In the belief/hope that narrative can formalize and clarify and insodoing clear the remnants:
The other night, Wizard and I were walking through the streets of San Francisco. It'd been a nice night; we'd seen some amazing dance and talked with amazing people. We were floating, hand in hand, and gazing at the clothing displays. I think we were surprised when a man interposed himself between us. "No respect from wheelchair," was all I could understand of his verbal communication. His body language, however, was clear: I was not going to pass.
I made several tries -- talking to him all the while. Wizard made several mild interjections. My impression and recollections are of him stuttering in shock. Deadlock. No one moved. In retrospect, it was kind of like a dance -- everyone with their arms out and no one going anywhere -- but the tension was high. He had his face next to mine; Wizard had his arm between us. Finally, the man wanted to grasp my hair; he reached; Wizard roared -- surprised the crap out of me and the man, too. We both looked at him, both taken aback. I used the opportunity to pull backwards away from him. He used the opportunity to move to my side.
Wizard told him to leave in a tone of voice that quite clearly registered firm, soft menace. He touched my hair and turned to walk away. The situation was over, Wizard and I thought -- and then, in disgust, he kicked my chair.
What was this about? Who freaking knows? Disability? My disability? Respect on the street? A black woman with a white man? Having and not having? I have no clue. I wonder if it would have been different if I had been alone. Could I have talked him down by being friendly? Would he have seen Wizard as a threat? Did Wizard escalate what would have been a not terribly unusual SF street encounter?
Was I really dependent on Wizard's strength and power as a man? Or did his masculinity make things worse? There's something weirdly funny about trying to see Wizard as some kind of "manly, bwaarrrgh, flex his muscles" man -- yeah, I know that's not what masculinity is about.... But honestly, he's a computer geek -- not the most obvious type to depend on in situations of strength and dominance. Even more funny? I have more experience fighting in these kinds of situations than Wizard: I grew up exploring how to land a punch -- this was the experience of my school days. I don't think he's has ever been in a real "fight." I also took karate as a kid -- one of the few things my mother did to help me be safe at school.
I did feel scared. The vibration of that kick and the feel of his hand did not fade immediately. I don't usually feel vulnerable and I don't think that he meant us any harm. He just wanted respect. In the worst case scenario, we could have taken him, and there were other people around. If we had yelled and screamed, I hope they would have come to our aid. And yet: I am not sure of what to do with this encounter. Over to you.
Wizard writes: WCD and I were walking down the street, talking and looking with interest at the surroundings (mainly empty commercial space); we were moving briskly to get to our room, and to sleep, as soon as possible. As WCD was tired, I alternated between pulling her hand and, when the slope of the sidewalk became too steep for comfort, pushing her. We had, without slowing down, deftly maneuvered around two or three isolated disheveled people walking slowly. I was proud of our precision movement partnership. And then we came upon another disheveled guy, coming towards us.
When we were 20 feet and a few seconds away, he moved from side-to-side so that we couldn't avoid him. As we slowed we were able to turn sharply, but he jumped in front of WCD so we had to stop. (One limitation of a chair is that it can only move along the axis it is pointed, and it takes time and energy to change the axis. In contrast, a legging person can jump 2 feet instantly in any direction.) He was verbally aggressive and way, way too close. He complained of a lack of respect. We gave our apologies, directly to his face, and asked him to excuse us on our way, but he came closer. He was uncomfortably interested in how beautiful WCD was.
I was appropriately scared, not too much to act effectively but enough to be instantly completely focused, so let's hear it for the adrenal system! The guy seemed to want to relate to WCD directly, ignoring me, so I made it clear up front that WCD and I were in this together. Respectfully but firmly, and somewhat louder each time, I kept asking to pass and squeezed between the man and WCD. But when he made to touch WCD against her wishes, things were going in the wrong direction and I addressed him directly and vigorously. He was surprised, he moved slightly away, and we went past. He kicked the back of WCD's chair as we left, and then he retreated quickly. WCD paused in anger, sighed, and seemed to want to engage the guy about that, but I pulled her onward towards the hotel.
My experience of this was quite different from WCD's. As WCD and I discussed at the hotel, I moved between her and the guy multiple times, screening her off for escape, and she didn't go. She said she didn't want to leave me alone with the guy. How could it be okay for that guy -- too dangerous to leave me with -- to touch her in such a vulnerable place as her hair? I may not fight well, but I can run faster than an out of shape guy 15 years older with bad shoes. WCD, when you have the opportunity to get away, take it -- first to defuse a situation if you are the focus of it, and second so I can run if necessary. You're fooling yourself if you think we had other options than acquiescence, verbal resistance, or running away. Don't acquiesce to things that make you more vulnerable. Don't argue with unreasonable people or try to persuade them. Respect but resist firmly. And leave before you lose the option.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
More On Performance and Physically Integrated Dance
A blind friend pointed out that dance is not just a movement art. It is a visual art. The audience mostly watches. I always think of dance as a movement art and of physically integrated dance as a particularly successful inclusive form of same. I've written a couple of posts about it here and here. Particularly key, though, are these ideas:
How, then, to produce audio description that differentiates a dance piece from a work of visual or plastic art? I remember an ASL interpretation of a dance piece. Usually, ASL interpreters were placed out of sight of the dancers, way off in a corner of the stage, almost behind the curtain. In this location -- I've forgotten where -- the interpreter placed himself at the front of the stage; he was lit. His interpretation was both, as I understand it, a "good one," and it was a dance. Somehow or other, the interpretation became an integral part of the piece and not just an addition. I would look up and see him looking at me; we'd breathe and then go on. It was AWESOME. How to provide an audio description that is also part of the dance -- for both dancers and members of the audience?
In the comments to an earlier post, Diane reminds me not to overthink reception: performance is a gift. I agree. But I also worry about what happens when I am entrapped by the gift that I have given. It is one thing to give a gift and relinquish all control over it. That's what performance is about. But it is another to give a gift and to be imprisoned by how an audience member understands it. We are so vulnerable when we perform. Not just because of the physical risks we take, but because our presence and commitment to the movement are stripping. Revealing. We yield ourselves to the possibility of scorn, mockery, boredom, excitement, happiness, exhilaration, etc. And we have no control. We can only move. Communicate.
And hope beyond hope that what we have to say is seen as more than the old, familiar, ugly stories of disability.
That's why I insist on seeing physically integrated dance as more than a mix of dancers and "non-dancers," disabled and non-disableds. As an art form, physically integrated dance takes trained dancers -- disabled and non -- and launches them on a collaboration of bodies. (This is in response to Anon's comment on my post on Merce and Wheelchairs.) It's the mutuality between disabled and non and the potential for an accepting, kinesthetic effect on the audience that together define physically integrated dance.
Physically integrated dance does not necessarily encourage non-dancers to join in more than, say, (post) modern/contemporary dance in recent years, so I want to be wary of using the term "physically integrated dance" in this context. Granted, placing disabled and non-disabled movers in the same performance space provides a certain degree of integration, that doesn't necessarily make it physically integrated dance. As a professional art form, physically integrated dance uses trained non-disabled dancers AND trained disabled dancers. The freedom for non-trained dancers, disabled or non, to move together with or without trained dancers is not necessarily equivalent to physically integrated dance.
