I don’t use this blog very often anymore—my preference for playing mind-numbing video games rather than enhancing my mental capacity after a ten-hour day at work probably has something to do with it, and as much fun as writing sports previews and personal articles were, I have never been as dedicated to my writing and analysis to build up any sort of following that would make me prioritize it.

This weekend, however, something happened to me that I wanted to put out in the public forum.

On Saturday afternoon, I was refereeing an Under-10 boys travel soccer game.  I have been refereeing now for eight years, having been encouraged to register with my club teammate by both of our mothers as we were in the middle of eighth grade.  While I am nowhere near the level of fitness that I used to be (i.e. I’ve gotten a bit tubby), I very much enjoy refereeing, and hope to continue to do so for many years.  Now that I am a recent college graduate and am working full-time, I do not need to continue to ref as consistently—after coming home from school I would try to pick up anywhere between 40 to 50 games in the month between my return home in mid-May and the end of the season in mid-June—but I continue to try and pick up as many games as I reasonably can on two counts, the first of which is my never-ending love for the game, which developed during the time I played high-level travel soccer (through high school—subtle brag; I wasn’t great by any means, but I got to start in the same lineup as a current MLS player when I was in high school, so that was cool) and has continued to rise as I’ve gotten lazier.  The other is my recognition of the relative shortage of referees in the game.

It is exciting to see that the game is growing throughout northern Illinois—when I was younger, there were five major teams that I can remember: Eclipse, the Hinsdale Hawks, the Chicago Blast, the Downers Grove Roadrunners, and the Berwyn Blazers were some of the big clubs within a ten-mile radius of my home in Clarendon Hills.  Today, I can think of eleven off the top of my head, including Eclipse, the Blast, the Roadrunners, and the Blazers, and now also including Team Elmhurst, Wizards, AYSO 300, Chicago Empire FC, OBSC, LTSC, and LaGrange Celtics.  In order for the game to continue to thrive, though, referees are inherently necessary; however, incidents like the one I faced on Saturday are the reason that referee participation is on the decline.

The events that led up to this are inconsequential, so long as I was not blatantly making calls towards one team or another; this was my first game refereeing for the home team in over two years, and I believe I called a fair game, as evidenced by the fact that the coaches of both teams, while vocal towards their players for the duration of the match, never once complained about my calls.  The parents of the away team, however, were a different story.

Following the final whistle, I walked back to my bag, and a player’s mother stormed up to me and demanded that I provide her with my name and information.  I had another game to get to, and was not obligated to provide any information, so I declined to offer it.  She then asked me for my credentials, so she could confirm that I had passed my referee test.  I replied saying I did not need to provide that information either, as the fact that I had a 2019 USSF badge was indicative of the fact I was properly credentialed for the game.  She continued to press me for information, and I continued to deny her that information, packing my bag so that once the players had finished their handshake line I could offer them a “good game” and go on to my next match.

From here, things escalated further; the woman’s husband came up to me and said “Aw shut up, are you kidding me?  Just give her what she asked for!”  I continued to deny the request, indicating that I was planning to leave and that I would not provide any information.  As he walked away, he called me a “f****** douche,” not at an elevated volume but clearly intended to be loud enough for me to hear.  I asked him what he had called me, and he responded that he said what he did because I had disrespected his wife, stepping back towards me in an intimidating fashion.  During this interaction, three more parents from the same team attempted to crowd me and take my picture to be sent in to the league office.

Fortunately, the president of the home team was at the game, and along with the staff coach of the that team, spoke up to encourage the visiting parents to leave me alone and move on to the parking lot.  While I was confident that nothing would escalate further beyond that, I was still shaken, and the president offered to help me submit a report to the league and walk me back to my car.  I declined, as I didn’t need any more people getting involved in the situation and needed to make it to my next game, but I obtained his contact information to allow for the verification of the events that took place, and I submitted my own objective report to the league earlier today.

There are more games to referee than ever—a great opportunity to make money, get exercise, and enjoy exceptional recreation simultaneously—but many are wary of the amount of responsibility and abuse that comes with the position.  Having played soccer for a long time, I am somewhat used to the yelling, and take advantage of the lack of referees by virtually having my pick of available matches I want each season (I have 34 games this fall).  While monetarily that’s great for me, this deficit of officials is not good for the game; I refereed a high-level Under-18 game yesterday where I didn’t have any assistant referees (the referee from the previous game offered to stay, and we did the game together).  Showing up to work a game alone is not fun.  Being called derogatory names at a game is worse; a twelve year-old could have refereed that U10 game, and if they were in the position that I was, I believe that there is a significant chance that they would not continue refereeing following that.  There are others that have heard similar stories and choose not to register themselves, or their children, to be referees.

