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