In honor of World Ocean Day, I'd like to give a thumbs-down shout-out to our species for carelessly laying waste to the oceans of our blue planet. I'd like to also take this opportunity to remind everyone that the reason the planet is blue, IS because of the very oceans we are actively decimating. The next generations, should they somehow survive all this nonsense, will most likely call it the "brown planet” for all the rust and actual crap, or "plastic planet” for all the shopping bags flying in the radioactive winds. I live in Florida, which is basically a sand dune jotting into the ocean. It is flush with animals and plant life. Or was. Until a certain species arrived, this was an ocean-front replica of Garden of Eden, with the ocean and land and all the creatures within them living in glorious harmony in an echo system that was working like a well-crafted Swiss watch. Until, I'm assuming, just like the real Garden of Eden, a mad scientist husband-and-wife team arrived and spliced genes in snakes and apples and things, and thus, gave birth to two new life forms: Tourists and Snowbirds! These non-native invasive species plundered the natural resources like an unsupervised toddler going at a sundae cone. They bulldozed forests, destroying native plant-life, cutting down centuries-old trees, to make room for theme parks. Theme parks with artificial plant life! And, get this: plastic trees! Some after-thought was given to nature conservancy, though, and some areas, however tiny, were left alone. And then, thousands of acres of green spaces around were paved over so visitors could park their cars and visit these remaining few acres of green spaces left between shopping strips, pawn shops, and gambling casinos. And a few thousand gift shops with over-sized parking lots, hundreds of road rage incidents with casualties, and fifty or so theme parks later, the whole place started looking like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. Like lava from an active volcano, this unfettered human pollution covered everything from shore to shore. And it did not stop at the shore, either. The mighty ocean got its fair share of abuse along with everything else on land. Actually, “the ocean got polluted” would not even be a proper description any longer. Now, it's more like “pollution got a little bit of ocean splashed on it”. Dolphins and alligators alike are choking on small white balls with weird dents on them, while panthers are drowning in backyard swimming pools. Black bears are starving next to the dumpsters behind supermarkets full of half-eaten food items, and the fish are buying up all the scuba gear and oxygen tanks just to survive the unlivable polluted waters. The catch of the day for the local fishermen is typically made up of golf clubs, meth pipes, refrigerators and worn-out flip-flops. And, the occasional fish. Clinically-depressed fish that chose suicide-by-fisherman over death-by-plastic-and-or-chemicals. Whatever damage levels achieved with land-based efforts like sewage, industrial waste and plastic garbage, was further supported and expanded with off-shore drilling with occasional oil spills on top of their regular pollutions. Off-shore sounds sterile until you do the math and realize it's still in the same ocean and only one ocean current or tropical storm distance from shore. Think gun-to-the-head execution-style versus sniper fire. Same end result: One fatally-shot ocean. It may not be too late. But we need a whole new species of mankind to enter the scene for a better result. One that respects the environment and not treat it like a distant relative up in age that we are mooching off of, who in all likelihood will leave us the entire estate in his will anyway. The very same estate we are burning down! Time to teach our children, the planet is sustainable, only if we choose to sustain it! So next time they ask you "plastic or paper bag?". hear this: "choke a bird or kill a tree?". And juggle your groceries to the bed of your gigantic truck that would better serve a commercial enterprise with heavy hauling needs, than a petite accountant working from home. Let us observe the “Ocean Day”, not to completely disregard the oceans for the rest of the year, but to remind ourselves that the oceans deserve our attention every single day. If we do not, then we might as well teach our grandkids to celebrate “Breathable Air Day” along with “Potable Water Day “only once a year, too. And hope that there will be enough air masks and rationed water to go around.