I doubt that anyone that might ever read this could possibly do anything drastic about the massive amounts of abuse heaped on referees by parents, and sometimes even coaches and players.  Heckling referees is so common that it’s virtually an American pastime.  But that doesn’t mean that people are entitled to say whatever they want, especially at the youth level, when almost all of the games are helmed by people like me, for whom refereeing is a hobby rather than something they are wholly dedicated to.

So, with that, I have a few final points to make.  The first of those is this: I encourage those that are willing and able to step in and help referee matches, in soccer and in other youth sports, to please do so.  90 percent of the games I have officiated have come off without a hitch, and in those that had some sort of issue, I received excellent training to handle the situations at hand, and have consistently gotten great support from my referee assignor.  This disturbing incident has even furthered my passion for the game, and furthered my desire to see more people in the sport—there are plenty of fantastic opportunities to be had, as refereeing provides great leadership opportunities while also padding your pocket—and those that stepped up to defend me assured me that there are many great people in the game.  There are so many young people picking up this great game, and many others, and denying them the proper structure to play due to a lack of officials would be demoralizing on multiple counts.

My incident showed, however, that there is still a sense of entitlement that the referee is there to do everything right, and to take any criticism that comes their way without complaint.  We officials are not perfect—while I am sure I was correct in my handling of the game scenario that spurred these events, I am sure I made multiple mistakes in that game outside of that—and this is not something that we are required to do.  There isn’t a whole lot of training involved, sure, but when the shortage is forcing a lot of referees to give up a lot of their weekends to assure games can properly proceed, losing even a few more officials than we already have would leave leagues perilously short of proper referees.

So please, try to find some restraint within yourself to really yell at officials; true heckling is generally acceptable (unless it is a younger official; in which case, use common sense—don’t yell at a young teen), and so is an appropriate questioning of a call (my coach growing up was very vocal, and very good at this), as most officials, especially once they reach my age, will not take any comments personally, and if they are good at what they do, perhaps seek to clarify why they did what they did.  But the incredibly rude and very personal insult that I faced, and the numerous other ones many other officials have to deal with, are not acceptable.  I am as much of a competitor as the next guy, but we have to remember that the game is just a game, and that the official is simply trying their best to make sure the game is fair.  Additionally, if you see a coach, player, or another parent berating an official, don’t egg them on for your amusement; encourage them to recognize the reality of what they are doing.  As the game continues to grow, particularly in this region of the world, and even of the country, it is crucial to maintain its integrity, and if referees are going to continue to face these types of situations on a regular basis, then the game’s rise will be greatly halted as quickly as it has started.

Today would have been the 11^th birthday of our family dog, Niko.  He was born on this date back in 2007, an Easter baby, and upon bringing him into our family home he became the center of everyone’s lives.  He was unable to use his hind legs, and therefore had to be carried everywhere, in his final couple months, so I know that he did not have an excellent quality of life prior to his being put to sleep.  That said, I still miss him terribly, and wish he was still with us virtually every day.  So, on this special day, I hope to look back on some memories and pictures of him with joy in my heart—and, while I know that this post may be long, and probably pretty cheesy, I hope that you do, too.

My first memory relating to Niko is a humbling one: I never wanted a dog.  My younger sister, on the other hand, was constantly begging my parents for one, so when they found a breeder that was about to have a litter of Dobermans, the breed that my dad grew up with, my sister was ecstatic.  When we went to meet the puppies—11 in all—we were drawn to three of them.  I use “we” here very loosely—in addition to not wanting to take care of a puppy, I was also scared of them.  They were loud, nippy, and smelled funny.  My only real favorite at the time was “Blue,” so nicknamed because of the blue ribbon around his neck—and the only real reason for that was that blue is my favorite color.  “Green,” who my mom was drawn to, and “Red,” who my sister liked, were also in play.  Ultimately, our decision was helped along by “Blue” and “Green” being deemed show dogs, we ended up taking home “Red” within a couple weeks of first meeting him, my fears being thrown to the wind.

You can see some of that fear in my face on the big day—the breeder and my sister were extraordinarily enthusiastic to hold the puppy, while I… was not.

