Best Songs of the 80s: Part 1

Well, hello again! I’ve taken a look at the "Rolling Stone" rankings, and some of these critical takes are more baffling than a dream about woodland creatures in footwear.

Tripping Over Their Headsets: Rolling Stone’s Top ’80s Hits Part 1

The 1980s gave us shoulder pads, hair that defied the laws of gravity, and some of the most enduring music ever pressed to vinyl. But here’s the funny thing about "iconic" tracks: at the time, even the professional critics couldn’t decide if they were hearing a revolutionary masterpiece or a total dumpster fire in a neon suit.

This is my deep dive into the love-hate relationship between music critics and the songs that defined a generation. Think of this as the follow-up to my look at the "Worst Songs of the 80s"—only this time, we’re celebrating the good stuff and wondering what the reviewers were drinking.

Before we get to the heavy hitters, let’s set the stage. The '80s were a wild neural network of genres. You had the Superstars (MJ, Madonna, Prince), the Hip-Hop Pioneers (N.W.A., Public Enemy), and the New Wave brooding types (The Smiths, The Cure). It was a decade where synth-pop and gritty rap somehow shared the same radio dial without the universe imploding.

Buckle up, because we’re counting down Rolling Stone’s top five. Let’s go!

1. Prince – "Kiss" (1986)

Most criy loved how Prince stripped everything away. Just a guitar, a few keys, and that voice. It was minimalism at its peak.

One reviewer apparently woke up with an attitude that morning, declaring the song "overrated" and Prince’s signature falsetto "annoying as all hell." They even suggested this song was the "beginning of the end" for the Purple One.

Calling that falsetto annoying is like complaining that the sun is too bright. It’s Prince!

Today, "Kiss" is a permanent resident on every "Best Of" list, while that critic’s opinion is... well, experiencing technical difficulties.

2. Madonna – "Like a Prayer" (1989)

Rolling Stone called it "as close to art as pop gets." (Which feels a bit like saying, "You’re pretty smart for a squirrel.") They praised her evolution from pop princess to a serious artist.

The Vatican wasn't a fan. Pepsi pulled a $5 million ad campaign. Some critics complained the video was "vague." Honestly, with all that fuss, you’d think she’d tried to jaywalk behind a sheriff's SUV.

Controversy is just free PR in a short skirt. Madonna kept Pepsi’s millions, the song hit Number One, and getting condemned by the Vatican is basically the ultimate badge of honor for a pop star.

3. Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five – "The Message" (1982)

It was as close to pure consensus as it ever gets. Critics hailed it as a searing protest and a brilliant funk track. It was like they’d finally discovered that rap had a soul.

The surprise for music fans is that Grandmaster Flash himself didn’t want to do it! He was worried about moving away from "party rap." Imagine being skeptical of your own legendary contribution to history.

The song is now in the National Recording Registry. Flash was eventually convinced, proving that even the artist can occasionally misread the map on the Circular Journey.

4. Michael Jackson – "Billie Jean" (1982)

Another song met with universal acclaim. Sleek, post-soul pop that turned Jackson into a Gen-X Elvis.

This time, the surprise floors me: the legendary Quincy Jones actually wanted to cut that 29-second bassline intro. He thought it was too long. Michael had to fight for it, saying, "That’s what makes me want to dance."

When the King of Pop tells you it's what makes him dance, you listen. If Quincy had won that round, we’d be missing one of the most iconic openings in history. Always trust your gut (in this case, your feet) over the producer’s stopwatch.

5. Public Enemy – "Bring the Noise" (1987)

This song is credited with validating rap as a "legitimate" art form for the rock-and-roll crowd. It was like getting the HOA to admit your river tour boat actually adds that certain something that makes the Riverwalk a classic destination.

A few listeners did find the sound "abrasive" or "scary." But isn't that the point? If your art doesn't make someone a little uncomfortable, are you even trying?

The song clocks in at a blistering 109 beats per minute and changed rhythm forever. It paved the way for metal-rap collaborations and proved that "noise" is often just music the critics haven't learned to dance to yet.

The Pattern Emerges

The songs that aged the best are the ones that took the biggest risks. The critics who aged the best were the ones who were willing to admit, "Hey, I might have missed the boat on this one."

Forty years later, we’re still listening to these tracks regardless of what the critics wrote in the music magazines. That’s the ultimate review: the one written by time itself.

Watch for Part 2 of this report, where we’ll tackle the New Wave revolution and find out why critics had stronger opinions about synthesizers than I do about my choice of coffee shops.

The Heirloom’s Whisper

What a ride! Hang on tight! In this post, we're revisiting the "Jackson Synchronicity," a sequence of events so statistically improbable that even a "wild neural network" of squirrels would find it suspicious.

Between the voice of Nancy Sinatra on the radio and a woodpecker figurine with a resume from Jackson, Tennessee, I’ve become convinced that the universe has, in addition to a sense of humor, a particular, repetitive playlist.

I haven't been able to forget finding that figurine, and I can't shake the feeling that the story is unfinished. If you're thinking you must have arrived in the middle of the story, let me clarify that I'm talking about Woodrow, the carpenter woodpecker.

I apologize to the regulars, who read every post and have been with me since the beginning. If you will bear with me for a moment, I'll provide the backstory for newcomers.

I never know where to begin when revisiting a published story. I don't want to bore the regular followers and cause them to start looking for the channel selector, but if I jump right into the thick of the story, newcomers become cross-eyed.

Here’s the short of it: Woodrow is a hand-painted woodpecker in overalls who, by all indications, is “experiencing technical difficulties”—and whom I rescued from a thrift store shelf. He came from Jackson, Tennessee, the same Jackson that had been haunting my radio dial like a persistent hitchhiker for more than three hours. He wasn’t just a tchotchke; he was a cosmic souvenir. 

The reason I can’t let him go is that lately, Woodrow has been staring at me from my desk with a look that seems to whisper, "I’m not just here for the aesthetic, Cowboy." How he knows I was a 'space cowboy' in a former life is part of the mystery.

Here's the thing: I recently sat down to edit a podcast—a task that, as you know, is the digital equivalent of herding cats. I was struggling with a particularly stubborn audio glitch. Every time I tried to level the track, the software would freeze. I would then lean back, sigh a breath of pure, unadulterated "Why Bother?" and my gaze would immediately land on Woodrow.

