If there is anything about this blog that gives people pause (particularly those who discover their hats featured here,) it would undoubtedly be that a blog that claims to take a positive look at wacky hats would have the word "heinous" prominently featured in the title. Even if you've never cracked open a dictionary in your life, you can pretty much tell from the context in which said word is generally used (EX: the 6 o'clock news) that the connotations are none too pleasant. So why use that word at all?
Well, I hope you're ready for a story, 'cause this is going to take a while to explain. Go grab a drink before I get started; you'll be better off for it.
As you can see from the above video, Leah had quite the collection of hats, and she wore each and every one of those bad boys with pride. And--like the aforementioned irrational fear of being watched by a duck--they were something that anyone who knew her associated with her, to the extent that every single one of her hats were displayed at her funeral.
Everybody deals with loss differently; my way of dealing with it is by blogging about my friend's accessory of choice. This is my way of remembering Leah and doing her memory honor in a way that is least likely to land me in jail. Or the ICU. Or both.
So ultimately, the reason the blog's called Heinous Hats is because Leah's Internet handle/screen name of choice was 'heinous.' Which always struck me as a bit of an oxymoron (because if there was anybody on the planet who didn't deserve to be called such a word, it was her,) but that's the name she chose, and it made sense to use it in the title of a blog dedicated in her honor.
And that is the Shaggy Dog explanation of why this blog is named like it is. See? I told you that getting a drink first would be a good idea.
Well, I hope you're ready for a story, 'cause this is going to take a while to explain. Go grab a drink before I get started; you'll be better off for it.
See, the impetus for this blog came in the form of a dear friend by the name of Leah. I met her back in 2003, when she and her boyfriend arrived on my doorstep to make use of my couch during a road trip. How she arrived there is the result of trip-planning/communication breakdowns that involved a mutual friend but it's still a matter of debate as to who holds most of the blame for why I wasn't asked if this was alright until Leah & Co. were already on the road and heading towards my apartment; all I know is that the only charge people can make stick to me is that I have exaggerated exactly how much time I was given to prepare the house for these nearly-unexpected guests.
For the record, it was about an hour, but I digress.
In any event, what started out as a favor to a mutual friend turned into a standing invitation for Leah to come and visit any time she was in the area, which she gleefully accepted. We probably only saw one another once or twice a year, and the rest of the time we kept in touch via LiveJournal (and yes, I know this is dating myself, but whatever.) By the time she had relocated from North Carolina to Ontario a year or so later, we had become good friends.
Having Leah as a friend could best be described as cruise control to adventure. Whenever Leah was around, the air was thick with the promise that something exciting was going to happen; it was just a matter of when--not if--it was going to happen, and said thing could range from climbing underneath a train overpass and waiting for a train to pass overhead, taking a quadbike off-roading around an island or laying siege to an abandoned lighthouse.
And no, I didn't make any of those up. When it came to Leah, fiction had nothing on real life.
The interesting thing about Leah was that, despite all her boldness, she was probably one of the shyest people I have ever met. Sounds a bit contradictory, I know, but this was also the same woman who was an admitted anatidaephobic but kept a collection of stuffed ducks. She was the kind of person whose method for dealing with her fears was to confront them head-on. This made her one of the most inspiring people I have ever met.
When I was told she died in the early hours of September 10, 2009, my initial reaction was utter disbelief. I could not reconcile myself with the fact that someone so alive could be gone. It's still something I have trouble with even now, nearly a year after the fact.
So what has this got to do with hats? I'll just let this video do the explaining for me:
As you can see from the above video, Leah had quite the collection of hats, and she wore each and every one of those bad boys with pride. And--like the aforementioned irrational fear of being watched by a duck--they were something that anyone who knew her associated with her, to the extent that every single one of her hats were displayed at her funeral.
Everybody deals with loss differently; my way of dealing with it is by blogging about my friend's accessory of choice. This is my way of remembering Leah and doing her memory honor in a way that is least likely to land me in jail. Or the ICU. Or both.
So ultimately, the reason the blog's called Heinous Hats is because Leah's Internet handle/screen name of choice was 'heinous.' Which always struck me as a bit of an oxymoron (because if there was anybody on the planet who didn't deserve to be called such a word, it was her,) but that's the name she chose, and it made sense to use it in the title of a blog dedicated in her honor.
And that is the Shaggy Dog explanation of why this blog is named like it is. See? I told you that getting a drink first would be a good idea.
