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 

Sacrifice.

 

Dear you,

Spring returns.  It’s Easter Sunday and I am thinking about sacrifice instead of bunnies and birds.  Bummer.  Sacrifice.  How far would I go for someone, for us?  What would I be willing to do to stop the assault on Ukraine, to stop environmental wreckage here/everywhere, to stop the expansion of xenophobic nationalism here/everywhere?  I write the checks, make the calls, Tweet the politicos, speak bluntly to the Trumpy foes around me.  Doesn’t feel like enough.  The ups and downs continue, one day hopeful and the next pretty discouraging.  Each of us living in relative safety are experiencing a mix of impotence and courage.  Impotent courage?  Courageous impotence?  An oxymoron life.

Christine Smallwood’s narrator talks about experiencing that mix of impotence and courage in her recent novel, The Life of the Mind. The narrator imagines encounters with the children of the future, how they “would ask what she had done”.  She talks about the petitions she signed, random donations to causes and sensations of “regret”.  The children say, “Nobody cares about your ten dollars a month. . . You should have chained yourself to a power plant.”

That would take unequivocal courage, unquestioning sacrifice, like those made by the numerous volunteers headed to defend Ukraine.  Some are qualified, some are not.  All they/we need to do is go to the website fightforua.org (International Legion of Defence of Ukraine) and find out what to do.  Many Americans are totally willing to volunteer.  But what if the current perception of this war changes and we decide to go all in?  This could be big, and we’d definitely have to expand the number of armed service members. Volunteers wouldn’t be enough.  If that happens, would we need to reinstate the military draft?

Of course, The Onion addressed this possibility in their typically sassy way.  They featured fictitious Zoomers contemplating what they would do if they were drafted. Responses:

“Try to become a senator’s kid.”

“I’d pay a gig worker $30 to go to war for me.”

“I already wake up every day thinking I might have to take on an active shooter, so I’m ready.”

“I would leverage the experience of war for my college admissions essay.”

Typical of good satire, this all sounds like truth, something we’d hear if conducting a real survey with real Americans.  What’s in it for me?  How can I get out of this bloody obligation?  Well, there might be something in it for you, for me, for anyone who is tiring of the weak-tea freedom and contingent safety of our USA.  Perhaps we should all be planning a move to the brave land of Ukraine.  No time for impotence there.  Let the migration begin.  Why not?  Here, just this week, a jury in Michigan found the men who wanted to kidnap their governor not guilty.  Oklahoma declared abortion illegal, totally. A democratic contender for the senate in Iowa was barred from running due to supposed “irregularities” in the petitions supporting her candidacy. Said irregularities were pointed out by Iowa Republicans, of course. The weather oracles predict a highly active 2022 hurricane season, and the housing market is still insane.  (Please Google “tiny house Santa Rosa Beach, Fl.” Check out 196 square feet of nonsense listed for over a million dollars.)  Sounds like a good time to migrate!

Fantasy aside, I know I’ll stay here.  Too much sacrifice has gone into this USA experiment.  I, while sighing loudly, will persist; continue writing checks, making calls, Tweeting demands, and speaking bluntly.  However, I am still haunted by Smallwood’s children of the future:

“You should have chained yourself to a power plant.”

I hear you. Sacrifice is required.

Happy Easter 2022,

Joyce

Goodbye, girl.

 

Dear you,

I type while waiting to hear the latest on peace talks between Ukraine and Russia.  Peace?  After all this carnage?  I cannot imagine any conclusion that isn’t simply contingent.  Like all things.  Like us.  Another thing I am waiting to hear is the latest check-in of tourists, another state, another spring break cast of characters.  And I am also waiting for sounds I know I will never really hear again, the meows of my cat. 

Last week, the kitty stopped eating and drinking water altogether.  By Sunday, her body was depleted and she barely moved.  That night I slept in the bed she chose and woke to her sad eyes.  Normally, a morning is a zesty time for her.  Nudging me awake, chasing me around, mewing for her Fancy Feast breakfast and a good combing session. But this Monday morning, she lay still on the bedspread.  I stroked her back and her little head.  Around noon, she stood and stared at me, then she crawled under the bed. She’s withdrawing.  She’s in pain. Time to go. I called the vet and let him know I’d be in that afternoon so we could send her on her way. The next few hours were a blur of tears.  I split into two selves; one grieving and one determined to be strong and just face it.  My deranged dialogue brought her out from under the bed, just in time for me to place her in the soft carrier and drive to “the end”.

The procedure was simple, humane (I guess) and fast.  One shot to sedate her.  Then the next; the one that kills.  That was it.

