Now I know what you’re probably thinking: “What the hell, Kait…get over it.”

Normally you’d be right; but when I see a white-suburban soccer mom with fake-ass blond hair, fake-and-bake tan, huge sunglasses, and a van full of snotty nosed bratty kids and a license plate that says “PADI-WGN”…shit hits the fan.

My initial reaction to the license plate was: “Oh, fucking cute, someone thinks their funny,” and I looked up, expecting to see some shamrock stickers or maybe an Irish flag or something to denote that the driver of the stereotypical ‘family van’ was in fact, Irish.  Gee, was I wrong.

I’m nowhere near 100% Irish, but my blood comes to a near simmer when I see ignorance displayed in such arrant fashion.  My biggest regret is not following her into the Indian owned gas station to ask her: “Ma’am…do you even KNOW what a Paddy Wagon was?”  Clearly, there is no chance in all of the fucking green-hilled shire that she could have the slightest idea.

Now obviously, the term “Paddy” isn’t nearly as offensive as some of the other racial terms, but to have a known racial term used as a license plate (on any scale) is utterly ridiculous.

To give you, the reader, some history, the ‘Paddy Wagon’ was used in the early 1900s to describe a police wagon that was used to round up drunken Irishmen after a night of good fun.  The original term ‘Paddy’ was a shortening of ‘Patrick’ and easily became as popular a term for an Irishman as ‘Mick’.  Obviously, ‘Mick Wagon’ doesn’t have the same sort of ring to it as the aforementioned ‘Paddy Wagon’.  Traditionally, policemen during that time had a particular grudge against the Irish population because of the over crowding that occurred in popular cities like Boston and New York.  As a whole, the early 1900s was a particularly difficult time for the Irish population; especially in Ireland with the invasion from England reaching its peak.

Having read that, I would hope that the image of a bleach blond, orange skinned, saggy armed, soccer mother toting her children around in a tacky van with the license plate “PADI-WGN” would afford some humor, or minor disgust at the general thinking process of the average American citizen.

Its instances like these that make me want to take my boyfriend’s queue and follow through on my rights to the second amendment.

Éire go Brách, you dumb bitch.

For a long time now, I’ve realized that my current residence has been drastically unsatisfying. When I originally moved to Boston, I was promised adventures out to meet new people, and events, and all sorts of fun things. Things that normally, I would never do all by myself (the prospect literally makes me lightheaded) and, after living here for two and a half years, I’ve decided that I’ve reached the end of my ‘Tour de Boston’. I’ve made friends and lost them, I’ve been betrayed and used and insulted behind my back. It’s everything I thought I was moving away from…but instead it seems it followed me. Not only that, but I feel as though I have lost, perhaps forever, the one person (family excluded) that was the closest that anyone could have been to me. It is because of this that I think returning to my home is necessary.

I was born and raised in the same city. I’ve never lived anywhere else until I moved here when I was 22 years old. I felt like I was moving to another planet, and I’ll be damned if I know how I managed to get where I am. My apartment (albeit a shitty one) is all mine, I have cats, and an amazing (sometimes) job. But I feel as though I have lost all my strength. Never have I felt this low, this sad. I don’t have the energy to clean, or play, or do anything. I realize how pathetic it sounds. And truly, it really is quite disgusting. Obviously, that’s why I’m working to change that.

The real questions now that I face now is “Was it all worth it?” The answer? Hell yes. Despite the bad experiences and heartbreaks, I’ve learned a hell of a lot about love, friendships, trust, honesty, culture, and the business world. Coming back home, my resume is going to kick corporate ass, and there isn’t a single doubt in my mind that I’ve grown substantially. Of course I regret leaving my best friends behind; but they, like all true friends, are literally hopping up and down anxiously awaiting my return. Right now that, and the support of my family is about all I have to keep me going. They’re the ones that are giving me the will to get up in the morning and get on the filthy disease ridden bus and come to work.

I think I read somewhere that you have to make yourself happy before anyone else can, and that is absolutely true. Despite it all, I still think I did the right thing by coming to Boston. I learned a lot about myself, and the people around me, and who my true friends were. Regretably, there is one specific person that I’m going to miss, but she can bet her ass that as soon as I get a new car, I’ll be taking a trip to New Hampshire.

I’m really excited beyond belief to be coming home. I’ve had my heart broken by someone who I thought was my best friend, and someone who I thought was the love of my life (and in my eyes, still may have been). I so desperately need to recharge, and when you’ve lived and prospered in one place for your whole life, you kind of feel like it’s the one place in the world that you feel most at home at.

