Left of the Moon

Pray for Obama: Psalm 109:8

2009-11-19T21:24:00.009-06:00

Oh, isn’t that nice? Christians are promoting a prayer on behalf of our President. It’s been printed on t-shirts, bumper stickers and even teddy bears. Conservative Christians are forwarding it via email and twittering the prayer with a wink and nod to their fellow right-wingers. It may seem innocuous enough on the surface, but a quick look at the Bible or a Google search will have any rational person thinking otherwise.

According to the King Jimmy version of the Bible, Psalm 109:8 reads as follows: Let his days be few: and let another take his office. Hmmm. Not supportive of the President, but no so bad really. This is America after all and it’s a wonderful thing to live in a country where you can freely rip on the President with no fear of the secret police coming for you at night. But wait, there’s more. The verse directly following (Psalm 109:9) reads: Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Yeah, go back and read that again. They are printing a reference to this Bible verse on teddy bears. Teddy bears are toys. Children play with toys. I hate to speak in such short sentences but I want those who thought this was a good idea to be able to understand me. It was a really, REALLY bad idea, and here is why.

The tongue in check reference to basically killing Barack Obama isn’t cute and shouldn’t be taken lightly. It is an historic thing that we’ve seen happen; our first African American President is in office. Let’s take a quick trip back in time. August 4, 1964 the bodies of three civil-rights workers - two white, one black - are found in an earthen dam in Mississippi. They were killed by the Ku Klux Klan because they were out after dark and had the nerve to talk about racial equality. On April 4, 1968 Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. He of course had a dream with which we are all familiar. President Obama’s election to office was part of that dream coming true. But everything isn’t all better. Racism still exists like a festering sore. While it has healed up some over the past 40 years, it’s there just under the surface. Racism has gone underground so to speak. But the emergence of catchy little phrases like the “Pray for Obama: Psalm 109:8” remind us where we can still find it if we look. It might seem hard to believe at first, but church is apparently a good place to start the search.

For a long time I’ve held the belief that if I’m respectful and I keep my opinions about religion to myself, others will do the same. For most Christians god is an important part of their life, and they too are respectful of others’ beliefs and don’t cram it down the throats of the people around them. This kind of decorum, an unspoken and diplomatic don’t ask, don’t tell policy serves a lot of Americans well, especially at work and school. But I can’t do it anymore. And neither should any of you. This “Pray for Obama: Psalm 109:8” has derailed the etiquette train and if I could find a rooftop to yell this from, I would.

You see, I’m an atheist. I have a bachelor’s degree in religion which is pretty confusing for most people. At first they think it means I must have a faith commitment whether it be Christian or otherwise. But ultimately it tends to keep folks guessing. If I raise holy hell (no pun intended) about just how wrong it is to pray for the death of another human being, I appear to be just a disgruntled atheist looking for reasons to point out stupid Christians. For those who know me personally, I don’t do that. And the average Christian isn’t stupid. Atheist, Christian, Islamic . . . who cares? Most Americans are just Americans. We get up, go to work, send our kids to school, pay our bills, watch some TV and do it all over again the next day. The people I’m concerned with here are the fringe of the Christian faith – the lunatic fringe to be exact.

The super right-wing conservatives who spew this kind of dangerous rhetoric are reaching those who will act on it. The power of suggestion is potent when you’ve got god backing you up. The murder of Dr. Tiller while he was in church of all places is a prime example that this is no joke. Dr. Tiller performed abortions and somewhere, somehow a god-fearing Christian got it in his head that it was okay to walk into a church and gun him down. As it was pointed out to me today by another blogger, Obama supports the right for women to have abortions. That just adds another layer to this sickening turn of events. Step right up young right-wing Christian conservative. You’ve lost your way, but we’ll help give you purpose again. Spin the wheel of probable cause, any reason will do. You’ll be hero to us and in the eyes of god too.

