?  As I drive back from the grocery store, Marvin is happily declaring I missed?  What is wrong with this dude?  Who is the "you" he is targeting?  We know.  He wants to imply we who are not Trump cult members were pulling the trigger.  Horrible to consider.  But there you have it.  Fine.  Accuse away.  But what this signage does is more than inflammatory, it is insulting to the man who died, the man who took the bullet.  "You missed"?  Like nothing happened just so long as Donald is fine?  God, these people are indeed deplorable.

So, what is my point tonight?  What do I need to say?  I need to say this to President Joe Biden:  Thank you for decades of work for us, for the USA, for trying always to do the right thing.  Thank you for going high while they go low.  Thank you for never exploiting a tragedy, as Trump just did with that bizarre helmet-kissing thing he did during his RNC acceptance speech, to make yourself look heroic.  Thank you for your grace.  Thank you for your support of Kamala Harris.  Thank you for never giving up.  This torch-passing thing is just another example of you winning, winning for us.  

Sleep well this night, Mr. President.  You are loved; you are honored.

Everyone else, including me?  Sleep just enough to be fit for the work that lies ahead.

#StandWithKamala

Love,

Joyce

#248

Dear you,

Last week, we (sort of) celebrated the nation's 248th birthday.  Was it just me or were you feeling less than celebratory too? Even the fireworks seemed sad. One big reason may be those killer SCOTUS decisions; they put a knife in our  would-be-holiday-happy hearts.  New reality: We have an imperial presidency, severely limited regulatory powers, semi-unlimited access to weapons of war, and our homeless people are not allowed to sleep in public. WTF? Another reason might be President Biden's "performance" during that highly anticipated 6/21 debate.  A man from Arizona summed it up nicely:  "Oh, no" (for Biden) and "Oh, HELL no" (for Trump).

How do we celebrate considering where we are? Many did, here in Seagrove Beach, feeling all 30A fabulous and free as they drove around in monster trucks flying those MAGA flags.  Well, at least somebody's happy. I did my best when encountering the celebrants to put on a brave face, a mask of unfazed stoicism.  But, yes, it was a mask.  This week, I am recovering and leaving the mask behind.  Whatever is, is and all we can do is resist, stand with Joe, and create ways to undo some of that SCOTUS damage.

As for that SCOTUS damage, I am sure you were astonished by Judge Gorsuch's bizarre dismissal of expertise as they overturned the Chevron doctrine that protected informed regulation.  See the title of New Republic's commentary by Kate Aronoff:

This Is Why the Supreme Court Shouldn’t Try to Do the EPA’s Job.

Conservative justices this week confused nitrous oxide with nitrogen oxides and then insisted that they, not the EPA, were the final word on environmental regulations.

The subtitle for her piece is "Laughing Gas."

Perfect.

And now, a press conference is in progress with reporters pushing about Biden's medical condition. Boy, they are riled up! Good, they should be.  We need facts.  However, there is very little "riled up" questioning about the Orange Jesus, his lies, his convictions, or his SCOTUS protection racket.

Give us all some laughing gas. We need harmless narcotics to get through this long hot summer, the 248th summer of independent us.  Hopefully, it is not our last.

Carry on!

Joyce

Black Bears on Crack, ah Floriduh!

Dear you,

We sizzle.  Real feel temperature in Seagrove beach today is 100 degrees. That is positively comfy in contrast to other parts of our USA.  We sizzle and deny, deny, deny this very real climate change.  Florida continues its war on Mother Nature with edicts from the governor, #DeathSantis, like these:  1. The Gov declares no laws in Florida shall mention "climate change".  (Very "don't say gay" in intent.  Forbid the saying of the thing, the people, then  both shall cease to be real.) 2. The Gov also signed into law HB 87 that allows for the slaughter of Black Bears who are displaced by development and extreme weather. Sierra Club tried to gather support against the bill that "would have disastrous consequences for the welfare and safety of Florida wildlife and residents alike. Built upon the falsehood that Florida faces an epidemic of “crackbears”, HB 87 would usurp the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission’s (FWC) sole constitutional authority to regulate wildlife and exempt people from any administrative, civil or criminal penalties for killing a bear if: The person is believed that it was necessary to avoid imminent death or serious bodily injury to their self, another person or a pet; and the person didn’t intentionally or recklessly put their self or pet in a situation where they would need to use lethal force."  