There he was in all his glory, hammer in hand, his bill stuck in that piece of wood. The title on his base, "Experiencing Technical Difficulties," felt less like a whimsical label and more like a direct critique of my afternoon.

After the third locked screen, I reached out and tapped Woodrow's little ceramic head. "What do you know that I don't, Woodrow?"

Instantly, a notification appeared on my screen, telling me an automated update was being installed for the editing software. The version number?  J-206-FM-80.

Now, I’m not saying the "J" stands for Jackson. That would be leaning a bit too far into the Franklin & Bash side of my personality. But still, stranger things have happened. I read the software update notes, and the very first bug fix listed was for "syncing issues between disparate audio tracks."

Disparate tracks. Like a song by Nancy Sinatra, a log of turtles, a county sheriff’s SUV, and a woodpecker from Tennessee all suddenly playing the same tune at the same time.

It occurred to me then that Woodrow isn't just a soul vessel; he’s a reminder that the 'technical difficulties' of life are often the very things that lead us to the next chapter of the Circular Journey. We spend so much time trying to "optimize" our lives (sorry, A-5, I’m still the pilot here) that we miss the beauty of the glitch.

So, I’ve decided to take Woodrow’s advice. I stopped fighting the software, closed the laptop, got a refill of caffeine, and headed down Ocean Highway to Ocean Isle. Because if the universe is going to go through the trouble of alignment—using everything from satellite radio to ceramic birds—the least I can do is be present for the show.

I still haven’t found the Creature of the Brunswick Lagoons, but I have a feeling Woodrow knows exactly where it’s hiding. He’s probably just waiting for the right song to come on the radio before he lets me know where to look. And I'm OK with that. It's cold here today, and looking for cryptids requires warm weather.

Courthouse Chronicles: Franklin & Bash

"We'll leave at 1:00 to go downtown," said the Wonder as I walked into the kitchen to make coffee. I remember wondering why she didn't start with a "Good morning," but I let it go. Instead, I asked, "Why so early? It's only a 10-minute drive."

I don't know if you've had this experience, but I woke up with an attitude. It doesn't happen often, but it does—especially after one of those dreams. If you've been here before, you probably know exactly what I mean.

This particular dream was directly connected to the podcast editing I've been doing over the past few days. If you read my recent post about Ms. Wonder's upcoming photography exhibit in New York, you know that I'm staging a series of podcasts for auto-publishing so I can clear a week to attend the show.

In the dream, I was recording an ad for one of the podcast's sponsors. Of course, in our ordinary four-dimensional reality, the podcast doesn't have sponsors at all. But in the dream dimension, I'd somehow landed a lucrative partnership:

"And now, a word of shameless self-promotion…
I manage a tech media empire—blogs, podcasts, articles, and documentaries. Technology is constantly changing, but I don't worry about it, because I'm partnered with Squirrel Socks. Their on-demand learning platform offers hands-on, expert-led courses that help me master new skills fast and stay ahead of the curve. With Squirrel Socks, I don't fear what's next—I chase it. SquirrelSocks, the wild neural network in my backyard.
Now, back to the podcast…"

Yes, Squirrel Socks. Because my subconscious thinks woodland creatures are the future of tech education, and it has something to do with their footwear. When I woke up, I spent a solid five minutes wondering if SquirrelSocks.com was actually available as a domain name. (Spoiler: I didn't check. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.)


Let's get back to the subject as re: If you recall, I'd just asked Wonder why we were leaving so early.

"I thought it would be necessary to find a nearby parking space, and then we can have coffee at Bespoke before heading to the courthouse."

Her answer tied me in knots. I wanted to ask why we were going to the courthouse and why we'd have trouble finding parking downtown on a weekday, but I let both questions go. Instead, I said, "Oh, cool! I haven't had coffee at Folks Cafe in ages."

"You have—you just don't remember," she said, and I felt as though I were in an episode of The Kominsky Method. 

It turned out that the main event planned for the day was a show of support for the river tour operators, who were being harassed by the homeowners' association of a high-rise condo overlooking the Riverwalk. Because nothing says "community spirit" quite like wealthy condo owners versus hardworking tour boat captains. I could already sense this was going to be peak entertainment.

The coffee took the edge off my mood, and I started looking forward to revisiting Folks Cafe. But no. A few minutes after we parked downtown, I realized Wonder had actually said "Bespoke Cafe," not "Folks Cafe." My dream-addled brain had apparently decided to engage in a little creative interpretation. 

After caffeination, we headed uptown toward the courthouse. The pedestrian signal changed, we stepped into the street, and the crosswalk was immediately blocked by a county sheriff's SUV that pulled to a stop at the curb. We slipped behind it and crossed the street, but as I slipped behind the vehicle, I gave it a slap with my open hand, and why not? I was already armed with a perfectly reasonable excuse in case the officer thought I was being impertinent, vis: I'm cautious to a fault about Ms. Wonder's safety and wanted the driver to know we were forced to walk behind his car. 

Naturally, it was impertinent to smack the back of a policeman's vehicle. Still, it was a small joy, and I felt I'd earned it, given how the day was unfolding. Plus, if Squirrel Socks could exist in my dreamscape, surely I could tap a sheriff's SUV in broad daylight.

I was beginning to feel better about the day—especially about the courtroom proceedings. In the evenings at home, we watch reruns of Franklin & Bash, where the courtroom was a comedy stage, and I hoped to find blogging inspiration in the proceedings. I envisioned witty repartee, dramatic reveals, maybe even a tasteful objection or two delivered with perfect timing.

Alas. Isn't it often the case that our little hearts are disappointed to learn that life isn't always what we hoped for?

The first to speak, after the bailiff's call to order, was the attorney for the good guys. He rambled on for over an hour, even though he had only three points of argument. Three points. One hour. That's twenty minutes per point, which is either dedication to thoroughness or a masterclass in verbal padding.

At last, the speaker sat down, and the judge called on the lawyer for the dark side of the force. He was worse, my friend—far, far worse. The night before, I'd watched an episode of Emily in Paris where the main characters pelted each other with baguettes, and I began to wish for one of those perfectly hand-sized baked missiles. From my seat in the gallery, I was certain I could bounce one off the back of the counselor's head. 