Peeked at the calendar, what a bummer! No one told me it was almost summer Because here, by law there's just one season Change in weather is an act of treason It is either hot, or humid, or both As if the sun took a scorching-heat oath Flowers, birds, and butterflies all year round Served with a side order of pests abound Everything bites or stings, take your pick Mosquito kiss, or a cottonmouth lick? Wanna be chased by an alligator? Or wanna hug from a black bear later? If you prefer your wildlife with some salt May we then recommend a shark assault? No mermaids, dolphins or pink flamingos Just tourists, wet with sweat from head to toes No real forests to burn, and no earthquakes 'Cause no solid ground, just quicksand or lakes But there's always a land-bound hurricane Ample warning. No one leaves. It's insane! Though state has no official uniform T-shirts and shorts with flip-flops are the norm So fashion hub of the south, we are not Chic and fiery-hot don't mix well, clothes rot Peak of summer, things get a whole lot worse Our state motto becomes a pirate's curse Sun-baked, numb, and half-naked, we all roam In this patch of swamp and tar we call home Forget top ten, we're dead-last on all lists. Other states tease us like we tease tourists When, in normal places, trees drop their leaves Somebody let me know right away, please So I can throw state-mandated rule out Wear a jacket, and pretend it's cool out Fall season just cannot come fast enough For my cold-brewed bum, summers here are tough!

Florida rapper "Foolio" is currently being acknowledge as Tampa, Florida's best performing artist as of now. The rapper was recently booked to perform as a special guest at a local nightclub along with Yo Gotti's new CMG artist Big Boogie, where they both delivered great performances. Many supporters took to social media expressing how Foolio gave them such an amazing, jaw dropping performance that many wasn't expecting from the drill rapper.

This aspiring novelist, writing enthusiast and food blogger was born on July 16, 1968, in Flint Michigan. Her musical talents began at a very young age. She began singing in church at the age of 7 and had the violin mastered by the age of twelve. Then, before she knew it, she was whisked away with her family, to sunny Florida to live. She was a middle child who grew up and spent her teenage years on the boardwalk of Daytona Beach. She attended a private Christian academy where she was active in cheerleading, dancing, journalism, and swimming. After high school, she decided her horizons needed broadening. She attended college in Michigan and obtained her degree with a major in Business. Then she got a job and wore black pumps to work every day. She had lunch with the girls, drank coffee every day, wore suits to work, and treated herself to manicures on a monthly basis. She became a top seller in lead sales in her division and overall ranked #13 in the United States as the top seller in her field. She was given a bonus, a promotion, and a lovely spa package. She was managing to raise four children as a full- time mom. Her children were all teenagers by this time. She was working many hours overtime, parent-teacher meetings, homework, school plays, science projects, and after-school activities. She was that one woman trying to achieve it all and trying not to allow her kids to feel left behind. One morning, she woke up for work and found her thirteen-year-old son half dead, slumped over on the living-room sofa. She had him rushed to the emergency room. It turned out that he happened to be sick and needed hospitalization for several months. He would need after-care treatment once he returned home. After very little thought about her decision, while her son was in intensive care, she went to her work and turned in her keys and resigned. She felt deep in her heart that her son needed her. She belonged at home with her son. Financially they were fine. She had her savings, 401K, and bonuses she managed to save. Her son remained her only concern. A year passes by, and her son became strong and healthy. They all started going to their local church not far from their home. She became a Sunday School teacher. She also started singing in the adult choir and played her violin. She began teaching at a girl's club in the church and she also taught at the Christian camp every summer. She was scheduled to sing a solo one night. She waited to be called up to the stage. Once announced to the stage, she briefly told her testimony. She glanced around the room and noticed people whispered to one another. They pointed at her. It made her feel awkward, but she continued with her song. They graciously applauded and she took her seat. After she had taken her seat, she felt someone rub her shoulder, and she turned around. Nobody was there. Then, something caught the corner of her eye. Laying draped across her shoulder. She gasped. Her hairpiece that was attached to her ponytail had fallen off. It had fallen across her shoulder. Her face started to turn beet red, and she started to sink down into her seat. She could see the people that sat around her with their pitiful smiles, It made her feel more embarrassed. She had to find her escape route immediately. She excused herself. She took her children and herself at home. She didn't return back to church for a couple weeks. Unexpectedly, she met and fell in love with a southern gentleman. He lived in Alabama. Now she lives in the country in Northern Michigan. Her days are spent working in the garden, planting flowers, cleaning the dirt out from under her fingernails and making gravy. They have a home that they purchased and are fixing up. They are renting out the guest house and are in the process of painting and redecorating. It is a chore but the process has been refreshing. It took a while for her to adjust to being without her children. It was the five of them for so long. She went through empty nest syndrome. She even cried and went through depression for a short time. However, she found writing as a way to escape. She would journal and also write in her food blog. She would also find refuge in her garden. I'm sure if her adolescent self could see her now she would cringe at how she traded in her idea of becoming an unmarried, without children, fashion designer in Paris, to a Business degree achiever, writing her first novel, completing an E-Book called “Comfort Foods for the Soul,” and falling in love with a better life. A life full of possibilities, a life much better for her.