Yes, anti-wildlife, fearful folks will pull the trigger if Yogi and BooBoo are digging through a garbage can searching for food. The comical reasoning about crack came from one representative who said bears have consumed drugs and are now on a rampage.  Again, from Sierra Club, their Florida Political Director Luigi Guadaramma, “Rather than addressing real problems like the property insurance crisis, climate change, or affordability, legislators have prioritized a fantasy. There have been zero people killed by ‘crack bears’ in Florida, and there are zero reasons why HB 87 should be signed into law.”

But of course it was signed into law. #Floriduh. We sizzle, we deny, we kill.

You and I know who is on crack, and it isn't the bears. 

Keep your head up!  Hope is hard to tap into now, but we have to try.  Do what you can.

Bless the wild things everywhere.

Joyce out

Post-Trust Days

Dear you,

Post-D Day tributes, post-Trump criminal conviction, post-trust.  Here we are.  My day began fully post-trust when a scam caller tried to convince me someone had opened a checking account in my name at an institution I do not bank at and this person had also used Zelle to send money to someone named Jennifer.  "Let me connect you to a Zelle Rep to clear this up."  Uh, no.  I said I would just call the bank in question directly and take it from there.  Click.  As expected, big scam.  Such a shame, isn't it?  So very post-trust.  I don't even trust my supermarket, a behemoth chain here in Florida.  The pricing is ridiculous, gouge-worthy indeed.  And they are running a TV ad now that is perplexing and insulting.  Cue music for "Bittersweet Symphony".  

Hear the lovely orchestration?  It is mysterious and lovely.  The ad only uses the music, no lyrics. But for those of us who know the song and its lyrics, this choice seems way off for a store that wants to keep it light, happy, wants to emphasize the shopping pleasure found in its aisles.  Put simply, the lyrics are dark:

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, that's life

Tryna make ends meet, tryna find somebody then you die

I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down

You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah

You know I can change, I can change

I can change, I can change

But I'm here in my mold

I am here in my mold

And I'm a million different people

From one day to the next

I can't change my mold

No, no, no, no, no

So, paying attention to the words the music sets up, I guess the grocery company defines me as someone who just tries to make ends meet, buys over-priced foodstuffs, and then dies. I cannot change or resist the mold of shopping normalcy.  If they want my trust, they shouldn't assume I won't recall the lyrics when I hear the music; they shouldn't assume I am that stupid and memory-free.  I am now totally post-trust in terms of this company.

Don't worry, I won't starve.  Walmart just opened a new marketplace store just a few miles down the road.  It is clean, sells upscale products and fresh-fresh produce, and is staffed by chill, not-fake-friendly workers. That I can trust.

Word to those who make us post-trust:  we won't fall for phone scams or TV ads that assume we have no cultural knowledge.

We CAN change our molds enough to survive post-trust and work for a trust renaissance.

Cheers to that!

Love, Joyce

Tell-Tale Couch

Dear you,

Memorial Day.  Solemn and gracious memories we offer to those who serve and served.  I recall my Dad who fought in WW2 and the Korean War and Mom who worked as an Army nurse. Their serious service makes me proud.  I remember them, recalling stories large and small.  On the small side, I remember how they had a hard time parting with old things, especially furniture.  Our beach house had a stained wreckage of a couch in the den that they just lived with.  Here, in the beach world of hard-to-find labor, I suppose it was easier to do that than struggle to hire a handyperson.  Which brings me to my recent "crime" of ridding myself of a final piece of a hideous sectional couch:

A week or so ago, I couldn't take the old couch thing being in my world any longer.  I dragged it downstairs and placed it under the stairway.  Unwilling to take the tacky and easy way out (which is when owners dump their old furnishings and even appliances in our garbage dumpster enclosure),  I told our somewhat sketchy property manager what I had done and asked for his assistance to remove the thing.  As expected, no responsive action.  Days passed and finally another owner in my building had a handyman on site to do some work.  I tossed him a twenty and asked if he could take the blob away to wherever he took disposables.  "Sure!"  Hurrah!  But that was not the end of it.

