Murt the Stalker




I recently got back on Twitter during the Boston Marathon Bombing case. I had used my account previously to BS around Tweeting to “Real Housewives” and my local radio station. It seemed news came faster on Twitter than it did from live news; even the CNN anchors were ferociously checking their phones (my guess: Twitter) during live broadcasting.

I connected to the whistle blower in the Steubenville, OH, rape case. Because of her whistle blowing, she had been stalked… and stalked… and harassed… and threatened… and stalked some more… and her friend, a blogger, had the same problem. Apparently, in the world of the internet, if someone wants to shut you up, they do exactly what I described above. Well, it doesn’t fly with me, and it didn’t fly with any of the whistle blowers in that case, either.

I’m not litigious. Suing someone is not in my every day to-do list. I go straight for the CRIMINAL prosecution of these CRIMES. I’ve referenced the Federal law on this blog in a previous post, but I’ve also familiarized myself with my local law, and have utilized it to my benefit. Some people who continue harassing in comments, spewing lies, and just being obnoxious seem to want to believe I have not reported a damn thing. That’s fine if they want to believe that, but it’s not true. Maybe they enjoy the element of surprise rather than the power of having foresight?

I would rather have some idea of what’s about to come than be completely surprised. That is why I am glad I had paid attention to the Tweets of the whistle blower when I got the following email from Murt:

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Tribute to Boston

Massachusetts is my home state. I’ve always loved going to Boston. It wasn’t too far from the city I grew up in. I’ve gone to the many museums (Boston Science Museum was my favorite, the JFK Museum was a school field trip, and I’ve even had the pleasure of sharing my love of the Boston Children’s Museum with my own children), concerts, Celtics games, Red Sox games, shopping (and my favorite foods) in Quincy Market, 4th of July fireworks, skipped school and found myself driving around Boston (not an easy task), found a quiet spot to chat with a friend on the Back Bay, stopped to acknowledge the homeless and offer what I could…

At 15, my dad and I had started training to do the Boston Marathon. When winter came, running through the Boston suburb streets was impossible with 3 ft high piles of snow, so instead of doing the Boston Marathon, we did the Walk for Hunger on the same streets as the Boston Marathon. It didn’t stop me from watching, though. It was Patriot’s Day in Boston, and as a child, that meant no school. I would be up early enough to watch the marathon and cheer alongside my dad like we were watching the Superbowl and we always cheered for the underdog.

I rarely watch the news anymore. I have children who I want to shelter from the reality of the world’s ugly as long as possible. Monday was a day like any, and one of my children turned on the tv after school. The gruesome pictures and videos flashed on the screen. It was shocking and horrifying to see, and we sat and cried watching such tragedy. My kids asked me if I knew anyone there at that moment, and I was praying I didn’t. The following day, my husband heard the name of the father who lost his 8 year old son. It was someone he had known since he was 5.

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