PID is about the ways a dancer moves in his or her body and also about what I see as the positive effect it can have on the audience. It seems kind of cheap to say that I am looking for an integratedness as the effect of PID, but that is what stands out to me.I am deeply focused on that sense of integration. I think, particularly to a non-disabled person, that the movement of a disabled body and the mutuality of the dance for nondisableds and disabled together raise questions about embodiment that are so deep, so fundamental that even though you know you couldn't possibly do "any of that" you gain a new understanding of how we humans exist and the potential for connection.
Too often, I think, you go to a dance performance and see bodies on the extreme doing extreme things. They can be very beautiful and very effective, but the usual dancer body tends to be if not alienating at least in a different world. You can marvel at it, enjoy it, be moved by it, but not necessarily own it in your own body. If you are not a dancer, you know that you could *never* do that.
I think the effects of the representations of the body we see in PID are very different. The movement that, for me, defines the genre communicates a certain awareness and acceptance of the body. I think it communicates a deep engagement with embodiment. By which I mean, an understanding of the reality of the body -- something I think that disabled dancers can really bring to the field. I also mean an engagement with the idea that we know, perceive, and learn through our bodies.
Not sure whether that's clear. For me, a successful PID performance has me admiring the aesthetics, yes. It has me appreciating the social value of dancing PWDs, yes. But it also brings about within me a deep sense of recognition of the power and potential of the body. It's an embracing of the body -- any body -- the fleshly body as a beautiful thing in itself. A thing that can change the world, a thing to be admired; the thing that unites us, a central part of our humanity. PID is different from other dance forms in that the diversity of bodies on stage inherently enables everyone involved in the process of producing a performance (and, yes, that includes audience members -- no performance without you!) to engage in a deep knowing, acceptance, and embracing of all bodies.
How, then, to produce audio description that differentiates a dance piece from a work of visual or plastic art? I remember an ASL interpretation of a dance piece. Usually, ASL interpreters were placed out of sight of the dancers, way off in a corner of the stage, almost behind the curtain. In this location -- I've forgotten where -- the interpreter placed himself at the front of the stage; he was lit. His interpretation was both, as I understand it, a "good one," and it was a dance. Somehow or other, the interpretation became an integral part of the piece and not just an addition. I would look up and see him looking at me; we'd breathe and then go on. It was AWESOME. How to provide an audio description that is also part of the dance -- for both dancers and members of the audience?
In the comments to an earlier post, Diane reminds me not to overthink reception: performance is a gift. I agree. But I also worry about what happens when I am entrapped by the gift that I have given. It is one thing to give a gift and relinquish all control over it. That's what performance is about. But it is another to give a gift and to be imprisoned by how an audience member understands it. We are so vulnerable when we perform. Not just because of the physical risks we take, but because our presence and commitment to the movement are stripping. Revealing. We yield ourselves to the possibility of scorn, mockery, boredom, excitement, happiness, exhilaration, etc. And we have no control. We can only move. Communicate.
And hope beyond hope that what we have to say is seen as more than the old, familiar, ugly stories of disability.
That's why I insist on seeing physically integrated dance as more than a mix of dancers and "non-dancers," disabled and non-disableds. As an art form, physically integrated dance takes trained dancers -- disabled and non -- and launches them on a collaboration of bodies. (This is in response to Anon's comment on my post on Merce and Wheelchairs.) It's the mutuality between disabled and non and the potential for an accepting, kinesthetic effect on the audience that together define physically integrated dance.
Physically integrated dance does not necessarily encourage non-dancers to join in more than, say, (post) modern/contemporary dance in recent years, so I want to be wary of using the term "physically integrated dance" in this context. Granted, placing disabled and non-disabled movers in the same performance space provides a certain degree of integration, that doesn't necessarily make it physically integrated dance. As a professional art form, physically integrated dance uses trained non-disabled dancers AND trained disabled dancers. The freedom for non-trained dancers, disabled or non, to move together with or without trained dancers is not necessarily equivalent to physically integrated dance.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Elephants
We're back at the central questions: when you have disabled person on stage is the dance about disability, the person as a person, the relationship between disableds and nons, what do you do about that wheelchair?
Some things I find problematic.
These are all meant to be positive comments, really. I get that. But all the same.
Wizard remarks that it might be like trying not to think of elephants. Try it. There. You thought of one, right? Sooo, what would that mean for a dance? Well, you might end up with a work like GIMP The GIMPsters make this an explicit part of their work: performers speak directly to the audience about their perceptions and stereotypes. This work is a confrontation, an exploration, and a seduction on the topic.
But what if you don't want to do that? How much are you forced into examining that question? How much does your audience bring so that regardless of your intention, the audience still thinks its a work about disability? What would it mean to take hold of an audience in such a way that they could see a wheelchair qua wheelchair, recognize it as part of my body, and still think of the two of us as disabled?
Some things I find problematic.
- You know? When you're dancing, I didn't even see your wheelchair? I don't even see you as disabled. (What'cha lookin' at, dude? This here's metal!)
- It was so nice to see the chairs doing stuff, leading. (My chair does nothing without me. Do let me know what you saw!)
- Dance is so healing! (Not necessarily. There's a bunch of dance injuries on this body, I can tell you -- get over your over emo-self).
- It was almost as if you weren't in a chair! (Well, damn.)
These are all meant to be positive comments, really. I get that. But all the same.
Wizard remarks that it might be like trying not to think of elephants. Try it. There. You thought of one, right? Sooo, what would that mean for a dance? Well, you might end up with a work like GIMP The GIMPsters make this an explicit part of their work: performers speak directly to the audience about their perceptions and stereotypes. This work is a confrontation, an exploration, and a seduction on the topic.
But what if you don't want to do that? How much are you forced into examining that question? How much does your audience bring so that regardless of your intention, the audience still thinks its a work about disability? What would it mean to take hold of an audience in such a way that they could see a wheelchair qua wheelchair, recognize it as part of my body, and still think of the two of us as disabled?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Personal Objects.
The other day, someone asked me about the personal objects that I keep with me. You know the kind? The tokens, photos, souvenirs, toys, pieces of junk, things that are meaningful to you -- the things that remind you of who you are, perhaps even make you who you are.
I don't really have anything of that kind.
When I moved to the US, I had two suitcases. They were filled with the clothes, books, and papers I thought I would need for grad school. I was leaving my old life behind; I consciously and deliberately took nothing except a teddy bear that was a gift of the person I was then dating (grr) and a small figurine of a person reading on the toilet (??!). My secret extras were my ballgowns and cocktail dresses. I thought that somehow American grad school would have social occasions for which I would need clothes. I worked at a hotel (rooms and front desk) and at a car sales shop to survive college; I used that money to save like nothing on earth for those dresses; they enabled me to fit in at college. I thought that my US education would also have a lot of formal social interactions.
Beyond that? The rest I joyously left behind. I have repeatedly asked my parents to throw away anything and everything of mine that might still be in their garages. I hope they have done so. I want nothing from my childhood. Oh. Hang on. I do feel really sad that my soft toys will *die* if they throw them away; I'm glad they've kept them; they are alive enough, even if I don't play with them anymore. I don't want them to go.... I cease to exist in family photos beyond a certain age -- I'm not sure why -- so I don't want them. I don't want reminders of my school years; my friends and I didn't give each other presents that had long lives, if you see what I mean. And mostly school was miserable. I have the memories; who needs keepsake reminders? The only things that I have that mattered to me were those books -- a sign of my passport out of one world and into another.
