I can’t thank any of you who bother to read my random ramblings enough… Here’s a summary of my 2012 stats.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,200 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 7 years to get that many views.
April 20, 1999.
April 16, 2007.
July 20, 2012.
December 14, 2012.
The above dates should stand out to all of us. Columbine. Virginia Tech. Aurora, CO. And now, Sandy Hook Elementary School. All of these places that many of us have never heard of became national news when people took it upon themselves to walk into these places, these schools, and that movie theater, and open fire. Not even six months ago, I sat in shock, trying to find the words to describe my thoughts on what happened in Aurora, at a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises. For Aurora – my post from that day – still seems inadequate in actually putting my thoughts together on that tragedy.
Today, our country witnessed more evil. Twenty children and six adults in the town of Newtown, Connecticut were murdered. Their lives were ended violently and senselessly. They were killed for no fathomable reason other than someone felt the need to take a loaded gun into a school and go on a killing spree. In my post about Aurora, I mentioned that such tragedy could have struck in Anytown, USA. I am reminded again that I could have been on the receiving end of a phone call, telling me that one of my little brothers was a victim of such despicable violence. My brothers, ages seven and ten, go to elementary school, just like every single child who lost their life today did. It is a place to learn and make friends, a place to begin to build the foundation of who they will become as they grow up. It should never be a place of fear or trauma or violence. It should not be a place of lock-down and gunshots and death.
In watching the news today and in reading my Twitter feed, I couldn’t help but cry. The overwhelming grief I feel for victims I have never met brings tears to my eyes now, as I try to collect my thoughts to get them out in print. From reports that I read, the shooter targeted his mother and her kindergarten class. Let me say it again, so that it truly sinks in. He targeted his mother, a kindergarten teacher, and her class. Kindergarten. Children that are five and six years old, who have barely even learned to read or tie their shoes. They were massacred in the one place that is supposed to be a safe haven, even if their home is not. Twenty sets of parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends had to be informed a child they loved would never come out of that school again alive. Children. Kids whose lives had just begun. Kids who will never have a first kiss, who will never learn to drive a car, or go on a first date. Kids who won’t get married or go to college or go on to be President of the United States. Kids who won’t become scientists or ballerinas or doctors or lawyers.
My heart aches for everyone affected by this tragedy. It aches for the families of the victims, it aches for the survivors, whose lives will never be the same again. It aches for a community that has been completely torn apart by such a heinous act, that now has to learn to heal in the face of such atrocity. My heart aches for our country, as we all hold our breath and wonder when the next asshole with a gun is going to decide to open fire in a public place or in a school or a mall or a movie theater. It aches to know that such events polarize us as a nation when it should really be bringing us closer together. My heart aches wondering if this could have been prevented, if there were signs the shooter was going to do this. It aches that, in the aftermath of such events, people begin to forget, only to be reminded when the next tragedy occurs.
I am disgusted. I am disgusted with the shooter, and I am disgusted with the media, who reported who the shooter was before having all the facts. I am disgusted that the media is interviewing parents of surviving children, and most of all, I am disgusted the media interviewed and televised children that were present at the time of the shooting today. I am disgusted that someone would commit such an act of violence, and that someone could have so much evil inside them that they could kill any human being, let alone a child. I am disgusted that the shooter is dead, and will not have to be held accountable for his own actions.
In reading my Twitter feed, I was pleased to see most of the accounts I follow take the day to drop what they normally talk about and share their condolences, to question why this happened, to express their shock and despair and disgust. It reminded me that not all of humanity sucks.
I do not know any of the victims of today’s tragic event, but still, I mourn them. I think all of us, as a country, do. We all caught a glimpse of the worst kind of evil today, and no amount of arguing about gun control or mental health treatment is going to change that. These are absolutely issues that need to be discussed, but at the core of it all, would any of that have changed what happened today? I’m not so sure. What I do know is that we’re all pulling for those in Newtown, CT. Anytime a mass shooting happens, it rips open every old wound, and makes us relive each shooting from the past. Columbine, Virginia Tech, and Aurora now have another companion in being Anytown, USA. Another community mourns its dead, and this time, it feels more personal. It cuts a little deeper.
My thoughts, prayers, and heart are with Newtown, Connecticut tonight, and they will be for quite some time.
