Crowds of people in the background and also some of the rigging for the lights.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Samba
Crowds of people in the background and also some of the rigging for the lights.
Rio Journal: New Year's Eve Edition
Here's what we think we understand.
On New Year's Eve, there's a massive party with hours of live music and about 2 million people all dressed in white on the beach. At said party, disabled folk, for whatever reason -- from safety to being able to see to ....-- are given some separate space next to the VIP folk right in front of the stage. The irony of this seems unbelievable, given some of what we've learned about the general social status of crips in Brazil, but we're off to give it a go. We will be packing water, beer, fruit and headphones to ward off the noise. Our hotel windows have been vibrating all day; I can't imagine what it will be like up close.
The beach is already crowded; about 20 ships, cruise to cargo to yacht, have pulled in close to the shore. Everyone wants to be part of this. It's raining now, but with luck that will pass and the praia will be free to party. The sound checks (2 day's worth) are over. The tv screens are up; the peeps are gathering.
In other news, we've been working our way around Rio, but have to report in detail on yesterday's events.
So, three wheelchair users (French, Brazilian, and Brit/UK) and friends show up at the tram to the huge Christ the Redeemer statue. ...
Well, no national stereotype jokes here, but you can see there's going to be a problem. The little trams and their staff aren't accustomed to dealing with more than one disabled person at a time. We all get tickets, but somehow I end up on the train 90 minutes before I am supposed to be. This pisses the French guy off, but it does give me and Wizard the chance to talk to the Brazilian women. We discover that they know no English -- we resort to napkins and scraps of paper and much guessing. But they are fun (and they seem to think we are, too!) We make the ascent on the tram, slide down the ramp, ride the elevator and are helped up the escalators and there we are!
We're right underneath the statue of Christ the Redeemer. I keep in mind the complexity of the statue's history with regard to the Portuguese colonialists and their faith, but I still find myself moved by the hugeness of it and the weird gentleness of the statue's face. Equally as interesting to me as a dancer are the things people do in relation to the statue. We soon discovered that most of the tourists wanted to have pictures of themselves with their arms outstretched in the Christ position. But nary a tourist could accurately replicate the position. The statue's arms look, at first sight, as if they were pieces of wood stretched at 90 degrees to a standing body. But they are not; they curve a little and that curve creates warmth in the arms. Given the arms, the statue's hands could most easily be palms upward, but they are flat. Interesting.
People made "v" shapes, "w" shapes, "t" shapes, "y" shapes and unrecognizable shapes in their dances with the statue, but no one got it completely right. Pictures of my own attempts annoyingly show either my palms turned upwards or not enough curve. In one, my arms are right, but my fingers are spread. Dang.
Post includes a picture of me arms stretched out, head back looking up at the massive statue. I am checking my arm position -- they are too straight. I'm wearing a blue dress; the statue is in grey soapstone on a black marble base.
As we went around taking our pictures and admiring the view, we connected with the Brazilian women and took some joint pictures. When the French guy showed up from the later train, he pushed aggressively away from us every time he saw us. And then. And then, all hell broke loose. All three of us wheelchair users had waited until the bitter end. We all wanted to take the same train down. We had a problem; the staff had a problem; the other people waiting for the train had a problem. No one had the same problem. I was last to arrive; French guy made the point by jostling in front of me at every chance he got.
We all importuned the staff in our various languages for a seat on the train. Wizard and I agreed with the Brazilians that we could all go together. I asked French dude if he would get on board with insisting we all go together; he corrected my preposition. (Way to go with the dis, dude.) It was war. Or at least it was until the staff tried to take us down the hill to the train. We all wanted to go by ourselves. But no. We all protested vociferously at being taken down backwards. But no. We all wanted to get on the train ourselves. Certainly not. Once on board, we broke our chairs down and built a pile of chairs and wheels. French dude wanted to make sure that our chairs weren't damaging his, but he had decided to sit so far away from us that he couldn't see. But at last we were onboard, the remaining people applauded; it had been quite a show!
Disembarking was the same set of protestations. French dude ran away into a taxi. The rest of us decided to take a bus -- free in Brazil for disabled person and accompanying person, provided they have the appropriate identity card. The Wizard and I had had positive experiences with the bus the first time around, so we were pretty excited about this trip.
We missed the first bus -- did he see us coming? When we saw the second bus, my chair-using friend and I pushed laughingly away from the stop. We knew the bus game, despite our language barriers and despite the fact we both lived worlds apart; Wizard and her friend hailed the bus. YAY!! Until he started to drive away; he wasn't sure we wanted to get on, we think -- they leapt into the air and banged on the sides.
Brazilian buses have space and tiedowns for 1 chair user and a chair for the accompanying person. This driver was not going to have anything to do with us. My friend belted herself in; I folded up the chair and hoped the bus ride wasn't going to be too wild.
May the New Year bring you peace and happiness. Thanks for reading.
On New Year's Eve, there's a massive party with hours of live music and about 2 million people all dressed in white on the beach. At said party, disabled folk, for whatever reason -- from safety to being able to see to ....-- are given some separate space next to the VIP folk right in front of the stage. The irony of this seems unbelievable, given some of what we've learned about the general social status of crips in Brazil, but we're off to give it a go. We will be packing water, beer, fruit and headphones to ward off the noise. Our hotel windows have been vibrating all day; I can't imagine what it will be like up close.