So to the rest of you sane, rational Christians out there – are you going to let this happen? This Psalm has nothing to do with our President. It’s a prayer of deliverance from personal enemies. I don’t know Barack Obama personally, do you? And the Psalmist has been falsely accused and is issuing a counter curse against his accuser. Gee, that doesn’t sound altogether Christian now does it? Maybe they should get some quotes famous voodoo priestess Marie LaVeau – now she could issue a counter curse! The point is that we can’t let this spread. Put a stopper in it now! If it’s forwarded to you by a well meaning friend, tell ‘em why it’s wrong. Or just delete it and send ‘em my way.

The bottom line is this. Thou shall not kill trumps an obscure Psalm. Praying for the death of anyone is wrong. And we all have to be careful what we say and promote. You just never know who is going to take you seriously.

Lester’s Song

2009-11-10T14:50:00.011-06:00

I started writing this blog weeks ago, and just finally had to stop for a while. I don’t mind feeling sad or even crying, but it was getting a little out of hand. I am not surprised at all that I miss him, but the death of Lester Pritchard has been a tough thing for me to think about, let alone articulate a series of coherent thoughts about. I can’t imagine the loss his wife Barbara is enduring. And my mind keeps drifting toward Jennifer Knapp. It’s probably selfish, but you see Jennifer reminds me of . . . me. I was always so jealous that Jennifer got to hang out with Lester and plan the revolution. I think I want to focus this blog on exactly that – the revolution. I didn’t really understand what it was all about, but Lester, he showed me the way.

The first time I met Lester, I didn’t know quite what to expect from him. He was older than me, used a wheelchair and had cerebral palsy (CP). He didn’t speak clearly and you had to listen to understand what he had to say. In casual conversation he was a man of relatively few words, no doubt because he wanted to make himself understood. And I think it was because of this that Lester could pack layers of meaning and deep insight into a short, concise sentence. When he spoke, the room stopped and listened. If he had more to say than just a brief statement, enter his wife Barbara. She too has CP, although to a lesser extent than Lester, and Barb would frequently translate for her husband.

Lester’s mind was a brilliant and vast place. The average person could get lost in there, but he never made you feel stupid. I loved that about him. A wonderful article ran in the Champaign newspaper after his death and it included a few statements from Barb about how Lester was able to bring out the absolute best in everyone he encountered. Never were truer words spoken. When he would ask me to do something for the Campaign for Real Choice in Illinois I would get all excited. I couldn’t believe there was something I could do for him. And if he asked for my opinion on an issue, well that was unbelievable. Lester was the “The Man” and he wanted my opinion. Damn . . . It brings a smile to my face just thinking about it.

Over the course of the past few weeks Lester has been described as a lot of things. Disability rights advocate and friend Tyler McHaley called him a, “legend among disability rights advocates throughout the nation.” Charlotte Cronin of the Family Support Network said, “Lester Pritchard was our hero; a leader and a visionary for people with disabilities.” Many others echoed these sentiments and he was all of these things, but to me the term that best fits Lester is rock star. Every successful revolution needs a charismatic leader out front, and for me that was Lester.

For those who don’t know, Lester and the Campaign for Real Choice focused their efforts on providing real community based living options for people with disabilities. This meant advocating for the closure of Illinois’ state-run institutions and educating the public about these outdated facilities that routinely endanger the lives of their residents. He brought life to a civil rights movement that has been floundering. The passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990 lulled way too many of us into a comfortable acceptance of the way thing are. Yes, the ADA gave us our long overdue rights, but we’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. And Lester reminded us all that our most vulnerable brothers and sisters are locked away in institutions and still need us.

I have never in my life felt more powerful than I did while protesting Lincoln Development Center. He led the charge of advocates who flooded IL Department of Human Services meetings and public forums about whether LDC should remain open. And in true rock star fashion, Lester could turn out a crowd. This was the most evident when he masterminded the Freedom Ride in 2005. I didn’t know exactly what a freedom ride was, but I vaguely associated it with a bus fulla hippies. Lester brought the concept to a new generation as he and his riders traveled the state garnering media attention at each stop. He knew how to engage the public, and events like this brought the message to communities across Illinois.

