A bad side effect of the non-wrinkle oxfords that I bought primarily for their French cuffs (oh, how I love to rock a cuff link) is that their magical non-wrinkle powers are in opposition to breathability powers.
Which makes me sweat.
 |
|
And then makes the sweat get trapped.
Which makes me stink.
Which is totes lame. And, not as if I need traits that encourage this, extremely antisocial.
 |
|
While trying to find local listings for Rolling (10 p.m. on WNET 13 tonight), I found this within Bad Cripple, a blog I’m definitely going to start following:
The real world experiences of disabled people are the subject of Gretchen Berland’s superb documentary Rolling that will be airing this month on Public Television. More than any other film I have ever seen, Rolling provides the viewer with a real life understanding of what life is like when one uses a wheelchair. The film is based on 212 hour of tape taken over a period of two years (2001 to 2003). The vast majority of the film footage was recorded by three people (Galen Buckwalter, Vicki Elman, and Ernie Wallengren) from Los Angeles who had video cameras mounted on their wheelchairs. For those unfamiliar with disability, the film is not easy to watch yet gripping at the same time. It took less than thirty seconds for me to be hooked and realize Rolling was going where no other film about disability has ever gone. The opening observation made by Buckwalter was: “Because most people can walk and run and climb, and since I can’t, I’m defined as disabled. Not only defined as disabled, I’m expected to act and feel disabled. For many years I did the same, but what they don’t see now is that I’m a survivor”. What Buckwalter is able to survive is not the injury that rendered him paralyzed but the stigma, prejudice, and social isolation that results from using a wheelchair. This is exactly where Rolling excels–it graphically reveals the gross social inequities that exist for people who use a wheelchair.
Several themes are evident throughout Rolling and Berland is obviously a first rate story teller. Among the themes that struck me as particularly important are independence versus dependence, the utter failure of the health care system to provide basic services to disabled people, the lack of wheelchair access and the resulting social isolation as well as the lack of common respect awarded to people that use a wheelchair. To me, this is old story but never have I seen a film get to the nitty gritty of what it is like to be disabled. This is not a sexy or cool film–it is a remorseless indictment of American society that reveals the overwhelming social and practical obstacles disabled people routinely encounter. For those unfamiliar with disability, some scenes are bound to be shocking. For example, when Vicki Elman’s wheelchair breaks her doctor wonders aloud “what are we going to do with you? Do you want to go to a nursing home or get a baby sitter at home?” During filming of Rolling Elman was forced to enter a nursing home and where an aide tells her to urinate in a bed pan or in diaper she states “the degradation begins”.
The greatest strength of Rolling is that by the end of the film Buckwalter, Elman, and Wallengren are humans who even the most resistant person to inclusion will acknowledge are treated poorly by their bipedal peers. Once the social stigma associated with using a wheelchair is removed the viewer simply sees three ordinary people who have learned how to adapt. Using a wheelchair is a means of empowerment and enables people to lead a rich and full life. This is what makes Rolling such an important contribution for illustrating this is a major accomplishment on the part of Berland. I hope Rolling and the website created by Thirteen.org for the film will be widely utilized by colleges and groups interested in disability rights, health care reform, and disability awareness advocates. Berland and all those associated with Rolling are to be commended for making a major contribution one that I hope will enlighten those willing to think about their preconceived notions about the meaning of disability.
I’m definitely going to watch Rolling tonight.
Read a great write-up from Yale Medicine about Rolling here.
When I’m servicing clients (insert high class hooker jokes here), I don’t screw around (retract high class hooker joke). You take a bucktoothed girl sporting highwaters and flannel outta the Midwest, plop her into a flagstoned quad of a schmancy school, and she’s gonna learn about the importance of details via a steady schooling of Master’s Teas, formal dinners involving ice sculptures, and general monkey-see-monkey-do hullabaloo amongst kids for whom trust is a fund and not a social contract.
Thus, when I entertain my clients (re-insert high class hooker joke) (duly note use of verb “insert”) (snicker) (feel bad about snickering) (look over your shoulder to see if anyone heard you snickering), I don’t miss a detail. The massage happens in an establishment that I’ve inspected and does not contain fluorescent bulbs, crackling linoleum, and tongue depressors with errant curly hairs waxed on / waxed off. The lunch is catered with a selection of the finest meats and sugared waters. The dinner happens in the kind of place where ANP in social mode would rock stilettos and a cocktail dress.
Insert challenge.
Fine dining establishments in Manhattan that offer geographical proximity to train lines convenient for my clients do not offer good vegetarian courses. I’m not turning my vegetarian clients into rabbits and making them eat two salads in a row. Anyone who eats lettuce knows what a workout it is on thirty-something choppers. My jaws are tired just thinking about it. (Hooker joke part seven.) (Part 69.) (God, will she ever stop?) (Oh, there’s one too.) (Shaddap ANP.)
So this sucks. Enough with the surf and turf steakhouses already. Is it too much to ask for a restaurant that charges $50+ for an entree to at least offer one $50+ entree that involves lots of soy?
Geez louise.
The cord that connects my cammy-ra to my mock-puter has been MIA since mid November. (<– two spaces. Hey man, years of Typing Tutor are hard to unlearn.) So while a number of pictures that I’ve taken are locked away in my D70, there’ve been some classic shots from the official photographer of the wedding I attended in Florida a couple of months ago.
This one has to be my favorite of the bunch so far.
 |
|
I was reading something this morning in the free daily newspaper that lands on my doorstep each morning about Off Track Betting, that oft-maligned sad lump of an institution that I’d love to have as a front for a super-secret VIP restaurant in the back.
For those of you unfamiliar, the OTB is a generally rundown establishment with a green sign, linoleum, sad fake wood paneling, and fluorescent lighting. Folks in the OTB tend to have the look of folks in the second or third-tier casinos playing the slot machines. They are down on their luck and just hoping that if Santa’s Little Helper can eke out a victory … “99 to 1!”
So I read in this article that our club dues — our taxes — are highly involved in the operations of an OTB. It breaks down like this:
Okay, the problems that I have with this are pouring out of my ear-balls. I have to wonder:
I just feel a little annoyed about this. First principles and all. What may have been a good idea with the limited information we had in 1902 (or whenever) is likely not as good an idea now, what with our increased volume of information –> knowledge –> understanding –> wisdom.
If anyone knows any more about the intricacies of this OTB crum dum, I’d love to learn more.
ARGH
(ANP v OTB!)
I’m watching 60 Minutes and this realtor in Stockton, California made an interesting conjecture:
I’m nervous about the economy.
 |
|
