It’s only Tuesday, people. It’s only Tuesday. Good grief this is going to be a long week.
It’s only Tuesday, people. It’s only Tuesday. Good grief this is going to be a long week.
The Olympics have drawn to a close and it seems as though it was filled with just as much scandal as it was exciting competition. Sadly, it was not without heartbreak or injury either.
If any of you have been following the games, you may have heard about the injury suffered by French Olympian, Samir Ait Said. In the midst of his vault routine landing, Said suffered a broken leg. Not his first. But still devastating and horrific. First, let me say my heart immediately went out to him as images of Joe Thiesmann flashed in my head. And I’m glad to say Said seems to be recovering well, as well as one can after such a terrible event.
But all of that is beside the point, how did I discover this piece of news? Luckily I didn’t witness it like I did Theismann’s injury – that one is still rattling around in my head I’m very sorry to report. No, it was a normal day pretty much like any other day and as I so often do, I was browsing my Facebook newsfeed when lo and behold a news article popped up detailing Said’s botched landing, his subsequent insult to injury when the paramedics dropped him while he was strapped onto a gurney, and an update on his recovery (as much as was known then). Believe it or not, the story of this awful incident was not the most disturbing thing about the Facebook post in question. Not by a long shot.
You see, apparently the media outlet posting this article had decided to show some respect (gasp! I know, right!?) to both the athlete and presumably its audience and opted NOT to show the stomach-churning video of the gruesome injury. In fact, from what I understand, numerous news sites and even the Olympic committee had removed various versions of the video due to its grisly nature, not to mention, once again, respect. And frankly, what purpose does it serve to air such a thing? But I’m jumping ahead of myself.
As I mentioned, the news story was not the worst thing about this Facebook post and that’s saying something. No. The worst thing was the slew of comments from the bloodthirsty…well, let’s see…trolls? No, that’s not right. Sadists? Horror-mongers? I could come up with some better names, but my mother reads this blog. I digress. Back to the comments.
The story alone was quite detailed and the author talented enough to paint a word picture for his audience — a word picture that was more than adequate to conjure a mind’s eye view of what occurred to this poor gymnast.
And yet. There it began. The vocal outcry of the offended masses culled from the cream of our society. “Where’s the video!?” asked one. “Why’d you guys take it down?” whined another. “Someone needs to re-post on YouTube or something, man!” decried one technologically clever soul. “Really, you’re not going to show it!?” demanded one particularly impatient individual. As you might imagine the comments and discussion only went downhill from there.
The conversation kind of devolved into the equivalent of an incessantly whining toddler throwing an ever-growing tantrum because you turned off his beloved Teletubbies. Yet it wasn’t their whining or incredibly childish gore-filled demand for the video that bothered me, although that was bad enough, it was the “why” behind their communal outrage.
In fact, I dare you to look around on YouTube at what some of these like-minded…people…are watching these days. Live fights between young pregnant women, people getting hit by cars, animals being tortured, and a number of less than “innocent” sadistic pranks. Oh, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
It continues to beg the question, what the hell is wrong with our society? Why are we obsessed with violence and inundated with the demand to see other living, breathing beings suffer? Is it funny for some people, or is it just some sick urge even they don’t understand? Either way I really do worry for the future sometimes. We seem to be barreling towards the extreme southern district of the afterlife a lot faster than originally forecast with no hand-basket in sight.
Are you familiar with “blocking” on Facebook? It’s a special filter you can set up on your profile that can, as Facebook works it, “prevent them [certain people you choose] from seeing things you post on your profile, starting conversations with you or adding you as a friend.” Normally, blocking happens when someone gets super pissed off at someone else. It’s a pretty severe move.
I can count on two fingers just how many times I’ve been blocked on Facebook, which I do like to pat myself on the back for just a little. It means I’m “playing nice” for the most part, or at least not angering others enough that they starting trying to do social media’s version of Eternal Sunshine. Overall, it’s an indicator that you like me, you really, really like me…sorry, channeling a little Sally Field there a minute. At any rate, just so you know, I can play well with others (gasp! It’s a shock, I know.) and generally endeavor to do just that.
I found out that blocking isn’t necessarily a bad thing either, though. The first person who ever blocked me was a now ex-in-law who was really better off blocked anyway. That particular instance of childlike behavior (and not on my part) made for a very welcome respite in my life that I have enjoyed ever since.
But recently, I got blocked a second time and this one isn’t going down so smoothly. Oh, I won’t dwell on it for long and the so-called punishment is not likely to change my behavior. However, it did have me shaking my head.