And lastly, I’d like to touch on Lester the person. He was kind, gentle and fierce. I learned he was ill and had been hospitalized the day I attended a memorial service for Kathy Conour. I had no idea he was sick, but I brushed the news off. Lester was a giant to me, strong and vital. I’d say he was an oak, but that doesn’t quite cut it. He was a Sequoia. He’d pull through; I had no doubt. It was a few days later I got the terrible news. I listened to my voicemail and couldn’t quite absorb what I was hearing. I called a couple close friends and they were as shocked as me. I put my phone away and didn’t think about it for a few hours. I think my mind was trying to insulate itself. I re-listened to the message and spent the rest of the day crying at odd intervals.

I attended one of three memorial services held for Lester in his hometown of Champaign. It was there I learned the details of his passing. He knew it was time to go, and in typical Lester fashion held court at his bedside calling close friends and family in to say his goodbyes. Jennifer told me that right up until the end he was witty and sharp. The man was fearless even in death, and as time grew short, Barb never left his side.

To me, knowing Lester was like knowing Justin Dart, Jr. My friend Ann Ford summed it up best when she said Lester and Justin were “cut from the same cloth.” I was in awe of him and I have to admit I even had a bit of a geeky crush on him – shhhh, don’t tell Barb :o) I was inspired to finish this blog after receiving a link to a YouTube video called “Lester’s Song.” It was performed last week at the Speak Up, Speak Out conference by Karen Donovan – I don’t know you Karen, but you nailed it! I ask all of you out there reading this, have you ever inspired anyone to write a song about you? That’s the impact Lester had on people. He moved us to do great things, to create. I think I want to sing Lester’s Song for the rest of my life. I never want to forget what he’s meant to me and so many others. I didn’t get a chance to meet Justin Dart in person, but through his writing I learned not to fear these simple words - I love you. We are all so afraid to say them, but Justin did love us. Each and every disability rights advocates across the planet had his love, and while I can only aspire to that kind of greatness, I can say unequivocally that I love you Lester. I love you Barb. And I love you Jennifer.

BODY & SOUL: diana & kathy

2009-10-06T21:34:00.008-05:00

Please forgive my months-long absence from the blogosphere – I was busy getting divorced. ‘Nuf said. On with the blog!

I attended my very first disability rights conference in 1998 when I was hired by the newly opened Jacksonville Area Center for Independent Living. I have had a disability my entire life, but I was new to the world of disability rights advocacy, and was sorely in need of training. It was at this conference, in the ballroom of the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Springfield, IL, that I first laid eyes on Diana Braun and Kathy Conour. My memory of Kathy is particularly vivid. She has CP and uses a power wheelchair with lots of assistive technology attached in various locations. On the back of her chair was a bumper sticker that read "Pat my head and I'll bite your hand!" At that moment in time a switch was flipped on in my head as I said to myself, 'Oh, that's what a disability rights advocate is.'

There are few among us who are capable of making that kind of an impact by just being themselves. It is with great sadness that I write this blog. Kathy has left us, but more importantly she has left Diana. They have not been apart in over 39 years and when I learned the sad news that Kathy had died, I was like so many others whose thoughts immediately turned to Diana and her future. But first, I’d like to take a look back at where they came from.

The story of Diana and Kathy's life is an extraordinary one. Long before civil rights laws such as the Americans with Disabilities Act, the pair was forging ahead into unexplored territory as they fought to live independent lives.

At the age eight, Diana Braun was removed from an abusive family situation and sent to live at a state operated nursing home. At 12, she moved to Dixon Developmental Center where she lived until she was 19. As an adult with Down Syndrome, Diana vowed to one day close state run institutions. In her own words, "Institutions are not a safe place to be."

