I’m not sure exactly what I’m setting out to do here. I woke up at 4am today with my mind racing, unable to get back to sleep and struck with the inexplicable urge to do something I haven’t given much thought to in the past ten years: write. It’s something I used to do quite a bit, and people still tell me that I should give it a try from time to time, but I never sit down and actually do it. I’d like to say I haven’t had time, but I’m not sure that’s true. I just haven’t felt like I was ready to start writing again. Until this morning.
I’m not going to set out with any structure or strict guidelines here because I’m not really sure where I’m going with it. I’m nobody who matters, just a guy who loves my city (Hartford, CT if you couldn’t tell), and go back and forth between being hopeful and fearful for what comes next. To love Hartford is to be a cynic and romantic simultaneously.
It’s dangerously close to the time I need to leave for work, so let me sum up the mission statement of this thing I’m staring here with the words of a man much wiser than myself:
WHALERS IS NOT JUST A HOCKEY TEAM. ITS A SYMBOL OF RESISTANCE AGAINST THE CULTURAL IMPERIALISM OF BOSTON AND NYC.
Nineteen years and counting since this city knew who it was.