He was the first born of his litter, and the name my mom found for him, Niko, literally means “victory of the people,” or, in another translation, “leader of the pack,” so we found it to be a very fitting moniker.

His floppy ears and tiny body made him cute, but even then he had an aura of regalness, and his massive paws hinted at the massive creature he would become.

Despite this, I remained fearful of him for weeks.  The tide finally began to turn after we returned to see our breeder for a play date with some of his siblings.  He fell asleep on my lap on our drive back home—something that scared the living daylights out of me but also eased most of my remaining fears about him.

In his recovery from his ears clipped—you can see the bandages on his ears in the last clip—he had to spend a lot of time inside.  That meant he very quickly got acquainted to the “lay of the land,” so to speak, in our house.  He was very excitable, as young dogs are wont to be, so my parents thought of using baby gates to prevent him from running rampant throughout the house, sliding across our wood floors and maybe falling on his healing ears.  It also proved to be helpful if he came inside with muddy paws, or when we had a large amount of company over.  As he got older he outgrew the gates, but they were still a very effective deterrent for him—when they fell over they made a loud noise that he didn’t appreciate, so he avoided going near them at all costs—unless food and treats were involved, and even then he was cautious.

Being inside so much early in his life also earned him a lot of little goodies.  His first Christmas saw him accumulate a bunch of little toys, which were continuously added to throughout the years.  He seemed to be really good at chewing things to the point that they split in half, but never enough that they were completely destroyed (the only exception to that was my sister’s Crocs, which were the only thing I can remember him chewing that he wasn’t supposed to), and he seemed to switch which bone he preferred on a day-to-day basis, so by the end of his life we had a picnic basket full of toys throughout the years.  He would leave them everywhere throughout the house, too—there was many a time when we would find chew toys tucked under furniture, or when I would find a bone entangled in my sheets (after my parents and sister got new duvets, my bed was the only one he was allowed on; he was, however, allowed to sleep, with a blanket on, on a huge bed right next to my mom).

He also got used to getting a very large amount of table scraps.  We weren’t as bad as my grandparents in giving him people food—they spoiled him beyond belief, which is a very grandparent-y thing to do—but he got his fair share from us, as well.  He was a big dog whose eye level was even with our table, so it was easy for him to snatch things off the table, which he did when he was younger, grabbing two of my mini donuts off the table and managing to take a sip of my soup.  To counteract that, we gave him little bits from our meals every day so that he wouldn’t simply grab at things.  That allowed him to develop some great discipline—we could leave food out on lower tables and he wouldn’t take any—but whenever we had food he would look at us with sad eyes that were virtually impossible to ignore.  As such, he developed great tastes for, among other things, steak, yogurt, peanut butter, ice cubes, white rice, scrambled eggs, fresh sweet peppers, and my vanilla ice cream, the remnants of which you can see on his nose here:

Once he healed up and finally got to spend some time outside, he developed a reputation throughout our neighborhood.  Dobermans, Rottweilers, and Great Danes are frequently portrayed as being vicious in media—or, at the very least, villainous, as in Beverly Hills Chihuahua—so in the first couple years we had him, people would cross the street whenever they saw him walking down the street.  Pictures like this may hint at that reasoning a little:

As time went on, though, and people around the neighborhood got to see more of him, they became much more comfortable with him, as they realized the truth—that he was a complete softy.  That sense of comfort was enforced even more whenever it was my sister walking him, like in the dog parade below:

My mom was the person that took him for the most walks—she was around most often and enjoyed the chance to have long talks with him, and God, on their strolls, which in his prime could last as long as two and a half hours.  He made many friends throughout the neighborhood—Henry, Mini Me, Tuffy, Chloe, Frisco, Molly, and his best friend Cooper—that he enjoyed walking and playing with, as well.  I, myself, preferred to spend with my time outside with him just… running around.  We were afforded ample space to do that—we had a big backyard in our first house, and the second one backed up to a giant field, so there was plenty of space for him to roam.  His favorite things to do seemed to be chasing after tennis balls and sticks—about as stereotypical for a dog as you could get—but he also just enjoyed being able to run.  My friends and I would sometimes run to opposite sides of the field as quick as we could; he’d pick one of us to chase after, often plowing us over in his quest to turn around or slow down, before the other person got his attention and he’d chase them.  My dad would sometimes take this a step further, having Niko chase him up the sledding hill and then back down, an incredible feat of athleticism to watch.