Switching topics, the biggest regret that I have about my time here in Boston is Isaac. I know now that deep in my heart, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him. I made him choose, and it wasn’t right. The pain I felt in my heart was so acute, that I thought I couldn’t be with him as long as we were so far apart. But then I realized that being without him hurt even more. Jesus Christ did I fuck up. I admit herewith in front of the entire internets that I was a fucking moron when it came to that situation…but now I’m starting to think that it might have been for the best.

From then up until recently, we’ve been talking here and there. Idle chatter, and then recently, a few serious discussions. I told him how I felt, admitted I was wrong, blah blah blah. And then something strange happened. I’ve always told anyone that I’ve truly loved that all I want is for them to be happy. To me, that’s what love really is. You want (more than anything) to see the person that you love to be as blissfully happy as possible. Think about it. If everyone followed that rule, then true love would be unfathomably unstoppable. But apparently, people don’t believe me when I tell them that. They assume that strings are attached, or I only want that if it means I’m with them or I’m gaining something from it.

I think knowing that fact has hurt me more than any insult or fat joke anyone has ever thrown at me. To know me for so long, and think that the only thing I wanted was something for myself, or that I was lying crushes me. I truthfully don’t know what to think or feel about the situation anymore. I can’t help how my heart feels, and I can’t help but wonder if the words and actions (or…should I say lack of actions) were done unintentionally. I brought up the possibility of just leaving him alone and disappearing. Since we’re hundreds of miles away, it wouldn’t be hard. From what it seemed, he didn’t like that prospect, but then…I haven’t spoken to him for four days and it seems like I’m the only one that’s bothered by it. Sometimes I wish people would just tell me the truth and spare the possibility of ‘hurting my feelings’…even though lying hurts even more. To me, stretching it out just ends up stressing both people out, and ends up hurting both even more. I guess I’ll never understand why people can’t just tell me the truth.

I know there’s only like, two people that read this blog with any sort of regularity, so I’m not really concerned with what I’ve said. If you’re insulted, maybe you deserve to be. But it wasn’t my intention. If you want to talk, fucking do it. I’m tired of waiting on pins and needles.

Now…back to Sally’s Salon. I’ve lost three customers and god dammit I’m pissed.

Lately things have been so busy for me, I ‘m starting to forget what I’ve got planned on what night.  It’s refreshing to say the least, but I can certainly understand the need for a day planner when you’ve got a real honest to god genuine social life. 

I have to say though I’m surprised at how much I’m truly enjoying the change.  I’m not playing Dungeons and Dragons a bagillion times a week, I’m actually getting out of the house, and I’m actually meeting new people and hearing their views on things and learning about new hobbies and interests!  It’s definitely one of the most fun things I’ve ever done.  In the last month I’ve met five new people, and through them I’ve met some of their friends, who all seem very awesome.

Of course, most of these people are still interested in the same things that I am.  Music, movies, video games, role playing etc.  But their branching interests vary in a big bad way.  Just last week I met someone that knew what LARPing was, actually did it once, and played D&D on a semi-regular basis.  But at the same time he was a sports fan and loved to party.

This is the kind of dynamic that I’ve been looking for.  Not to say that I want to start getting into sports or anything, but I do want to start getting into new things, and people with more than just one fucking interest can really get you going in the right direction.

I’m very excited to see where the next few months takes me, and what kind of new people I meet.

I call them: Gangsta Packs

Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin with these.  They seem like harmless backpacks, right?  They come in a variety of colors and designs, and make it easier for people to control their iPods or other MP3 players without having to dig into their bags for the actual device.  Sounds great, right?  Not when you realize that they have built in speakers, too.  Oh yes, my friends.  The boom box of the future is finally here.  Well, they’ve been around for a while, but I’m now starting to notice more and more people with them.

I’m not a racist, and I think by now the people that know me, know this to be true.  But if there is one thing that I cannot abide, it is ignorant, rude, ‘ghetto’ kids that walk around, shoving people out of their way with these backpacks blaring out their ‘ghetto anthem’.

This is not an exaggeration.  I was on my way home from work on Monday, Flogging Molly thumping pleasantly in my ears when all of a sudden the ear buds get knocked out, and this fifteen year old boy shoves past me with his backpack on.  He was with two of his friends, and didn’t even say so much as “Excuse me.”

I know what you must be thinking.  ”Kait…you live in Boston, and you’re surprised by this behavior?”  No, I’m not.  I just genuinely don’t understand why people want to act like this.  It isn’t flattering, it isn’t beneficial, and it’s certainly not respectful.

I wanted to turn this into a full-fledged ‘rant’ (if you will), but honestly I think I lack the drive.  This stereotype is a plight on society.  I could sit here backing up my claim, but the amount of evidence that is out there is simply staggering.

