I’m looking forward to meeting new folks and catching up with you. I want to prevent any other person from the loneliness and befuddlement I felt at my first two WisCons. I like talking to strangers and I’d be tickled to serve as a first-timer guide.I noped out of all volunteering, so my time is free between 8:30am and 9:30pm. I live in town, so if you're early or late to the con, I'd be happy to meet then.
If you prefer low-key, in my hotel room, the K Café will serve many varieties of tea. I’m also happy to share time indoors or out, stroll the city, hide in the Capitol, or gawk at the construction surrounding the hotel.( come play: the directions )
I've poked the standard free searches available to me and haven't found out who first used the words "sex object" to describe how patriarchal culture defines women as nothing more than a being with whom to have sex.
I'm looking for the coiner of phrases like:
He whistled at me then pawed me like a sex object because I wore a skirt
He asked my husband where he worked; he asked me how many kids we have. I hate that kind of sex objectification.
Feel free to signal boost!
( What she said, what I did and didn't say )
The ideal response is not having it matter it all. Not surprisingly, Dave Hingsburger's recent entry explores what it's like when we can really not care. ( Dave Hingsburger's recent entry explores what it's like when we can really not care. )
OK close your eyes and imagine a lovely long lake surrounded by pines and birches, with a coppery tang to the water due to metals in the soil. I tried to paste in or link to a map but that was 30 minutes ago and I clearly need a vacation.
So, that's where I'm going tomorrow for two weeks. Catch you on the flip side!
The Transom org is a place to nurture public radio producers. One digital audio editor they really like is ( a click away )
Yesterday MyGuy's immediate family got together for lunch, with Mom, in her own apartment. The food was bland, the company was well-known, and MyGuy shared ( vital life skills )
So, we're at home with nothing to celebrate and therefore a perfect day to waste time online. Aiii! Our wireless base station died. ( Apple to the rescue, again )
( Wildlife abounds )
Ate excellent meals cooked by MyGuy. Spent many hours reviewing the 30 years we've known each other.
Lucy is not a water dog, so she mainly looked longingly into the woods for deer.
Thought I might be back with a Major New Statement on Social Networking, but no.
However, why do I feel so carefree to post or comment on Google+ or Twitter, yet anx-anx-angsty re posting here? Huge overlap in readers wherever.
Contemplating what's available at northern garage sales and flea markets as far as SFF goes, not much. Which highlights the humor of this "starter kit" for the Vorkosigan Saga
Arghh! Time to eat dinner!
Lovely fan-fam dinner last night with mrcreek
wintercreek, sasha_feather, commodorified, were_duck,sassbandit, laceblade.
We were talking about the minimal critical specifications for teen movies -- as you do -- and the differences between boys' and girls' school experiences were contemplated.
Which made me think of Ju Gosling, who's a disabled performance artist who, more recently, has undertaken a study of British (female) fans of girls' boarding school stories.
Followed by quite tasty Thai Noodles, from a shop called Thai Noodles on McKee Road. Squash/yam/coconut curry nom nom nom.
Today I read about three online dating services for people with disabilities. I guess I should be happy the Times didn't say, gee whiz, these people have sex! I hope the sites don't drown in the bandwidth, particularly from griefers.
It's been an unlucky week at our house. Lovely Lucy was walking uncomfortably. She didn't show pain when we pushed & poked her legs. Then we had success with subtracting pain with an ice pack (instead of adding pain with our fingers). Isolated to one leg, we shuffled off to the vet. It's not a ruptured cranial cruciate ligament, but a probable tear. So 5 days of as little movement as possible. First day she was in pain from the vet exam, and basically a stuffed doggy. Second day beginning to be bored. Today she's been nosing me a lot. I was the big meanie who had to take away the squeaky toys she loves to squeeze as she zooms around the couch. Dreading tomorrow.
OTOH, MyGuy is going out to see if he can hit a bucket o' balls; first physical exertion since the surgery.
Monday is the 20th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act, which triggers a stew of emotions. More on Monday, I hope.
Lovely lunch with sasha_feather. I'd looked forward to Salade Niçoise, but the power went out and so did we.
MyGuy continues to heal, although the post-operative eye is still dilated (ten days after).
Finished True Blood S2. Godric is awesome; the actor who plays Jason is also awesome; otherwise the perfect accompaniment to AC and popcorn.
Napping with my lovely Lucy on the couch this afternoon: We both woke up suddenish when MyGuy came home. I looked up to the ceiling across which there was a plague of red ants spilling down the skylights. (This is why long-term relationships are good. "Hey, are there red ants running around on the ceiling?" "No dear, I don't see them.")
After the red ants' presence was denied and dismissed, I went for a drive in the car. The last time I drove was 1991. After MyGuy's health scare, I wanted to know if I could really drive in an emergency. The answer seems to be, "yes." We're going to do a few more turns around a local, failing, mall which comes with largely empty lot. I'm not yet ready to handle interstate at 50mph in a snowstorm -- or Chicago or Boston, ever -- but I'm equal parts pleased and terrified.
When we started listening to A Prairie Home Companion in 1977, it was cool and retro. Unfortunately Garrison Keillor decided around a decade ago that he could really sing, and now it's just annoying.
