Rumor has it that famed physicist and, more importantly, personal archnemesis Stephen Hawking is considering a move to Canada. Excellent. Now, I won’t have to travel as far to appear at our joint press conference announcing the official date for our forthcoming zero-gravity deathmatch. And I hear that Canadian living makes one soft, which should only improve my odds with the Vegas bookies.
The BBC is currently running a reality series called Britain’s Missing Top Model, in which eight women with disabilities compete for a modeling contract. I can’t judge the series on its content because I’m on the wrong side of the pond and can’t watch the on-line episodes. It’s no surprise that all of the contestants are quite pretty and telegenic. After all, this is television. While the show’s concept strikes me as incredibly cheesy, but it’s difficult for me to judge whether it strays into exploitation. The BBC strikes me as an entity that has at least some clue about how to portray people with disabilities. Perhaps someone can send me the DVD collection so I can have a more informed opinion.
I’d make a terrible model. Can you imagine me in some Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, all bare-chested and oiled down? I do get compliments on my eyes, so maybe if I was just photographed from the nose up.
Jesse Ventura has just announced that he will not be running for Senator this fall. I’m quite grateful for this news, not because I thought he would help or hurt any of the other candidates, but because this election will be enough of a circus without Jesse bringing his special brand of charm to the proceedings.
I actually feel some sympathy for Ventura. He was a mediocre governor, but he had a few good ideas (light rail being one of them). The impression he gives in recent interviews is of a man adrift in a sea of peculiar beliefs (especially on the topic of 9/11). However, he’s demonstrated the good sense not to attempt to relive his glory years, which is more than I can say for former Packer Brett Favre.
A recent survey commissioned by Disaboom (sorry, but the name just make me cringe) finds that 52% of Americans would rather be dead than severely disabled. The survey also reveals that individuals with higher levels of income or education are more likely to prefer death over disability. Unsurprisingly, older people are likely to be more accepting of a severe disability than younger people.
The only thing that surprises me about these results is that the percentage of respondents favoring death wasn’t higher. Otherwise, this is pretty ho-hum stuff. But I’m also a little frustrated with the survey’s methodology. Here’s how the researchers framed the question:
Which would you choose: Living with a severe disability that forever alters your ability to live an independent life, or death?
I mean, that’s kind of a stark choice, isn’t it? It doesn’t get at the nuances of actually living with a severe disability. Maybe something like this would be better:
Which would you choose:
Living with a severe disability (but you could still live in your own place, hold a job, have friends, catch a movie, take a trip, maybe fall in love),
OR
death?
I realize that’s an equally horrible survey question, but you get my point.
Having just watched the trailer for the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, I’m filled with uncertain curiosity. The original is one of my favorite classic science fiction films, mostly because it tells a good story and Michael Rennie plays Klaatu with such elegant charm. When I think of Keanu Reeves, the word “charming” doesn’t come to immediately to mind. Sure, it’s fun to watch football stadiums get obliterated and giant spaceships emerge from the water, but I also remember what Tim Burton did to Planet of the Apes. Undoubtedly, I’ll buy a ticket for this movie, but my expectations will remain firmly in check.
Say you’re home alone on a stormy Friday night, sitting in front of your computer and searching for a few minutes of distraction. If you have an artistic bent, you might enjoy this digital sandbox game. You can manipulate pixels of colored “sand” to create your own mandala or whatever else strikes your fancy. And when you’re done creating your masterpiece, you can be all Zen and erase it with a single keystroke. My own creation looks like something created by a monkey with slightly above-average intelligence. The visual arts were never my strength.
After work today, I met my former boss for drinks at a new place in northeast Minneapolis called Red Stag. The restaurant is a hip update of the cozy supper clubs that you find in small towns across the Upper Midwest. The interior decor has a North Woods feel with exposed rafters and earthy tones, but I don’t think you’ll find many traditional supper clubs that feature a cucumber-and-melon martini on their menus. You also won’t find many other supper clubs that are LEED-certified as a environmentally-friendly establishment. I didn’t eat anything, but the smelt fries and cheese tray looked quite scrumptious.
MaryAlice, my former boss, said to me, “You should love this place, Mark. It has all the charm of Wisconsin without actually having to go there.”
The general election campaign season is upon us and I’m on the prowl for photo ops. Like this one:
This is Democratic Senate candidate Al Franken and the back of my head at a Franken rally that I stumbled upon earlier today in downtown St. Paul. A colleague of mine, who knows my political groupie tendencies, asked me, “How did you get so close to him? Did you tell him you’re dying?”
I replied, “No, I think he just assumed it.”
It’s late and most of you have probably gone to bed. I should probably do the same, but a busy evening has kept me from my blogging duties. I don’t consider myself to have an obsessive personality except when it comes to this blog. I’m staying up past my bedtime because I feel compelled to say something. My attention-seeking behaviors know no bounds.
I’ll try to be more interesting tomorrow.
I’ve visited Gold Medal Park plenty of times, but until recently, never at dusk. The view from the top of the park’s sculpted hill is even more dramatic as night approaches. The lights under the Stone Arch Bridge cast small pools of radiance on the river waters below. The nearby Guthrie is illuminated in subdued blues, golds, and reds. And on the other side of the river are the neon signs of the businesses lining St. Anthony Main. For a place that is nearly smack dab in the middle of downtown, the park is remarkably hush once the sun sets. The kind of hush that encourages whispered conversations.