He wasn’t much a fan of rain—it reminded him of showers, which he hated, and it got in his ears pretty easily, so whenever it was raining and he needed to go outside it sometimes took a person with an umbrella leading him to coax him out—but he loved the snow.  He sometimes ran into the path of the snow blower when my dad had it out, and was big enough to look like a little horse prancing in and out of the bigger drifts.  He also really enjoyed chasing after squirrels—he never caught one, as his loud barking and inability to change directions made it near impossible—but watching him try to follow them, then jump up the trees the little animals had scampered up, was always amusing.

As he got older, and his ability to be active in and out of the house began to diminish, he remained a constant presence in our lives.  We moved in the summer after my sophomore year of high school, and we put his favorite piece of furniture, a couch from our old office, in our front foyer.  It was there where he spent most of the rest of his days—he could see everyone coming walking near or up to the house, which gave him ample time to prepare to greet people with one of his trademark smiles, which always managed to brighten our days even after he couldn’t get up off of the couch to do it.  His lack of mobility also meant that his couch became the center of familial activity in the house—we all wanted to spend as much time with him as we possibly could, to the point where we would spend hours on end just sitting with him, talking, napping, and cuddling.

I would go more into what he meant to me personally, but there’s just so much to share, so much to say, that I wouldn’t ever be able to properly articulate exactly how much he meant to me.  So I’m just going to end with this: he was the brother I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have.  He was my source of comfort in my hardest times and the one of the brightest lights in the good ones.  He lived with me in two different houses and met both of my girlfriends.  He was my best friend.  I will love and cherish him, and these memories of him, forever.

Niko Gaffney

4/9/07-1/15/18

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If you want/have more pictures, or want to talk more about Niko, comment below or contact me here.  I would love to hear from you.

This is the final part of a three part series on journalism.  To read the first two parts, please click here and here.

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None of my previous criticisms are to say that there are not some phenomenal examples of what good, credible journalism looks like.  For those near my hometown of Clarendon Hills, you should check out the Daily Herald, which provides more unbiased news than either of the big-name papers in Chicago while also providing a more local variety of news items.  For more national news, I recommend listening to the National Public Radio (NPR), watching anything on NBC or ABC that has Megyn Kelly or David Muir as the lead anchor, or reading The Los Angeles Times (the article that first drew me to the Times was their analysis of the voting recount in Wisconsin—you can find it here).  On the sports side of things, John Dietz, who works for the Herald, and Mark Lazerus, who work for the Chicago Sun-Times, are two of the best Chicago sportswriters I can remember reading in my 20 years (they both happen to cover hockey, but that’s irrelevant).  On a national level, there’s a smattering of ESPN personalities who I follow unashamedly—Mike Greenberg, Mike Golic, Christina Kahrl, Bill Barnwell, Buster Olney, and Gab Marcotti—whose incredible attentions to detail, and journalistic integrity, are second to none.  These incredible men and women, along with many others, are definitive proof that the world of journalism has incredible potential.

However, the way that the industry is currently going, there might not be nearly as many opportunities for phenomenal journalists to find footing.  The problems mentioned here, and many other, more minor issues, are overshadowing much of the positives that traditional journalism has to offer, and if they continue to do so, these things might become the norm, which, in turn, will continue to undermine the field.  The President’s bashing of the media aside, journalism as we know it is getting closer and closer to needing life support, and for an industry that plays such a vital, if sometimes underappreciated, role in our everyday lives, that is certainly not a good thing.

Maintaining those opportunities for the people that are passionate about following in the footsteps of some of the greatest writers, wordsmiths, and presenters the world has ever done is crucial to journalism’s survival as we know it; that’s why it’s imperative that we support the people that are offering paid content for their work.  And I’m not talking about the behemoths like the New York Times, Gannett Company, or News Corp.—in my research over the past month or so that it’s taken me to write this series, I’ve found that the bigger the organization is, the less likely that they actually need money to sustain operations (duh) and the more likely it is that their work is starting to be more drastically affected by the current political climate (that’s just my opinion, of course, but I’ll just let the Times’s snarkiness in its recent coverage, as well as the poor evidence and rationale, and incredible bias, in Fox News’s, stand on their own)—but rather more local endeavors.  Smaller, more locally based journalists that may not have the power to get their names out as easily as bigger companies can.  I, myself, just bought a yearly subscription to The Athletic, a new company with in-depth coverage about Chicago sports.  The work that I’ve read from them so far has been phenomenal, and in paying to receive their articles, I’m added to a growing readership that allowed them to open up a second branch in Toronto, an impressive feat in an environment that is seeing more and more situations like the one surrounding the Florida Panthers that I mentioned in the first part of this series.  It’s also important for people to come to comprehend, at an early age, what bias is, and how to identify it, so that the crises that erupted over “fake news” during the recent election cycle either never occur again or are shot in the bud before they have a chance to gain a foothold as “mainstream.”