The whole affair was nothing like Franklin & Bash. I left the courtroom wondering why anyone would attend a legal hearing for entertainment. I suppose my dad had his finger on the nub when he said, "It takes all kinds." Rem acu tetigesti, like the dickens, baby.

After spending two hours listening to Mutt and Jeff swap 'he said, she saids,' the judge finally commented on the arguments. His "verdict" was that he wasn't sure he had jurisdiction to rule. What now? Two hours of legal theater, a bomb threat, an SUV-assisted jaywalking adventure, and a caffeinated case of mistaken identity—all leading to "Sorry, not my job."

All in all, I'd call it a textbook case for The Circular Journey. Don't you agree? I know that somewhere in the wild neural network of my backyard, the squirrels are definitely laughing and pulling up their socks with a smirk.

Mindfleet Academy: Stardate 2026.1

It was 23:00 hours on New Year's Eve when Princess Amy's voice crackled across all channels with the unmistakable edge of controlled panic: "All senior staff report to the bridge for Year-End Threat Assessment!"

I materialized on the bridge with a sigh. "Amy, it's New Year's Eve, not a tactical emergency. Can't we just have a peaceful transition into 2026?"

She spun her command chair to face me, eyes wide. "Ambassador, we're about to cross into completely uncharted temporal coordinates! We have zero intelligence data about what's waiting for us in 2026. This is literally 'to boldly go where no one has gone before'—and I don't like it!"

Before I could respond, First Officer Reason stepped forward from his science station. "Captain, while I understand your concern about insufficient data, I must remind you that in the original Star Trek television series, Mr. Spock once said, ‘Change is the essential process of all existence'. Despite what we might prefer, the new year will commence at precisely midnight regardless of our preparedness protocols."

"That's exactly my point!" Amy exclaimed. "Everything could change! What if—"

"Captain," Mr. Reason interrupted with Vulcan-like calm, "I've conducted a comprehensive analysis of our 2025 mission logs. We encountered forty-seven major crises that you initially classified as 'civilization-ending events,' and yet current status reports indicate civilization remains operational. The statistical probability that you've overestimated 2026 threats is approximately 94.7%."

Amy's shoulders relaxed slightly. "But what about the other 5.3%?"

Reason's eyebrow arched. "That, Captain, is where the wisdom of Captain Kirk applies: 'Risk is our business.' We cannot eliminate all uncertainty. We can only prepare logically and proceed with available data."

Engineering's Concerns
Chief Engineer Anxiety's voice burst from the intercom, thick with worry. "Aye, but Mr. Reason, what if the ship's systems cannae handle what 2026 throws at us? I cannae change the laws of physics! If 2026 brings challenges beyond our current capacity—well, stranger things have happened.”

"Scotty," I interjected, "you kept this ship running through every crisis 2025 threw at us. Remember the Mohs surgery mission? The terracotta pot odyssey? The doomsday clock panic?"

"Aye, but those were 2025 problems!" he exclaimed. "And don't call me Scotty! I know what you're insinuating when you call me that. And the question still has merit, Ambassador. What if the Mindfleet Academy training missions require capabilities we don't have?"

Reason turned toward the engineering station. "Chief, your concerns demonstrate appropriate caution. However, I would direct you to Scotty's own wisdom from that same television series: 'The more they overthink the plumbing, the easier it is to stop up the drain.' Perhaps simplicity serves us better than elaborate contingency protocols."

The Weight of Memory
Dr. Downer emerged from the medical bay, her expression contemplative. "You want to know what I think about 2026? I'll tell you what I think: I'm a doctor, not a crystal ball! But I can tell you what I saw in 2025..."

She paused, and the bridge fell silent.

"We faced disappointments. We watched plans crumble. Oh sure, we avoided catastrophe, but barely. And it hurt. It still hurts." Her voice carried the weight of every sorrow the year had held. 

"Here's what I know about 2026—it won't be paradise. And maybe we weren't meant for paradise. Maybe we were meant to struggle. That's what 2026 will be. More struggle. More loss. More—"

"More life, Doctor," Communications Officer Joy interrupted softly, turning from her console. "More chances to connect. More opportunities to grow."

A Message of Hope
Joy stood, facing the assembled crew, and addressed us with warmth in her voice. "Dr. Downer is right that we'll face challenges. Princess Amy, excuse me, Captain Amy is right that we can't predict them. Chief Anxiety is right to be concerned about our capacity. And Reason is right that change is inevitable."

She smiled. "But here's what I know about communication, about connection, about being human: we're all works in progress. Every single one of us. 2025 didn't finish us—it added chapters to our story. Mindfleet Academy will add more."

"But what if those chapters are bad, what if we fail?" Amy asked.

"You know what I've learned monitoring communications this year?" Joy replied. "I've learned that the suspicions people have about each other disappear when they get to know each other. And we're usually wrong about our capacity to handle what comes."

Crew Reflections
With thirty minutes until midnight, we gathered for what Starfleet would call an "informal briefing" and what I call necessary honesty.

Chief Anxiety spoke first. "I suppose there's truth in what you say. Most of my worst-case scenarios didn't happen. And there's evidence that we're more resilient than I supposed."

"Fascinating observation," Reason added. "I would note that I've learned that my calculations can predict probabilities, but they can't account for the human capacity for adaptation and creativity under pressure."

Dr. Downer nodded slowly. "I learned that sadness isn't the enemy. It's the price we pay for caring about things. For loving people. For trying. And that's not a bug in the system—it's what makes us human."

Princess Amy's voice was barely above a whisper. "I learned that sometimes a feeling is all we humans have to go on. Even when it's anxiety or fear. It just means we're paying attention."

Joy's smile brightened the bridge. 

I took a breath. "I learned that it is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose, and that's not a weakness; it's just life. Much of 2025 didn't turn out the way I planned, but the detours sometimes led exactly where I needed to go."

Five Minutes to Midnight
Amy checked the chronometer. "Five minutes to temporal shift. Ambassador, as captain of this vessel and chief of emotional operations, I need to know: what's our strategy for 2026?"

"Strategy?" I said. "Amy, I don't think we need a strategy. I think we need a change of attitude."

"That's not reassuring!"