The beach is already crowded; about 20 ships, cruise to cargo to yacht, have pulled in close to the shore. Everyone wants to be part of this. It's raining now, but with luck that will pass and the praia will be free to party. The sound checks (2 day's worth) are over. The tv screens are up; the peeps are gathering.
In other news, we've been working our way around Rio, but have to report in detail on yesterday's events.
So, three wheelchair users (French, Brazilian, and Brit/UK) and friends show up at the tram to the huge Christ the Redeemer statue. ...
Well, no national stereotype jokes here, but you can see there's going to be a problem. The little trams and their staff aren't accustomed to dealing with more than one disabled person at a time. We all get tickets, but somehow I end up on the train 90 minutes before I am supposed to be. This pisses the French guy off, but it does give me and Wizard the chance to talk to the Brazilian women. We discover that they know no English -- we resort to napkins and scraps of paper and much guessing. But they are fun (and they seem to think we are, too!) We make the ascent on the tram, slide down the ramp, ride the elevator and are helped up the escalators and there we are!
We're right underneath the statue of Christ the Redeemer. I keep in mind the complexity of the statue's history with regard to the Portuguese colonialists and their faith, but I still find myself moved by the hugeness of it and the weird gentleness of the statue's face. Equally as interesting to me as a dancer are the things people do in relation to the statue. We soon discovered that most of the tourists wanted to have pictures of themselves with their arms outstretched in the Christ position. But nary a tourist could accurately replicate the position. The statue's arms look, at first sight, as if they were pieces of wood stretched at 90 degrees to a standing body. But they are not; they curve a little and that curve creates warmth in the arms. Given the arms, the statue's hands could most easily be palms upward, but they are flat. Interesting.
Post includes a picture of me arms stretched out, head back looking up at the massive statue. I am checking my arm position -- they are too straight. I'm wearing a blue dress; the statue is in grey soapstone on a black marble base.
As we went around taking our pictures and admiring the view, we connected with the Brazilian women and took some joint pictures. When the French guy showed up from the later train, he pushed aggressively away from us every time he saw us. And then. And then, all hell broke loose. All three of us wheelchair users had waited until the bitter end. We all wanted to take the same train down. We had a problem; the staff had a problem; the other people waiting for the train had a problem. No one had the same problem. I was last to arrive; French guy made the point by jostling in front of me at every chance he got.
We all importuned the staff in our various languages for a seat on the train. Wizard and I agreed with the Brazilians that we could all go together. I asked French dude if he would get on board with insisting we all go together; he corrected my preposition. (Way to go with the dis, dude.) It was war. Or at least it was until the staff tried to take us down the hill to the train. We all wanted to go by ourselves. But no. We all protested vociferously at being taken down backwards. But no. We all wanted to get on the train ourselves. Certainly not. Once on board, we broke our chairs down and built a pile of chairs and wheels. French dude wanted to make sure that our chairs weren't damaging his, but he had decided to sit so far away from us that he couldn't see. But at last we were onboard, the remaining people applauded; it had been quite a show!
Disembarking was the same set of protestations. French dude ran away into a taxi. The rest of us decided to take a bus -- free in Brazil for disabled person and accompanying person, provided they have the appropriate identity card. The Wizard and I had had positive experiences with the bus the first time around, so we were pretty excited about this trip.
We missed the first bus -- did he see us coming? When we saw the second bus, my chair-using friend and I pushed laughingly away from the stop. We knew the bus game, despite our language barriers and despite the fact we both lived worlds apart; Wizard and her friend hailed the bus. YAY!! Until he started to drive away; he wasn't sure we wanted to get on, we think -- they leapt into the air and banged on the sides.
Brazilian buses have space and tiedowns for 1 chair user and a chair for the accompanying person. This driver was not going to have anything to do with us. My friend belted herself in; I folded up the chair and hoped the bus ride wasn't going to be too wild.
May the New Year bring you peace and happiness. Thanks for reading.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
End of Year Blogger Draft Clear Out
My blogger dashboard has drafts of posts that I haven't yet completed. I have either not wanted to complete them or have not been able to finish them. At any rate, I am probably not going to finish them now. They have languished in the drafts section; I look at them every so often and I feel bad, but apparently not enough to get back to them.
The last time I did this, it was September 2009. I'd like to think of it as an annual thing, though. So, the end of 2010 edition. Just some fragmentary thoughts from unfinished posts. They are unedited and raw, but here they are anyway!
Dancing Life
So, what's it really like being a dancer? Is my life anything like that of the dancers in Black Swan? Well, no. And yes.
My daily routine is a hard one. We have anything between 4 hours of rehearsal 4 times a week and 6 hours of rehearsal 5 days a week. And sometimes, there is less work. In between all of that, there are performances in schools and at other venues. Outreach work can be at conference, a library, a corporate meeting room. I've been doing less of that recently, so it's not fully on my schedule.
Appropriate Bodies for Dance?
From the NYT -- this after the fuss about Natalie Portman being too thin.