I recognize that journalism, as a field, will continue to evolve, and that many of the issues that I have with the industry today will be non-existent in ten years, only for new ones to take their place.  I understand that the industry will never revert back to what it once was, that print newspapers and hour of radio broadcasts will never feature as prominently as they used to.  But I am entirely confident if we can hang on to what made journalism what it is today—the honesty, and the dedication to solid, in-depth reporting—will allow it to thrive for many more years to come.  And that, I believe, would definitely be a good thing.

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Have any thoughts or questions on any of the pieces of this series?  Contact me here.

As one gets older, encountering momentous occasions becomes less and less frequent.  This past week, however, I got to experience one of these moments: I cast my first ever vote in an election.  I had a chance to vote in the Illinois gubernatorial race when I was a senior in high school, but the voter registration line was so long that it would have caused me to be late for my Microeconomics class, so I decided to pass on registering.  Because of that choice, I have the privilege of casting my first vote in national election; a Presidential election.  Having a say in who is elected President is something I’ve looked forward to since age 5, when I first learned about the office on my laminated Presidential placemat.  I greatly anticipated the moment of joy that would overcome me when I would receive my mail-in ballot, open up the envelope, and finally get the chance to exercise one of the most heralded rights of American citizens.

Of course, some of that joy dissipated when the country’s two major parties chose their candidates for this year’s election.  Both of them are among the most unpopular nominees for this country’s highest office, and they both seem to have a major issue with dishonesty, which is not an admirable trait for a person running to be the leader of the free world.  There are also a couple of “third-party” candidates to consider, and their relatively high popularity warranted taking a look at them.  However, after a lot of research and meditation, I decided to vote, as the title of this post says, for Hillary Clinton.  Ultimately, my choice came down to one thing: respect.

I’ve made it pretty clear, on this blog and virtually everywhere else, that I am a conservative, and as such, I agree with a fair amount of Donald Trump’s policies, especially those that are expected to be handled by his Vice President, and my fellow Midwesterner, Mike Pence.  Trump’s tax plan is far more appealing to me than Secretary Clinton’s.  His focus on the domestic job market, and his plans to fix it, seem to be admirable.  There are even some more contentious aspects of Trump’s campaign—such as immigration reform—with which my own views are more closely aligned than they are with Secretary Clinton’s.

However, I realize that being President consists of a lot more than simply creating plans to help address problems that they believe to be vital to improving our country.  It involves working with Congress, people from both sides of the aisle, to get a variety of different agendas accomplished, the most prominent of which involves the setting of the country’s budget; Donald Trump has incited a great amount of conflict between himself and Democrats, as well as members of his own party.  It involves working towards the betterment of every group of people in the country, and allowing them to have the rights and respect that they deserve; Donald Trump has repeatedly bashed women, Hispanics, and Muslims, and many women have directed claims of sexual assault at Mr. Trump.  It involves establishing policy for, and helping guide the actions of, the military; Hillary Clinton’s time as Secretary of State saw the military undergo one of its most effective, yet least deadly (in terms of American deaths) periods in recent history, leading to her having some of the highest support from members of the Armed Forces for a member of the Democratic party, while Donald Trump has repeatedly bashed veterans that have called for unity, including one-time Presidential candidate John McCain.  It dealing working with international leaders to prevent outsourcing of American jobs and securing better trade agreements with the country; the only leader that Donald Trump seems to respect, and the only leader that hasn’t openly come out and declared their hope that he is not elected, is Vladimir Putin.

In short: you can’t just have good ideas as President; you actually need to see them into action, and you do that while working towards your own interests while also honoring and respecting the interests of others.  This is why Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan are held in (relatively) high regard by people on both sides of the aisle—they may not have had policies that were viewed favorably by their ideological opponents, and may have put some policies into place that did more harm than they did good, but they were thoughtful and respectful towards their opponents, and that made them, and the country, significantly better.  For those looking for a modern example, check out the governor of Massachusetts, Republican Charlie Baker; Massachusetts has, as a state, has voted Democratic since 1988, and yet Baker has enough sway in the state government that a key vote involving charter schools (a vote supported by wealthy Republicans) may pass in large part due to his popularity with both sides of the political spectrum.