Strangely, I really didn't acquire much personal stuff in graduate school. Yes, there are photos -- they are in storage. All the money I had went on books, photocopies, a computer or two, and the basics of housing. I sent money back to pay off my loan/overdraft and some to various other commitments. I do have some things that I value highly from that time in my life, but they are not things that I carry with me in a daily way. They are important symbols of events or moments, but not daily resonances that I revisit or need to see any more. They are there; I know they exist, but I do not literally or figuratively carry them with me.
Earlier, my reason for not having "things" was poverty. But as I have become more settled, I have discovered that I have a different kind of relationship with stuff. Poverty is now less and less a reason and more and more an excuse. I am learning to see that money was not the thing that stopped me from having stuff. I am the reason. I am doing some rethinking.
I have learned that, perhaps like everyone else, I have a mixed up relationship to things.
I grew up without many things, but I lusted for things. I wanted nice clothes, nice expensive toys, CD's, a CD player, records, a bike. I wanted top of the line nice things. But we couldn't afford nice things and while some of the things we had (like musical instruments) were very nice nice things, they came with the added cost of guilt and blame. As in, "I sacrificed ..... for you and this thing" (parental voice) and the subsequent "I'm not worth this thing" (me). It got worse: I was always losing, always breaking my things. I soon *knew* I wasn't worth the thing. I certainly did not deserve it.
So, I never acquired things for myself. And I firmly encouraged people to give me only things I could use. This last part was always offered under the guise of poverty, luxury, and treat. I would ask people to give me the treat experience, the luxury of a small lotion I would never buy for myself, something I could not afford .... You get the picture. So, there are no souvenirs, mementos .... (Oddly, Wizard had, at first, no attraction to this kind of thing, too; he made it easy for me to hide behind my bank balance).
I am changing. I notice now that I am keeping things. Small things. When I look in my chest of drawers, there are reminders from performances -- a good luck token. I have two such things in my makeup bag; I keep photos on my phone instead of in storage, and I look at them. I am more omfortable with people giving me things that I don't strictly need. I have nice things. I like my things and enjoy them. For the most part, I am enjoying the personality of my clothes and shoes. But they are my things -- I don't attach emotional value to them, but they are things.
I don't attach personal value to things or derive personal meaning from them because I know that I lose things. I break things. Nothing lasts forever with me. Not even impersonal things like phones, computers, shoes, jewellery... I can't keep things. So, I don't allow them to be my personal things. I'm getting better at that.
Right now, I am carrying in my everyday dance bag a necklace. It's not mine in the strictest sense. It is nothing I would ever wear or buy -- for myself or for anyone else. It's not my style. At all. A stranger gave it to me. In one of those odd disability interactions. A stranger took her necklace off her body and gave it to me. It looked fantastic on her; she made it a piece. Without her, it's kind of empty. But I keep it. I keep it. Because it is a reminder to me of the power of interaction with strangers. Of what strangers can be motivated to do. Of the twists and weird impulses that can intertwine in a well-intentioned gift.
It is a reminder of the open and raw generosity of people. She gave me a deeply personal gift. A person to whom and with whom I have no connection except this necklace. I keep it in my bag. Every day.
I don't really have anything of that kind.
When I moved to the US, I had two suitcases. They were filled with the clothes, books, and papers I thought I would need for grad school. I was leaving my old life behind; I consciously and deliberately took nothing except a teddy bear that was a gift of the person I was then dating (grr) and a small figurine of a person reading on the toilet (??!). My secret extras were my ballgowns and cocktail dresses. I thought that somehow American grad school would have social occasions for which I would need clothes. I worked at a hotel (rooms and front desk) and at a car sales shop to survive college; I used that money to save like nothing on earth for those dresses; they enabled me to fit in at college. I thought that my US education would also have a lot of formal social interactions.
Beyond that? The rest I joyously left behind. I have repeatedly asked my parents to throw away anything and everything of mine that might still be in their garages. I hope they have done so. I want nothing from my childhood. Oh. Hang on. I do feel really sad that my soft toys will *die* if they throw them away; I'm glad they've kept them; they are alive enough, even if I don't play with them anymore. I don't want them to go.... I cease to exist in family photos beyond a certain age -- I'm not sure why -- so I don't want them. I don't want reminders of my school years; my friends and I didn't give each other presents that had long lives, if you see what I mean. And mostly school was miserable. I have the memories; who needs keepsake reminders? The only things that I have that mattered to me were those books -- a sign of my passport out of one world and into another.
Strangely, I really didn't acquire much personal stuff in graduate school. Yes, there are photos -- they are in storage. All the money I had went on books, photocopies, a computer or two, and the basics of housing. I sent money back to pay off my loan/overdraft and some to various other commitments. I do have some things that I value highly from that time in my life, but they are not things that I carry with me in a daily way. They are important symbols of events or moments, but not daily resonances that I revisit or need to see any more. They are there; I know they exist, but I do not literally or figuratively carry them with me.
Earlier, my reason for not having "things" was poverty. But as I have become more settled, I have discovered that I have a different kind of relationship with stuff. Poverty is now less and less a reason and more and more an excuse. I am learning to see that money was not the thing that stopped me from having stuff. I am the reason. I am doing some rethinking.
I have learned that, perhaps like everyone else, I have a mixed up relationship to things.
I grew up without many things, but I lusted for things. I wanted nice clothes, nice expensive toys, CD's, a CD player, records, a bike. I wanted top of the line nice things. But we couldn't afford nice things and while some of the things we had (like musical instruments) were very nice nice things, they came with the added cost of guilt and blame. As in, "I sacrificed ..... for you and this thing" (parental voice) and the subsequent "I'm not worth this thing" (me). It got worse: I was always losing, always breaking my things. I soon *knew* I wasn't worth the thing. I certainly did not deserve it.
So, I never acquired things for myself. And I firmly encouraged people to give me only things I could use. This last part was always offered under the guise of poverty, luxury, and treat. I would ask people to give me the treat experience, the luxury of a small lotion I would never buy for myself, something I could not afford .... You get the picture. So, there are no souvenirs, mementos .... (Oddly, Wizard had, at first, no attraction to this kind of thing, too; he made it easy for me to hide behind my bank balance).
I am changing. I notice now that I am keeping things. Small things. When I look in my chest of drawers, there are reminders from performances -- a good luck token. I have two such things in my makeup bag; I keep photos on my phone instead of in storage, and I look at them. I am more omfortable with people giving me things that I don't strictly need. I have nice things. I like my things and enjoy them. For the most part, I am enjoying the personality of my clothes and shoes. But they are my things -- I don't attach emotional value to them, but they are things.
I don't attach personal value to things or derive personal meaning from them because I know that I lose things. I break things. Nothing lasts forever with me. Not even impersonal things like phones, computers, shoes, jewellery... I can't keep things. So, I don't allow them to be my personal things. I'm getting better at that.