I think by now, you’re all familiar with my overall and general loathing of all things reality TV (with the exception of MTV’s The Challenge – don’t judge, it’s a trainwreck that I can’t rip my eyes away from, and it’s chock-full of super sexy eye candy). You’re also probably familiar with my annoyance toward the Kardashians… you know, the family whose names all freakishly begin with “K” and whose fame stemmed essentially from Kim having sex on camera with a D-List celebrity no one’s considered relevant in lord knows how many years. Anyway, as it turns out, Kim, of the 72-day long sham marriage fame, is dating Kanye West. Who gives a shit, right?
Apparently, Kanye gave Kim a kitten (I couldn’t have planned that alliteration if I had wanted to… and why on earth would I want to??). As far as cats go, it was a pretty cute little thing – you all know I’m a dog person that’s fairly convinced cats are plotting on us all, so really, for me to openly admit one of these creatures is cute is a big deal. Mercy, the kitten, even spawned her own parody Twitter, which was actually pretty funny. The fact that Kanye had given Kim a kitten (again, with the alliteration), shouldn’t have really been a blip on our radar. People get pets. It’s what we do. Why one would actually trust Kim Kardashian with a living, breathing animal is beyond me, but let’s face it. Little Mercy was a gift from the guy who can’t find the capslock key to keep from Tweeting in all caps and who not only announced on TV that George Bush hates black people, but also interrupted Taylor Swift’s award acceptance speech to bestow his own honor on Beyonce. Guy’s kind of a loose cannon.
Fine, the cat’s cute. Though she does look like she’s plotting her escape.
Anyway, in the three minutes of reading I did about ten minutes ago on the subject of the Kardashian cat, it turned out that Kim was allergic to this little ball o’ fluff, and instead of sucking it up and getting injections to keep her, she gave her away to her sister Khloe’s assistant (I think Khloe’s the Amazonian looking one). Whatever. Here’s where the story gets sad. Tiny little mercy, only four months old, had a nasty stomach virus. This virus acts as a cancer in small animals, and the poor little thing had to be euthanized at only four months old. As much as a cat fan I’m not, I still feel awful about a baby animal having to be put down, even if it meant ending her suffering. I also feel awul for the Kardashian assistant who had taken her in, as I know what losing a pet feels like. It’s an absolutely heart-wrenching experience.
The thing I’d like to know, dear readers, is HOW IS THIS NEWS?! How is this story featured on Yahoo! and USA Today and MSN?! Thank FUCK CNN doesn’t seem to have any trace of it on their website. USA TODAY?! If I were to lose a pet, IT WOULD NOT MAKE THE NEWS.
What is our society’s obsession with every little move a celebrity makes? Can we also just mention that, technically, this cat no longer even belonged to Kim? It belonged to her sister’s assistant.
Things that ARE news, and should be treated as such:
Nicholas Checque, Navy Seal, killed in action
Actually, you know what? I’m not even going to list any articles other than the one linked above. Why? Because I shouldn’t have to. Why is it we revere these asshats who make fools of themselves on TV, and our fallen members of our Armed Services, who risk their lives for us on a daily basis, don’t really ever get the recognition they deserve? I think it is a shame someone lost a pet – they truly do become members of the family – but it is certainly not national news worthy.
xoxo
Sigh.
Dear NHL/NHLPA Powers That Be,
I am a hockey fan. More specifically, I am an ORANGE-AND-BLACK-BLEEDING, die-hard, love-my-team-even-when-they-lose, Pittsburgh-hating, Sidney-Crosby-taunting, ever-hopeful-for-the-Cup Flyers fan. My love for the sport and the Flyers began early. My dad played club hockey when I was just a wee lass, and he is a Flyers fan through and through. He and I have shared our love for the sport and our team ever since I was old enough to understand what hockey was. Gene Hart’s voice was a staple in our living room on game nights, and we both still get chills when we hear his daughter, Lauren Hart, sing God Bless America or our National Anthem before a game. We make it to games at the Wells Fargo Center when we can, and share fond memories of taking in games at the Spectrum. This season, however, we have yet to make any hockey-related memories. Why is that, you might ask? Ohhhh right. Because you guys can’t get your shit together and end this lock out.