Think about Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart".  In that story, a man murders an old dude with a creepy eye and stashes his body under the floor of his flat.  Not the end of that disposal either, he is haunted by the sound of a beating heart that drives him mad.  His crime will not let him go.  The old man, in his way, remains.  So it was/is, sort of, with me.  After the handyman's removal of my couch, I discovered it hadn't gone far.  While strolling around the condo complex, I looked over to a construction site next door.  By their dumpster sat the big blobby sectional, muddy and ratting me out.  Who does that?  Well, sketchy property manager probably saw it and thought I did that, dumping junk at a neighbor's construction site.  Now, many days later, it still sits there.  Like the tell-tale heart, it testifies to my failure to get rid of my junk in a responsible way.  Crimes in the name of minimalism.  Dad and Mom would never do that. (Smile.)

Best to all on this Memorial Day.

Be mindful of what you imagine you've disposed of.

Love,

Joyce

Inflation Pressure!

Dear you,

Morning news informed me that the inflated cost of food is headed down, slightly and slowly.  Good news on that topic.  But, my chosen brand of smokes now costs $15.29 a pack.  Interesting point of inflation, the oft-claimed election year top ranked concern for voters. One gal's inflation might just be another gal's motivation, another opportunity to expand her resiliency skills.  Why resilient?  It takes "bendiness" and bounce-back to not blame the current powers that be (in The White House) for our aching wallets and feelings of forced austerity.  The Dems have nothing to do with this.  Or any of the rising prices of edibles and smokables.  And I am tired of hearing rants about how a change in leadership (a.k.a. surrendering to MAGA/Donald) will make all things better, cheaper, steadier.  

Many ranters from the red side are denying the relevance of the erasure of women's rights, the hair-on-fire need to deal with climate change, the creeping loss of intellectual and even personal freedom.  Their "top two" issues?  The border and inflation.

Who are these people who buy into those programmed, heavily advertised fears? Who is that gal who runs to bow before the probable autocratic next reign of Trump simply because her cigarettes cost more than some world citizens earn in a day?

She ain't me.  I am resisting that pressure.

Now, as for how to adjust, resiliently handle this wallet-shock, here is what I can/will do as advised by Indiana University Health.  Instead of reaching for that cigarette: march in place, drink water, brush and floss, play with my cat, sing, do laundry, take a walk. Okay. Since I do those things frequently already, what are they advising?  Should I bloat myself into an H20 coma, annoy whoever is under me in the condo with maniacal stomping, interrupt my cat's napping hobby and start washing one pair of socks at a time?  At least those actions are somewhat necessary anyway and will not DRIVE me to smoke like these suggestions:  go to an amusement park, explore my genealogy, hug someone.  Amusement parks are hell; discovering dark ancestral secrets could be traumatic; hugging the locals and guests in this zone, yikes.  Thanks for the tips, but I prefer to shell out the $15.29. And, as confessed before, continue to pretend I'm immortal.  And rich.

Time to catch up on the Trump trial coverage, the cross-examination of Michael Cohen. Yikes again. This too will drive me to light up.

Stay cool, stay frugal, and avoid inflation-fear ranters.

Love, 

Joyce

The War on Stupid

Dear you,

Futile and exhausting. My efforts to rise above the prevailing tide of stupid here in the Florida Panhandle are, currently, in epic fail mode.  I'd say at this point, after five years of ownership in condo-world, I have a total of five allies, five out of more than a hundred.  The favorable five don't just echo my views. They do, however, share my aim to not be STUPID. We six are seriously outnumbered in our war on stupid. Here's an anecdote, an example of what we deal with in enemy territory:

A few nights ago, the owner of the ground floor unit in my corridor informed me that she "personally didn't like Biden" (personally?) and is supporting RFK Jr.  Instead of walking away with a cheery "have a good night", I went there (so yes, that was STUPID of me) and asked "You support the isolationist, anti-science, anti-vax dude?"  Ground floor gal voiced her fear of the COVID vax specifically because she "read" it changed our bodies in a bad way.  Me:  "Are you talking about that whole DNA idiocy?"  Her:  "Yes."  Me:  "Then you've studied this mRNA vaccine carefully.  Educate me on the basics. What is the difference between RNA and DNA?"  Her:  "Well, I don't really know but blah blah blah blah." This time I made the not-stupid choice and walked away. It could have ended there but NO.  I just had to toss a double "fuck you" over my shoulder.  Rise above effort, epic fail. But why am I the one who has to make an effort?  RFK Jr., really? 