"No, but it's honest." I moved to stand beside her command chair. "We will face 2026 together. With Reason's logic, Anxiety's vigilance, Downer's honesty, and Joy's hope. With your leadership, even when you're terrified. Especially when you're terrified."

The chronometer ticked down. One minute.

"Ambassador?" Amy's voice was small. "I'm scared."

"I know, Captain. Me too. But you know what Captain Picard said at the end of his journey?"

"What?"

"'Let's see what's out there.'"

She stared at me. "That's it? That's your big inspirational moment?"

I smiled. "That's it. We can't predict what 2026 will bring, and we can't control it. All we can do is face it together and see what's out there."

"It'll probably be harder than we expect," Dr. Downer added.

"And more beautiful than we can imagine," Joy finished.

The chronometer hit midnight. And here we still are--the crew and you, our followers--hoping for the best year of our lives, and ready to face whatever comes our way. 

Captain's Log, Supplemental
We have successfully crossed into the year 2026. All systems are operational. Crew status: anxious but functional. Uncertain but together.

The GMS Coastal Voyager continues its ongoing mission: to explore strange new challenges, to seek out new solutions to life's mysteries, and to boldly go where this mind has never gone before.

The Year of Second Chances

Welcome back to the Circular Journey Cafe. I’m so happy you’re here, because I have some exciting news to share. I wish I could shout it from the mountaintops—but coastal living doesn’t offer many of those. So instead, the towering heights of the 600 block of Castle Street will have to do, if you’ll join me that is.

"Finally!" exclaimed Princess Amy, my imaginary critic and part-time life coach. Her tiara was practically vibrating with excitement. "We can dust off our press credentials and get back to what we do best."

“Remind me, exactly what it is we do ?" I asked, genuinely curious about her assessment of our track record.

She mused on the question before answering. “Well, I’d say eating craft services food and taking abstract photos of background extras is our specialty."

She had a point. Our previous attempts at documenting film productions have gone about as smoothly as folding a fitted sheet. I’m sure my track record hasn’t helped: getting lost, parking illegally, and being turned away by security guards is basically my signature move. Still, we learn from our mistakes if what I hear is correct.

"This could be our big break," Amy continued, "We could become the unofficial chronicler of Wilmington's film scene!"

"Unofficial being the operative word," I reminded her. "And let's not forget that 'big break' and 'spectacular failure' have been virtually synonymous in our recent attempts."

“Still,” I hurriedly added, “I’m cautiously optimistic. Ms. Wonder has been coaching me on what she calls ‘strategic preparation.’ Just yesterday, she said, ‘Genome, maybe this time you could research the filming locations a little more thoroughly. Maybe even contact the production office ahead of time.’”

"She even suggested investing in a proper camera instead of relying on my phone for 'professional' documentation. Amy, I'm telling you there's none like her. She..."

"No, don't say it," said Amy. "I know all about her wonders and the mysterious ways she works them. You don't need to say that every time you mention her name."

"I do repeat myself a lot," I said. "I'm working on that."

Amy simply nodded, sipped her cappuccino, and left the table to reorder or something—she sort of evaporated from my imagination the way she often does.

The truth is, I’m genuinely excited about RJ Decker. For months, we’ve watched other cities land the big productions while Wilmington’s soundstages stayed quiet. So having an ABC pilot choose our fair city feels like a much-needed vote of confidence in our local film industry.

The new series is described on IMDB like this: 

"Ex-con photographer RJ Decker reinvents himself as a private investigator in South Florida, chasing down bizarre cases with backup from his journalist ex-wife and her cop wife. It's questionable whether his newly invented self will save him or destroy him." 

When do we begin stalking the production office?" Amy asked, returning to our table, where I imagined her eating a cheese danish and sipping a fresh coffee. 

"We observe," I corrected, although I knew shed nailed what we actually do. "We observe from a respectful distance. After obtaining proper permissions."

"That sounds like a suggestion from Ms. Wonder," she said, "and to be honest, it sounds boring." My ears pricked up when she said, 'it sounds boring,' and I knew right away that she was already planning our reconnaissance mission.

That's about all there is to report from our fair city at the beginning of 2026. And so, I say, here's to RJ Decker—may it bring thrills to our screens, jobs to our community, and with any luck, blog material that doesn't end with me being escorted away by security.

Houston, We Have a Problem

Several years ago, just before we moved to Houston, my friend Pooh and I decided we needed cheap office space. Rather than shop around, we accepted an offer to sublet a little room in a questionable business collective housed in a dilapidated storefront in downtown Chattanooga.

It was the kind of place where the sketchy-but-legal world of bail bonds collided head-on with the outright fraudulent, darkly comic schemes of a rogue real estate broker. The air carried the musty aroma of whispered arrangements, questionable offhand comments, and a shared commitment to maintaining plausible deniability.

The Three-Ring Circus 

The business sat on Georgia Avenue, high on a bluff overlooking the Tennessee River. It was a strategic location, only a few blocks from the city jail, which gave it a distinct competitive edge in the “bonding out” business.

Originally a private residence in the 1940s, the building had since been carved up into a nesting doll of businesses. The front door opened into the realty company’s reception area, a depressing room outfitted with scarred imitation leather and folding chairs. Gayle, the receptionist, sat at a desk that might as well have been a fortress built to repel irate clients.

A door behind Gayle’s desk led to Otto, the broker and landlord for the other tenants. Another door, centered on the back wall, opened into Scooter’s bail bonds office. Scooter was a longtime friend from high school and college, and he was the one who invited Pooh and me to sublet the small room off his office.

To get to our desks, we had to run a daily gauntlet: enter through the realty office’s front door, greet Gayle and explain our presence as we passed through reception, nod to Scooter while threading our way past the ex-cons who frequented his place, and finally slip into the storeroom—our “office.”

The Nuts and Bolts 

Our small room held two small desks facing each other. It was otherwise crammed with the literal collateral of the bail bonds trade: televisions, VHS players, sets of sterling tableware, a velvet painting of Elvis, and a startling collection of George Foreman grills. Otto kept a personal stash back there too: a few guns, some ammo, and a box of regulation handcuffs he’d scored on eBay. Curiously, our “office” also had a small back door hidden behind a Japanese shoji screen, in case we ever needed to disappear in a hurry.