I do not feel that what I am about to do will be a drastic change, but one that was inevitable from the very beginning of this blog.

Originally, I decided to write about pertinent topics and give my opinon.  Somehow it began to take a semi-personal turn and I began updating things from my personal life and expressing my own emotions which, according to others, I should stop sharing with everyone that reads this (I’m pretty sure there are only two of you).

So, in an effort to satiate the roaring anger that some readers feel from reading this blog, I will be removing all ‘personal’ entries.  This blog will be for my opinions on world events and things of that nature.  No news of my personal ife or other events will adorn these pages in the future.

Again, I apologize to the people that I have offended, and for having the nerve to discuss my personal life in such a public way.  Hopefully taking this course of action will be an acceptable solution, or some form of repentance for my actions.

As I panned through Reuters this morning I couldn’t help but notice this article.  Long have I disagreed with the idea of media censorship, even in regards to content made available to children.  We have things like parental controls which can limit the amount of time children are allowed to watch TV or play video games, and parents can even block certain channels and websites from their kid’s computer profiles.  They can also buy CDs that have all the appropriate gasps and pauses in music where the curse words would be.  In my opinion that gives parents just the right amount of control over their child’s accessibility.

This however raises the question:  “What exactly is appropriate for my child to watch?”  Sure, Nickelodeon and Disney are great channels to let your kids watch.  But…what about the news?  Should you really be letting your child watch all the violence and sex scandals on the news?  The only difference is that the news is projecting said violence in a factual manor while websites, music and video games are all viewed as entertainment (which they are).  Even so, you have to remember that a child is going to take in this information regardless of how it is projected.  They are still going to see a family of three murdered by their father because he was drunk, a woman arrested for drug use or for being a prostitute.  Of course, this decision is completely left to the parent of the child.  How will my child be exposed to all of this?

Should they be exposed at all?  This question in particular has always bothered me.  When I was growing up I wasn’t allowed to watch MTV or listen to any modern music.  It was all educational tapes that sang about how to get dressed in the morning and how to cross the street and all that.  I was allowed to watch Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network (sometimes) and Nick at Nite.  At that time we didn’t even have Disney because you had to pay for it way back when, but I digress.  My parents never exposed me to crime and ‘the evils of the world’ as they put it.  When I then entered school and all the kids were talking about all this stuff I was shocked.  How could people do things like this?  It was so disgusting!  I was completely ignorant of what modern music sounded like because I was too busy learning how to tie my shoes and dancing around to the old Jackson 5 and all the other Motown hits.  When I figured out that there was all of this out in the world you couldn’t have stopped me with a shotgun from getting my hands on it.  My personality changed drastically.  I started cursing and wearing makeup and back-talking my parents.  Just because it was new and ‘all the other kids were doing it’.  This trend didn’t carry on for long, but it was one that most certainly could have been avoided had my parents exposed me to more than just kiddy-bopper bullshit.  But in the grand scheme of things, that isn’t even my point for writing about this.  The real question is why the government wants to censor the internet specifically.

Now, we all know that just about anyone can find just about anything on the internet.  Doing the right amoung of digging you can find anything you want no matter what your limits are.  There are millions of billions of websites out there and it’s almost impossible to see all of them.  On that same note, it’s also very hard to stumble across something if you’re not looking for it.  Even pornography.  Bullshit you say?

I consider myself an internet junkie in every sense of the word.  I’m constantly on Google and the Wikepedia trying to find new and interesting fucked up things.  But the amount of pornography that I just happen to ‘stumble’ on when I’m looking up World War II?  ZERO.  How about TubGirl or Salsa Snack?  Again.  ZERO.  Even the websites that require your e-mail to let you continue on; zero pornography links.  I never understood what these kids were looking up to find so much titty and bush action that it crashed their hard drives (believe me I wish I did).  Maybe it’s just because I’m on a Mac.  Maybe that’s the answer for all the kids, but it’s statements like this that just drive me insane.

“This is not a campaign against free speech, far from it; it is simply there is a wider public interest at stake when it involves harm to other people. We have got to get better at defining where the public interest lies and being clear about it.”

I only have one thing to say about that.  Who is forcing them to click on those websites?  What vile, sick, twisted maniac is forcing themselves into your home and making you or your child enter these sites that the government wants to block?  Sure it may not be the United States government and it may only be the United Kingdom that is thinking about doing this at the moment, but why does the UK have to have SO much control over it’s people?  Don’t they already only have like 5 TV stations and 5 radio stations?  Their lives are even MORE controlled than ours.  And now they want to extend that control to the nation of the world wide web?