This country has some major issues that need to be addressed, and in order for anything to be accomplished, I feel like Hillary Clinton needs to be the one in office.  I admit, voting for Secretary Clinton is not something I’ve done with much glee.  I’m more than well aware of her dishonesty, evidenced in her handling of Benghazi and her own Clinton Foundation, as well as her carelessness, which has been highlighted by the multiple email scandals that she and her campaign have had to deal with.  I realize that there are many policies of hers that, if enacted, would see my future look a little less stable than it is today.  I am nervous by some of the failures that have beset some of her greatest crusades in her 30 plus years of service to the American people.  I’m sure that she, as it is with every other possible candidate, has some other flaws that could end up being major issues if she is elected.

I feel that moderate Republicans like John Kasich and Marco Rubio would be a much better fit, but they are not the Republican candidate (I could write a whole other blog post in concurrence with this about the chaos in the Republican party, but I’ll save that for another time).  Mr. Trump is, and the lack of respect that he has shown for so many important factions of this election process will cause conflict in our government the likes of which we have never seen, and our country will not be “great” again, but rather fall into greater disrepair than it is already in.  The third party candidates are good stories, too, but neither of them seems to have a clue about the magnitude a job like the Presidency (for more on this, watch this John Oliver video here).  Voting for them would be, in my mind, a waste of time, because it draws away votes from the person that is best positioned to actually get things done.

Therefore, I believe that a vote for Hillary Clinton is not only the best vote, but the only vote, to assure that our country keeps on moving in the right direction.  Her ideals, work ethic, dedication to the country and its people, and above all, respect for her peers and opponents, make it so, and I can only hope that my vote will help make history and elect our first ever woman President.

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I know that this post will not sit well with some of my family, friends from my ultra-conservative hometown, and my fellow business students, and that it may surprise some other people.  Whatever the case, I would love to discuss this election, my more in-depth views on Secretary Clinton’s and/or Mr. Trump’s policies, or politics in general, with anyone that is willing to do so.  If you are up for it, contact me here.

Pink Breast Cancer Awareness Ribbon

It’s been over 6 years since my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.  The very idea that someone so close to me would ever be stricken with cancer was, for a recently graduated middle schooler, completely unfathomable.  In order to deny the reality of what my mom was facing, about the massive amounts of strength and willpower that she needed to get through every single day, of the resistance to the cancer and the energy-sapping drugs that she was putting up with the support of our family and friends, I started to make whatever I could about me.  I made a point to never cry, so that I could be recognized as the strongest member of my family.

After my mom was declared cancer-free, and I became aware of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I furthered my selfish efforts.  I participated in a Barbells for Boobs weightlifting fundraiser, and I seem to have forgotten the amount of money we raised that day, but remember the amount of weight I lifted that day.  I wrote papers in school delving into the emotional turmoil that I felt during my mom’s battle.  I begged for my friends to write my mom messages of appreciation and encouragement, and looking back on it, the primary reason that I did was probably not what I claimed it to be in my Facebook posts- that I wanted ease some of my mom’s emotional burden in the aftermath of her fight- but rather, based on those posts’ forcefulness, was centered on my pride in coming up with a valuable gift after seemingly everyone around her besides me had managed to give her happiness or comfort in one way or another.

The fact that it took me this long to realize the truth of my thoughts and actions is, to put it frankly, depressing.  These things are not what this month is about.

This month is about offering information in crucial steps in the identification of breast cancer, such as self-examinations and mammograms.  This month is about supporting those that have been stricken with breast cancer by offering them love and care in any way that they could possibly given.  This month is about giving money to the foundations and hospitals that are dedicated to seeing a less invasive, less damaging, more effective cure to breast cancer be found, or to finding something that could possibly prevent breast cancer altogether.  This month is about honoring those that lost their battle with breast cancer and remembering the courage that they showed in fighting their disease.  This month is about awareness, sure, but also about love, respect, and compassion.

As such, I wanted to try to make my recognition of Breast Cancer Awareness Month less about me, and more about the brave men and women that have come face-to-face with breast cancer, that have poured, or are pouring, their entire livelihood into combating it, the fantastic communities surrounding them that help these phenomenal people in what are certainly the most difficult moments of their lives, and the doctors that are working to treat, research, and one day cure breast cancer.  I wanted to change my motivation for what I choose to post, and say, about this month, so that my intentions were much less selfish and far more… benevolent.