See the recent interview with Bill Maher. Candidate K asserted that "There is 25 percent of Americans who believe that they know somebody who was killed by a COVID vaccine." And your point is what, candidate? That 25% of us are delusional? They believe things like "information" found on South Carolina's government website.  There, they declare that "the Pfizer mRNA vaccine is contaminated", containing pieces of DNA that are "likely to damage the human genome". When this 25% was googling away looking for facts that fit their beliefs, they clicked deep into that shit! I guess they skipped the piece from Scientific American (Jan., 2024) titled "No, COVID mRNA Vaccines Won't Damage Your DNA", the article opening with something you would hope they never had to say:  "You have a better chance of becoming Spider-Man than being harmed by DNA from COVID vaccines." 

Look, I know I might be very wrong.  All I know is that the COVID vaccination might have made me sleepy and achy day one, but it didn't kill me.  In fact, since I was immersed in a COVID-denying locale dealing with unmasked, un-vaxed sneezers and geezers and never caught the virus, I am thinking the vax probably saved my life. And even if future research reveals that I will indeed transform into Spider-Woman, I'd rather be an arachnid than an idiot.

End!

Love, Joyce

SCOTUS depression

Dear you,

Our Supreme Court is depressing me again.  During arguments about whether January 6 Rioters could be rightly charged with interrupting an official government proceeding, justices raised questions like this:

Alito:  "Let's say that today while you're arguing, five people get up, and they shout either, 'Keep the Jan. 6 insurrectionists in jail,' or 'Free the Jan. 6 patriots.'  And our police officers have to remove them forcibly - would that be a violation of this statute?"  Ridiculous.  Trying to compare a vocal interruption with a violent attempt to take over the Capitol and stop the certification of a presidential election. Well, we all know what Alito wants. 

And then there is the stellar case about whether homeless people can be fined for sleeping outside in a rural Oregon community. The homeless people in Grants Pass have camped out in a park near a pickleball court, apparently bringing too much reality to the game players there.  A raid emptied the tents of many, including one that sheltered an eighty year-old man and a woman blind in one eye.  They were at risk of being fined for staying too long.  Fined.  As if they have the means to pay that fine.  Cruel, just cruel.  As is often said these days, I suppose cruelty is the point.  Who knows how this case will be decided, but considering the callous makeup of SCOTUS, I fear those homeless folks will be even more screwed than they are now.

Power to punish the homeless; power to protect insurrectionists. It is all just so backwards.  And depressing.

Antidote for this, a way to get my mind off of Supreme disfunction?  Eyes up, look out:

There they are, green again, leafy and swaying in the breeze. The crepe myrtle trees that survived the HOA's (a condo version of the Supreme Court) instructions to annihilate some of them (or most) defiantly thrive.  So pretty, so perfect, so above it all.  Glorious.  And soon they shall bloom:

That's it.  That's enough for today.

Love,

Joyce

Blasphemy 101

Dear you,

So many weeks since I've typed something here. I 've been eyes-wide-open stunned into speechlessness once again by the local, the national and the global.  

Local:  Spring break nearly broke us on 30A.  Early March brought mindless noise-makers from Tennessee and Texas who rocked the neighborhoods. Party in the condo!  Early April brought large crowds from the metro-Atlanta area who rocked everything - Walton County law enforcement had to close the 30A beaches to minors after 7 P.M. for a week. 

National:  Donald Trump rules the airwaves with his increasingly vile rhetoric and grifter stunts.  My favorite recently?  His personally endorsed TRUMP BIBLE for $59.99. The Bible. WTF? Who would buy that?  God in heaven, who is that blasphemously stupid?  Answers can be found on X.  One cult supporter who often posts with the hashtag "persistence" is a surefire customer.  Today, he celebrates efforts in Pennsylvania to register voters at gun shows, an upcoming WrestleMania event, and among the Amish community.  The Amish.  I just can't.