Tara Parker-Pope from the Times' Health section gets in on the conversation: "More important, I’m troubled by the suggestion that an emaciated dancer is somehow more pleasing to watch. To my eye, Ms. Ringer, who has talked openly about struggling with disordered eating, looks like the ideal ballerina — an athletic, graceful woman who dances with strength."
Ms. Parker Pope's piece also includes a link to the video and some transcription of Jennifer Ringer's response.
I note the following (from Ms. Parker-Pope's transcription of Ms. Ringer's response): "We have every body type you can imagine. We have tall, we have petite, we have athletic, we have womanly, we have waif-like. We have every body type out there." No disability. Granted, disability is not a body type, but ...
On My Own Opening Night
Next Year
Who knows what I will write and what will get left behind.
Post concludes with one of my favourite early blog pictures. Edited in sepia, I lean over the side of the chair to listen to the wheels, arms spread in an embrace. The background is a soft sepia semi-circle that embraces me as I embrace my chair.
The last time I did this, it was September 2009. I'd like to think of it as an annual thing, though. So, the end of 2010 edition. Just some fragmentary thoughts from unfinished posts. They are unedited and raw, but here they are anyway!
Dancing Life
So, what's it really like being a dancer? Is my life anything like that of the dancers in Black Swan? Well, no. And yes.
My daily routine is a hard one. We have anything between 4 hours of rehearsal 4 times a week and 6 hours of rehearsal 5 days a week. And sometimes, there is less work. In between all of that, there are performances in schools and at other venues. Outreach work can be at conference, a library, a corporate meeting room. I've been doing less of that recently, so it's not fully on my schedule.
Appropriate Bodies for Dance?
From the NYT -- this after the fuss about Natalie Portman being too thin.
This didn’t feel, however, like an opening night. Jenifer Ringer, as the Sugar Plum Fairy, looked as if she’d eaten one sugar plum too many; and Jared Angle, as the Cavalier, seems to have been sampling half the Sweet realm. They’re among the few City Ballet principals who dance like adults, but without adult depth or complexity. Ashley Bouder (Dewdrop) has the brilliance they lack, but also a greater and more tough-grained hardness. Even Teresa Reichlen (as Coffee), often one of the company’s freshest and most multidimensional dancers, performed with a glassiness I don’t recall. And Ms. Otranto’s conducting lacked the moment-by-moment rapport with her dancers that turns a safe performance into a tingling one.The internet and the dance world are justly aflame. Even Jezebel has the story. Alexandra Beller known for speaking out on issues of weight and dance responds on HuffPo.
As for whether or not a dancer's body can factor into an opinion of a piece of art, it absolutely can. Every part of a production is fair game. HOWEVER: I believe it is your moral duty as a critic to question your cultural, social and psychological baggage and not allow predjudice, hate, fear and judgement to color your published comments. If you have questioned yourself sharply and deeply and you find that a dancer's body truly took away from the artistry of the work, I think you can write thoughtfully and wisely about it.Macaulay responds, justifying himself: It's OK; it's what dancers expect. And, besides, I have physical deformity issues, too. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.
As someone whose body has been written about for years, I have rarely seen it done. "Quite cellu-lite on her feet" was in my first review of my first performance with Bill T Jones. Clever. Not sure it was extremely valuable to a critique of his work, though, and didn't make my first month in the company any easier.
Dancers do not ask to be considered victims. When I’ve praised Ms. Ringer, I’ve applied the standards I’ve applied to Suzanne Farrell, Natalia Makarova and Kyra Nichols.Catch the use of "victim" language here!
My own history makes me intimately aware of what it is like to have a physique considerably less ideal than any of those I have mentioned. Acute asthma in childhood gave me a chest deformity that often made me miserable into my adolescence. (It was ameliorated by major thoracic surgery at age 20.) On my doctor’s advice, I lost 20 pounds last year.
Tara Parker-Pope from the Times' Health section gets in on the conversation: "More important, I’m troubled by the suggestion that an emaciated dancer is somehow more pleasing to watch. To my eye, Ms. Ringer, who has talked openly about struggling with disordered eating, looks like the ideal ballerina — an athletic, graceful woman who dances with strength."
Ms. Parker Pope's piece also includes a link to the video and some transcription of Jennifer Ringer's response.
I note the following (from Ms. Parker-Pope's transcription of Ms. Ringer's response): "We have every body type you can imagine. We have tall, we have petite, we have athletic, we have womanly, we have waif-like. We have every body type out there." No disability. Granted, disability is not a body type, but ...
On My Own Opening Night
The show opens tonight. Yesterday, I was so scared that I thought I would be writing today about fear.
Thunder Clouds
I woke up this morning and for the first time in a long time, the clouds were dark grey. They are occasionally a light, overcast, "don't worry, we are going to burn off soon" grey, but the clouds this morning are a dark, menacing/promising grey.
Over lunch with a friend, the subject of travelling while disabled (more accurately, I suppose, mobility impaired) came up. My friend observed that people are so vulnerable when we travel. We don't know quite what will happen when we get to wherever we are going, whether our stuff will arrive, how we will manage when we get there.... The smallest things matter: where am I going to get good coffee? Will the bed work? We both sort of remarked on how that vulnerability was legible in travellers' bodies and faces and, in particular, in the faces and bodies of those who find themselves in airport wheelchairs. This got me going and I promised to write about this.