Right now, I am carrying in my everyday dance bag a necklace. It's not mine in the strictest sense. It is nothing I would ever wear or buy -- for myself or for anyone else. It's not my style. At all. A stranger gave it to me. In one of those odd disability interactions. A stranger took her necklace off her body and gave it to me. It looked fantastic on her; she made it a piece. Without her, it's kind of empty. But I keep it. I keep it. Because it is a reminder to me of the power of interaction with strangers. Of what strangers can be motivated to do. Of the twists and weird impulses that can intertwine in a well-intentioned gift.
It is a reminder of the open and raw generosity of people. She gave me a deeply personal gift. A person to whom and with whom I have no connection except this necklace. I keep it in my bag. Every day.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Tweeting Homelessness
For a while now, I have been aware of a new kind of homelessness in my town. There are more people on more intersections, with more signs. I know the new people are "new" to being homeless because they don't yet look worn down; their clothes are still relatively fresh and their skin is not yet weatherbeaten. I can see the remains of a "good" haircut here and there; some dentistry looks good. These people's eyes and actions are more actively desperate than the "routine" desperation I see in those who have been homeless longer.
The new people stand in competition with the "old" homeless. Old favourite spots are occupied by the new homeless. The "best" spots now reveal more than one person. I'm alert to the tension between people as I wait at the light -- it's a struggle to see whose sign is most prominently displayed, to see who gets to the best-looking cars first. In response, the city has beefed up its "loitering" laws. Law enforcement moves people on more rapidly (though where they are supposed to go, I have no idea). A popular local store writes in the paper about the measures they have taken to make their sidewalk unappealing for the homeless.
I've never been aware of it before, but now it seems that homelessness has its own class divides. It's all in the narrative of "how." Or perhaps that is "why." I'm not sure which, but I do know that the signs everyone holds have become more communicative and I am reading in this new world of "tweets" -- because you can't fit much on a cardboard box sign -- a desire to differentiate. No one is like "those homeless," whoever they may be; everyone here has a clear story to tell. A reason that their homelessness is "worthy."
disabled, disabled vet, disabled Vietnam vet. Iraq vet. disabled. will work. home sold. will work. family to feed. god bless. house foreclosed. out of work. vet. don't drink. no drugs.
It's a kind of parallel universe. People tweet to create community, to reach out beyond themselves, to tell 140 character narratives of their lives. It's a way to connect (without having to be too personal, admittedly). These cardboard "tweets" seek to separate people from each other, to promote one above the other, to ensure that one gets food and shelter, but not the other. The obvious connections to the disability social model stand out. When people are dependent on charity and not on humanizing decent structures, we don't treat each other well; neither side benefits.
The irony strikes me most strongly because this is Silicon Valley. Technology is developed here, and social networking is just one of many such buzz words. Everything is about connections, networks, friends. Social media rule. When we designate people as "homeless," I tend to think that we think only of the physicality of the house. These cardboard signs remind me that homelessness is as much about connection and access to resources -- friends and former friends -- as it is about the material shelter.
Twitter (marketing/user) experts talk about how to leverage twitter, how to get something from that stream of 140 characters. They also talk (though much less because no one has actually figured this one out yet) about why people tweet. My 140? Because narrative shapes relationships. Networks are as important (perhaps more) as content. I see in these signs both a desire to separate, distinguish, and differentiate each individual from the next -- a reverse tweet if you will, because these are signs that disconnect. At the same time, however, the stories that each sign reveals is fundamentally a wish to bring the author out of one state of disconnection back into the networked (and wireless) world.
If we are to solve homelessness, we must both provide shelter and access back to the culture that ejects its citizens when they fall on hard times.
The new people stand in competition with the "old" homeless. Old favourite spots are occupied by the new homeless. The "best" spots now reveal more than one person. I'm alert to the tension between people as I wait at the light -- it's a struggle to see whose sign is most prominently displayed, to see who gets to the best-looking cars first. In response, the city has beefed up its "loitering" laws. Law enforcement moves people on more rapidly (though where they are supposed to go, I have no idea). A popular local store writes in the paper about the measures they have taken to make their sidewalk unappealing for the homeless.
I've never been aware of it before, but now it seems that homelessness has its own class divides. It's all in the narrative of "how." Or perhaps that is "why." I'm not sure which, but I do know that the signs everyone holds have become more communicative and I am reading in this new world of "tweets" -- because you can't fit much on a cardboard box sign -- a desire to differentiate. No one is like "those homeless," whoever they may be; everyone here has a clear story to tell. A reason that their homelessness is "worthy."
disabled, disabled vet, disabled Vietnam vet. Iraq vet. disabled. will work. home sold. will work. family to feed. god bless. house foreclosed. out of work. vet. don't drink. no drugs.
It's a kind of parallel universe. People tweet to create community, to reach out beyond themselves, to tell 140 character narratives of their lives. It's a way to connect (without having to be too personal, admittedly). These cardboard "tweets" seek to separate people from each other, to promote one above the other, to ensure that one gets food and shelter, but not the other. The obvious connections to the disability social model stand out. When people are dependent on charity and not on humanizing decent structures, we don't treat each other well; neither side benefits.
The irony strikes me most strongly because this is Silicon Valley. Technology is developed here, and social networking is just one of many such buzz words. Everything is about connections, networks, friends. Social media rule. When we designate people as "homeless," I tend to think that we think only of the physicality of the house. These cardboard signs remind me that homelessness is as much about connection and access to resources -- friends and former friends -- as it is about the material shelter.
Twitter (marketing/user) experts talk about how to leverage twitter, how to get something from that stream of 140 characters. They also talk (though much less because no one has actually figured this one out yet) about why people tweet. My 140? Because narrative shapes relationships. Networks are as important (perhaps more) as content. I see in these signs both a desire to separate, distinguish, and differentiate each individual from the next -- a reverse tweet if you will, because these are signs that disconnect. At the same time, however, the stories that each sign reveals is fundamentally a wish to bring the author out of one state of disconnection back into the networked (and wireless) world.
If we are to solve homelessness, we must both provide shelter and access back to the culture that ejects its citizens when they fall on hard times.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Urban Shed: Lose the Sidewalk, dude
From today's NYT:
If you've ever tried using a powerchair or scooter in NYC or if you don't feel comfortable flying off kerbs into oncoming traffic, you'll know that access to the city's pavements is, well, lacking. Wizard and I both remember being trapped in Soho shortly after his accident. I was good with the whole kerb thing, but he had a bunch of broken bones jiggling around inside him. Every bounce was a bad idea. We pushed through the holiday shoppers -- no cut. We pushed the next block -- no cut. We went back the way we came -- block, block, block --finally. A cut. Then, we had to try and head back in the right direction. He was exhausted. We were panicked. It was like being trapped in a maze with no clear way out.
Retrospectively, I can see we had options; I just couldn't see them at the time. But options or not, we were unable to find an easy way to the next store. We gave up and went home. If you are a city wheelie regular, you will have your funky routes set out for you. They probably mean you go a little bit out of your way to get to certain places -- that you have a "preferred" side of the street (where preferred means accessible). You know how it works for you. You've made it work for you because you know that using the road isn't exactly an option, either. That's how you die. And not just in NYC. Day after day, my inbox is filled with a google news alert that specifies, inter alia, how many chair users are hit by a car. So, yes, the irony is deeply felt.