I’ve read numerous articles on numerous sites (some of my favorites in the Philly area are The Orange Update, Buzz on Broad, and Broad Street Hockey), and I’ve got to say – it certainly does not look like any of you give a damn about your fans. Gary Bettman, the owners, Don Fehr, et. al… you have all had us on an emotional roller coaster all week. Wednesday night, there were rumors flying that we could get word of the season FINALLY starting. I cannot tell you how many of us were obsessively refreshing our Twitter feeds and holding our breath to hear if the sport we love so much would be something we get to experience this season. When Thursday rolled around, we were hearing a different tune. An agreement is now a long ways off, and cancellations at LEAST through the first of the year are likely on their way. You’ve already taken All Star Weekend and the Winter Classic away from us, and robbed us all of the first half of the season.
If you search NHL Lockout on YouTube, I can guarantee you will find video after video of fans expressing their disappointment, their passion, their frustration, and their sadness. Hockey fans aren't like baseball or football or basketball fans. If you've ever been to an NHL playoff game, you will know I'm not simply being biased. The atmosphere is unmatched, the fans are unrivaled. We take every single play, every single penalty, every single goal personally. We may not be on the ice with our teams, but for those sixty mintues, we live and breathe their every move. In Philadelphia, we have fans who are staples at every game:
Dave “The Sign Man” Leonardi
Dave “The Sign Man” Leonardi, has been a presence at Flyers games longer than I’ve been alive (you can catch a great write up about him here). Every single home game, “The Sign Man” is there, with a plethora of signs, taunting the visiting team and encouraging our boys in Orange & Black. Dancin’ Shawny, seen below, is a Flyers staple as well, getting the crowd rowdy and ready to go.
Dancin’ Shawny Hill
These super fans, if you will, are only a part of the Flyers experience. From the electric atmosphere in the WFC, to the hoardes of people that cram into local bars to catch a game, to my dad, who typically watches at home and yells at the TV, the Flyers are a part of our lives. We wear their colors year round, we count down the days until our home opener, and our blood pressure rises and falls with the ups and downs of every game. Without the fans, what do you, as a league, have left? Empty buildings, no revenue, and no reason for existence. When did you forget this?
I understand that the NHL is a business, each team in itself, is a business. The goal of a business is to make money, and I think on a rational level, your fans all understand that. What we don’t understand, is how you can so blindly continue this charade, when WE are your source of income. Sure, you make money off your advertisers, but at the end of the day, without us, there is no NHL. The millions of dollars in ticket sales, concessions, merchandise, etc. you pull in every year? Gone without the fans, the people you have so blatantly betrayed this 2012-2013 season. This lock out is about money, and as it stands now, you aren’t making any. Locking the players out doesn’t put butts in seats, it doesn’t sell tickets. You know what it does? It pisses us off. It depresses us. It makes us lose trust in you, and it makes us question how many more times we can go through this (since, you know, Mr. Bettman, this is the THIRD lockout we’ve seen during your reign as NHL commissioner).
Do you know how hard it is to see our favorite players board planes to far-off countries to play for leagues overseas? To worry that they could sustain a career-ending injury wearing a sweater that doesn’t bear our favorite team’s logo? To wonder if they’re ever coming back? Do you know what it’s like to wait all summer long and to count down the days until our teams take the ice, only to find out your greed and unwillingness to play nice with one another means no hockey? Do you know how many casual fans you lost last lockout, or how many you will likely lose after this one? It is now December, and we have yet to see NHL hockey. Do you know what that’s like for your fans who spend hundreds of of dollars for a night at one of your arenas to see our favorite players in the flesh? It doesn’t seem like you do, because we still don’t have a season.
The only positive I can see in this lock out is how it has brought the fans together. As much as we love our rivalries, we love our sport more. The love of the game transcends team loyalties. This lockout has reached a point where most of us no longer care who is right or who is wrong. We just want hockey back. And we want it back now.
Frustrated and Defeated,
The Walking Mishap
It looks to be that time of year again. You know, that time of year when I start to feel guilty I haven’t posted a goddamn thing on here in months and remember that I actually enjoy writing things other than stuff for work and school. My bad. I know, I keep giving you all empty promises of being more consistent and then I end up not living up to said commitment. My apologies (again).