When I cruise through airports, some of the most miserable looking people I see are not the stressed families or harried business travellers; they are the people stuffed into airport wheelchairs. I've remarked on and off on the state of airport wheelchairs. They are, for the most part, pieces of crap. And that's fine. Because no one actually sits in them for more than a couple of minutes. They are efficient for the pusher (I think) and uncomfortable for the user, but effective at getting people to their destinations.
Expectations and Envy
The expectations we have of ourselves and of our bodies define us -- and not just because we have a particular diagnosis or not. You expect to be able to do what your body can do on a daily basis.
So much good work is happening. So much progress. So much change. And yet, sometimes the smallest things are what strike: kerb cuts.
From the NYT: Amputees, meanwhile, regularly pay out-of-pocket to remove healthy tissue to make room for more powerful technology (and, in the case of double leg amputees, maybe gain a few inches of height in the bargain). “People will get a second amputation — move their amputation up their leg — to get the prosthetic equivalent of a hotter car,” says a prosthetic company representative.
Seriously? I mean surgery for a hotter car?
Identity Thieving
No, as far as I know, I haven't been hacked nor had my identity stolen in the now common use of it. And long may it stay that way. I do wonder though why we use "identity theft" the phrase to describe fraudulent use of our data. In the short term, the phrase presupposes that we are our data; at least, if I have access to your data, I can perpetrate acts that lead others to operate under the assumption that I am you. And for all intents and purposes, I am you. Except that I am not.
For as long as we (mainstream US culture) continues to reflexively think, act, and plan as though inclusiveness means racial and ethnic diversity, we will not succeed in building a better world. Inclusiveness does not just happen on a vertical axis of majority white culture to minority race culture or minority LGBTQ culture. It must happen horizontally as well.
Individual experiences may some day become a groundswell strong enough to change the world; systemic justice may get there first, however.
Identity Creating
Once the "Oh-shit" moment has passed, what then? How do you -- how do people -- deal with diagnosis, chronic illness, and disability? KQED, my local CA NPR station, has this program they call "Health Dialogues." It being holiday season, suffused with tidings of comfort and joy, they decide to program a show of inspiring stories. Of hope, courage, and bravery: "Join us this December as Health Dialogues shares stories of how health - and sickness - have affected people's lives and humbled them, bringing joy, sorrow and sometimes even inspiration."
Even Private Practice (yes, I know, ... but there's an actual wheelchair user) had a good take on this question. In a personal crisis, the Naomi character demands of the wheelchair user how he came to terms with the worst day of his life, the day he heard the news about his legs, how did he go on? The wheelchair user comes back with a question about why she would make such assumptions about his disability.
Wizard and I listened to the show carefully. The virtual absence of the "disability" word was striking, but by most other standards, the quality of the show was pretty high. It offered some race and class perspectives, and it showcased stories from different perspectives -- a career woman, a caregiver, family history, a community, a family life.
Next Year
Post concludes with one of my favourite early blog pictures. Edited in sepia, I lean over the side of the chair to listen to the wheels, arms spread in an embrace. The background is a soft sepia semi-circle that embraces me as I embrace my chair.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Rio Journal: Omnibus Edition
Impressions so far? We don't want to come home. We always do this, of course -- we get to a new place and wonder what it would be like to live here, even as we realize that vacationing and living aren't anything like the same thing. So, we both recognize these as musings, but what musings they are. Right now, we are sitting on the little patio of our hotel room with the ocean in full view. Below us is a live bossanova trio playing standards and rearranged holiday music. It's warm, but there's a breeze straight off the sea.
We've walked up and down the beach walk every night; it's beautiful and romantic. And we've had a lot of fun watching the beach change as they prepare for the Christmas Day Show of a major singer (we'd never heard of him, but are looking forward to hearing him sing) and the New Year's Eve party. We walked around the lake today (approximately 7km) and took a pedal boat out to the Christmas tree.
Post here includes a picture of the Christmas tree which, we think we understand, is 80m tall, sponsored by a local bank, is a tradition since 1996, and which gets more extravagant every year. The tree sits in the middle of the city's lake; the lights change to a number of designs -- here the stars are shown.
That's about the most touristy thing we've done, though, with the exception of a tour of two outer neighborhoods and the downtown area. Mostly, we've slept around 10 hours a day, walked up and down the beaches, explored our neighborhood and Ipanema. We shopped (a little); Wizard and I both felt that if a beach expedition were to be made, it should be made in Brazilian style swimwear.
We've acquired some fragmentary Portuguese. We know a lot of disability related words, including help, no help, ability to transfer, wheelchair user, and disabled. (Oh yes. Found our first fully accessible bathroom today). We're also getting better at ordering food and coffee. More and more often, we are getting back what we think we ordered. And we're getting better at ordering more complicated things -- water, no bubbles, no ice was a triumph. We were very proud of ourselves for guessing that our wait person was asking about a box for the food, too. Every day, we read the signs, look words up and practice saying them to ourselves. Portuguese lessons are a priority when we get home. We might not ever move here, but we are definitely coming back. And we are coming back prepared.
Feliz Natal e Boas Festas
We've walked up and down the beach walk every night; it's beautiful and romantic. And we've had a lot of fun watching the beach change as they prepare for the Christmas Day Show of a major singer (we'd never heard of him, but are looking forward to hearing him sing) and the New Year's Eve party. We walked around the lake today (approximately 7km) and took a pedal boat out to the Christmas tree.