Kathy Conour's upbringing was radically different from Diana's. She was raised the only child of a loving, if not overprotective, family from Springfield, IL. She attended high school in Chicago and went on to obtain a bachelors degree in Social Work from Olivet Nazarene College with a minor in Business Administration. It was at Kathy's first job in 1970 at a sheltered workshop in Ottawa, IL that she met Diana. The rest as they say is history, and the world is fortunate that filmmaker Alice Elliott recorded a piece of that history.

Elliott met Diana and Kathy in 2002 at a national ARC convention held in Columbus, Ohio, after a screening of Elliott's Academy Award nominated documentary The Collector of Bedford Street. Kathy had been thinking about the idea of a documentary for years and says that when she saw The Collector of Bedford Street, she knew Elliott was the one.

While Kathy was convinced she and Diana would be the subject of Elliott's next film, it took some work to convince Elliott. Although flattered by their praise and enthusiasm for her work, Elliott at first said she wasn't interested in filming the pair. She had no idea how persistent, and persuasive Kathy could be.

After many e-mails and phone calls, Elliott finally agreed to travel to Springfield and film Diana and Kathy for a week. She thought the two would realize what an intrusion the documentary would be, but the experience only got them more excited.

Completed in 2007, Body and Soul has premiered in both Chicago and Springfield. Praise for Body and Soul has been overwhelming. This past week the film also made its debut on public television stations across the country.

So what makes Body and Soul such a compelling film? The answer seems to be twofold. First there is the subject matter. Diana and Kathy are both surprisingly ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Diana drives their lift equipped van and performs personal care duties for Kathy, and through the use of her Pathfinder communication device Kathy writes elegant words spoken electronically. The two also own their own home in a nice upper-middleclass neighborhood. They are tireless advocates who have traveled as far as Washington DC to advocate for the rights of people with disabilities.

Secondly is Elliott's self proclaimed "edgy" style of filmmaking. Kathy and Diana's unique 39-year relationship is captured in a manor that endures the viewer, but never crosses the line into sentimentality. Elliott holds her subjects in high esteem, and viewers leave feeling the same. There is absolutely no room for pity in Elliott's camera lens. Instead she fills it with respect and integrity.

Two weeks ago I attended Kathy’s funeral services. Actually I only went to the visitation. I’m no good at funerals and this one in particular gouged a very tender spot in my heart. I don’t think Kathy ever knew what an impact she made on me, and seeing Diana without her was damned near unbearable. Due in large part to the amazing care Diana provided over the years, Kathy had far surpassed the life expectancy of anyone with her type of CP.

A life such as Kathy’s needs to be celebrated, and at 1 pm this Saturday (October 10, 2009) a memorial service will be held at the President Abraham Lincoln Hotel and Conference Center in downtown Springfield, IL.

Lessons in Disability Rights From Slipknot

2009-05-25T21:38:00.020-05:00

My friend Tyler is a fan of the heavy metal band Slipknot. He and I have seen a few concerts together over the years, but we usually end up at the fair watching Journey or Styx. But Slipknot, now that is something completely different. After a couple of beers I had a weak moment and agreed to go. Prior to the concert I can’t really say I knew any of their songs, I just knew there was a lot of screaming and creepy rubber clown masks involved. To sum them up, Slipknot is like the band Kiss, except on crystal meth, and with homicidal tendencies.

But first I have to tell you about Tyler. I can’t remember when I met him but it’s probably been about 10 years now and he is truly a great friend. Tyler and I have quite a bit in common, but this blog is actually about our differences. He and I were both born with a disability. I have one hand, classified I suppose as a birth defect. I hate that term, but I don’t know what else to call it. To be honest, having one hand hasn’t really affected my life in terms of being physically disabling. I think I fit that Americans with Disabilities Act definition in that I am regarded as having a disability.