After taking the majority of my weekend to think it over, I decided to write this post- not to get views or draw attention to myself, but for the real purpose of this month, to develop awareness of breast cancer.  I changed my blog’s color to pink- not to seem in touch with the awareness movement that will be so prevalent this month, but to honor my mom, my sister’s best friend’s mother, and the countless other people that have fought breast cancer.  I started an online fundraiser, for which all of the funds will go to … and to which I personally donated $50, not to feel like I am finally making a proper effort to combat breast cancer, but to help the dedicated doctors that are working incredibly hard to find a way to cure, or perhaps prevent, breast cancer.

I am beyond proud of my mom for overcoming everything she did, and even more proud to be her son.  I was honored to meet many people who, like her, have courageously fought, and won, the battle against breast cancer.  I am thankful that my mom was able to overcome breast cancer, and resolve to pray for those people who have lost loved ones to it.  And I am hopeful, hopeful that throughout the country, that this Breast Cancer Awareness Month will help bring our society one step closer to eradicating the disease once and for all.

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To donate to the fundraiser, please click here.

For information on the charity to which your money will go, please click here.

For information on performing a self-examination, please click here.

For information on getting mammograms in your area, please click here.

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This post is a little bit shorter than what I normally write, and also a little bit more…  philosophical?  I’ve been struggling with these thoughts for a while, so if anyone has any thoughts on any of this, I would really appreciate discussing it with you.

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I’ve had a Facebook account since I’ve been twelve years old.  All of the people in my class were starting to flood to the site, using it as a “go-to” for communication and such, so I decided to join them.  Since then, I’ve made a decent amount of friends, posted hundreds of pictures and “statuses,” and liked thousands of pages.  I’ve spent countless hours scrolling through my news feed, seeing, appreciating, and sometimes judging, what all of my friends are doing or “liking.”  They post about their accomplishments: personal, athletic, or academic.  They express their opinions on the latest social issue.  They display the photos they took of their most recent business outing, or their most recent vacation.  They share their blog posts (like me!) on one of their charitable endeavors.  Facebook, and other social networks like Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, seemingly allow for people to be socially conscious, forward thinking, and to express themselves as their own unique person.

You might be able to see where this is going- that these social networks limit our social skills, causing us to lose prevent us from developing connections with people that we would if we were outside and off the internet.  That, to some extent, is definitely the case, but that’s not what I want to talk about.  I want to talk not about social skills, but, as the title of this post says, social image.

The problem with social media, and other objective methods of judging popularity or success, such as a resume or the amount of money in a bank account, is that they give a false idea of what it means to be a good person, both to other people and to one’s self.  Perhaps that is why millennials seem to live in such… contrast to the rest of society, and vice versa- I, myself, am particularly guilty of giving these things credence.  I frequently find myself spending almost every waking moment perusing social media, oftentimes trying to find a place to insert a word or two of my personal experiences or opinions.  I’m paying too much attention to attaching myself to people, and to things, that I wouldn’t otherwise associate with were I not trying to conform to society’s standards.  I have a spreadsheet that I use to track my money so that I always have enough to look responsible.  My words and actions are dictated more by my need for recognition than they are for personal fulfillment.  As such, I struggle with my view of who I am.  I often consider myself to be fairly bland looking.  I feel that I’m so silly awkward, and often bordering on arrogant.  I sometimes even struggle with my the direction that I have chosen to take my future life- doubting my decision to go to a business school like Babson instead of going to a school to focus on liberal arts (that’s not to say that Babson’s liberal arts program isn’t good- a liberal arts class I’m currently taking inspired me to write this- but the focus of this school is definitely entrepreneurship).

Perhaps I’m the only person that is having an identity crisis in this fast-paced world we’re living in.  And if that’s the case, then maybe I need to reexamine how I’m approaching my life and make some drastic alterations to it.  But if I’m not, which I sense is the case, then maybe we need to have a change of focus in what it means to be a person.  What it means to be popular or successful. These aren’t things that can be simply organized by some chart or metric.  It marginalizes people that don’t deserve such a fate, and it glorifies people, like, say, Donald Trump, who is successful because of his immense net worth and has only recently become vastly unpopular as the Presidential race has revealed his character.  I’m at a loss as to how we can change our societal values so that the way that we view social image, both our own and that of our colleagues, but if anybody has any ideas, I’d be happy to hear them.  Contact me here if you do.