That's about the most touristy thing we've done, though, with the exception of a tour of two outer neighborhoods and the downtown area. Mostly, we've slept around 10 hours a day, walked up and down the beaches, explored our neighborhood and Ipanema. We shopped (a little); Wizard and I both felt that if a beach expedition were to be made, it should be made in Brazilian style swimwear.
I was really happy to be able to connect with one of the dancers of the local physically integrated dance company in Rio. Yeah! Dance everywhere you go. Sadly, this is break time, so I won't get to watch them rehearse, but perhaps next time. Pulsar Companhia de Danca does integrated and non-integrated work; they are on facebook and youtube (here, for starters) and, if you think your Portuguese is up to it, you can read an interview with their director here.
We've acquired some fragmentary Portuguese. We know a lot of disability related words, including help, no help, ability to transfer, wheelchair user, and disabled. (Oh yes. Found our first fully accessible bathroom today). We're also getting better at ordering food and coffee. More and more often, we are getting back what we think we ordered. And we're getting better at ordering more complicated things -- water, no bubbles, no ice was a triumph. We were very proud of ourselves for guessing that our wait person was asking about a box for the food, too. Every day, we read the signs, look words up and practice saying them to ourselves. Portuguese lessons are a priority when we get home. We might not ever move here, but we are definitely coming back. And we are coming back prepared.
Feliz Natal e Boas Festas
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Check ME Out!
Not in that way, peeps. Although if you absolutely must. Smile. This comes to me via a variety of folks, and I have enjoyed it so much that I thought I would add it to my blog. It's a neat, neat idea: How To Borrow A Person From The Library, by Liz Colville at the Hairpin. The Toronto public library has this idea, taken from the library in Copenhagen -- that people are just as cool as books and that you could just check out a person from the library.
Now, me? If I were a book, what kind of book would I be? And where would I be in the library? And if I wanted to check you out, where would I look? Please leave your catalogue entries below in comments!
Dancer, Wheelchair:
Bio: The dancer grew up in the UK, was educated in the UK, Germany, and the US. Has worked in a large institution and for a small dance company. Lives in NYC and the SF Bay Area. Entry contains a picture of the dancer with back turned to the camera. She sits in between two palm trees in her wheelchair. Her face is turned aside. The ocean is just detectable at the end of a stretch of yellow sand. The chair and palm trees cast light grey shadows on the sand.
Fiction: let her tell you an absurd, occasionally comical, occasionally scary story in response to the "once upon a time" prompt. Can be rendered safe for children, but are usually adult appropriate.
Performance: ask Ms. Dancer to dance (and/or sing and play music for you). She has special experience in physically integrated dance and in making recordings as a volunteer for a municipal agency for blind and sight-impaired folk (her particular speciality is posh accents).
Reference: Ask about growing up in the UK, immigration to the US. Find out about her expertise in languages, literatures, and cultures of ancient times. Ms. Dancer will be happy to advise you on matters of writing and analysis; she won't do your homework for you, but she can help you write more clearly. You can ask about her photographic memory (words and lists of numbers) and perfect pitch; she will be happy to perform any number of party tricks pertaining to same. Please ask for examples of biting analysis: she is happy to show you what is wrong with any piece of mainstream art, writing, media, film on disability, race, and feminism (example provided below).
Sub Category: How-To: can show you how to dance in a wheelchair, can help you lead workshops for disabled movers. Might be prevailed upon to show you how to rejigger a wheelchair for maximum performance. Is always happy to talk about sex and disability.
Warning: the dancer should not be approached for life advice.
Analysis Sample:
As with everything, there's a disability angle. Here, my grump is with the Hairpin author herself: "[T]he future of the library could mean it's just this big cozy lounge where people go to open their minds. Books could be used to prop a person of short stature up to the height of their culturally different converser... ."
Really? Why if you are going to the library to open your mind would you need to attempt to compensate for the differing physicality of disabled folk in this cheap shot way? This makes no sense to me. Yes, disabled people might agree that disability entails a different culture, but if you are there to learn something about that culture, you wouldn't need to stick books underneath a person in an attempt to erase the some of the difference of that culture. The idea of the whole project is to learn about the person and their culture -- this is an affront to the person and to the project itself.
Now, me? If I were a book, what kind of book would I be? And where would I be in the library? And if I wanted to check you out, where would I look? Please leave your catalogue entries below in comments!
Dancer, Wheelchair:
Bio: The dancer grew up in the UK, was educated in the UK, Germany, and the US. Has worked in a large institution and for a small dance company. Lives in NYC and the SF Bay Area. Entry contains a picture of the dancer with back turned to the camera. She sits in between two palm trees in her wheelchair. Her face is turned aside. The ocean is just detectable at the end of a stretch of yellow sand. The chair and palm trees cast light grey shadows on the sand.
Fiction: let her tell you an absurd, occasionally comical, occasionally scary story in response to the "once upon a time" prompt. Can be rendered safe for children, but are usually adult appropriate.Performance: ask Ms. Dancer to dance (and/or sing and play music for you). She has special experience in physically integrated dance and in making recordings as a volunteer for a municipal agency for blind and sight-impaired folk (her particular speciality is posh accents).