Anyway, it’s also that time of year when I question my career choice and lose faith in humanity a little each day; working retail through Christmas truly brings out the worst in people. Grown ass adults pitch angry-toddler worthy fits if we’re out of stock on something they want, and GODDAMNIT, THEY WANT IT NOW! In an effort to end up not hating humanity as a whole, I’ve gotten into the habit of blasting MY music through my bluetooth headset between customers (right now, the Descendants pandora station is working wonders), and searching the web for articles that may restore a little piece of my faith in humanity.
This page shows “21 Pictures That Will Restore Your Faith in Humanity.” Check it out. If you’re a cynic like I am, you’ll be glad you did. Searching vacation spots also keeps my urge to freak out at a minimum. Witch’s Rock Surf Camp in Costa Rica is still on my bucket list, and frequenting their website helps keep my blood pressure in check.
In addition to Costa Rica, I’ve recently become interested in planning a trip to New Orleans, to take part in the St. Bernard Project – a great organization that is still helping Hurricane Katrina victims rebuild their homes. It’s similar to Habitat for Humanity, and I think it would be an awesome experience. Any of you lovely readers whom actually know me personally, let me know if you’re interested in doing this with me.
Alright, my lovelies. I know this was a short/fairly boring post, but I figure easing back in’s the best way to go.
xoxo
*Note: This post has been in the works for ages, and I’ve been slow to get it posted, but my little dude deserves his due. He’s currently curled up next to me, snoozing the day away… spoiled little bastard that he is.
Since the day I moved home from college and into my own apartment, there has been nothing I’ve wanted more than a dog. My own little canine companion, one that would wag his or her tail at me enthusiastically when I get home from work, cheer me up when I was feeling down, and basically be my furry friend. Apartment after apartment, however, pets were not allowed. My family constantly advised me against adopting an animal (mainly because for quite some time, I was rarely ever home), and for a while, the outlook on getting a dog was grim. Upon moving back out of my parents’ place last September, I refocused on adopting a canine companion.
My landlord at the time was dead-set against the idea at first; she had plans to eventually sell the house I was living in, and didn’t want it to smell like dog. The tenant in the upstairs apartment had a dog, so I figured there was hope. After working through the holiday season and stalking petfinder.com and delcospca.org like it was my job, I found a listing for a little guy named Elmer. He was different than the larger bully breeds I had been looking at (I had fallen in love with a deaf American Bulldog the SPCA had listed, but they required he go to a home with a fenced in yard, which I did not have). Weighing in at only 9 lbs, this little guy was listed on the website as a poodle/terrier mix. He had been found as a stray, and came into the shelter in pretty bad shape. He was so horribly matted they had to shave him bare, and he had infections in his ears and eyes.
I immediately called my mom, after shooting her an email with the link to his Petfinder page. She agreed that he might be a good choice… if only I could get permission from my landlord. Early the next morning, I called her up, and laid the situation out for her. He was a tiny little guy that wouldn’t shed (poodles don’t shed) and his online listing said it seemed as though he was housebroken. After some persuasion and hemming and hawing, she agreed to let me have him. One of my favorite people in the world had arrived at my house by this time, watching me make frantic and excited calls to the shelter. As it turned out, the shelter was frantic to find either a foster or permanent home for little Elmer, and I needed to get in there ASAP if I wanted to make him mine.
We piled in the car, and took off to the SPCA. After filling out some paperwork and getting instructions, he was mine!! I had a dog. An old, scared, fully shaved tiny little dude.
Headed home from the SPCA, snug in his new bed.
I decided before even getting to the SPCA that I was going to be renaming this adorable little creature. Elmer didn’t suit him, but I was at a loss. I called him Little Dude for roughly his first 8 hours with me. After much deliberation, I settled on Dexter – yes, I’m an obnoxious fan girl. I’ve read the books and watch the series, but Dexter just fits. As his fur grew in, I learned Dex is a Maltipoo – a Maltese/Poodle mix. He is the sweetest, most loving pup I ever could have chosen. He’s now happy and mostly healthy (he has occasional seizures that scare the everloving shit out of me), and is just an absolute joy.
Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.