The person who blocked me is someone I thought I knew well – as well as you can know someone you’re only friends with online (and yes, online friends are still friends). We were more than just casual acquaintances even if our conversations were limited to text and emails. In fact, I had supported her through numerous “life is crazier than fiction” issues over the past two years. I was there for her through a neighborhood bullying problem that got so bad she had to move out of the home she had just moved into only a few months before. I gave her a shoulder to lean on when her pets died. More importantly I stayed true to her when she was blindsided with a completely unexpected divorce.
After being there for her through all that—personal turmoil, death, the disintegration of a marriage—this person blocked me on Facebook. Do you want to know why? The reason she blocked me was over…wait for it…rehoming fees for pets.
You heard me right. Rehoming fees. I’m not using slang that you’ve never heard of. I’m talking about rehoming fees as in “an amount asked for by a pet owner or rescuer when they are adopting or readopting a pet to a home.”
Before going any further, let me say that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, it’s what makes the world go round. But, is it too much to ask that opinions are formed after doing a decent amount of research and communicating with experts who have been in rescue or in the field doing investigations? I’m sorry but if you’re not going to put in the effort to understand why you have a certain stance, if you’re basing your opinion on nothing more than air, you put animals at risk and that frankly, is unacceptable. I’m sure you can see where this is going. Well, you would be wrong.
You might think that because I am a) pretty passionate about animal welfare and b) able to be a teensy bit hot-headed when I’m on a good rant, that I was rude or sarcastic when arguing my case to this former friend. Fair enough. But you’ll be happy to know that that wasn’t the case in this instance.
I coolly and calmly provided my friend with verified information, links, research, and encouraged the person to write her paper — which was her intent for this whole mess — on the truth, rather than simply stick to her baseless opinion out of stubbornness. I won’t even get into the fact that she started claiming industry experts were of the same opinion as her (not saying I’m always right, but…) which was purely and simply a falsehood. I gave her a good out, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she labeled me an “activist” of the wood boring variety (because I came out of the woodwork just to argue – ha!) and summarily blocked me, giving me no chance to respond to her ridiculous claims. Isn’t that always the way?
And you know what, I’m okay with that. Oh, I’m not an activist. But I don’t necessarily consider it the horrendous and belittling insult she meant it as either. What I am is an advocate. Hell, I’m proud to be an advocate. Her attitude towards me doesn’t change the truth or skew any of the concrete facts. She can keep her faulty beliefs and maybe one day she’ll be unable to avoid the fact that she’s telling a lie. God help the animals who get hurt in the process though.
And seriously, in hindsight, maybe this whole “being nice” thing is just too damn overrated.
People inclined to motivational prose say “go big or go home”… as if going home is a bad thing. I’ve just never understood that mentality. I’m over here like, “Hell yes, I want to go home! And I’m going to have a yummy snack and watch a movie when I get there. Might even take a nap.” Go big. Pfft.
I’m no professor of linguistics, but I do understand that language evolves over time. Pick up a copy of Canterbury Tales or Satyricon and try to tell me you understand every phrase in there. What I didn’t think too much about until recently is that this constant updating, re-purposing, and hijacking of words and phrases applies to cursing, too.
An article I read recently went into great detail about the role that profanity played in the Elizabethan Era. How it was aligned closely with divinity (the word “God” being used in many of the harsher swears of the time) and of course social status.
It’s a very informative read and I got a lot out of it, but the part that really stuck out to me was the very first paragraph which reads:
“In Henry IV, Part One, Shakespeare’s Hotspur turns on his prissy wife: “Heart! You swear like a comfit-maker’s wife. ‘Not you in good sooth!’ and ‘as true as I live!’” Instead Hotspur demanded a good mouth-filling oath. Something like his own “By God’s heart” was more suited to a lady of rank.”
Shakespeare, you know how to write a good story, I’ll give you that. And you’re phenomenal at coming up with new words. But, you’re one sexist bastard. I am more than aware that misogyny isn’t a new trend that just recently popped up, yet that passage by Shakespeare had me shaking my damn head. Leave it to a medieval patriarch to think that his wife needs to improve the language she uses and then offer up suggestions. He’s literally trying to put words in her mouth!
And I’ll admit, I had to look up just what the hell a comfit-maker was because while it sounded familiar, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Turns out that’s just a fancy way of saying candy maker. Back in Shakespeare’s times comfit-makers were the people who made little confections out of dried fruits and nuts that would then be used in desserts… nonpareils, sugar plums, candied almonds, hundreds and thousands (aka sprinkles or jimmies) and the like.
To be honest, being a comfit-maker’s wife doesn’t sound like a bad gig. Sure, if I were living back in the 1600s and was hitched to one of them, I probably wouldn’t be too well off financially. Or socially for that matter. I mean, how much can a bag of candied almonds bring in really? But still, I’d have all the candy I could eat. More importantly, I’d be able to curse however I wanted. Except if it got me sent to the stockades. You gotta watch out for the stockades.