Reference: Ask about growing up in the UK, immigration to the US. Find out about her expertise in languages, literatures, and cultures of ancient times. Ms. Dancer will be happy to advise you on matters of writing and analysis; she won't do your homework for you, but she can help you write more clearly. You can ask about her photographic memory (words and lists of numbers) and perfect pitch; she will be happy to perform any number of party tricks pertaining to same. Please ask for examples of biting analysis: she is happy to show you what is wrong with any piece of mainstream art, writing, media, film on disability, race, and feminism (example provided below).
Sub Category: How-To: can show you how to dance in a wheelchair, can help you lead workshops for disabled movers. Might be prevailed upon to show you how to rejigger a wheelchair for maximum performance. Is always happy to talk about sex and disability.
Warning: the dancer should not be approached for life advice.
Analysis Sample:
As with everything, there's a disability angle. Here, my grump is with the Hairpin author herself: "[T]he future of the library could mean it's just this big cozy lounge where people go to open their minds. Books could be used to prop a person of short stature up to the height of their culturally different converser... ."
Really? Why if you are going to the library to open your mind would you need to attempt to compensate for the differing physicality of disabled folk in this cheap shot way? This makes no sense to me. Yes, disabled people might agree that disability entails a different culture, but if you are there to learn something about that culture, you wouldn't need to stick books underneath a person in an attempt to erase the some of the difference of that culture. The idea of the whole project is to learn about the person and their culture -- this is an affront to the person and to the project itself.
Some applause. Toronto has included a disabled person in the project. Brandon Hibbs (link is to his blurb as a person-book) tells the story of how his parents moved around to ensure he was provided adequate services. Toronto has this down as an "inspiring" story, but it might more accurately be read as an indictment of public services for PWD in Canadian rural areas.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Plus Ca Change!
Plus ce n'est pas la meme chose.
Today, we had fun. We walked up and down and around and around. And But the highlight of the day was taking the subway. Yes, the subway. Between where we were and where we needed to be were two stations, neither of which had an elevator, but both of which had those individual mini lift things that both Gaventa and Thyssen make. They run alongside the escalators. With the exception of the fact that only one person can do at a time, it seems like a very effective and easy setup.
As in the US, they provide wobbly, bumpy slower than all get out rides. I have never understood why, but that's how it is. Also as in the US, those things are bloody unreliable. We would encounter 6, 2 of which weren't working. I've never done escalators alone. I know *how* to do them, but the distance between front and back wheels on my chair often means that I am too long to fit easily on two steps. What always ends up happening is a feeling of slipping. I know that *I* won't fall, but I can feel my chair getting away from underneath me. Not a pretty sight. I was pretty convinced that elevators were not going to be an option.
Unlike in New York, where the subway police are more theoretical than present, there was actual security on the end of the line, and they had a plan. The subway has escalators: they would stand behind me ready to take my weight if I started to fall. Not a pretty thought. But that was the way out. Redundancy in the system. Next time, we might actually manage it by ourselves (though people knew to give security the space in case anything bad happens....)
Today, we had fun. We walked up and down and around and around. And But the highlight of the day was taking the subway. Yes, the subway. Between where we were and where we needed to be were two stations, neither of which had an elevator, but both of which had those individual mini lift things that both Gaventa and Thyssen make. They run alongside the escalators. With the exception of the fact that only one person can do at a time, it seems like a very effective and easy setup.
As in the US, they provide wobbly, bumpy slower than all get out rides. I have never understood why, but that's how it is. Also as in the US, those things are bloody unreliable. We would encounter 6, 2 of which weren't working. I've never done escalators alone. I know *how* to do them, but the distance between front and back wheels on my chair often means that I am too long to fit easily on two steps. What always ends up happening is a feeling of slipping. I know that *I* won't fall, but I can feel my chair getting away from underneath me. Not a pretty sight. I was pretty convinced that elevators were not going to be an option.
Unlike in New York, where the subway police are more theoretical than present, there was actual security on the end of the line, and they had a plan. The subway has escalators: they would stand behind me ready to take my weight if I started to fall. Not a pretty thought. But that was the way out. Redundancy in the system. Next time, we might actually manage it by ourselves (though people knew to give security the space in case anything bad happens....)
Sunday, December 19, 2010
We're HERE!
And it is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Our room is gorgeous, the view is gorgeous. Access is of the "make it work, can you walk two steps (maximum so far) if not we will carry you" kind, but the whole thing is beautiful. We're happy. I'm a little reluctant to say it in public since I don't want to jinx it.
This is from earlier on board the plane.
So far, the trip has been perfect. OK, the plane (where I currently am) has power but no wifi (shock horror). I’m drinking the best airplane coffee ever. (It’s still airplane coffee, but it has some KICK to it.)
We’re about 4 hours into the flight (it’s something like 9 hours from JFK to GIG). Wizard and I have been sleeping like logs; we crashed right out. The people from TAM (based in Brazil) have been very helpful, though it is not clear that I will get my chair back at the gate. When we checked in, the person at the desk wasn’t sure what to do with it. Special Services tagged it. But when we got to the gate, I asked about the tag. The same agent tore off the tag and put a different one on it. Then, just after boarding, the Special Services agent came back and wanted to know why my chair had a different tag on it. He was going to tag it with both tags…. Fingers crossed.