Now Tyler, his disability is quite different from mine. Ty has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair. His speech is mostly clear, but noisy places make it a bit tough to understand him at times. While I am sometimes judged by people based on what they perceive as my disability, it really is pretty rare. For Ty though, it happens every time he leaves the house. People assume because his body doesn’t work like everyone else's that he automatically has an intellectual disability. This isn’t unique to Tyler; unfortunately everyone with his type of disability is in the same proverbial boat. Ty has grace and dignity, and he is able to handle what would push most of us over the edge of sanity. He is about to finish up his second Masters degree and I don’t think if I were him I’d be quite so kind to the fools who automatically deduct IQ points based on a wheelchair and bit of spastic leg action. I’d probably wear a t-shirt that reads “Got an Advanced Degree? I Have Several.”

When Ty and I go to concerts we usually get pretty good seats – you know, in the wheelie section up at the front. But not at Slipknot. The seating was general admission and that meant for everyone, including those in wheelchairs. Tyler’s wheelchair is an amazing piece of machinery. He is a pretty tall guy, so it’s big too. His chair has this neat feature that raises him up while still in a seated position to what I like to call bar stool height. It actually makes him taller than me. I keep expecting his wheelchair to all of the sudden transform into a tiny little semi and drive away.

At the concert there were a couple of people standing in front of us, but it didn’t really make too much of a difference. With his chair raised up Tyler could mostly see. However people’s reactions to him being there were incredibly varied. There was a man and woman in front of us who I think believed that if they didn’t actually look at or acknowledge Ty in any way, it would be okay for them to stand in front of the guy in the wheelchair all night. Some random boys behind us did there best to get Tyler all the way up to the barricade. They tried to make the people in front of us move, and we did actually inch up a few feet closer. But it wasn’t the crowd’s reaction, it was the band’s reaction to Ty that interested me the most.

At one point in the show, they had everybody sit down the floor. There is a song where they tell the crowd to “Jump the fuck up!” and the crowd of course complies. This pretty much left me and Tyler, for all intense and purposes, the only ones still standing. At this point he leans over and says to me, “I’ve got their (the band’s) attention now.” I’m a little confused by that, but okay. The show was pretty close to over and it wasn’t long before they tossed a few things out into the audience like guitar picks, set list, etc . . . The creepiest guy in the band was right in front of us most of the night. He decided to give Ty drum sticks. He tossed them in my direction to catch, but the lady who refused to acknowledge that Ty was behind her, intercepted them. She was so happy and she wouldn’t give them up. Pointy-nose-creepy-boy made her hand ‘em over. Go Pointy, Go Pointy!

In spite of my attempts to look and act bored, I really enjoyed the show, and I have admit Slipknot doesn’t suck. Pointy-nose-creepy-boy made me think they were actually decent human beings as well. But I had this voice in the back of my head that was nagging and I couldn’t quite make out what it was saying until the next day.

It turns out that while I thought it was cool as hell, I was also bothered by the whole drum stick thing. The reason being? It’s because Tyler is a disability rights advocate and a damn good one. He not only lends his time and considerable talents to many causes ranging from health care to the closure of state-run institutions for people with disabilities, but he also gets it. He understands how disability is viewed by our culture, and as a civil rights advocate he understands it is his place to also advocate for other disenfranchised minorities. In short, he is my favorite kind of liberal. Us disability rights advocates don’t do the pity thing, and we sure as hell aren’t all about special privileges. But Ty knew that once the band spotted him out there in the crowd, special privileges were not only coming his way, he expected them.

So, I asked him about it, and what might be one of the longest email conversations in the history of the internet ensued. I have come to the conclusion that I need to get my head out of my higher-than-mighty-ass. Here’s why.

