Monthly Archives: June 2025

The Word That Won’t Shut Up: ‘Impact’


There was a time when impact was a thing that happened when your car hit a tree. Now it’s something that happens when Becky updates her résumé.

“Seeking high-impact opportunities in the wellness optimization space.”

Translation: She got fired from the smoothie bar and wants to manage an Instagram page about crystals.

We used to use impact for actual force. Collisions. Catastrophes. You know, reality. An asteroid has impact. A divorce has impact. Death is only impact.

But your team’s Q2 synergy meeting? That’s just a conversation with a PowerPoint and dead eyes.

It’s like someone took a useful noun, beat it senseless with a TED Talk, stuffed it with buzzwords, and turned it loose on corporate America like a motivational ferret in a pantsuit.

Now everything’s about “maximizing impact,” “delivering impact,” “creating impact at scale.” Christ, even toothpaste commercials promise “gum health impact.” Who knew minty could be so violent?

And don’t get me started on impactful. “The retreat was so impactful.” No, Chad, it was a weekend at a Ramada where your boss cried during goat yoga.

We’re told to measure impact. Leverage impact. There’s social impact, brand impact, environmental impact. At this point, even your mother’s casserole has impact, because it made everyone shit themselves.

The problem is, when everything has impact, nothing does. Words matter, or they used to. But now, we’re allergic to saying what we actually mean. You didn’t make a difference. You didn’t help. You didn’t even do anything. You just had impact. It’s vague enough to sound important and slippery enough to dodge responsibility.

“This ad campaign had real impact.”

Yeah? Like a tooth?

People don’t actually want impact—they want the illusion of it. They want the brand of impact. Like those asses who post photos of themselves picking up a piece of trash on Earth Day, wearing $300 sneakers made of “recycled hope.”

You want to make an impact? Turn off your phone. Talk to someone. Feed a stray dog. Write a check to a teacher. Something that doesn’t come with a hashtag and a LinkedIn endorsement.

So here lies impact, a once-honest word, inflated into a balloon animal of self-importance and corporate cotton. It didn’t die. It was overused. Which, in America, is the same thing.

Rest in Fluff, Impact. You were briefly meaningful. And then Becky got ahold of you.

Dogs Are Family, Says New York Judge — And Law Is Finally Starting to Agree


In a decision as unprecedented as it is overdue, a Brooklyn judge has legally recognized what millions of dog owners already know: our dogs are family.

Justice Aaron Maslow of the New York Supreme Court ruled that a dog named Duke—killed by a reckless driver in Brooklyn—was more than property. He was, for legal purposes, an “immediate family member.”

The ruling allows Nan DeBlase, the woman walking Duke on a leash when he was struck, to sue for emotional distress. This kind of lawsuit is normally restricted to those grieving the death or injury of a close relative. The dog’s owner, Trevor DeBlase, was not present at the time of the accident and therefore is limited to compensation for Duke’s market value.

That may sound like a technicality. It’s not. It’s a legal pivot point.

Maslow’s decision subtly but meaningfully breaks from the long-held precedent that pets, no matter how cherished, are property—on the same legal tier as a couch, toaster, or cell phone.

Historically, if someone killed your dog, courts might award you the cost of replacement—typically a few hundred or thousand dollars. That valuation never made sense to those who’ve loved a dog, and Maslow’s ruling seems to acknowledge that truth.

What makes this ruling even more striking is its restraint. Maslow didn’t declare that all pets are legally family. He didn’t open the floodgates to pet-related lawsuits or emotional damage claims from afar.

Instead, he made a narrow, careful decision: when a person is within the “zone of danger” and witnesses the violent death of a leashed dog in their care, they may seek damages as if they lost a loved one. Because in that moment, they did.

The decision reflects a broader legal trend. In recent years, courts have started treating animals more like sentient beings and less like things. Divorce courts have granted shared custody of pets.

Legislatures in several states, including California and Illinois, have passed laws allowing judges to consider a pet’s well-being in custody disputes. Even estate laws have begun adapting, with more Americans leaving trust funds for their pets.

But this ruling cuts deeper. It recognizes that emotional trauma is real—and that the bond between a person and their dog can rise to the level of kinship. It’s an acknowledgment that grief isn’t limited by species, and that the legal system can and should evolve with culture.

Not everyone is on board. Critics, including some conservative legal groups and representatives from the American Kennel Club, warn this could open the door to frivolous lawsuits or inflated emotional claims. But Maslow’s decision threads that needle. It sets a precedent without unleashing chaos.

For dog lovers, especially those who’ve ever walked their companion down a city sidewalk, the implications are profound.

The ruling says something we’ve whispered through tears and shouted through joy for generations: dogs are not objects. They are partners. Friends. Family.

New York’s legal system has taken the first step toward honoring that trust. Let’s hope others follow.

This isn’t just about Duke. It’s about every Jadie. Every Charlie. Every leash held in quiet trust.

Threshold

buy disulfiram uk Threshold

There is a breath
that does not return to you—
not in the same shape.

It leaves
as mist,
comes back
a question.

Somewhere,
a curtain folds without wind.

You do not panic.
You practice
being a passenger.

The hallway tilts.
Names untether.
You’re not lost—
only momentarily
unlabeled.

There is a place
between the counting
and the gone—
sleep’s older cousin.

That’s where
the Gurney Moment lives.

It hums beneath the wheels.
You feel it like gravity,
not fall—
but surrender.

You are not outside it.
You never were.
Even stillness
has a center
that turns