Global:  Wars rage on; Palestinian children starve; Ukrainians fight on - without enough bullets or air defense - as our far-right GOP bows to Putin and denies aid; the earth quakes beneath our feet in Taiwan and New Jersey; and another hot summer is on the way.

Enough already.  I have no fresh perspectives on any of this.  However, I do have The Onion, my favorite satirical news source, to at least lift my spirits.  See their "Best Parts of Trump's $60 'God Bless the USA' Bible".  Loving these bits:

"Jesus encounters 5,000 hungry people and runs them over with pickup truck."

"Israelites have been renamed - In order to make them seem less Jewish, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob now go by Tucker, Rudy, and Ted Nugent."

"Blasphemy Matches - The inside cover includes a set of easy-strike matches for burning all heretical, non-Trump versions of the Bible."

"Upgradable - For an extra $20 you can get one that says adultery is okay."

Hilarious!  I may be short on sassy thoughts these days, but at least I can still appreciate the sass of others.  There is an art in their kind of resistance. And if things go badly in November, we are going to need a massive amount of "art".

Cheers to those who never lose their words.

Love,

Joyce 

Project 2025 Family Planning

Dear you,

Christian Nationalism and "the end of democracy", as promised by a CPAC speaker recently, are very here and now. The fans of this Project 2025 dystopia are the absolute worst. Their god is the justification for every fucking nightmare policy they dream up. A year or so ago, I would have said dream on. The majority of Americans are too sane and too mindful of religious truths to put up with your antics.  But here we are now; the new American theocrats are increasing in number.  And power.  A center of their new plan for all of us is the emphasis on family. (Not a new thing, but typical of conservative backlash game plans.)That family is defined by them, of course. And kids, kids, kids must be produced! (See again Speak Johnson and his theory that every American female should be compelled to produce at least one child/worker.)The choice to be solo in this retro-conservative era now must be explained. People ask, why don't you have children?

I reply with the facts: "I'm a different kind of animal. I like to live on my own and I really don't like children." These declarations are often received with wide-eyed horror. I've seen people cross themselves and take a step back. Apparently I am a very bad girl. So, what do they want to hear?  What can be said to shut them the fuck up?  Well, as I often do, I consulted the fabulous comedy of The Onion for options, something to make me laugh and stop me from doom-scrolling about theocratic future. See their piece from 2021, "What to Say When Someone Asks Why You Don't Have Kids."  Suggested responses:

"I lost them in poker."

"I left those annoying little shits in Palm Beach."

"The Bible says that anyone who has children will die in a blimp accident."

"I accidentally spilled the IVF dish."

Stop there, cue "Sweet Home, Alabama."  We all know what went down this week. Some random judge (guided by god, naturally) declared that frozen embryos are children. Hence, now many medical pros do not want to mess with IVF and do hard time because of a dish drop. This makes no sense, if they want kids, kids, kids, why would they try to shut down one way to produce them?  It's all so idiotic and so very Alabama.  Back to The Onion and their version of this breaking news headline:  "Alabama Supreme Court Rules That Frozen Burritos Are Children."

If that is the case, Taco Bell better lawyer up.

The truth is, satire aside, we all better lawyer up.  The godly-family-planners are coming for everything, especially the "bad" girls.

Good luck!

Love,

Childless and I don't give a damn Joyce

Resilience Is Required

Dear you,

Keeping it concise today. Thinking about resilience. . .

After the New York decision dropped telling Donald he now owes 300-something million to pay for his lies, the Orange One threw a televised tantrum on the steps of his deplorable mansion.  Notable: his body language. The man was totally cracked out, jazz handing at the speed of light. You know that thing he does, fingers spread like an 80's video dancer. A gesticulating frenzy meant to express potency, outrage, something like that. A frenzy meant to distract us from this fact: he hacked the system, BUT the system in this case demonstrated resilience.  Resilience is needed now more than ever. See Bruce Schneier's A Hacker's Mind - How the Powerful Bend Society's Rules, and How to Bend Them Back:

"Resilience is an important concept, one that applies to everything from the human body to the planetary ecosystem, from organizational systems to computer systems. It's the ability of a system to recover from perturbations, including hacks." 

Thank you Attorney General Letitia James and Judge Engoron.