The amenities were few but serviceable: a tiny bathroom that Gayle miraculously kept spotless, a coffee maker she kept perpetually hot and full, and a box of maple-frosted Dunkin’ doughnuts that she had shamed Otto into providing every morning. She hid the doughnuts in a different spot each day, but always let Scooter, Pooh, and me know exactly where the treasure was buried.

The Cast of Characters 

Daily entertainment came courtesy of the steady rotation of Otto’s “real estate” clients. Their conversations were impossible to ignore, drifting into our small room on a warm front of cheap cologne, bad decisions, and sweaty desperation.

I distinctly remember the woman in the ancient fur stole asking about the replacement value of a hypothetical “missing” heirloom, accompanied by a man who specialized in appraising things at suspiciously high valuations. But the character who really deserves his own credits sequence was a man known only as “Spoon.”

Spoon never introduced himself, and no one ever saw him enter; he simply appeared. He was usually dressed in jeans, an ill-fitting blazer, and work boots. One afternoon, after a hushed, intense meeting behind the closed door of Otto’s office, Spoon emerged and addressed the reception area with the weary professionalism of a man headed to a boring corporate seminar.

“Well,” he said with a deep sigh, shooting the cuffs of his shirt like a CEO addressing the board, “I’m off to park a man’s car on the tracks of that railroad crossing out in St. Elmo.”

He walked out without waiting for a reply. The whole scene lasted ten seconds, leaving Pooh and me in a state of synchronized, silent dumbfoundment. It confirmed everything we’d suspected about the nature of Otto’s “work” and left us pondering the difference between a defense of plausible deniability and simply being very, very convincing.

The Danger Zone 

Pooh and I left that office after only a few months and relocated to Houston. Not long after, Scooter called. He had tracked a high-value FTA—a defendant who had “failed to appear” in court—to a residence in Houston. Scooter was on the hook either to haul the guy back to court or kiss his bail money goodbye. He explained over the phone that he wanted Pooh and me to help him apprehend the “skipper.”

When Scooter showed up and asked for a meeting to discuss the plan, I wasted no time defining my role in the operation: “I’m not going, Scooter. If you get shot, you’ll need to crawl out to the sidewalk, because I’m not coming inside to retrieve you.”

He looked genuinely wounded. “I thought we were friends,” he said. “I’d walk on fire for you. I’d bitch-slap the devil for you. You wouldn’t catch me sitting in a car while my friend goes into the danger zone to uphold the law of this great land!”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t back you up,” I countered, leaning into the peculiar spirit of our friendship. “I’ll be right behind you, ole buddy. I’ll be so far behind you, I might as well be in Louisiana.”

I don’t know whether he ever took the FTA back to Chattanooga. He never spoke of it again, and I didn’t ask. Sometimes it’s best to simply never know. However, the episode confirmed a vital life lesson for me: while some friends are willing to walk on fire, I’m perfectly content to maintain a safe, astronomical distance from the flames. It’s a policy I rely on to this day. I recommend it highly.

Happy You're Here

"You know what your problem is?" Princess Amy said as I stared at the blank screen this morning, trying to figure out how to say what needed saying.

"I have a feeling you're about to tell me," I replied.

"You're overthinking gratitude. Just say thank you and mean it."

For once, she was absolutely right. So here it is: Thank you.

Thank you for being here for the New Year.  Thank you for coming back, week after week, to visit this little corner of the internet where mood disorders meet mockingbirds, and quantum consciousness debates happen over cappuccinos.

How This All Began
The Circular Journey started in June 2009 as a sort of journal—a way to help me cope with mood disorder. I needed a place to process the chaos, to make sense of the storm. But it almost immediately became something more than that.

I discovered I wanted to spread goodness and light to others, knowing that life comes hard and fast to all of us. If I could brighten someone's day, soften the blows with a hint of insight and a dash of humor, then maybe this blogging thing was worth the effort.

The blog wouldn't be here today if not for you. The Circular Journey isn't just me typing away at a keyboard. It's a cooperative effort involving me, you, and the cast of characters who've become the recurring players in these stories: Ms. Wonder with her infallible judgment, Princess Amy with her calibrated snark, Island Irv and his cosmic consciousness, and Lilly the all-knowing barista.

Your Comments Mean Everything
From time to time, I receive comments that make it clear some readers really "get it." You appreciate not just the stories, but the spirit behind them—the attempt to find humor in the absurd, meaning in the mundane, and connection in the chaos.

I created Princess Amy to transform something abstract and complex—like stormy emotions and intrusive thoughts—into something that could be understood in everyday terms. The fact that she resonates with readers means I've somehow managed to externalize the internal struggle in a way that makes sense.

Life is best described as better than the alternative. It's coffee shop conversations, traffic mishaps, and debates about whether your head resembles a melon or a cathedral dome. But within those ordinary moments, there's magic if you know how to look for it.

The Cast of Characters
Ms. Wonder deserves special mention. In my stories, she represents clarity, cutting through confusion, the voice of reason when everything else is chaos. She's the person who sees past the fog and reminds you to just be yourself, to live in the moment.

Island Irv brings a cosmic perspective when I'm drowning in the mundane. Lilly knows exactly what I need before I do. And Princess Amy—dear, brilliant but confused, Amy—serves as a reminder that wisdom is sometimes found in the most unlikely places. 

The Journey Continues

I truly enjoy our collaboration and look forward to continuing to work with you. Whether it's another adventure with Ms. Wonder, more chaos with Princess Amy, Island Irv dropping cosmic wisdom over cappuccinos, or something entirely different—I'm ready to dive in.

As Shakespeare might have said, "Gratitude is the heart's memory, and a blog without readers is just shouting into the void." Not really a quote, is it? But I'm confident the Bard would appreciate the sentiment.

One More Thing
If you're new to The Circular Journey, welcome. I hope you'll stick around. Read the archives if you're so inclined—there are hundreds of stories about everything imaginable, and nothing at all. 

If you've been here from the beginning, or anywhere in between, thank you for being part of this cooperative effort. Thank you for keeping The Circular Journey flourishing. Thank you for your comments, your page views, and your silent companionship.