My life is so weird. It's always been weird. That's probably because I was born in 1949, the 3rd child of a family that wanted to stop at two. I was constantly told that I was worthless and was always costing my family money. In those days, children had no social security numbers and if somebody had the right connections they could sell an unwanted child in a black market adoption or even worse, sexual slavery. I think I was three at the time but my parents left me with the baby-sitter on Christmas. The baby-sitter, I found out later from my older sister was also the contact for back-street abortions and black-market adoptions. The babysitter who was an older woman, left me alone with a book filled with Christmas stickers. In those days, there was no self-stick stickers. You had to lick them glued back to make them work. This was the first time I was away from my parents and I was scared. My anxiety increased as I stuck stickers everywhere, hoping my parents would return soon and be proud of my handiwork. Instead a young couple arrived. I remember the woman had long blonde hair and a red dress under her fur coat. My babysitter picked me up so she could hold me when all that anxiety and glue backed up on me and I threw up all over her red dress. She yelled something like "How dare you give me a sick baby!" and pushed me back into the babysitter's arms. I was put into a crib in a dark room after a lot of angry talk and I stayed there until my parents picked me up. I don't remember much of what happened next, but I was very sick because the next thing I knew was that I was in a hospital, being stuck with needles by angry nurses. The story I heard later in life was that my parents left me with the baby-sitter so they could attend my sister's Christmas pagent and was sick with something that was called "glandular fever." My mother said I spent eight days in the hospital. The first seven days I was given sulfa drugs that had little effect on my sickness. The end of that week, the doctor told my parents that he could give me a new drug that was still largely experimental, but my father would have to sign a permission slip because the new drug could cure me or kill me. My father signed the paper and they gave me another giant needle of the new drug. That night I flew. I flew around the hospital. I saw what looked like a woman having an operation. I saw lines of cars and trucks on the roads outside. Finally, I was back in my crib I was coloring in a coloring book and throwing crayons back and forth over the tops of our cribs which lay head to head with a kid named Mikey. The next day, I stood up in my crib and tried to see over the huge wooden top, but I was too short. When the nurses came in, I asked where Mikey was. The younger nurse burst into tears and said "Mikey's dead!" I went home that day. When my mother told that part of the story to my sister and me, she asked "Guess what that medicine was?" We shook our heads. "Penicillin." Our life was rough after that. My father had a successful machine shop but he drank all his profits. My mother took in ironing. Later, I found out she was also turning tricks. When she wanted to insult me, she'd tell me I was "just like my father." For a long time I wondered what she meant by that because weren't we supposed to be like our parents? It wasn't until much later that I found out about the visiting "insurance men." We had dogs but the one assigned to me suddenly disappeared. My mother said it was all my fault because I didn't take care of her and she ran away. Years later my sister told me that she wasn't going to keep a female dog that wasn't spayed. The male dog was never the same. He always kept to himself and never wanted to play. My mother did some darker things to try to "turn me out" but I was too defensive and would say I'd jump out into traffic before I'd go along with that scheme. And I said it while in a moving car going down the Long Island Expressway. My parents bad habits were backing up on them. I got into constant fights at school. Nobody wanted to be my friend. My mother kept trying to get into the local social scene by joining a church but the gossip got about and she was shunned. I was shunned too. Finally, my father lost his temper one last time and decided to move from New York to Florida. In Florida, he bought a bar and had my mother help him run it. I had always wondered why they stayed together for so long. She said it was because he was the only man who offered to marry her. I always wondered why a man would stay with a woman who fooled around. I found out later, he fooled around, too--with other men. The whole marriage thing was one big made-for-social-acceptance sham. My mother liked playing the diva at the bar and my father spent a lot of his spare time fishing. My brother only stayed for the first month when he turned 21 and flew back to New York to stay with friends until he got a place of his own.