My wheelchair liked Europe so much that it decided to stay an extra day. When my flight from Amsterdam landed in Minneapolis yesterday, we went down to baggage claim to retrieve my wheelchair. But we soon discovered that the wheelchair wasn’t there. What followed were several sheepish apologies from Northwest officials; apparently my chair never got put on the plane in Amsterdam after the flight from Berlin. So I had to plop myself in a regular wheelchair with the ventilator trailing behind me in another chair, making for what must have been an unusual-looking parade through the airport. The poor airline workers had to pool their cash to get me a cab ride home; none of the taxi companies would accept vouchers from the now-bankrupt airline. I had to spend most of today in bed until my chair showed up at around 8:00 tonight. I can only assume that the slight dents in the frame are the result of its lewd behavior in the red light district. When left unsupervised, my chair can be rather impulsive.
My body is still on European time, but it’s time to post some pictures, if for no other reason than to reassure myself that I didn’t dream the last ten days…

Riding over cobblestones in a wheelchair is a curious sensation. Not entirely comfortable, but not altogether unpleasant either. And there are lots , and I do mean lots, of cobblestones in Paris. Every day is like an amusement park ride.
If you stay in Paris long enough, you start to develop a certain contempt for things American. The food here is better, the people here are thinner, the parks are nicer, and the buildings are more interesting. Of course, in the States, I don’t have to usually worry about jumping a six inch curb to cross the street. Perhaps travel is meant to remind you of the things you take for granted at home.
My high school French teacher would be proud of me. Most of the time, I can achieve a basic level of communication with Parisiens. I probably speak like a seventh grade drop out, but I’m also remembering words that had fallen into the synaptic cracks of my brain. I suppose that as long as people aren’t laughing when I open my mouth, I’m doing okay.
I’ll write more about my specific activities once I can post pictures. I’m still using a public computer and I don’t want to dump my photos onto its hard drive. Tomorrow, I leave on a train for Berlin. Hopefully, another overseas dispatch will be forthcoming in a couple of days. A bientot.

Conservatives are fond of criticizing progressives who bring up issues of class. Conservatives like to say that class no longer matters in this country; that with enough grit and hard work and sunny optimism, anyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps. But a quick glance at the video coming out of New Orleans should be enough to demonstrate that class still matters in America. The people who dwell at the margins of society are the same ones who were the most likely to find themselves trapped in the squalid conditions of the Superdome or the convention center.
It is to these people that government owes a special duty in times of emergency. Government is the only entity that has the capacity and the wherewithal to help the marginalized and the impoverished when disaster strikes. The private sector certainly won’t do it. The churches and non-profit organizations can play a supporting role, but they can’t mobilize troops or evacuate tens of thousands of people. Somewhere along the way, we forgot that government can be a force for good in peoples’ lives. The Grover Norquists of this country have managed to convince our leaders that government is the enemy. The resulting waves of tax cuts, combined with the billions of dollars in resources diverted to Iraq, has gutted our domestic infrastructure. One storm is all it took to send a major American metropolis into the chaos we associate with exotic places on the other side of the world.
Ideology has consequences. Ideology collides with the real world in ways that we cannot always predict. Ideology can wreck lives.
I leave for Europe tomorrow. I may blog again before I leave. Otherwise, I’ll be coming at you from the other side of the pond in a couple days.

I took my sister to the fair tonight, so this is going to have to be short. I swear, you can put on ten pounds just breathing in the fumes from the frying grease. My sister had a fried candy bar on a stick. My stomach is still churning at the sight of it.
Okay, more tomorrow. Off to bed.

A Dutch library is “lending out” individuals representing marginalized groups, including gays, Gypsies, and people with physical disabilities. Library patrons can take these individuals to a nearby cafeteria and ask them questions for an hour. I get what the library is trying to do, but I’m not sure I agree with the methodology. It seems to reinforce the notion that there is something exotic or decidedly Other about these individuals and that they can be safely approached in a controlled environment. At the same time, I understand that the average person’s social circle may never include people from these groups. But shouldn’t we be more concerned about why these people are marginalized, instead of making them into cultural exhibits?
But in the spirit of experimentation, I’m going to lend myself out to all of you. I’ll answer the first five questions that are e-mailed to my Gmail account, regardless of content. If you’ve had burning questions you’ve wanted to ask about my disability or anything else, now’s your chance. The identities of all questioners will be kept anonymous, of course. Let the interrogation begin.