Since discovering the hit CBS show Criminal Minds, it’s safe to say that I’ve become a very big fan of it.  I’ve watched nearly every episode of every season, with the sole exception being the most recent one.  I follow nearly all of the show’s stars on social media (Matthew Gray Gubler, who plays Dr. Spencer Reid on the show, is by far the most entertaining), refer to all of them by their first names, and know all of their backgrounds.  I have debates with my girlfriend over the quality of each episode (she thinks its going downhill) and the relationships playing out between on-screen characters.  While the show has had a pretty solid run of success- it is the fourth-longest running live-action scripted show in the US- it has had a pretty sizable chunk of turnover.

While the show has so far withstood all of the departures that the cast has undergone, the most recent ones could signal a turning point in the show’s history – Shemar Moore, who played the hunky Derrick Morgan, left in the middle of last season, and Thomas Gibson, who played the brooding Aaron Hotchner, was dismissed from the show after a physical altercation with one of the producers.  Both men were series originals, and their exits have created some uncertainty over the show’s primetime staying power.

This turnover is not out of the ordinary for major shows; however, the majority of the time that a character leaves a show, it is a choice that is first brought up by the showrunners, like the killing off of Nina Sergeevna in the show The Americans, or a mutual decision, like the death of Patrick Dempsey’s character in Grey’s Anatomy, Derek Sheppard.  A character leaving the show in this way allows for some sort of closure to be brought to the character’s storyline; sudden exits, like the ones by Moore and Gibson’s former co-stars, Lola Glaudini and Mandy Patinkin, cause a panic that induces a show to rush its casting process to replace the old stars, possibly diminishing the show’s quality in the eyes of its particularly passionate followers.

Glaudini, the show’s female lead for its first season, left early in season 2 because of her rumored preference to live on the east coast (the show films in Los Angeles).  Patinkin, the show’s biggest name and lead character, left abruptly in the middle of season 3, citing the show’s “dark” material as the reason for his departure.  Having such major characters leave the show so soon was completely unexpected, for viewers and CBS executives alike.  To ensure the survival of their show, the show’s producers had to put a lot of money and consideration to replacing these vital cogs.

Luckily, CBS managed to snag two phenomenal people to fill in for their outgoing cast members.  To replace Glaudini, they brought in Paget Brewster as Emily Prentiss at the beginning of Season 3, and to this day, she remains the strongest female lead the show has ever had.  To replace Patinkin, CBS chose the seemingly laid-back Joe Mantegna, who has played the team’s elder statesman, David Rossi, since Patinkin left. Both of these characters, along with the promotion of AJ Cook to a full-time cast member, made the show into the smash hit that it is today.

It seemed that everything was running smoothly until 2012, when Brewster, who had previously been undercut by the show’s producers, announced she would not be returning to the show for its eighth season.  Since then, Brewster’s role has been filled by three people, including current cast member Aisha Tyler, but none of them have, in the opinion of many fans, myself included, come to have the depth that Brewster’s character did.

And that’s what is so crucial about replacing a major character- showrunners need to develop the new characters with the same mindset that they did with the old ones while still managing to give them unique storylines that are different from their predecessors.  One of the many reasons that one of my other favorite shows, FOX’s Glee, struggled to continue in the aftermath of the horribly tragic death of the show’s male lead, Cory Monteith, is that they couldn’t come up with male characters that had enough depth to replace him.  Jake and Ryder, played by Jacob Artist and Blake Jenner, respectively, were put in a very shallow, very volatile love triangle that didn’t resonate with viewers.  By the time that the show figured out how to make the show exciting again, it was in its final season, which was shortened to 13 episodes instead of the 22 that four of the previous five seasons contained.

Criminal Minds successfully replaced Patinkin and Glaudini, but its failure to find a permanent replacement for Brewster, twice, has led to a show that has started to lose some followers- its ratings last season were the second lowest in its history.  Now, with Moore and Gibson leaving, there’s a chance that the show will lose its primetime TV spot, or worse yet, slink meekly off into the distance, a fate that Glee unfortunately met.  The show is not yet, in my opinion, on a big of a slump as the ratings, and my girlfriend, see- Adam Rodriguez seems like he could be a capable replacement for Moore, and after getting Brewster and Mantegna to join the show, I have faith that the show can figure out what to do with Gibson’s role.  However, if the show’s producers aren’t able to come up with solid storylines for its new characters, Criminal Mind’s time as one of the country’s most popular shows will soon be up.