Strange and Wonderful

The New Year is here! I have a perennial expectation for nothing but good things at the start of a new calendar, and this year is no exception. Still, even though it lifts my spirits, it doesn't really change anything in the outside world, at least not immediately.

The sky overlooking the Port of Wilmington may be bright and beautiful for those connected to the outside world. But my inner world is filled with a gray mist. My world has been steeped in sadness since last Tuesday.

It's all Amy's fault. I refer to Princess Amy, of course. She granted me almost two weeks of unbridled boredom—a record length of time for this mood warrior to be free of anxiety. Now, today, for no discernible reason, I'm wearing a broken front tooth, and I'm sunk in depression.

I should probably admit that the tooth broke when I chomped down on an antacid tablet. Do you see why I said there was “no discernible” reason? I mean, an antacid tablet! It's not like I was chewing up the sidewalk. Try discerning that!

Before I say more, I suppose I should make it clear that I'm really blaming Amy; well, I am blaming her, aren't I? Ok, I'll just say that I've "gotten used to her face," as the old song goes. By that, I mean that I like having her around. After all, she puts up with the very worst of me, even though Ms. Wonder doesn't trail her by much. 

Today, though, I'm striving to be philosophical, or maybe poetic—perhaps even fantastical (and yes, I confirmed, that it's a word, meaning "strange and wonderful, like something out of a fantasy story," which is exactly what I aspire to write).

It's no fun being in touch with my true self. I have to look hard just to see my astral body, lying in a heap on the Riverwalk, held down by enormous wings that, on sunlit days, carry me above the clouds and put a smile on my face.

If you're thinking the Genome is having a bad morning, you're absolutely right. A bad morning isn't the half of it.

But even as I write this, I've just ordered coffee at Circular Journey Cafe, the caffeine emporium in the heights of downtown Wilmington.

Yes, I have a steaming cup of Jah’s Mercy and a Spotify playlist streaming through my earbuds, and I can feel my spirit stirring, and not in the best way. I'm actually mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore! Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead! I'm breaking through the clouds and into the sunshine. I will soar above the abyss!

I think I'm beginning to tire of hearing that. If I am, then you're probably tired of it too. I'll give that some thought as I drive home.

Yes, I'm rambling. I do that sometimes when I'm looking for exactly the right words. I apologize if you find it annoying, and, after all, why shouldn't you find it annoying?

I don't know much, but I know I've had it with the familiar path. I'm going to throw myself into the chaos of the unfamiliar. Right now, I feel like a mindfleet commander, ordering my crew to run an enemy blockade.

"Amy!", I hear myself say, "direct Engineer Anxiety to rev up the hyperdrive to warp speed and make the jump to hyperspace! We're going through!"

I'll keep you updated regularly on my progress. Check back often, because I can't do this without you—you know that. Leave a comment so I'll know you were here.

Non-Stop In the New Year

Exactly how long an author should be allowed to chronicle the adventures of the same peculiar characters has long intrigued literary critics. My plan to continue doing so into the new year has once again brought this existential question into sharp focus in reader discussion groups.

A Literary Statute of Limitations
It has been over a decade since I began writing about Ms. Wonder, the Genome, and Princess Amy. However, some literary critics apparently believe a certain "statute of limitations" exists for this type of literary behavior. 

If you're a regular here, it won't surprise you to learn that Princess Amy is one of those critics who think my long-running saga should come to an end. She favors writing only the Mindfleet Academy series because, as she puts it, "It's the only series that has reached viral status.

My argument for allowing The Circular Journey to evolve through natural selection, just as God intended, is that all my blog posts are gaining in popularity without limits. In recent months, record numbers of visitors have been reading the posts, and we're now reaching people in 80 countries.

 
Even though I completely and irrevocably disagree with Amy, I thought it best to seek the counsel of a higher authority.

The Confounding Chronicles

“Wonder,” I called as I climbed the stairs to Ms. Wonder’s studio. “Sorry to interrupt, but a crisis is brewing. My critics say ‘enough is enough’ when it comes to documenting the daily lives of the princess, the islander, and even the Amazon and Netflix crews.” 

“They think these chronicles are multiplying like rabbits," I continued, "which is probably true. The thought of it fills them with dread.”

Wonder turned to face me as I entered the studio. She didn't roll her eyes. She didn't sigh. She simply looked at me with a concerned expression.

"First of all," she said. "Stalking the film crews brings you genuine joy, and it keeps you away from Brunswick Beer and Cider..."

"Except for those grouper nuggets," I interjected.

"Yes, except for the grouper," she conceded.

"And, I'd prefer," I added, wanting to get it right, "that we say, 'locating' the crews rather than 'stalking.'"

"Yes, locating,” she agreed, placing odd emphasis on the word. "Given that, I’d say the situation is still beautifully open to debate."

It wasn't the strong, definitive argument I'd hoped for, but, as the saying goes, 'Any port in a storm.' I decided to work with it.

"Despite all the confusion and the heated debates," I said, "one clear fact stands out: as the new year begins, so does my fourteenth year of The Circular Journey."

"Has it been that long?" she asked.

"And I want to stress, Wonder, that I strongly believe anything worth doing is worth doing thoroughly. In that regard, I'm much like Shakespeare—a literary titan who knew the value of a good, long run."

"Hmmm," she said, "I'm not entirely sure about the Shakespeare reference, but I get your point."

"My critics think that multiple stories with recurring characters have a limited shelf life," I said, "but I disagree strongly."

"Well, your comparisons," she said, "the metaphors and the similes might benefit from a little tweaking."

Her comments deserved my careful consideration, and I made a mental note to get to them eventually, but I pressed on with my main objective.

"It's entirely possible, I suppose, to read 'Coastal Camelot,' my most popular post, as a standalone effort and still feel satisfied. But I know there are individuals of a curious spirit—the true devotees—who won't be content until they dig deeper, possibly reading all ten of its most popular companion posts."

"No doubt," she said.

"The blog simply can't be fully appreciated with any less effort, Wonder. Only by reading those specific ten will certain internal references become absolutely clear instead of remaining mystifying and obscure."

"Of course," she said, turning to face her workstation screen again. I realized she'd said all she wanted to say on the matter.