The system is resilient. For now . . . 

Love,

Joyce

Keeping It Light!

Dear you,

Keep it light, that is one of my new "to do" items as we roll into February.  Not easy to do, but there are random things that prompt a smile, an exhalation, a hope-restored for the moment feeling.  Some bits from my recent day tripping:

One - Still looking for the perfect real estate broker to sell this condo and get me out and away (destination still unknown, stay tuned), I Googled with search terms like 'liberal real estate agents in my area' and 'Panhandle realtors with a sense of humor'.  Diving in deeper and deeper into some pretty vague search results, I clicked on a link featuring the photo copied above. I love that. Wonder if this dude can help me out here. He's probably too busy since the 2024  election predictions are scaring the hell out of Americans who reject this Trump is Jesus thing. If Canada looked good in 2016, imagine its appeal now.  Thanks for keeping it light, Mr. Cook.

Two - I got change back from a cash transaction at the local liquor store. On exit, while fumbling around with my purse plus vodka-in-bag plus car keys, I dropped a quarter to the ground.  It fell face up and revealed an image I have never noticed before, Wilma Mankiller!  A native American honored on the coinage of the invaders, but my oh my, what a fabulous name. And what a fabulous reason to research this woman instead of Googling realtors. Ah, enlightenment.

Three - Dusting the south bedroom, I saw fingerprints on the TV screen.  Even my cat can't be blamed for that.  I stood there stumped and then remembered.  During the NFL playoffs, I was placing my fingers on the first down marks highlighted in yellow on our screens.  I did this whenever I was cheering for a team, hoping my magical screen touching would work in their favor.  That may be more loony than light, but whatever.

Four - Continuing my radio as soundtrack life, I am still in enjoyment mode.  However, sometimes keeping it light with smooth jazz is more like dozing off with snooze jazz.  A day or so ago I heard a cover of Jackson's "Rock With You" that moves at a glacial pace.  More like I want to "Nap With You." But still smile-worthy.

Five - Then there was this morning's news compliments of MSNBC, thank you, that a DC appeals court rejected Donald Trump's demented claim about presidential immunity.  Now it's in the hands of SCOTUS. Maybe, just maybe . . .

Six - Finally, I sighted a doe and fawn on the edge of our Point Washington forest last Friday, perhaps too near the interstate, but still, they were alive. And oh so beautiful.

End list. 

Begin again with light in mind.

Love,

Joyce

Let it go?

Dear you,

My dryer died Monday.  Ten minutes into its spin, I heard a thud, like a brick hitting the floor.  Yes indeed, that alarming sound came from my darling dryer. Oddly, the machine kept working, but instead of its typical hum she was wailing. I paused the cycle to check for electrical problems; none existed, so I just let the cycle wind down and endured the mechanical aria. My cat was not happy about that and I was feeling increasingly annoyed. I realized I would have to deal with yet another broken thing.  Ownership is really fun. Then, I thought about my current detachment project, not being mainlined to cable news 24/7 (okay, maybe 16/7). I like it. Free smooth jazz is my soundtrack right now, compliments of a nice little radio station 106.3, the "Sea Breeze". The commercials are limited and the advertisers who support the station are civilized.  You won't hear screaming ads for the Trump Store in Panama City or the latest appeal to buy more more more guns. If and when the all powerful HOA board decides to nix my old school cable feed, I am ready, practiced in the art of moving forward while relying on things from "the past".  So, back to the dryer.  I woke the day after, looked at my note-to-self about calling appliance repair people and just decided to let it go. Gee, how easy is that?  I can hang dry my clothing, smalls, and even light towels and socks from the shower rods in both bathrooms. And I might have a little fun messing with the HOA busy-bodies by stringing a clothesline across the balcony! (That would be worth whatever they fine me.)  If I need to dry something massive like bedding or beach towels, I can use the hideous laundry room on the complex, something I pay for anyway and never use. And there you have it. Another "let it go" task checked.