Ty didn’t go to the Slipknot concert to be an advocate. He went because he wanted to see the band, bottom line. I believe that teaching moments come at some pretty unexpected times, and I like to think that I’m an advocate 24-7. But the truth is I’m not. A few weeks back I was at the mall and a group of unsupervised 12 year-olds were walking toward me. I’d had a shitty day and didn’t want to deal with them, and I could tell (sometimes you just know) that if they noticed I had one hand, the “funny” one in their group would crack some smart-ass remark and I’d be forced to respond. I just didn’t feel like it, so I stuck lefty in my pocket and slid right past them undetected. Tyler can’t do that. He can’t just tuck 400 pounds of wheelchair into his hip pocket and walk straight for a while. I’m an idiot for not seeing this correlation before, but it makes sense.

Anyone in the Slipknot audience would have been thrilled to be singled out and given drum sticks. It’s ridiculous of me to think that Tyler was any different than anyone else, just because he uses a wheelchair and is an advocate. No one can be expected to be an advocate 100% of the time – it just isn’t humanly possible. As much as I would like to be the change I wish to see in the world, I just can’t seem to find the time to ascend to that higher plane of existence. Hell, I can’t even find time to finish my laundry.

If there is a moral to this story, I think it’s this: Slipknot doesn’t suck, and every once in a while, even the most hardcore disability rights advocates need to just cut loose and headbang – no advocacy strings attached.

Same Sex Marriage, Chicken Cutlets and Supreme Court Justice Donald Trump

2009-05-16T22:43:00.007-05:00

It has been a while since I blogged and I’m honestly ashamed that this is what’s brought me back to the blogoshpere, but I just HAVE to get this out.

Miss California Carrie Prejean is everything that is wrong with America. That is a bold statement I know, but everyday she provides me with more facts to support this claim. And she does it on national television; how very convenient.

In case you’ve been living in the bomb shelter, and your TV reception is kinda sketchy, it all started like this. When asked by Miss USA Pageant judge Perez Hilton, an openly gay gossip blogger, whether she believed in gay marriage, Carrie Prejean, said "We live in a land where you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite. And you know what, I think in my country, in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there, but that's how I was raised."

Aside from offending the Calvin Kleins right off of judge Perez Hilton, she also offended a few million other Americans, me included, and probably caused cranial explosions among our nation’s English teachers. I mean really, go back and read what she said. Aside from the content of the statement, which might require a decoder ring to fully understand, it’s so inarticulately stated that she should have lost the competition based on that alone.

So she expressed a dumb opinion, big deal. America would have forgotten about her in ten minutes. But, she just won’t go away. She is like an evil robot intent on destroying America. Just as the fuss starts to settle down, information is leaked that the Miss California Pageant paid for her to have a boob job. Such a great role model for the kiddies, isn’t she? Because, you know the pageant isn’t just about looking pretty – What-the-frack-ever! She was reported to have said that she wasn’t confident because her breasts were not proportioned to the rest of her body. Pageant officials confirmed this and then enlightened the uninitiated public about the wonderful world of chicken cutlets and how they are taped into place by contestants to better fill out their swim suits . . . uhhhh, what? That is such an incredibly bizarre thing that once again she’s on TV. And the debate ensues as to whether the pageant actually paid for her new boobs, and if they did, is it ethical, not to mention all the poor chickens who have sacrificed their own breasts over the years so that . . . blah, blah, blah. Nobody cares, but we’re still talkin’ about it!

So Chicken Cutlet Gate starts to blow over and what happens next? Nudie pictures, they’ll get you every time. As a Miss USA contestant, Prejean signed a moral and ethical code that requires her to keep her clothes on for the duration of the pageant year. So, a photo is of course leaked on the internet that shows Prejean bearing her cutlets during a photo shoot. The picture was taken before she was a contestant, which doesn’t preclude her from competing; she just had to disclose to the pageant that she’d done it. Well, she didn’t and now claims she was unaware of the picture. Uh-huh. She was asked by the media if there were any more nudie cutlet pics out there and her response was no. Guess what, there are. Maybe one picture during a photo shoot could have been inadvertently snapped, but at least four more surfaced from what appears to be a different photo shoot. You would think that at this point she would come clean and say, “Yes, there are some dirty pictures out there of me.” But no, she is claiming it was all a “wardrobe malfunction.” Oh, no she didn’t? Oh, yes she did!