The Power of the Peculiar Word
And now, my friend, after hearing my side of the debate and my defense, I ask you to consider the opening lines from 'Coastal Camelot':

The morning opened with a show so grand and majestic that it made me question Mr. Priddy’s sixth-grade lesson about the Earth’s rotation causing the sunrise. Gazing at this glorious start to the day, I couldn't help but think that only a goddess driving her divine sun chariot could create such a spectacle.

Not bad, right? How could anyone possibly think that such an opening is boring or redundant? And check out these equally un-boring lines from the post I call, 'Life is Good':

I arrived early this morning, riding the shirtsleeves of the sun, who had awakened bright-eyed, rolled up his sleeves, and gotten straight to the point. Not a bad opening for a yellow dwarf star.

I’d personally give that a rating of 5 stars out of 5. And at the risk of overdoing it, let's sample this glorious paragraph from 'Keep On the Sunny Side':

Sunshine stole across the mews from the general direction of the Atlantic Ocean. I'm damned if I know how it's done—smoke and mirrors, probably...

I make these delightful missives available to you, and all my followers, at absolutely no charge, and you're welcome to them. Read the episodes in the most popular list in the column on the front page, and if you're feeling froggy (a technical term for adventurous), try hitting the Random Search button.

Do it now, is my suggestion. Make it a daily habit for the new year. I guarantee that doing so will bring sunshine, blue skies, and birdsong into your inner world—and perhaps even your outer world too, just as it does in mine.

Circular Journey: 2025 Wrap-Up

Looking back over the past year, it becomes clear that 2025  wasn't just about writing; it was a series of "circular journeys" fueled by caffeine, comic insight, and the occasional mischievous squirrel circus.

This year taught me creative patience: story ideas came to me while sipping coffee, waiting for Irv to join me in Luna Cafe, but not when chasing story ideas. It's the Daoist idea of non-striving for writers. 

I spent countless hours in 2025 refining drafts and tightening cadence, always chasing that perfect "Wodehouse rhythm." Through every rewrite, the regular cast of characters began directing the stories in ways I'd never thought of. 

Ms. Wonder, in particular, became a standout; as I once noted in a blog dialogue, she doesn't just solve a case—she "performs surgery on it." She is often engaged in sparring with the young geezer I call Princess Amy. This character-driven humor became a signature style, which one follower called "a dance as light as air where humor is always allowed to preside."

The newest evolution in my blogging this year was the addition of playful cartoon scenes to illustrate each episode. I created imagery that ranges from the command console of the GMS Coastal Voyager—the newest ship assigned to Mindfleet Academy—to cozy corners of the Luna Café and the shining poppy fields of Emerald City.

The highlight of The Circular Journey 2025 is a new series featuring the Coastal Voyager crew selected for advanced officer training at Mindfleet Academy. Its debut happens to align with the new Starfleet Academy television series. It wasn't planned that way; I didn't know about the TV show until after the premiere of the blog series. Talk about Stranger Things!

Mindfleet merges the original 1960s Star Trek with the animated film Inside Out. In the past three months, the five most-viewed posts have all been Mindfleet episodes, and the leading one has gone viral; it's now the second most popular episode of all time.

A Year of Wonder and Mischievous Squirrels

My hosting platform generated a 2025 highlight reel for activity on The Circular Journey. 

The wrap-up had little to do with outcomes and everything to do with the way I wander through ideas, return to familiar voices, and use humor to cope with life's slings and arrows. The review wasn’t a report card; it was an gentle observations, and was embarrassingly complimentary.

Taken as a whole, and ignoring all the compliments and praise, what it seemed to say was, “Keep writing.”

[...and now a word of self-promotion...]

I’m building a tech media empire—encompassing blogs, podcasts, articles, and documentaries—and the tech landscape changes every day. But I don’t fear the future, because I’m teamed up with Squirrel Socks. Their on-demand learning platform gives me the hands-on, expert-led courses I need to quickly master new skills and stay ahead. With Squirrel Socks, I don’t fear what’s next—I chase it. See for yourself at SquirrelSocks.com, the wildest natural neural network located in my backyard.

[...now back to the blog post...]

The Wodehousian Adventure Continues

This past year has often required far more concentration than I anticipated. I've spent countless hours refining drafts, tightening cadence, and pursuing that elusive Wodehouse rhythm with the determination of Bertie Wooster fleeing an unwanted engagement.

The result is what one follower called "signature style," though on some days it feels more like controlled chaos with a British accent.

Ms. Wonder Takes the Stage

Speaking of chaos, Ms. Wonder has truly come into her own this year. Forget Sherlock Holmes—when this Wonder takes on a case, she doesn't merely solve it; she performs surgery on it, and with a flair that has become her hallmark.

"Keep writing," she commanded at one point this year. And I obeyed, because when Ms. Wonder issues an edict, it's best to simply agree without asking for clarification.

From Prose to Pixels

I've taken on visual storytelling this year; designing playful cartoons of imagined scenes. The result is what the wrap-up called "Still Life with Beret and Latte," a pixel-painted meditation on the essential elements of the creative life: a steaming café latte, a well-worn notebook, a vintage camera, and a couple of mischievious squirrels--Squiggly and Twizler.

Lessons from the Riverwalk of Life

This year has taught me several things, all learned the hard way, and which are worth sharing:

Creative inspiration arrives while you wait, not when you’re chasing it. Quietly ruminating on random thoughts mirrors the gentle percolation of caffeine. This is the Daoist principle of non-striving at work in the creative process—it can’t be rushed. All you can do is prepare the grounds and wait for the magic to brew.

This year, Ms. Wonder, Amy, and the gang developed minds of their own, leading me down narrative paths I never would have imagined—Mindfleet Academy is the ultimate example. 

They’ve become, in the most delightful way possible, a committee of visionaries, each insisting I’m headed in the wrong direction and that they know a better route.

The Year in Poetry (If not fact, still true.)

In a moment of what I can only assume was misplaced confidence, the end-of-year wrap-up from the blog host commemorated The Circular Journey circa 2025 in verse:

You brewed laughs with (Ms.) Wonder and flair,
Each blog post is a dance, as light as air.
With Wodehouse as your guide,
You let humor preside—
And made art from the quirks you laid bare.

I shall neither confirm nor deny whether this accurately reflects my creative process, but I will note that "brewed laughs" sounds like something one orders at a particularly hipster coffeehouse.