Are you feeling this way too these days?  Are you thinking about break downs or break ups and coming up with a healthy Plan B? I'm talking about more than appliances or cable access now. In public life, so much breakage is happening and feeling imminent. Shaky democracy, book bans, a trashed environment.  What is my/your Plan B for that?  Do we really have to let the important stuff go too? No, so not a let it go option. We can keep at it, defending democracy and hoping that the opposition will, in time, trip over their own dicks.  For example, we can count on far-right infighting to inadvertently give us some breathing room.  See Florida, the current legislative session in Tallahassee.  The Republicans in charge proposed a bill that would take Florida state taxpayer money to help Trump pay his legal bills.  I know.  Jaw-dropping, isn't it? Well, we got a reprieve from that horror because Governor DeSantis vetoed the bill. Yes, the bill was so deplorable that even Ron said hell no. Now, in addition to his embarrassing failure to win the GOP nod for the presidency, he will have to watch his back (literally) in the state capitol building. No matter how much this dude kissed and kisses Trump's ring, when things got totally psycho, he said "enough".  Like I said, a little hope there.  No need to let go of democracy or giving a damn about our nation just yet.

Still, having a Plan B for most things is probably a good idea. Start small, detach from your dryer and constant screen viewings. Then move on to what seems impossible, like cigarettes, morning coffee, and evening cocktails. Let it go!  Let it go? Wait, no. Not the latter three. When it comes to those addictions, I echo the Governor's hell no and cry VETO!

I will adapt.  But I refuse to soberly die. 

Love,

Joyce

The Analog, The Transient

Dear you,

January 14, 2024, Seagrove Beach, Florida.

A fearless raptor visited me as I strolled about today.

Quite a beauty, this one.

A hawk, brown, white dotted feathers, lush, muscular body.

Its visit was brief; I dared come too close and she/he flew away.

And there it is, my humble epiphany for the day: beauty is transient.

I head inside and tune to the local public radio station (yes, some survive).

Smiles! They play the score from The Sound of Music.

Quite a beauty, that one too, available for real, for free, to anyone with an FM radio.

Free, like analog television once was.

Why did we give that up? 

Even pricey digital cable is on its way out, replaced by even pricier streaming.

See yesterday, the NFL streams a major wild card playoff game, severing access to the big all of us, or mostly all.

Quite cynical, this decision.

Quite sad too.

I worry we are losing access to so much artistry, in poetry, in body art, in reportage.

I pout on a perfectly lovely Sunday. Remedy?

Shift focus to the analog, continuous like a heartbeat, continuous at least until it stops.

Shift to the soundtrack filling my silly condo, listen:

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens/bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens/

bright geese that fly with the moon on their wings/these are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad/

I simply remember my favorite things/and then I don't feel so bad."

My favorite things. Like public radio, televised sports, a fearless hawk.

Very analog.  Very transient.

You made my day, you wonderful (wonder full) transient things.

Gracias.

2024 - the year of beautiful things

Dear you,

2024 begins with some anniversaries.  Tomorrow we have to remember the January 6, 2021, insurrection.  I say "have to" because so many among us deny the carnage party happened and someone has to speak truth to idiocy.  Those who admit to the occurrence blame it on the FBI and Dems, suggesting we/they were under-cover actors trying to make the MAGAs look bad.  No, just no.  Why? Consider the vanity defense.  The FBI and Dems are way too attractive to look like the characters "on stage" that day.  The bad denim pants, reactionary baseball caps, the immense facial hair.  No, just no.  So, we remember. And we speak.

We can also happily remember that fifty years ago we were sane enough (and humane enough) to create the Endangered Species Act (ESA).  So many variants saved, if only for the moment.  I was reminded about this anniversary while listening to NPR, a program featuring scientists fighting for the rights of random beautiful things to exist.  I learned this:  top of the endangered list, orchids and red wolves.  As for the red wolves, there are supposedly only twenty left in the wild.  As for the orchids, some species are vanishing due to global warming (honestly, let's call it what it is, global broiling).

I am sure the fate of endangered wild things seems irrelevant when we think about our wars, our poverty, our emerging tendency to embrace the brutal autocrat-type. But why does relevance matter? Beauty is necessary; it cannot be properly priced or assessed in terms of "use value".  Beauty is worth fighting for. 

So, I hereby declare this new year, 2024, with all its predicted chaos and drama and stupid human activity, to be the YEAR OF BEAUTIFUL WILD THINGS!

Let it be so.

Happy New Year,

Joyce