I doubt the internet will stand for it, and I can certainly guarantee that some rebellious organization will spawn up from the bowels of 4chan if such a motion is ever put into place.

The internet will never be something that any government can control, because it has no distinctive country.  Of course, the United Nations could always get together and discuss it; but we all know how often the UN agrees with each other about anything.

In 2005 I was studying English literature in college, and my professor exposed us to this documentary called ‘Paradise Lost’. It documented the trial of three teenage boys in West Memphis, Arkansas that had been charged with the brutal and sadistic murder of three eight year old boys. It interested me at the time. All three of the teens seemed to be as guilty as possible according to the prosecution, judge, and the jury that sentenced them to life in prison (and one of them to death row). Yet so may people thought they were innocent.

Damien Echols was the alleged ‘ring-leader’. He was the eldest (19 at the time of the murders in 1993). He practiced the Wiccan religion, listened to Metallica, and wore black t-shirts. It was then that I started to look into the personality of the ‘locals’.

West Memphis, Arkansas is about as Southern Baptist as you can get. Everyone quotes the bible all the time and they throw their hands up in praise to Jesus as if they were some homeless beggar thanking God for a bucket of chicken. So, naturally it’s the weird ones that they’re going to blame for something like this.

I remember watching this documentary and thinking “Oh my god…I can’t believe these kids are being forced to go through this.” I couldn’t begin to piece together how gut wrenching it must have been for their families to see their children going through all of this.

Of course I sympathized with the parents of the victimized children (one of whom had this manhood removed). But still I felt even more sympathy for the victims of the judicial system and the prejudice that followed.

There wasn’t a single piece of hard evidence that linked the ‘West Memphis Three’ with the murders of the Steve Branch, Michael Moore, and Christopher Byers. They forced one of them into a false confession by stressing him out and making suggestions to him. Of course, they had ‘no idea’ that Jesse Misskelley Jr. only had an IQ of 72.

Shortly after the HBO documentary ‘Paradise Lost’ was made, a sequel was published called ‘Paradise Lost: Revelations’. This centered around a support group for the WM3. It also centered around the step-father of one of the victims. John Mark Byers.

I can hardly put into words the nature of this man. Even while I was watching the first documentary for the first time it seemed to me that he was either guilty, or desperate for media attention. He wanted his fifteen minutes of fame and he wanted it badly. So badly in fact that he was willing to stand at the scene of the crime and dig false graves for Damien, Jason, and Jesse (the three ‘murderers’). Never mind that this was where his step-son supposedly died. Never mind the fact that one would think that he would make a memorial to his son there. Nope. He made false graves to the West Memphis Three.

And then he burned them.

His voice wailed on and on for what must have been quite a long time. Thankfully the editors of the documentary spared us the annoyance of the southern man’s desperate prayers to exact justice on ‘the murdering bastards that took away his baby and his wife’ who supposedly ‘died from a broken heart’.

By now I’m sure if you’re still reading this you’re wondering: What’s with all the quotes? Isn’t there any kind of hard fact about this entire case? Not a single one?

Your answer: No.

Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, and Jesse Misskelley Jr. have been in prison for almost fifteen years for a crime that no one can prove they committed. To date there have been at least five appeals to the courts, two documentaries, a book, and a statement made by John Mark Byers himself claiming that he no longer believes that these boys are the guilty ones.

My reaction to THAT bit of fact?

WHAT THE FUCK.

…

But not all is lost.

Put your self in their shoes. How would you feel? Alone? Desperate? Defeated? All of the above?

That would certainly be my attitude. Fifteen years of appeals and repeat convictions. Fifteen years of the same four walls and the same prison mates. Fifteen years of wondering what your son looks like. Who he’s hanging out with. What his favourite band is. Nothing but worry and curiosity. That’s what life for me would be like in prison.

I’m not a particularly religious person, but it is all too clear to me that some deity or other is up there and is looking out for these men. All three of them have funds set up for college. Funds set up for their court hearings, and letters sent to them every single day. Damien (believe it or not) has an art gallery for all of his paintings and his poems.

If you were to read some of the things on their website you almost wouldn’t believe that their prisoners. They have been dealt one of the worst hands possible for their lives on this earth, and yet they still manage to shine as bright as fireflies for all the right reasons.

In the first documentary Damien said that he always knew he’d be known; he just never knew for what reason. He felt like he was now going to be known as the ‘West Memphis Boogey Man’. Children would tell his story and think: “I better check under the bed…Damien might get me!”