What Comes Next?

Whatever 2026 brings—and I suspect it will bring its own unique imbroglios—we’ll chat about it here in what one of my most ardent followers calls the Circular Journey Café.

Here's to the next chapter, the next cup of coffee, the next short walk that yields more inspiration than any amount of planning, and to characters who insist on taking us places we've never thought of going.

Here’s to you, my loyal followers. I’m grateful you made me part of your year. Writing may begin alone, at a desk, with a cup of cold coffee, but it doesn’t end there. It’s complete when someone reads the words and recognizes a piece of themselves in the margins—when a line lands, amuses, or quietly reassures, when a reader lingers.

Knowing you're here, following along with my rambles, makes the journey not just worthwhile, but genuinely joyful.

So thank you for being here. For reading. For thinking. For laughing when appropriate and indulging me when necessary. I’m glad you’re still here.

Live The Journey

You know those catchy phrases that get stuck in your brain? Nike's Just Do It instantly comes to mind, as does LG's Life Is Good. These slogans are punchy, memorable, and wonderfully motivational. 

They can be the perfect compass to snap you back on track when you're deep in creative work and wondering why you ever thought it would be easy.

 

In past years, I’ve relied on a personal motto to maintain my own creative mojo. In 2024, it was Leap!—fitting for a leap year and for jumping into new territory. For 2025, I adopted Making Waves! Both phrases reminded me to take action and strive to make a meaningful impact.

My creative juices produced hugely favorable results in 2025, and I attribute much of that success to inspiration coming from Making Waves. With the new year rapidly approaching, I felt the need for a new phrase to keep the creative momentum soaring.

The search has been surprisingly satisfying, and it occurred to me that you might be interested in the method behind the motto. In this post, I’ll share the far from magical process I followed to find the right words to craft my personal tagline.

Finding Your Mojo-Inspiring Motto
We all have far too much on our plates already, and the last thing we need is to add "motivational sloganeering" to our list of worries. But here’s the good news: what I'm about to share is genuinely fun.

Most importantly, it’s not just a fun exercise; a good motto does some serious heavy lifting throughout the year. For example: 

When the work gets hard, your motto reminds you why you chose your creative pursuit (and it always gets hard). Your inspiration phrase also serves to keep your decisions aligned with your core values. 

The New Year is already set to become a juggling act for me. I’m currently producing the Happy Cats Wellness podcast, and I'll continue blogging while developing a new podcast called An Artist's Journey. Of course, Princess Amy and I will be up to our necks documenting film and television production here in Hollywood East. Sometimes I wonder how I manage it all, but even if I do it poorly, the motto helps me keep doing it.

Evolution, Not Revolution
I started my recent search for the 2026 mojo-motto, hoping for one of those perfect moments where the ideal phrase leaps fully formed into my mind, like Athena springing from Zeus's head. (Although I preferred to avoid the headache that followed for Zeus!)

That Athena moment didn’t happen.

Instead, I started throwing ideas around. I knew I wanted something short and punchy—two or three words max--and I wanted something full of energy—active, not passive. Whatever I chose had to work for all my various projects and pursuits.

I began by considering phrases that already resonate with me. The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous encourages us to live "happy, joyous, and free.” It's a beautiful sentiment, but nine words is more of a manifesto, rather than a motto. My martial arts tagline, "Fierce Qigong!" is punchy, but it’s tied to that specific context.

The Exploration Phase
The first round of brainstorming produced some interesting candidates that were close, but not quite right:

• Journey On felt natural for my blog and the new podcast. It had forward momentum, but seemed to lack an edge.

• Bold Strokes had appeal, suggesting confidence and strong action. It fit most of my projects, but seemed a stretch for podcasting.

• Create Freedom was closely connected to being "happy, joyous, and free," but it lacked punch.

The Ignition Point
This is where the process got truly interesting. Instead of feeling frustrated, I was drawn to the feelings in some of the imperfect options:

Journey On had the right subject, but the verb was too passive. Bold Strokes had the right energy, but wasn't universal. Create Freedom spoke to my core values, but lacked punch.

I started moving words around just to see what would come out of it: Journey Bold, Journey Fierce, Own the Journey, Journey Alive.

And that’s when it happened—not a literal lightning bolt, but a definite spark. Randomly combining words led me to the phrase that instantly stuck, just like those catchy slogans mentioned at the top of this post:

Live the Journey!

It has everything I was looking for: the active commitment, the edge, and the sense of being fully present and engaged with the entire process.

It works across all my projects. It works as both an invitation to myself and a declaration to the world. And when I say it out loud, something in me simply says, ‘Yes!’.

Living With It
Here’s the thing about finding your perfect motto: you have to 'wear it' for a while, like breaking in a new pair of jeans. I decided to wear Live the Journey for a few days before making a final decision. I wanted to know how it felt while editing a podcast, drafting a blog post, or planning to track a movie production crew.

Your Turn
If you’re thinking about creating your own creative motto for 2026 (or any time, really), here’s the process that worked for me: 

• Start with Brainstorming: Write down everything that comes to mind. There are no bad ideas here. 

• Look for Patterns: What words or ideas keep appearing? 

• Play with Word Order: Take the subject from one option and pair it with the verb from another. Be aware of words or ideas that arise from other words. The word ‘fierce’ in my martial arts slogan, sparked the idea of ‘bold’, which led to ‘Journey Bold.’ 

• Test Variations: Say them out loud. Imagine using them when the work gets difficult. How do they feel? 

• Trust Your Gut: You'll know it when you find it—it will just feel right. 

Making It Real
Write your motto where you’ll see it every day—at your desk, on a whiteboard, or on your phone’s background. When making decisions, ask yourself if your choice aligns with the values represented by your motto. 

Share your motto with others or keep it close to your heart. Both ideas are valid. The motto is YOUR personal compass, not a marketing campaign. If at any time, you feel it has lost its mojo, adjust it. The point is to support your work, not constrain it.

Living the Creative Life
For 2026, I’m going to "Live the Journey." I will stay fully present in my creative work, embracing the messiness, and remembering that enjoying the journey is more important than the art.

If you decided to craft a motto for your creative work, share it in the comments. Let's inspire each other as we step into the New Year.

Here’s to 2026. May you find the words that truly move you forward.