But suppose that the city somehow is genuinely interested in this question. Suppose that they suddenly had enough money to redo sidewalks. What if they really wanted to remake the notion of a side walk from the top down?
Well, for starters, I'd remove "sidewalk" as the designating term. The "side" is functional, yes, but these things aren't "side" at all. They are as much at the center of city-residents and goers experience as the road. They are the throughway that move us around the city: nothing side about that at all and nothing necessarily walk, either. I am not terribly excited about the British solution "pavement" -- either. So, help me dream a little for the sidewalk.
It should be a space that has room for places for people to sit, eat, interact. Those places can be attached to restaurants or they can be as informal as public transit shelters and/or random places to rest. The new sidewalks should be spaces that move people around the city, but they should also facilitate interaction with the buildings and people who make up the city. They are as much transitionary spaces -- somewhere between the road and your apartment, somewhere to dump your bike -- as places of nature.
The sidewalk should be a space where access needs and drainage needs do not collide (don't ask me how). It should be kind to butts, feet, paws, wheels, and whatever else touches it. Low resistance, but not slippy. The whole city could be regraded... Damn. You could have multilevel paths at different heights? A fast zone? Bikers, boarders, runners? Wheelers? At any rate, it should be light and bring light (without glare and blinkiness). It might move, but it wouldn't have to ...
thinks for a second --
Hell, remove the roads for large chunks of the city, create moving sideways, increase public transit, make sidewalks large, fluid (but not fluid-filled -- city fluids are only gross) spaces -- so you can buy, eat, work, roam, wander, smell the roses, drink the coffee. Yes, you should be able to go fast as New Yorkers do, to vend (street vendors in NYC are important), to loiter (sorry, law enforcement peeps, if all loitering means to you is homelessness). You should be able to put your head down and walk to work or engage in the sport of urban wheeling.
This site from the Federal Highway Administration discusses some of the technicalities of sidewalks -- I notice how often their diagrams feature a disabled person. Pity the reality isn't as good as the picture. But none of the technicalities address a key part of the sidewalk: art.
Yes, art and the sidewalk. It is kind of obvious to say that all of life involves some degree of performance, but, there, I've just said it. The sidewalk should facilitate art. What if there were spaces on the sidewalk for art -- public art in addition to chalking and spray paint. What if the sidewalk bulged into performance spaces? You could extend the dance of walking into larger dances.
Probably none of this will happen, but you never know. What would you like to see in a NYC sidewalk?
So in an attempt to drag the sidewalk shed into the 21st century, the city’s Department of Buildings, together with the New York chapter of the American Institute of Architects and other groups, is holding a worldwide design contest called UrbanShed, which is calling for innovative reinterpretation of a classic piece of New York’s streetscape. (In other cities, the sidewalk shed, also known as a sidewalk bridge, is called a “New York-style shed.”)A chance to redesign the sidewalk. OMFG. A bitter irony. The city that has yet to fulfill the terms of the judgment against it (a suit brought in 2002 (by the Eastern Paralyzed Veterans Association -- now connected somehow to United Spinal?) promised to install pedestrian ramps throughout the city. The schedule was supposed to run through 2010, but the city won't be done -- not by a long shot) now announces a redesign the sidewalk competition. Oh, the irony.
If you've ever tried using a powerchair or scooter in NYC or if you don't feel comfortable flying off kerbs into oncoming traffic, you'll know that access to the city's pavements is, well, lacking. Wizard and I both remember being trapped in Soho shortly after his accident. I was good with the whole kerb thing, but he had a bunch of broken bones jiggling around inside him. Every bounce was a bad idea. We pushed through the holiday shoppers -- no cut. We pushed the next block -- no cut. We went back the way we came -- block, block, block --finally. A cut. Then, we had to try and head back in the right direction. He was exhausted. We were panicked. It was like being trapped in a maze with no clear way out.
Retrospectively, I can see we had options; I just couldn't see them at the time. But options or not, we were unable to find an easy way to the next store. We gave up and went home. If you are a city wheelie regular, you will have your funky routes set out for you. They probably mean you go a little bit out of your way to get to certain places -- that you have a "preferred" side of the street (where preferred means accessible). You know how it works for you. You've made it work for you because you know that using the road isn't exactly an option, either. That's how you die. And not just in NYC. Day after day, my inbox is filled with a google news alert that specifies, inter alia, how many chair users are hit by a car. So, yes, the irony is deeply felt.
But suppose that the city somehow is genuinely interested in this question. Suppose that they suddenly had enough money to redo sidewalks. What if they really wanted to remake the notion of a side walk from the top down?
Well, for starters, I'd remove "sidewalk" as the designating term. The "side" is functional, yes, but these things aren't "side" at all. They are as much at the center of city-residents and goers experience as the road. They are the throughway that move us around the city: nothing side about that at all and nothing necessarily walk, either. I am not terribly excited about the British solution "pavement" -- either. So, help me dream a little for the sidewalk.
It should be a space that has room for places for people to sit, eat, interact. Those places can be attached to restaurants or they can be as informal as public transit shelters and/or random places to rest. The new sidewalks should be spaces that move people around the city, but they should also facilitate interaction with the buildings and people who make up the city. They are as much transitionary spaces -- somewhere between the road and your apartment, somewhere to dump your bike -- as places of nature.
The sidewalk should be a space where access needs and drainage needs do not collide (don't ask me how). It should be kind to butts, feet, paws, wheels, and whatever else touches it. Low resistance, but not slippy. The whole city could be regraded... Damn. You could have multilevel paths at different heights? A fast zone? Bikers, boarders, runners? Wheelers? At any rate, it should be light and bring light (without glare and blinkiness). It might move, but it wouldn't have to ...
thinks for a second --
Hell, remove the roads for large chunks of the city, create moving sideways, increase public transit, make sidewalks large, fluid (but not fluid-filled -- city fluids are only gross) spaces -- so you can buy, eat, work, roam, wander, smell the roses, drink the coffee. Yes, you should be able to go fast as New Yorkers do, to vend (street vendors in NYC are important), to loiter (sorry, law enforcement peeps, if all loitering means to you is homelessness). You should be able to put your head down and walk to work or engage in the sport of urban wheeling.
This site from the Federal Highway Administration discusses some of the technicalities of sidewalks -- I notice how often their diagrams feature a disabled person. Pity the reality isn't as good as the picture. But none of the technicalities address a key part of the sidewalk: art.
Yes, art and the sidewalk. It is kind of obvious to say that all of life involves some degree of performance, but, there, I've just said it. The sidewalk should facilitate art. What if there were spaces on the sidewalk for art -- public art in addition to chalking and spray paint. What if the sidewalk bulged into performance spaces? You could extend the dance of walking into larger dances.
Probably none of this will happen, but you never know. What would you like to see in a NYC sidewalk?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Sensate: Bodies and Design
Currently at SFMOMA (you can be sure I will be going as soon as I get back) is an exhibition entitled Sensate: Bodies and Design. This is the blurb:
Loose connections to the body are cool. Visceral ties? That would rock my world.
