So now pigeons are getting neural implants. Great. You know, twenty years from now my personal care will be provided by a genetically modified orangutan who, despite having the IQ of your average Best Buy sales associate, cannot grasp the fact that it’s not cool to groom me while I’m in a meeting. On the plus side, I’ll be able to telepathically sic my flock of pigeon lackeys on said orangutan when she has one of her all-too-frequent episodes of misplaced mating urges.
I have tickets to see Ira Glass’ This American Life show at the Orpheum tomorrow night. Another snow storm is also supposed to wallop the area at about the same time. I’m not too worried about getting there, but the walk home could be interesting. Maybe I can figure out a way to rig a snow plow to the front of my chair. Or perhaps Ira and Sarah Vowell will give me a push through the snow drifts on our way to the afterparty.
Minnesota Public Radio has an interview with Emily Rapp, whose book Poster Child details her life with a congenital disability. In the interview, Rapp says, “I had to be super-normal to be accepted as normal.” I can so relate. While I was naturally inclined to like school when I was a kid, I was also motivated to do well so that I could go to college, get a job, and do all the “normal” things that were expected of my peers. By doing all those things, I thought I could minimize my disability in the eyes of others and not be thought of as different or unusual. I came to the slow realization that I couldn’t spend my whole life trying to pass as some personification of American male normalcy, but I’m probably still dealing with the remnants of that way of thinking.
I’m a big fan of trip-hop, the musical style characterized by torchy female vocalists, multi-layered soundtracks, and heavy use of sampling. Think Portishead, Morcheeba, or Hooverphonic. Thanks to Metafilter, I discovered Splashdown, a Boston-based band with a similar sound whose major debut LP was never released by its record label. Which is a shame, because they’re actually quite good. Their entire catalog is available in MP3 format here and I have a fast-developing crush on the lead singer. Wouldn’t it be great if the internets one day made the RIAA and its spawn irrelevant? We’re already seeing artists release their music to fans via alternative channels like MySpace. And the slow death of digital rights management will gradually make more music available to more people at a lower cost. Besides, most acts make their big money from touring.
The other day, I was thinking how cool it would have been to have had the internet when I was a kid. Green Bay will always hold a special place in my heart, but it’s a hopelessly hick town. I listened to the same crappy Top 40 radio that everyone else listened to because that was available. The only books I read were the ones I could find at the crappy WaldenBooks in the mall. If the Web had been around back then, I might have more quickly evolved into the hip, urbane, sophisticated adult I am today. And I might have found other like-minded souls who shared my obsessions. Maybe I would have even scored the occasional date. Kids these days have it so good. Everyone has the opportunity to find their social niche within an accepting social community.
As for me, I turned out okay, but it was sometimes a lonely journey.
One of the little pleasures of living where I do is the panoramic view afforded to me during snow and rain storms. Right now, the world outside is all gauzy with snow. I’m stocked up on reading and viewing material, as I don’t anticipate I’ll be venturing out much this weekend. Before I leave you, here is a little web-based amusement that you might enjoy. It gives a twisted meaning to the phrase “puppet government”. Thanks to my dear friend Rose for pointing this out to me.
It gets so tiresome being proven right all the time. When Michelle Bachmann was elected, I told friends, “She’ll say something utterly stupid in the first six months of her incumbency.” I needn’t have been so generous in my allotment of time. Bachmann, in a recent interview with a St. Cloud newspaper, revealed that she possessed knowledge of an agreement that would see Iran partition Iraq and set up some sort of terrorist mini-state in the western part of what used to be Iraq. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, seeing as how Iran is Shi’a and western Iraq is predominantly Sunni and the two sects are in the midst of slaughtering each other’s adherents across much of Iraq.
Bachmann really should stick to her strengths–like demonizing the gay community and non-Christians–and not trouble her pretty, carefully coiffed little head with matters of foreign policy. Such wild-eyed conspiracy theorizing does not suit an alumnus of the great Oral Roberts University.
Welcome to Disability Blog Carnival #9. I guess that makes me your carnie (although I feel compelled to point out that I have more teetth and smell a lot better than your typical carnie). The theme for this particular collection is “employment”. Let’s get started. Remember to keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.
David at Growing Up with a Disability describes the typical workday of Chris, who is employed full-time as a mail clerk. And Wheelchair Dancer considers and declines an opportunity to show some skin.
Both Seahorse and Wheelchair Princess blog about the difficulties of finding work that is both fulfilling and flexible. And meanwhile, over at One Smoot Short of a Bridge, we are reminded that discrimination can be found in the most innocuous practices (like background checks). Interroblog writes about discrimination from a more institutional perspective.
Disgruntled Ladye blogs about the clueless reactions she receives from work colleagues who make assumptions about her medical condition. Speaking of clueless, Wheelie Catholic had a recent encounter with a child and her woefully uninformed mother.
The proprietor of BlindConfidential writes about his new radio gig, the first show of which will focus on web accessibility. And NPR rock star Stephen Kuusisto meditates on the cultural role of the uppity gimp (my words, not his).
Dave at Chewing the Fat explains why he loves working in the disability field. Kestrell begins the first part of her series on disability and participatory culture.
Simi Linton of Disability Culture Watch reviews the bestseller The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. And finally, Manxome writes a moving eulogy to her uncle.
Many of the blogs cited here are new to the scene, so let their authors know you like and want to see more of their work. I want to thank everyone who submitted as well as Penny for giving me the opportunity to host. And don’t forget to keep visiting this site to read all about the sordid goings-on here at The 19th Floor.
Thursday’s Disability Carnival should be posted sometime before 8:00 p.m. Central Standard Time. I don’t think the taxpayers of Minnesota would appreciate me working on it while I’m on the clock. Your patience is appreciated.
Nearly four hundred years have passed since Puritans settled our shores, but we’re still burdened with their legacy of sexual neuroses. Librarians are reluctant to stock The Higher Power of Lucky, a book that won the prestigious Newberry Award for children’s literature, because the word “scrotum” appears in the first sentence. Of course, our delicate sensibilities can just as easily be corrupted by terminology for the female anatomy. A Florida theater changed its marquee to read “The Hoohah Monologues” after receiving complaints from local parents who lacked the maturity or parenting skills to respond to curious inquiries from their children about the meaning of the word “vagina”.
I can’t help but marvel that most American adults don’t resort to the oblique phrase “down there” when referring to their genitalia. Credit sex ed in public schools and the Internet for keeping the forces of ignorance and prudishness at bay.
Congratulations to my brother, who recently turned in the final version of his doctoral thesis. While my degree is technically a “juris doctorate”, I’ve never pretended that it required the same amount of time and tireless work that a Ph.D. does. My brother has truly earned the right to be addressed as Dr. Siegel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must continue my search for a gently used corduroy blazer with elbow patches to present him as a gift.