[As it turned out, I didn't get my chair back at the gate. The federal police banned the airline staff from bringing it up, but there was a very nice manual chair (not the typical airline things) waiting for me. We rolled down through baggage claim and out through immigration and customs and.....]
The care to get it right stands in stark contrast to yesterday when 2 of us gimp folk tried to catch a taxi. We were down in the financial district (which is basically empty at weekends, even the Starbucks was closed). Since it was also shift change, we knew we would have to divide and conquer. My friend snagged one, and the party began. Once the driver realized he would be taking two of us and that we were both crips, he began to protest. Other cars would be easier for us to get into. He would stop and get us another car (right), but other cars would be better for us.
My friend is more political about this stuff than I am. She got right there, declaring that he had to take us by law. I joined my voice with hers.
Now, technically, he was right; his car was hard to get into. For both of us. But we knew that we’d be there forever in the cold. So, we persisted. With bad grace, he put my wheels in the boot. Then, he got in the car. We both yelled and a passerby intervened. I looked up to thank the man. “You’re so brave, you know. So inspirational.”
We just fell apart.
This is from earlier on board the plane.
So far, the trip has been perfect. OK, the plane (where I currently am) has power but no wifi (shock horror). I’m drinking the best airplane coffee ever. (It’s still airplane coffee, but it has some KICK to it.)
We’re about 4 hours into the flight (it’s something like 9 hours from JFK to GIG). Wizard and I have been sleeping like logs; we crashed right out. The people from TAM (based in Brazil) have been very helpful, though it is not clear that I will get my chair back at the gate. When we checked in, the person at the desk wasn’t sure what to do with it. Special Services tagged it. But when we got to the gate, I asked about the tag. The same agent tore off the tag and put a different one on it. Then, just after boarding, the Special Services agent came back and wanted to know why my chair had a different tag on it. He was going to tag it with both tags…. Fingers crossed.
[As it turned out, I didn't get my chair back at the gate. The federal police banned the airline staff from bringing it up, but there was a very nice manual chair (not the typical airline things) waiting for me. We rolled down through baggage claim and out through immigration and customs and.....]
The care to get it right stands in stark contrast to yesterday when 2 of us gimp folk tried to catch a taxi. We were down in the financial district (which is basically empty at weekends, even the Starbucks was closed). Since it was also shift change, we knew we would have to divide and conquer. My friend snagged one, and the party began. Once the driver realized he would be taking two of us and that we were both crips, he began to protest. Other cars would be easier for us to get into. He would stop and get us another car (right), but other cars would be better for us.
My friend is more political about this stuff than I am. She got right there, declaring that he had to take us by law. I joined my voice with hers.
Now, technically, he was right; his car was hard to get into. For both of us. But we knew that we’d be there forever in the cold. So, we persisted. With bad grace, he put my wheels in the boot. Then, he got in the car. We both yelled and a passerby intervened. I looked up to thank the man. “You’re so brave, you know. So inspirational.”
We just fell apart.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Big News
So, I've been sick for the past couple of weeks. I've been battling some kind of flu thing. Every time, it got better, I would begin to resume my life and ... BOOM ... there it was again. Anyway. It had better be over this time, because we are going to Brazil for the holidays.
That's right, just me and the Wizard. We are taking a little over two weeks to go and explore Rio. We are going on vacation. We. Are. Going . On. Vacation. With Scott Rains' help, we've made connexions with disabled peeps down there. We think we have a place to stay -- arrangements were complicated. We think we have flights -- these were more complicated than hotels. But if all goes according to plan, we will be leaving for Rio.
Excuse me while this becomes a travel blog for a while.
That's right, just me and the Wizard. We are taking a little over two weeks to go and explore Rio. We are going on vacation. We. Are. Going . On. Vacation. With Scott Rains' help, we've made connexions with disabled peeps down there. We think we have a place to stay -- arrangements were complicated. We think we have flights -- these were more complicated than hotels. But if all goes according to plan, we will be leaving for Rio.
Excuse me while this becomes a travel blog for a while.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Drooling And In A Wheelchair
A friend sends me this:
"But if you are still working in the media business, you would have to be a troglodyte, or in a wheelchair and drooling and incapable of thinking, not to be involved in new media."
It's from the Wall Street Journal Magazine's most recent piece about Michael Eisner. The awfulness of the quote is picked up in a couple of the comments, but, for the most part, it stands unnoticed.
"But if you are still working in the media business, you would have to be a troglodyte, or in a wheelchair and drooling and incapable of thinking, not to be involved in new media."
It's from the Wall Street Journal Magazine's most recent piece about Michael Eisner. The awfulness of the quote is picked up in a couple of the comments, but, for the most part, it stands unnoticed.
Commenter #29 intrigues me: "Horrible, offensive, unnecessary slur… and reflects on Mr. Eisner’s character. People say things like this because they feel the general public atmosphere will allow it." The article is a series of quotes from an interview with Mr. Eisner. This quote was acceptable to Mr. Eisner; it was acceptable to Alan Deutschman, his interviewer; it was acceptable to the layout people. In the paper version, the offensive little sentence also doubles as a pull quote. It stands next to a picture of Mr. Eisner in bold face large typeface. It was also acceptable to the magazine's editorial staff.