Mutant bodies, fictional bodies, animate architecture: these are among the provocations offered by Sensate, an exhibition that reflects recent debates about what bodies are and how they are met and mirrored by design. Works from the SFMOMA collection are joined by two large-scale installations fabricated especially for the exhibition. Andrew Kudless's cast plaster P_Wall covers a 45-foot-long gallery wall, its bulbous, creased texture replacing the smooth surface with a decidedly different kind of skin. Alex Schweder's A Sac of Rooms All Day Long is a massive, inflatable sculpture that begins as a heap of clear vinyl and, over the course of a day, slowly rises to assume the shape of two houses, one inside the belly of the other. The installations, alongside other works by artists, architects, and designers, replace traditional references to the body with approaches that admit greater complexity, nuance, and uncertainty.Fine. Intriguing. I wonder what exactly it will be like. I wonder, for example, when they talk about the body in relation to design whether any of that conversation included the notion of access. Not just wheelchair access to the space, but, for example, the way blind and visually impaired people might access the exhibits. Was there a conscious effort to include disabled bodies as part of the inspirational force/artistic impulse for the work or was disability merely a post factum access issue? Will we be able to touch the wall that dominates the advertising imagery? Which senses were included? Why?
Loose connections to the body are cool. Visceral ties? That would rock my world.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Activism: Because Life Isn't All Cherries
I received the below in an email this morning. You can bet I will be signing.
WCD
Urgently,
ADAPT of Montana
American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD)
Disabilities Network of NYC
Little People of America
MetroWest Center for Independent Living
National Coalition of MH Consumer/Survivor Organizations
National Association of the Deaf
National Council on Independent Living
Not Dead Yet
The Autistic Self Advocacy Network
The Center for Self-Determination
Topeka Independent Living Resource Center
WCD
Please read this sign-on letter and consider signing on if you agree with it. If you would like to add your signature to this letter to Gerald Marzorati, Editor of NY Times Magazine send your name and email to jfa@aapd.com by 12 noon EST Monday August 10, 2009.
I apologize for the short notice and the insufficient formatting, but please check out the original at:
From the JFA Moderator:
The following letter was composed by Not Dead Yet in collaboration with the JFA Action Network with the first signers listed below. We are seeking additional signers. If you would like to add your signature to this letter to Gerald Marzorati, Editor of NY Times Magazine send your name and email to jfa@aapd.com by 12 noon EST Monday August 10, 2009.
In response to Singer rationing:
Dear Mr. Marzorati:
Was it the New York Times Magazine’s intention to assault or diminish the basic tenets of the disability community's civil rights law virtually on the eve of its 19th anniversary? The New York Times Magazine’s decision to publish Peter Singer's latest long essay entitled 'Why We Must Ration Health Care' (7/15/09) less than two weeks before the anniversary of the signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act demonstrates either deliberate malice or reckless disregard of the reality of disability as an important demographic representative of nearly 20% of the American population.
As anyone who has read ‘Why We Must Ration Health Care’ knows, Singer spoke “hypothetically” of assigning a life with quadriplegia as roughly half that of a life without any disability at all. On this “hypothetical” basis, Singer lays out a case for denying health care to people with significant disabilities on the basis that our lives have less value than the lives of nondisabled people.
This is Peter Singer’s most direct assault on the value of the lives of people with physical disabilities past the age of infancy that we have read. His policy proposals allowing for the killing of newborns with disabilities and people with significant cognitive disabilities are already well known.
While this is a bolder assault than we have seen from Professor Singer in the past, it’s hardly surprising. What’s surprising and deeply disturbing is that the NY Times editorial staff have sought him out as a writer on more than one occasion.
To be fair, the NY Times Magazine has published some excellent articles in the past that have covered the disability experience as more than a mere medical issue. The late Harriet McBryde Johnson had several thoughtful articles published in the NY Times Magazine describing the historical oppression directed at people with disabilities, contrasted with the wonderful opportunities that unfold if that oppression is lifted. When Harriet died, many of us were taken aback when the NY Times Magazine editors passed over Harriet’s friends and colleagues to write an end-of-year tribute in the year she died. That honor was bestowed on Professor Singer. Perhaps we should have taken that as a sign of things to come.
Reluctantly, we have to suspect that the NY Times Magazine accepted this piece because of its content, agreeing with Singer that our lives have lessened value and that we represent a drain on the collective economic and health care resources of our country. It’s hard to imagine the NY Times Magazine green-lighting an article that targeted any other group in such a way – e.g. immigrants, the poor, or other groups who have been targeted as scapegoats in the health care debates. Did the editor in charge of publishing this issue even notice that Singer used no factual information at all to support his devaluation of people with disabilities?
We have to wonder what went through the heads of the editorial staff when they thought about the reactions of readers – with or without disabilities – to the large graphic that read “__ YEARS OF A NONDISABLED LIFE IS WORTH __ YEARS OF A DISABLED LIFE.”
Contrast this with Senator Edward Kennedy’s essay on the fight for universal healthcare in the current issue of Newsweek. Talking about people with disabilities he said, in part:
The following letter was composed by Not Dead Yet in collaboration with the JFA Action Network with the first signers listed below. We are seeking additional signers. If you would like to add your signature to this letter to Gerald Marzorati, Editor of NY Times Magazine send your name and email to jfa@aapd.com by 12 noon EST Monday August 10, 2009.
In response to Singer rationing:
Dear Mr. Marzorati:
Was it the New York Times Magazine’s intention to assault or diminish the basic tenets of the disability community's civil rights law virtually on the eve of its 19th anniversary? The New York Times Magazine’s decision to publish Peter Singer's latest long essay entitled 'Why We Must Ration Health Care' (7/15/09) less than two weeks before the anniversary of the signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act demonstrates either deliberate malice or reckless disregard of the reality of disability as an important demographic representative of nearly 20% of the American population.
As anyone who has read ‘Why We Must Ration Health Care’ knows, Singer spoke “hypothetically” of assigning a life with quadriplegia as roughly half that of a life without any disability at all. On this “hypothetical” basis, Singer lays out a case for denying health care to people with significant disabilities on the basis that our lives have less value than the lives of nondisabled people.
This is Peter Singer’s most direct assault on the value of the lives of people with physical disabilities past the age of infancy that we have read. His policy proposals allowing for the killing of newborns with disabilities and people with significant cognitive disabilities are already well known.
While this is a bolder assault than we have seen from Professor Singer in the past, it’s hardly surprising. What’s surprising and deeply disturbing is that the NY Times editorial staff have sought him out as a writer on more than one occasion.
To be fair, the NY Times Magazine has published some excellent articles in the past that have covered the disability experience as more than a mere medical issue. The late Harriet McBryde Johnson had several thoughtful articles published in the NY Times Magazine describing the historical oppression directed at people with disabilities, contrasted with the wonderful opportunities that unfold if that oppression is lifted. When Harriet died, many of us were taken aback when the NY Times Magazine editors passed over Harriet’s friends and colleagues to write an end-of-year tribute in the year she died. That honor was bestowed on Professor Singer. Perhaps we should have taken that as a sign of things to come.