She’s gone.

I told my friend James on the phone today that this was the first time I ever experienced someone’s death, being there as they leave their body.  It was not what I expected.  Once she left, I stopped crying.  Her little cat body was just that, a body without spirit.  I felt relief, for her and for me, settled details about cremation and drove home.  Without her.

When I returned to the condo, I went into automatic mode and called her name as I always do, did.  I had to self-talk my way out of that and let determined Joyce take over:  throw out the litter box, the shredded scratching posts, the backstock of Fancy Feast and Temptation treats, and (for some reason, the hardest thing to do), her toys.  I kept one item:  the biggest scratching post remains in the room that was her spa.  That extra bedroom was her lively space; now it’s a cross between a haunted memorial and perplexing art installation, an open beige space designed for a feline but now without the feline.  A garden without flowers.

The clock on my laptop now reads 3:39 PM, another one of her favorite times of day.  The grieving me remembers this was snack time, chase the yarn ball time, freshen the litter time, stand next to her as she perches in the window time.  Grieving me is tearing up but determined me is taking deep breaths and carrying on.   The carrying on feels a bit flat and joyless, but I persevere.  I know I’ll get back to joy in time. I will once again be “vivo”, Spanish for living, full-tilt alive, clever, and bright.  Just like my girl. 

Yes, her name was Vivo!

Salud, little one.

Forever I love you,

Joyce

Ted Cruz, the asshole, and euphemism

 

Dear you,

The rush of everything, the personal, the political, the local, the global, has kept me silent for weeks.  But today, I feel the need to jot something down, to clarify these rushes of everything in my head.

The personal:  My sweet cat is declining.  Those little bumps on her body and the big one on her head are signs of something bad; surgery would not have helped.  She is barely eating, a few bites a day at best, and sleeping a lot.  Her playful self is history, but she likes to be combed and petted and sung to.  That I can do.  She likes my version of Duran Duran’s “Rio”.  I use her name instead of Rio: “Her name is Vivo and she dances on the sand, just like that river twisting through the dusty land.”  Anyway, I am not rushing to “put her down” because she seems not to be in pain and hasn’t withdrawn totally.  I am running a cat hospice.  This is a learning experience since my life motto has always been “ADE”, avoid domestic entanglements.  They will mess with your head and hurt.  My head is messed with and I do hurt.  Sometimes I wake up crying.  But I think I am learning from this.  A lesson not chosen, but here it is.  My little lion-queen is leaving.  No. I am done with euphemisms.  Just say it; my gorgeous girl is dying.

The political:  Florida politics just keep getting more jaw-droppingly dumb as #DeathSantis continues his fight against us Woke folks.  The “Don’t Say Gay” thing has drawn national attention and even put Disney on the spot.  That corporation is mildly resisting his lunacy and that pisses Ron off.  On the book banning front, another one of the Gov’s beloved culture wars, my local library is dealing with a complaint from a MAGA mom who wants The Little Library (a child’s book by Margaret McNamara) pulled from the shelf. The story features a non-binary character named Librarian Beck.  And this is scary why, MAGA mom?  Whatever your fears, you do not have the power to pull a book from a public library shelf.  At least now you don’t.  #DeathSantis and his crew are working on that too.  These morality police are everywhere, creating laws to accommodate their narrow minds, their self-serving conservatism.  No.  I am not letting them off the hook with the “conservative” euphemism, let’s just call them Pond Scum.

The local:  Last week, there was a police crime scene trailer parked in my condo complex lot. The trailer was functioning as an alcohol breathalyzer test site and symbol of authority, meant to deter bad behavior.  Its presence did take a little heat off the locals, who, like me, are forced to act like temporary cops.  However, it didn’t stop some of the worst we’ve ever seen: property invasion, burglary, and vandalism of the food trucks at Seaside.  The Seaside neighborhood issued an 8 PM curfew for all unaccompanied minors last year and did so again this year. But it did not deter the hillbilly children of Tennessee, the state that took over that particular week.  They care about curfews as much as Putin cares about sanctions.  Despite the “nice rules”, they invaded Seaside.  As Walton County officials warned us back in February, a curfew is “not something that will work”.  Well, it didn’t.  It simply put a target on neighborhoods like mine that don’t have curfews. “Let’s go to Seagrove; there’s a cop trailer there, but they’re just busting underage drinkers.  And ignore that lady in the leopard print pajamas (that would be me); she doesn’t have a gun anyway.  Let’s go!  We can fuck that place up till sunrise!”  Spring breakers going a little wild, right?  Just teens being teeny. No, no. Call them what they are:  The Aberrational Progeny of Pond Scum who turn my neighborhood into a crime scene.

