And honestly, I don’t look forward to the conversation in which I tell the Dork Lord that I’ve been boat-rockin’ his favorite radio station (I think he gets a wee bit weary of my ‘the world should be a better place’ on an endless loop). After reading some of your comments, however, I decided that it might be more effective to take my complaint to the source (and perhaps change something) than let it loose in the ethers to bounce around aimlessly.

Here’s my email to the program director:

Good afternoon Jeff,

I’ve debated with myself about sending this – whether or not there’s a point; what kind of outcome it could have. But I think it’s important, if only to say that I spoke up.

Here is what I know:

Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped when she was . . . → Read More: and now i have something to say, part II]]> Well, this was not a boat I intended on rocking.

And honestly, I don’t look forward to the conversation in which I tell the Dork Lord that I’ve been boat-rockin’ his favorite radio station (I think he gets a wee bit weary of my ‘the world should be a better place’ on an endless loop). After reading some of your comments, however, I decided that it might be more effective to take my complaint to the source (and perhaps change something) than let it loose in the ethers to bounce around aimlessly.

Here’s my email to the program director:

Good afternoon Jeff,

I’ve debated with myself about sending this – whether or not there’s a point; what kind of outcome it could have. But I think it’s important, if only to say that I spoke up.

Here is what I know:

Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped when she was 14 years old. Taken as a “wife” by an insane man, she was raped and abused in ways that most would consider torture. Nine months later, she was found. Elizabeth Smart grew up, went to college and became a victims’ advocate for child abductions.

Smart married over the weekend.

Yesterday morning, I was listening as someone on your show referred to the event as her “second marriage.”

I was stunned. One, at the reference to her teenage ordeal as a “marriage,” and two, that no one on the show stopped to say, “Hey, man, that’s not cool.”

The comment doesn’t just show a lack of taste, but a disturbing lack of humanity and compassion for the victim of a brutal crime. Look, I get that it’s a bit. My husband reminds me about that almost every morning when I wrinkle my nose at some eye-roll inducing comment by Gordo, et al.  But this isn’t Kim Kardashian we’re having a big old laugh about. It’s a child rape victim. And whatever lines a person should or should not cross on the airwaves, I think mocking a child rape victim is one of them.

Morality is such a fuzzy thing, especially in the entertainment business. What’s right, what’s wrong, what makes a buck, what doesn’t. Believe me, I know. I think, though, that in this instance, it’s pretty clear that what was said wasn’t just wrong, it was gross.

Further, the segment went on to touch on “Lizzie Smart” and the emotional “baggage” she must have brought to that marriage. I will venture to guess that your hosts are unaware that statistically speaking, one in four women will have survived a rape or attempted rape by the time they are 14 years old. Your hosts are likely the husbands, brothers, uncles or fathers of a sexual assault victim. And yet.

Showing sensitivity to subjects like rape might not be entertaining, but it’s the right thing to do. It also makes marketing sense. Why?

Women are listening to your show. I’m listening to your show and I’m a pretty fair representation of the fastest growing demographic of sports fan. I’m a 30-something-year-old female sports fan, in charge of the household finances (and on top of it, a blogger with decent following). I’m one of three women in my department alone who stream the Ticket at work. Or women who did. After yesterday, I am not certain I will continue to listen. It seems like while sexism is simply an unfortunate part of the sports radio bit, yesterday crossed a line that made me realize I had a decision to make. Stand up or shut up.

I have chosen to stand up.

Thank you for your time, Jeff. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Heather Hunter

Here is his response:

Thanks Heather- I saw your blog. I have not had a chance to go back and review the segment and the comments myself. I did not hear them live yesterday.

Before I respond to your email, or address this with the guys, I need to hear it.

I appreciate where you are coming from–
thanks for the note
Jeff Catlin

What’s next, I suppose, is that he listens to the show and decides for himself whether the comment merits any discussion. Look, I’m not asking for heads on platters; I just want some respect for those who deserve it and for someone to acknowledge that rape is not ‘bit’ material.

Myra and Kenneth from Romantic Wedding Videos . . . → Read More: a happier note]]> I don’t know who these people are, but this is their wedding video and it is amazing.

Myra and Kenneth from Romantic Wedding Videos on Vimeo.

In general, I like sports radio. In general. But every so often, this show in particular crosses a line that gets my hackles up.  The ever-so-patronizing Women Say the Darndest Things About Sports segment, for instance, or more recently, the post-Grammy reference to Adele’s lineage as possible “chimney sweeps” because of her accent. But today. Today was not sexist or narrow-minded or crass. It was soulless.

It was beyond the pale, as Kimberly said.

Elizabeth Smart (who you remember was kidnapped at 14, raped and abused by a man who had taken her as his ‘wife’ before she was miraculously discovered wandering the streets nine . . . → Read More: and now i have something to say]]> In the morning, while we’re getting ready for work, my and I husband listen to The Ticket – a sports radio station here in Dallas. The morning show, Dunham and Miller, ranges from sports chitchat to celebrity birthdays to news tidbits.