Reluctantly, we have to suspect that the NY Times Magazine accepted this piece because of its content, agreeing with Singer that our lives have lessened value and that we represent a drain on the collective economic and health care resources of our country. It’s hard to imagine the NY Times Magazine green-lighting an article that targeted any other group in such a way – e.g. immigrants, the poor, or other groups who have been targeted as scapegoats in the health care debates. Did the editor in charge of publishing this issue even notice that Singer used no factual information at all to support his devaluation of people with disabilities?
We have to wonder what went through the heads of the editorial staff when they thought about the reactions of readers – with or without disabilities – to the large graphic that read “__ YEARS OF A NONDISABLED LIFE IS WORTH __ YEARS OF A DISABLED LIFE.”
Contrast this with Senator Edward Kennedy’s essay on the fight for universal healthcare in the current issue of Newsweek. Talking about people with disabilities he said, in part:
Social justice is often the best economics. We can help disabled Americans who want to live in their homes instead of a nursing home. Simple things can make all the difference, like having the money to install handrails or have someone stop by and help every day.
Obviously, the definitions of justice that Senator Kennedy uses are very different from the definitions favored by Peter Singer and the NY Times Magazine.
Without using the term, Senator Kennedy is also describing the social model of disability. In the traditional medical model of disability, the “problems” of disability are all situated within the person. The medical model defines people with disabilities as having a lower “quality of life” than their nondisabled peers. In reality, most of the limitations put on people with disabilities are socially defined – and can be remediated in the same way. The Americans with Disabilities Act is built on the principles of that social model, acknowledging that disability is a natural part of life and that society has to reflect that reality in an inclusive and supportive way.
The proposed treatment – or nontreatment – of people with disabilities also violates the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, which was signed by US Ambassador to the United Nations, Susan Rice. She signed the Convention on July 30th at the direction of President Obama. While the Singer essay violates the spirit and vision of the Convention in numerous ways, the most pertinent section of the document is spelled out in Article 25 (f), in which obligates signatories to “prevent discriminatory denial of health care or health services or food and fluids on the basis of disability.” This is important. Article 4(d) states that countries that have signed the Convention agree to “refrain from engaging in any act or practice that is inconsistent with the present Convention.”
The American disability community, Senator Kennedy and an ever-growing majority of the international community all recognize that public policy has to embrace the inherent equality of the lives of people with disabilities – and public policy must reflect that in practice. The NY Times Magazine and Professor Singer stand opposed to the more progressive voices of social justice, inside and outside of the United States.
We, the undersigned, protest this treatment of people with disabilities within one of the most important public policy debates in our time. The New York Times Magazine has failed in its public responsibility to treat citizens of the United States with the simple respect we deserve by serving up people with disabilities as a drain on public resources and to legitimize the denial of medical care to those of us who need that support the most.
The editorial staff of the New York Times Magazine needs to meet with representatives of disability advocacy groups, with the following goals:
Without using the term, Senator Kennedy is also describing the social model of disability. In the traditional medical model of disability, the “problems” of disability are all situated within the person. The medical model defines people with disabilities as having a lower “quality of life” than their nondisabled peers. In reality, most of the limitations put on people with disabilities are socially defined – and can be remediated in the same way. The Americans with Disabilities Act is built on the principles of that social model, acknowledging that disability is a natural part of life and that society has to reflect that reality in an inclusive and supportive way.
The proposed treatment – or nontreatment – of people with disabilities also violates the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, which was signed by US Ambassador to the United Nations, Susan Rice. She signed the Convention on July 30th at the direction of President Obama. While the Singer essay violates the spirit and vision of the Convention in numerous ways, the most pertinent section of the document is spelled out in Article 25 (f), in which obligates signatories to “prevent discriminatory denial of health care or health services or food and fluids on the basis of disability.” This is important. Article 4(d) states that countries that have signed the Convention agree to “refrain from engaging in any act or practice that is inconsistent with the present Convention.”
The American disability community, Senator Kennedy and an ever-growing majority of the international community all recognize that public policy has to embrace the inherent equality of the lives of people with disabilities – and public policy must reflect that in practice. The NY Times Magazine and Professor Singer stand opposed to the more progressive voices of social justice, inside and outside of the United States.
We, the undersigned, protest this treatment of people with disabilities within one of the most important public policy debates in our time. The New York Times Magazine has failed in its public responsibility to treat citizens of the United States with the simple respect we deserve by serving up people with disabilities as a drain on public resources and to legitimize the denial of medical care to those of us who need that support the most.
The editorial staff of the New York Times Magazine needs to meet with representatives of disability advocacy groups, with the following goals:
- The NY Times staff needs to define and clarify its understanding of disability as a basic human rights issue.
- If the current stance of the NY Times is that the lives of people with disabilities are, in fact, a drain on health care sources, it should be stated on record.
- Discuss training in the basics of covering disability in news stories – beyond the “human interest” and “medical” angles.
- Cover the difference between “analysis” and “appealing to bigotry” in public policy discussions.
Urgently,
ADAPT of Montana
American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD)
Disabilities Network of NYC
Little People of America
MetroWest Center for Independent Living
National Coalition of MH Consumer/Survivor Organizations
National Association of the Deaf
National Council on Independent Living
Not Dead Yet
The Autistic Self Advocacy Network
The Center for Self-Determination
Topeka Independent Living Resource Center
Stephen Drake
Research Analyst
Not Dead Yet
497 State St
Rochester, NY 14608-1642
585-697-1640
http://www.notdeadyet.org
Research Analyst
Not Dead Yet
497 State St
Rochester, NY 14608-1642
585-697-1640
http://www.notdeadyet.org
Vacation
Well, it's been 4 years since our last vacation. I know, right? You'd think because we are always zipping here and there that we would vacate regularly. But we don't. Our last trip was (OMG) to Costa Rica and, now, here we are in Kauai. (Yeah, life sux.)
The downturn in the economy has meant that many of the rental places are empty. Wizard negotiated a helluva a last minute price -- literally, we left on Saturday and he was still phoning around on Friday night (CA time -- still afternoon here). We've ended up with a one-level house on the beachfront. It's what I call accidentally accessible. The bad is 2 steps down from the car park and steps to the beach. The beach front is mainly rock, so I couldn't go on it anyway. And there's a lot of lawn between here and the pool (with, again, a couple of steps). There are no grab bars -- anywhere. BUT it is a one level house with a built in shower bench, a hand held shower, wooden floors, plenty of space, a low bed, counter cutouts in both the kitchen and bathroom (plenty of room for those knees). I'll be *just* fine.
Post includes an image of me, snapped with my computer; I'm blogging instead of doing my shoulder exercises. My back is to the sea. The distance between me and the water is one of height, more than actual distance ... I'm literally a stone's throw away.
We've not really planned our activities; we've heard tell of beach wheelchairs (just anywhere you could want) and access built in ziplines, etc. We'll see. I plan to be in the water a lot; we'll also be driving around seeing what we can see, perhaps taking a boat? We might also be doing some separate activities... Wizard wants to go hiking, and he's not a great water fan. For the moment, though, some thoughts. We slept with the patio doors open; the sea fought with the roosters for the "kept people awake" prize. Smile. It's just gorgeous here.
Missions for the day? COFFEE, food, and shoes. Some mean evil person took Wizard's shoes from the unlocked part of our case. Come on -- there aren't many of you out there with his size feet. When I find you, I will do awful things to you. In the meantime .... coffee.
