Most of you have probably read about the College Republicans at Roger Williams and their $250 “white pride” scholarships. I don’t have a problem debating the merits of affirmative action on college campuses, but this little stunt comes across as juvenile and noxious. Of course, they’re free to do whatever they want. They’re a private organization using private funds for the scholarship. You can probably guess my own views on affirmative action. To be honest, I don’t know if my disability played a role in my admission to law school. I remember mentioning it in my personal statement. I suspect it might have been considered and I don’t have a problem with that. Twenty or thirty years ago, I doubt most law schools, not to mention undergraduate institutions, would have even considered accepting students with disabilities, no matter what their qualifications. So I think it’s entirely appropriate that admissions offices now give some thought to redressing past wrongs. And I certainly wouldn’t expect to be admitted if I wasn’t otherwise qualified. My grades and LSAT score were on par with the rest of my class. But I think it’s critical that colleges and universities value its students for the perspectives and experiences they bring with them and sees them as more than a transcript and a test score. Those who oppose affirmative action try to mask their arguments behind innocuous concepts such as “fairness” and “hard work.” As if those of us who might benefit from affirmative action didn’t work just as hard for our education.

I just returned from listening to Neil Gaiman read at the Fitzgerald. The actual reading and Q&A session only lasted an hour. I waited another two hours to get a book signed. I didn’t even try to get in line; I simply let everyone go ahead and I waited in the little disabled seating section of the theater. There must have been two to three hundred people waiting to get something signed. One of the theater managers led me through a side entrance to the stage once the theater was nearly empty. This was a good thing because I tried going down the aisle from the audience section to the stage and nearly tumbled out of my chair. It was a tad steep. But I managed to get a picture of me and the author, which I’ll post later.
And now I’m off to a small theater on the West Bank to see a puppet show. It’s being put on some friends of one of my nurses. I have a feeling it will be very arty and very earnest. But what the hell. It beats sitting at home.

So the Star Wars trilogy is going to be issued on DVD. The only bummer is that it will include only the Special Edition versions of the film. I suppose that’s to be expected. For the most part, I didn’t have problems with the changes they made in the new versions, except for a couple. Like that horrible scream that was added when Luke jumps from the railing in Cloud City. And what’s up with Greedo shooting first in the cantina scene? It completely alters the tone of our introduction to Han Solo. Er, not that I’m Star Wars geek or anything. Nope, not me. Hell, I don’t even know the home planet of Lando Calrissian’s co-pilot in Return of the Jedi.
Really, I don’t.
..
Okay, okay, he’s from Sullust. Happy now?

I’m in the process of booking a flight to Miami and the airline is asking all kinds of questions about my ventilator. I guess that’s to be expected, although it never received this much scrutiny in the past. Of course, the last time I flew was pre-September 11. That was the flight to LA from hell. I was going to LA for a few days with my brother and nurse. We got on the plane and were settling into our seats when the cabin starts to fill with smoke. We got off the plane and waited about ninety minutes for another plane. Once the next plane is ready, we board the next plane. But this one smelled like a chemical spill and we’re instructed to get off this plane as well. Keep in mind that each time we have to get off the plane, my brother and my nurse have to carry me and my ventilator off the plane and my wheelchair has to be brought up from luggage. I’m starting to feel like a piece of baggage myself. Finally, we get on a third plane and take off for LA. We land and I wait for my chair to be brought up. Except it doesn’t appear. After more waiting, we’re told they can’t find my chair. It might still be in Minneapolis. But after an hour or so, they find it in a luggage carousel and we’re on our merry way.
Who says flying isn’t fun?
A woman left a message on my voicemal looking for the person in the L&P article. She left an 800 number, so I’m not sure who she is with. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

Tomorrow I get to go to a mandatory day-long diversity training. Joy. I don’t object to the concept of diversity training. I’ve been in enough situations to know that some people are absolutely clueless about how to interact with people of diverse backgrounds. But I don’t think you can teach diversity in a classroom setting. It needs to be an integral part of the workplace; part of everyday life. And if you insist on teaching it as a class, at least teach it in the context of the experiences of the audience. I work with people of different ethnicities, religions, disabilities, and sexual preferences. So my starting point is a little different than another person’s.
Looks like I’ll be in Miami March 24-30. I honestly can’t wait. I’ll be curious to check out some of the clubs in South Beach. I don’t often go clubbing because it’s impossible for me to make myself heard above the music, but it could be fun just to sit at a table and observe everyone else. And you never know what will happen. A couple years ago, I took a couple of out-of-town friends to a club in the Warehouse District called the Gay 90’s. It’s a gay nightclub that has been completely co-opted by us heteros. My friends are dancing and I’m sitting off to the side, minding my own business, when this very petite, very attractive woman starts dancing in front of me. Dancing may not be the most appropriate word. More like gyrating against me. It was so loud on the dancefoor that I couldn’t even ask for her name. I just bobbed my head to the music and smiled like an idiot. I so wanted to get her number, but I lost her in the crowd. Ah well, c’est la vie.