Even worse was his column this week asking the non-Christians to stay away from Christmas. In particular, why are these annoying Jews writing those annoyingly secular holiday tunes (like White Christmas and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer).
That bastion of Hebraic effete East-coast elitism, the NYTimes, followed up with Michael Feinstein's story of complaints because his Christmas program included too many Jewish songs.
Nicely matched, both linked at this TIME blog from James Poniewozik's Christmas is Too Jewish? Oy Vey.
But the real reason to follow the link is the fabulous Saturday Night Live animation, where the genuine Darleen Love sings "Christmas Time for the Jews" in all her Motown glory.
The first story is quite brief and, unusually for this show, told solely through pictures and first person narration. It's the surprising tale of urban cowboys: young people whose beautiful horses step proudly along Philadelphia sidewalks until they reach a huge park. There the horses and riders pound down the turf.
The second story introduces us to Mike Phillips, a 27-year-old blogger who has muscular dystrophy. At the time of filming, he can move his facial muscles and one thumb. He had a recent emergency tracheotomy which prevents him from speaking, so he uses a voice synthesizer program to speak.
Remarkably, this story is not about bravery, overcoming, or any other standard disability narrative. It's about families, independence, finding love and freedom via Craigslist. Mike's been able to stay out of a nursing home mainly because his mother has slept by his bedside for most of his life, ready to reconnect any of his life support systems when they fail. Partly thanks to talking about his life via email and in person with the This American Life documentary crew, he's hired his first personal care attendant; he hopes to use Medicaid waivers to eventually move out on his own.
Check Mike's blog, My Whole Expansive I Cannot See, for his thoughts on the process of making the documentary. A nice photo of Mike and his sweetie, Sara, is featured in this pretty good "human interest" piece from his hometown paper, the St Petersburg [FL] Times
This American Life's Escape episode is viewable for a limited (but unknown) time as a teaser on the U.S. Showtime network. (You have to sit through three minutes of commercials first; although the DVD is captioned, the online stream is not.) It's also available from iTunes and Blockbuster, but neither have captions. Grrr.
I'm kvelling re coffeeandink's Ablism: Comment policy clarification. I think the ground is being made ready to address some of the deeper issues: interdependence, disability hierarchies, the tyranny of "normal."
MyGuy and I celebrated our 29th anniversary on Sunday night. I'm proud that we've made it so long together, and that we had the good sense to choose each other. There was some accessibility fail at the first restaurant, but I grit my teeth and got some good eats in the end.
Tapas at The Icon: tasty and not that expensive. Marinated Spanish White Anchovies, Marcona Almond Parsley Pesto, with Chocolate Espresso Crema Catalana. And room for popcorn at home later!
The truth is, we do not live in a culture which gives people a lot of opportunities to read aloud, that is, to practise freely using their voices (or perhaps that should be, to free their voices through practice).
Radiolab is a witty, rigorous and beautifully produced radio show. It's an intersection between "This American Life" and SCIENCE magazine (and better than either).
The December 2008 episode Diagnosis tells five stories where things are not exactly what they seem. Along the way, Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich play around with soundscapes and blew my little brain.
They explore the social construction of both disability and disease. A father home-schools his son because he's ruthlessly teased in school because of his "oddness." He gets a diagnosis at age 28, late enough to escape the no-expectations non-education he might have received via sped. Doctors believe they're seeing pictures of moods on fMRIs. But in the 1920s, they were absolutely sure they knew the cause of SIDS, and confidently provided treatment that caused disease in healthy people and did nothing to prevent cot death.
According to MyGuy, who spent 18 years trying to work with doctors on quality issues, the med student's motto is: Sometimes wrong, never in doubt.
I know I'm particularly bitter on this topic.
My mother had difficulty carrying a pregnancy to term, and her OBGYN gave her DES, because he thought it would prevent miscarriage. It didn't, but it does make me more vulnerable to vaginal cancer (and more prone to infertility, which never bothered child-free me). At least Mummy was informed; thousands of women in the midwest were told they were getting prenatal vitamins when they were actually taking part in a drug study without consent.
But not this lab-dal-whatever mix, as you can see from this (unembeddable) video of goober dog leaping through five-foot drifts of snow.
MyGuy gave me something I've always wanted: two radio-controlled wall clocks. One presides over the living room with dignity, while the other pours a steady data stream over the dining room table. Knowing the exact time makes me very happy.
As do prime numbers. Therefore I hope my 53rd year will be full of glee.
The first time MyGuy and I went out on a date was on my birthday in 1977. We married for love, and it's still in evidence. We napped in a bed with fresh sheets, and strolled out in the honey sunlight of a 70° afternoon.
I very slowly climbed the twenty-two steps to l'Étoile, which is rumored to be one of the best restaurants in the U.S.A. Frankly, I was disappointed.
( Can she really whine about fancy food? )
Happily, our local Chocolate Shoppe ice cream is reliably wonderful.
And so, flist, what pins your happy-meter?
So maybe this is OK. It's a lovely summer day, my AirPort extends to the recliner on the back patio, Lucy is reclining in the sun with her paws crossed, MyGuy is rebuilding a table saw, and the robin has stopped beating her head against the window.
Thanks for the kind words...