In general, I like sports radio. In general. But every so often, this show in particular crosses a line that gets my hackles up.  The ever-so-patronizing Women Say the Darndest Things About Sports segment, for instance, or more recently, the post-Grammy reference to Adele’s lineage as possible “chimney sweeps” because of her accent. But today. Today was not sexist or narrow-minded or crass. It was soulless.

It was beyond the pale, as Kimberly said.

Elizabeth Smart (who you remember was kidnapped at 14, raped and abused by a man who had taken her as his ‘wife’ before she was miraculously discovered wandering the streets nine months later and who went on to become a victims’ advocate) married over the weekend. Mazel tov!

The show’s host congratulated Smart on her “second marriage.”

I was stunned. In part, because the banter kept going without anyone pausing to say, “Whoa, man, that’s wrong,” like was done moments later when another voice piped in to question what kind of “baggage” a girl like “Lizzie Smart” must bring to a marriage. Frankly, I was stunned that someone could muster the bile to say that in the first place.

A million angry bubbles formed in my chest. Second marriage. Just like that. Like it’s Kim Kardashian we’re talking about and not a survivor of rape and systematic torture. The glibness of his comment, made from where he sits, behind a microphone, safe in the statistical unlikelihood that something bad (actually really bad – not like a scare at the dermatologist’s office) will ever happen to him, well, it makes me shake my head.

Because it’s disgusting. Arrogant and ignorant.

And just in case it needs to be said in regard to “Lizzie Smart” and her “baggage,” the statistics currently go a little something like this:

One in Four college women report surviving rape (15 percent) or attempted rape (12 percent) since their fourteenth birthday. And the lack of respectful dialogue about victims means that many, many more go unreported. You know what that says? It says Elizabeth Smart is not the only one bringing something heavy with her to a marriage. She may be in company with, say, the wife, daughter, niece or sister of a clueless sports radio personality.

You guys. I’m sorry to be so absent, but I just don’t have anything to say. I’m not even interesting to myself right now and for the first time in a long time, don’t actually have a single story to tell. Everything in the last year was so full of turmoil or stress of one kind or another, my current day-to-day, in comparison, is so spectacularly dull. I mean, getting my very first ticket ever was this big nothing. I got pulled over. I got my ticket. I went on with life and because it wasn’t say, getting robbed or trying to save someone you love from starving themselves to death, the blemishing of my perfect record wasn’t quite the crisis situation I’d have imagined it to be.

My days go a little something like this: I go to work at a job I tragically, . . . → Read More: jeepers]]> Well, jeepers.

You guys. I’m sorry to be so absent, but I just don’t have anything to say. I’m not even interesting to myself right now and for the first time in a long time, don’t actually have a single story to tell. Everything in the last year was so full of turmoil or stress of one kind or another, my current day-to-day, in comparison, is so spectacularly dull. I mean, getting my very first ticket ever was this big nothing. I got pulled over. I got my ticket. I went on with life and because it wasn’t say, getting robbed or trying to save someone you love from starving themselves to death, the blemishing of my perfect record wasn’t quite the crisis situation I’d have imagined it to be.

My days go a little something like this: I go to work at a job I tragically, really like, so you know, there’s no drama to dig up there. I come home to  a husband I also really like. Sometimes we talk about his Chemistry homework. Sometimes we bake things. Most times we pile on the couch with our fur children and stay there real cozy like until bedtime. Lather, rinse, repeat.

See? Spectacularly dull.

You know Picasso’s Blue Period? Clearly this is Heather’s Lazy Period. And without the gift of retrospect, I have no idea how long it’s going to last. I do know that for someone who is (probably unhealthily) innervated by crisis, all this peace and quiet has been a bit disquieting. Naturally, I tell myself to enjoy it while it lasts but come on. Enjoy what? Seriously, give me a limping kitten to save or a dilapidated shack to renovate because, oh my god, I need something to do.

And then, surely, I’d have something to say.

There’s a lot of brain energy – soul energy – that goes into an intervention. Weeks and months of worry and planning, so much heaviness hanging from such spindly threads of hope and then, in the aftermath, you’re left with so much nothingness. Food you don’t really taste and sleep that can’t leave you rested. And then there’s the anger, because everyone needs someone else to blame. Oddly, it feels like the dress rehearsal . . . → Read More: dress rehearsal]]> This week, I flew halfway across the country to participate in an intervention for someone I love desperately. The intervention failed. We failed. I’m pretty sure that goes down in the books as the worst day of my life.

There’s a lot of brain energy – soul energy – that goes into an intervention. Weeks and months of worry and planning, so much heaviness hanging from such spindly threads of hope and then, in the aftermath, you’re left with so much nothingness. Food you don’t really taste and sleep that can’t leave you rested. And then there’s the anger, because everyone needs someone else to blame. Oddly, it feels like the dress rehearsal for mourning.