The global:  Still, I have Ukraine on my brain.   Feeling muted, unable to do anything other than send money to the IRC (International Rescue Committee, donate please, @Rescue.Org), I just watch and listen, hoping for good news.  Minutes ago, I see this alert on the TV screen: “Russia seizes Mariupol aid convoy.”  Putin is committing war crimes.  He may use chemical weapons. And we are still chatting about fine lines and fear of acceleration.  It is day 28 of this . . . conflict? No, this is war.  Don’t euphemize this slaughter.  It is war.

Enough.  I need a break, something bright, no euphemism or distraction, but something true and lovely or at least side-splittingly funny.  Exhale.  Look up at the TV.  There he is! The comedy gift that keeps on giving. Ted Cruz is screeching at Judge Brown Jackson again, just like yesterday.  But yesterday was even funnier.  Referring to a book called Antiracist Baby, something on a reading list for a school where Jackson serves on the board, Cruz posed this question: “Do you agree with this book, that is being taught with kids, that babies are racist?”

And just like that, I laugh. 

At a Supreme Court nomination hearing, a sitting senator puts up a chart about a kid’s book and asks the nominee if they think babies are racist.  What in the hell is up with Ted?  There never has been a euphemism for Ted; he’s always just been an Asshole. Ted the Asshole.  Asshole Ted.

And so, another day of learning winds down.  I learned I can reject euphemisms, see things as they are, deal with the reality of death, war, pond scum people, and still laugh.  All that, thanks to Ted.  Ted the Asshole.  Asshole Ted.

Love,

Joyce

Erasure

 Dear you,

A clever gentleman I follow on Twitter said this was his current morning routine:  wake, check on Zelenskky, coffee.  That is pretty much my morning agenda too, except “feed the cat and clean her litter box” comes before coffee.  This man and I are not alone in our obsession, and for good reason.  Ukraine falls, we all fall, in major or minor ways.  But something posing as "life" seems to be going on as usual.  In states like my Florida, the effort to avoid all this uncomfortable news is requiring Herculean effort.  The big sell for our tourist season is on.  Condos, hotels, and motels are booked up.  The Panama City Beach bars are in EXCLAMATION POINT!!!!!! mode.  See Hammerhead Fred’s ad:

“Party like a SHARK STAR at Freds!”  (Notice the lack of the possessive apostrophe.  Why should vacationers care about punctuation?)  This joint “gets the party started with 40 FREE KEGS of ice cold draft nightly”.  WooHoo!

40 kegs of reality erasure.  I wonder what happens after the free stuff taps out.

And at our state capitol, the ghoulish representatives and senators are really having fun this session.  Our new “don’t say gay” bill passed.  Its intention is to (of course) protect the little ones from inappropriate discussions of you-know-what.  I think we know what it really is all about, erasure.  Under the mask of typical puritanical conservatism, there are uglier faces.  The visages of enraged, homophobic, religious zealots.  They want to ban people, pull them off the shelf in the same way they seek to ban books.  Just make them go away.

So many bills like this are ready for the gov's signature, bringing us one step closer to state enforced reality erasure.

My phone’s Google app is in on the erasing game too, perhaps trying to derail my continual searches about Ukraine and other “weighty” topics. When I hit the big G icon on the screen, I am fed a list of articles meant just for me and my reality erasing pleasure.  I kid you not, these came up 30 minutes ago and they are real titles, not Onion satire:

“Meet a 74-year-old woman who became a model in retirement”

“Twilight star Ashley Greene says that it was only natural for the cast to develop crushes on each other”

“Woman forbids child from visiting Disneyland due to photo policy”

“Man who spent $58,000 in COVID relief on Pokemon Charizard card is sent to prison”

“Giant spiders expected to drop from sky across the East Coast this spring”

OK.  These were momentarily distracting.  I wondered, is this senior model forced to strut the catwalk in adult diapers because the designers have an age bias and fear she'll soil their creations? Did the Twilight affairs involve cross-species, werewolf-vampire hookups? Considering all the creepy things you can see at Disneyland, why would a photo identification policy be the big deal-breaker? What the fuck is a Charizard card?  Can those spiders turn us into Spider-people?  (That would be cool.)

The Google reality erasing capability is pretty weak; minutes later, I am back on the reality train.  That’s fine. I like it there. The real world is also wonderful.  I know this because she lives there, a magnificent Ukrainian fighter who refuses to be erased.  I close with her image:

#WeStandWithUkraine

#ResistErasure