The downturn in the economy has meant that many of the rental places are empty. Wizard negotiated a helluva a last minute price -- literally, we left on Saturday and he was still phoning around on Friday night (CA time -- still afternoon here). We've ended up with a one-level house on the beachfront. It's what I call accidentally accessible. The bad is 2 steps down from the car park and steps to the beach. The beach front is mainly rock, so I couldn't go on it anyway. And there's a lot of lawn between here and the pool (with, again, a couple of steps). There are no grab bars -- anywhere. BUT it is a one level house with a built in shower bench, a hand held shower, wooden floors, plenty of space, a low bed, counter cutouts in both the kitchen and bathroom (plenty of room for those knees). I'll be *just* fine.
Post includes an image of me, snapped with my computer; I'm blogging instead of doing my shoulder exercises. My back is to the sea. The distance between me and the water is one of height, more than actual distance ... I'm literally a stone's throw away.We've not really planned our activities; we've heard tell of beach wheelchairs (just anywhere you could want) and access built in ziplines, etc. We'll see. I plan to be in the water a lot; we'll also be driving around seeing what we can see, perhaps taking a boat? We might also be doing some separate activities... Wizard wants to go hiking, and he's not a great water fan. For the moment, though, some thoughts. We slept with the patio doors open; the sea fought with the roosters for the "kept people awake" prize. Smile. It's just gorgeous here.
Missions for the day? COFFEE, food, and shoes. Some mean evil person took Wizard's shoes from the unlocked part of our case. Come on -- there aren't many of you out there with his size feet. When I find you, I will do awful things to you. In the meantime .... coffee.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Street Trash: NSFW and Possibly Offensive
My friend and I are tooling the streets of Oakland -- looking for food. But sometimes, the city gives more than you can ever conceive. As we ride the kerb cut and turn together (there's something so satisfying about two wheelers on the street: the noise of the chairs and the visual of our strokes pleases me), I see on the ground a pamphlet. It's entitled: Mythology of Pussy: Exploring the sexual behavior of the black male and female -- capitalization as on the book. The cover image is a photocopy of a woman's hips; she's wearing a studded pair of metal panties. The rivets run around her waist and around each leg. There's a chain that padlocks her mons: she's wearing a chastity belt. I can't read the writing or image on the padlock. The writer, Marvin X, requests a $5 donation.
He won't be getting one from me. Pussy is an appalling diatribe that is so offensive that I can barely write about it. I certainly can't quote most of it. But the idea is that pussy is somehow separate from women and that pussy (independent of its woman) has had a bad effect on African American men (and their women). Men may do stupid things but pussy is at the heart of all wrongdoing. I have gone backwards and forwards on this point -- to write or not write? To sully my blog and give space, time, and, possibly credence to this crap or to speak back, to register protest and relieve my feelings (albeit in public)?
Take these illogical pieces of bullshit:
"Perhaps a well disciplined army could have withstood the barrage from the oppressor America, but brothers went mad with power, misusing pussy while the government used pussy to destroy the movement [the black power/civil rights movement] by using pussy power to cause chaos in the movement (3)."
"The gay/lesbian revolution caught the fallout from the failure of the pussy culture, the deconstruction of the patriarchy that could not remain in the process of the modern technological revolution that forced the woman out of the house as chattel salve -- and once she saw the city, she would never return to the country (4)."
"Pussy ruled the world until along came Crack. Crack diminished the respect and value of pussy forever. After Crack, pussy will never be the same. Its value became so low on the stock market, one could hardly find it, for it dropped worse than in the Great Depression and in this Second Depression pussy is fighting for its life, especially with young brothers thinking they can pimp pussy because the dope game has played out. But these days pussy can take your life, with one drop a man can die from the myriad STD"s not to mention AIDS (14)."
"We support a woman's right to control her pussy and the fruit thereof. At the same time, we condemn men who deposit their semen in the pussy of a murderer ... (15)."
What, you might justly ask, is this crap doing on my blog? Not why you usually read me? No. And not what I usually write about either.
It seemed important to write back. To underscore as a dancer that I will not be heading to a certain location in Oakland on Friday to dance these and other similar words. It seemed important to stress that HIV transmission in the black community is FAR more complicated. 2005 CDC stats, for example:
Finally, it seemed important to register the fact that while black men and black masculinities are always under attack -- the Gates mess with Obama involved -- pseudo-scientific, hate-filled, illogical diatribe passed off as radical research will not help us build the common ground necessary for a civil and just society.
At the restaurant, my friend and I became aware of a dreadful smell: someone had dropped this particular pamphlet in a puddle of street piss. It seemed appropriate.
He won't be getting one from me. Pussy is an appalling diatribe that is so offensive that I can barely write about it. I certainly can't quote most of it. But the idea is that pussy is somehow separate from women and that pussy (independent of its woman) has had a bad effect on African American men (and their women). Men may do stupid things but pussy is at the heart of all wrongdoing. I have gone backwards and forwards on this point -- to write or not write? To sully my blog and give space, time, and, possibly credence to this crap or to speak back, to register protest and relieve my feelings (albeit in public)?
Take these illogical pieces of bullshit:
"Perhaps a well disciplined army could have withstood the barrage from the oppressor America, but brothers went mad with power, misusing pussy while the government used pussy to destroy the movement [the black power/civil rights movement] by using pussy power to cause chaos in the movement (3)."
"The gay/lesbian revolution caught the fallout from the failure of the pussy culture, the deconstruction of the patriarchy that could not remain in the process of the modern technological revolution that forced the woman out of the house as chattel salve -- and once she saw the city, she would never return to the country (4)."
"Pussy ruled the world until along came Crack. Crack diminished the respect and value of pussy forever. After Crack, pussy will never be the same. Its value became so low on the stock market, one could hardly find it, for it dropped worse than in the Great Depression and in this Second Depression pussy is fighting for its life, especially with young brothers thinking they can pimp pussy because the dope game has played out. But these days pussy can take your life, with one drop a man can die from the myriad STD"s not to mention AIDS (14)."
"We support a woman's right to control her pussy and the fruit thereof. At the same time, we condemn men who deposit their semen in the pussy of a murderer ... (15)."
What, you might justly ask, is this crap doing on my blog? Not why you usually read me? No. And not what I usually write about either.
It seemed important to write back. To underscore as a dancer that I will not be heading to a certain location in Oakland on Friday to dance these and other similar words. It seemed important to stress that HIV transmission in the black community is FAR more complicated. 2005 CDC stats, for example:
- Of all black men living with HIV/AIDS, the primary transmission category was sexual contact with other men, followed by injection drug use and high-risk heterosexual contact....
- Of all black women living with HIV/AIDS, the primary transmission category was high-risk heterosexual contact, followed by injection drug use....
Finally, it seemed important to register the fact that while black men and black masculinities are always under attack -- the Gates mess with Obama involved -- pseudo-scientific, hate-filled, illogical diatribe passed off as radical research will not help us build the common ground necessary for a civil and just society.
At the restaurant, my friend and I became aware of a dreadful smell: someone had dropped this particular pamphlet in a puddle of street piss. It seemed appropriate.
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