Honestly? He’s more of a role model now than I could give credit for. He (like the other two) show persistence, hope, and faith in whatever they believe in to get them through this. They haven’t let this hinder their lives. It is all too deserving of the word ‘mind-blowing’ and I cannot WAIT until these boys are free.

Next week please join us when Leonardo DiCaprio reads ‘War of the Worlds’…and other bedtime stories.

As I often start most rants I will be the first person to admit that I am in no way, shape, or form perfect.  I infact sometimes believe that I am perfectly imperfect.  Though even with that said, I still can’t help but notice the people that are so idiotic, so naive, so ignorant, so uneducated that they just don’t understand what it means to be intelligent.  Especially when they think they qualify for that title.

There are undoubtedly different kinds of intelligence.  Some people are better with math, others with language and grammar, technology, burger flipping, or shoe shining.  Whatever it is I try to believe as best I can that everyone has their niche.  …then I encounter situations like the one I did today.

Discrepancies and conflict on a decision as to what is right has never bothered me.  If I’m incorrect I want to be corrected so as to not repeat the same mistake in the future.  However, when I know I am right I expect to be understood or for the matter to require a second opinion.  Also, I expect that person to acknowledge the situation and own up to it; not to claim that there was some kind of communication error even when they (and I) know perfectly well that it wasn’t the case.

I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here as I sit and write this.  I can’t imagine that anyone likes being in this situation or being around these kinds of people.  I guess what I’m really trying to get at here is that stupid people annoy me to an unbelievable end.

It probably seems as if I am completely intolerant of anyone’s flaws at this point.  Honestly what I believe my only true intolerance is, is ignorance and people that think they’re just the centre of the world.  I just have three words for them:

Big. Girl. Panties.

“For once in my life I better do something right…”

Very seldom do I ever find myself without words when I need to give an opinion about a book, movie, or CD that I’ve experienced.  I almost find it poetic that I can’t think of anything to say about the newest Flogging Molly album that came out in April.

Dave King and his band of pirates have always had wonderfully uplifting music and lyrics.  No matter what my mood, I can turn on a random FM song and it instantly brings me back to a place that I want to be.  Float is absolutely no exception to that rule.

Since I first heard it I haven’t been able to give people an opinion that I felt justified how it made me feel.  Flogging Molly is also one of the very few bands that I will actually purchase a physical album from.  I bought it, brought it home, ripped it to my computer, slapped it onto my iPod and cranked up the volume.  This is their fifth album now since 1997, and I’ve always been in love with every song on every album; even if it was just re-done or copied from a previous one.

Float only has one copied song on it, but my reaction this time has been a truly unique one.  The album kicks off with Requiem for a Dying Song, which starts out with Flogging Molly’s classic upbeat Irish tune complete with Bridget in the background doing god-like tin whistle and violin work.  Soon after Dave’s brash and straight-forward vocals blast into my ears and I quickly find myself bopping back and forth in my seat while slamming my fists on the desk to the beat of George’s drums.  I then realize that this is the first time I’m listening to the song and I already know how it’s going.  It of course fits the stereotype that the band’s rhythms are almost formulaic.

The song fades out and Paddy’s Lament quickly starts up with Dennis Casey’s guitar.  It’s almost reminiscent of Queen Anne’s Revenge but I am soon surprised with how much different it is.  Now, please note that I am a faithful Flogging Molly fan through and through.  Were it my choice their music would coarse through my veins and  I would have their music burned into my mind so that I could listen to it whenever I could.  But I digress.

Almost before I know it I’m sitting completely still, staring at the wall and listening intently to the haunting lyrics of Float, the title track of the album.  As I write this the song is playing next to me Bridget’s hair raising violin riffs are giving me chills down my spine and are honestly bringing tears to my eyes.  It was at this point that I realized there was no possible way that I could describe Flogging Molly’s music in one word or sentence.

I was sixteen (maybe seventeen) when I first heard their music and I was desperately searching for something different; for something that didn’t fit the stereotype of what ‘punk’, ‘rock’, or ‘folk’ music was.  Like Dave, my family (or at least half of it) is very in touch with its Irish roots.  It was then that I discovered a perfect way to describe their music.

It isn’t a genre, it’s an attitude.  The lyrics are written by a man who has more Irish pride than anyone could ever muster and knowing that makes anyone realize that they too, can rise above poverty and hardships no matter what their heritage or circumstances are.  The music is filled with confidence and an almost daring emotion.  It makes you feel like you want to get up and do something.  Whether it be going for a drive, cleaning, or finally taking that next step in your life.

There are bands out there that claim to be inspirational.  Flogging Molly is actually doing it.  I am, and always will be in love with their music.