These words are hateful and hurtful. But they aren't just words. They are what people think. And what people think, they say; what they say, they'd like to think they'd never do. And they may not. But someone else might. It's not that there is always a direct link between words and a hate-filled act. Not every utterance incites someone to do something bad. But when words reveal the underbelly of our society and our selves, when words express nasty ideas that people think are "obvious," "normal," and "acceptable" and when those words go unquestioned, then, yes, I believe there will be crime, some of it violent, some of it regular old discrimination.
Regular old discrimination harms. It keeps people in institutions, unemployed; it keeps them from having equal access to healthcare, housing, and even the things that people don't notice... the small things ... the ease of getting into a restaurant, going to a theater ... taking a taxi.
So, yes. Words matter. Because words are ideas. And ideas shape reality. And reality is what we have to live. If we don't question words, the unacceptable ideas they sometimes express become unexamined facets of life.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Oh No, MoJo
No, Mojo, you didn't have to do that, really.
I agree that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is one of the absurdist things ever. And I really don't understand how the resistance to repealing the policy has anything to do with combat. I mean, really? You eat, sleep, train with your folk and then, suddenly, you don't want to be next to them in the trenches (or what passes for the trenches in today's combat situations)??
All that said, you didn't have to throw the sizeist stuff out there. No, you didn't.
Adam Weinstein writing for Mojo somehow was given a set of army discharge statistics. He writes, "In fiscal 2007 and 2008, the Army brass threw out 592 enlisted members for violating DADT—more soldiers than it ejected for excessive body fat or fitness-test failures combined." That is an outrageous statistic. The 592 service men and women who would have given their all to this country had it but asked and believed in them deserve better. This is something we should unify around. We should fight for justice for these and for all people affected by DADT.
BUT: the thrust of the article is to play on conventional revulsion around size. The thrust of this sentence is to use sizeism to make a point about justice for the affected service personnel. Despite the "lean" recruiting years, the army hasn't moved on its fat and unfit, Weinstein notes: it reduced its fitness standards. He then quotes an officer:
The article closes bitterly. Weinstein quotes a Family Research Council's op-ed: ""If military bases and military schools become focal points for advancement of the gay agenda, we can expect serious repercussions among the families of the volunteers who make up our armed forces." It's a typical FRC kind of thing (not-linking), but his own piece closes in response: the "editorial never addressed the advancement of a fat agenda in the military."
I don't know whether fat activists are working with the military on the general understanding of fat and fitness to serve. But I do know that this is an unnecessary jibe. I can well believe that fatphobia persists in the army and among the readers of MoJo, but there is no excuse for the sloppy journalism and lazy thought processes that leverage fear and hate against one group to fight for justice for another.
Justice doesn't work that way. When we work together in support of each other, we achieve more than if we went it alone.
I agree that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is one of the absurdist things ever. And I really don't understand how the resistance to repealing the policy has anything to do with combat. I mean, really? You eat, sleep, train with your folk and then, suddenly, you don't want to be next to them in the trenches (or what passes for the trenches in today's combat situations)??
All that said, you didn't have to throw the sizeist stuff out there. No, you didn't.
Adam Weinstein writing for Mojo somehow was given a set of army discharge statistics. He writes, "In fiscal 2007 and 2008, the Army brass threw out 592 enlisted members for violating DADT—more soldiers than it ejected for excessive body fat or fitness-test failures combined." That is an outrageous statistic. The 592 service men and women who would have given their all to this country had it but asked and believed in them deserve better. This is something we should unify around. We should fight for justice for these and for all people affected by DADT.
BUT: the thrust of the article is to play on conventional revulsion around size. The thrust of this sentence is to use sizeism to make a point about justice for the affected service personnel. Despite the "lean" recruiting years, the army hasn't moved on its fat and unfit, Weinstein notes: it reduced its fitness standards. He then quotes an officer:
"In '08-09 it was so bad that I had a warrant officer who demanded we get him XXXL flight uniforms," one active Army officer tellsMother Jones. "He couldn't wear the new [camouflage] pattern ones because they didn't make them for a guy who was 313 lbs." The officer added, "Some people really are too big to fail, I guess."This is simple ignorance. Weight says nothing about fitness. Could this person have been a front line fighter? I don't know. Could this person have contributed actively to the war effort? Yes. And they deserved to keep their place in the armed forces.
The article closes bitterly. Weinstein quotes a Family Research Council's op-ed: ""If military bases and military schools become focal points for advancement of the gay agenda, we can expect serious repercussions among the families of the volunteers who make up our armed forces." It's a typical FRC kind of thing (not-linking), but his own piece closes in response: the "editorial never addressed the advancement of a fat agenda in the military."
I don't know whether fat activists are working with the military on the general understanding of fat and fitness to serve. But I do know that this is an unnecessary jibe. I can well believe that fatphobia persists in the army and among the readers of MoJo, but there is no excuse for the sloppy journalism and lazy thought processes that leverage fear and hate against one group to fight for justice for another.
Justice doesn't work that way. When we work together in support of each other, we achieve more than if we went it alone.
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