Since adopting my little old man, I’ve become a better person. I really, truly believe being a dog owner initiates you into some sort of secret club. Adopting Dex has made me more selfless, and has taught me what it’s like to have to care for someone other than just myself. Owning a dog makes you friendlier when you’re out in public – you stop and say hello to other dog owners while you’re out. You meet people at the dog park (or in the case of my most recent vacation, the dog beach). You find yourself wanting to volunteer or donate to help other animals, because it’s simply not possible to adopt them all. Dex has made me more patient, as caring for a Senior dog takes more care and attention sometimes. He has shown me what absolute, unconditional love is… I’m talking the kind that I’m not even sure humans are capable of feeling.
He’s a strange little guy, this one. In the old apartment, he used to drag his bed around the house for the sole purpose of humping it. He chews his feet and licks the air – both habits are inexplicable, according to the vet. He zips around the house like crazy, right before promptly passing out in my lap. He hates having his feet played with, even though he spends most of his days messing with them himself. He’s got these funny little duck-feet, which have earned him the nickname Scuba Steve from my friends. I really can’t say too much more about this little guy and what he’s done for me – so I’ll leave you with some pictures you can go “AWWWWWWW” over.
Silly Boy.
Dapper after a haircut
Yes, he has a lifejacket.
First of all, I’m 4 views away from 6k page views here. Holy shit, is all I have to say. Considering the fact that I’m less than consistent with making sure I update even on a semi-regular basis, that’s more than I expected. I KNOW, I KNOW. I’ve promised this more than once… I really need to get on it – no excuses. This little project here of mine has evolved from my original vision, as I had planned to simply highlight the more ridiculous things I encounter on a daily basis. I’m kind of okay with that. It’s become my sounding board - a place where I can share my thoughts in more than 140 character-long bursts. As it stands now, I’m sitting on the front porch of the family shore house, having just finished my first cup of coffee. I’ve got the dog in my lap, and I’m giving The Gaslight Anthem’s new album, Handwritten, a listen here. I’m kind of just writing whatever comes to mind – I sometimes think I don’t do that often enough.
Barnegat Light
Having spent this week on Long Beach Island, I’ve come to the conclusion this is one of those rare places I can truly relax. My insomnia miraculously melts away, I’m well-rested, and it feels like I have nothing in the world to worry about. I spend most of my days barefoot and in a bathing suit, hair thrown back in a messy bun and a face free of make up. The family house isn’t much – it’s over 100 years old, and lack “modern comforts” such as central air, cable TV, and internet (I’m currently using my phone as a hotspot) and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This house is where I learned how to play gin rummy, and have spent hours delving into book after book. The couch I’m sitting on has seen better days, in spite of its brand new slip-cover, and it’s still one of my favorite places to nap. I may not live here, but in a sense, this three bedroom house that will eventually be torn down when it’s sold is home. The beach up the street is where I learned to body surf, where I have dug my toes into the sand and where I have sat in quiet contemplation. It pains me to have to leave tomorrow, allowing for a different set of relatives to spend their week here. All of us – my parents, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc. love this place – and I think we all love it for the some of the same reasons, and even many different ones.
I find that when I’m here, I’m easily inspired (I really do hate that word, I kind of feel as though it’s a bit trite) to get back to being creative. Whether it be writing, finding some form of other art I don’t completely suck at, or wanting to pick up my cameras again, I get motivated to create. This week, it’s been the bug to get back into writing – writing well, and writing regularly. I’m questioning why I ever stopped pursuing journalism as a career choice… did I really let one shitty professor in community college dissuade me from something I’m actually pretty good at? Something I’ve had a lifelong interest in? Sometimes my impulsive decisions really do bite me in the ass. Then again, who’s to say that’s not the path I was supposed to go down? I’m not going to wax philosophical on what could have been… I think I’m just a little bitter about the fact that I’ve got a degree I’m not using, in a field I kind of picked on a whim. Meh. Irrelevant, I suppose, since I’ve got a job that pays me well and keeps the bills paid and keeps food in my mouth. There’s something in the sea air that gets me all introspective and contemplative about life. Weird, right?
I really want to do some collaborative writing sometime soon… maybe start a second site with some other bloggers, kind of just a hodge podge mish mash of different styles and ideas. Anyone interested?
xoxo
...yes, it's really me.