So the pageant swings into full investigative mode as it must be decided, can they allow Prejean to keep her status as runner-up. Oh, by the way, Miss North Carolina actually won the pageant, and I don’t even know her name. Funny how nobody cares about her, isn’t it? Of course she isn’t bashing gay marriage or talking about chicken cutlets and to my knowledge no nudie pics have been posted anywhere . . . but I digress. The pageant must decide what to do with Prejean, so they call in the big guns with bad hair – Donald Trump. This is just so surreal, but apparently Trump owns the pageant (you can own a beauty pageant?) and it’s his decision. I saw the two of them on the Today Show and it was really no way to start my morning. Trump said that he thought the pictures were nicely done and tasteful. He didn’t see a problem. She could keep her status as runner-up. But wait, I thought he rules clearly stated that . . . Oh, never mind. He’s really, really rich so whatever he says goes.

So I’ll sum this up. Carrie Prejean represents everything that is wrong with America for the following reasons:

1) She is the embodiment of the terrible disservice we are doing to young American girls. They are bombarded with images of what is supposed to be beautiful, and Carrie Prejean fits the bill. Truth is none of us look like her. Hell, she had to have surgery to look like she does. It’s disgusting, and it’s the wrong message. Actually I’m shocked that we still have beauty pageants in this day and age. The whole concept is archaic. Prejean ought to be ashamed; she is one piss-poor role model.

2) Hate is hate. Whether it’s directed at an ethnic group, women, men, people with disabilities, the elderly . . . it doesn’t matter. Saying that people who are gay shouldn’t have the basic civil right of being able to marry is pretty fracking hateful. Prejean honestly strikes me as just plain ignorant on the subject, and I think the full ramifications of her statement still elude her. But after all, she is white, blonde, very pretty, upper middle class, young and apparently she just doesn’t have to think about these things.

3) And lastly, because of Carrie Prejean, we are now relying on Donald Trump to tell us what’s ethically right. I’m not sure there is much more I can say about that aside from the fact that I fear one day Trump will buy all of America. And if that happens, I guess the laws of our great nation will be his to interpret as he sees fit. There’ll only be one member of the Supreme Court – Justice Trump. I shudder to think.

So do you think we are actually done with Prejean? I sure hope so, but somehow I think we aren’t. Maybe pictures of her kissing another woman will surface, or better yet, the Republican Party is sinking fast. Maybe they could recruit Prejean to the fill the giant void Joe the Plumber left. Oh, I know, Fox News could give her, her own show. Or, maybe she will just fade away into oblivion.

Carrie, your work here is done. You can go home now, cook up those chicken cutlets as you obviously no longer need ‘em and leave America alone.

My Friend Mike

2009-04-01T19:45:00.009-05:00

This is my friend Mike. For those of you who are unable to see the photo, Mike is leaning over talking into a little silver intercom box bolted to a brick wall. It is just after sunset on the evening of March 31, 2009 and it’s starting to get pretty cold, but Mike isn’t deterred. What isn’t pictured are the 40 or so people standing behind him, and the Governor of Illinois’ mansion which is located just on the other side of the big rod iron gates next to the intercom.

My friend Mike sure is ballsy. I took this picture of him as he explained to the Governor’s staff on the other end of the intercom why Howe Developmental Center in Tinley Park, IL is a dangerous place for people with disabilities to live and that it needs to be closed as soon as possible. Dozens of people have died there over the past three years and not all, but most of those deaths were 100% preventable. Substandard care and outright abuse and neglect lead to a lot of the deaths – in fact let’s not call them deaths at all. Let’s use a more fitting word like murder. Mike had been saying all week long that he wanted to ring Governor Quinn’s doorbell and explain this situation to him in person. I didn’t think he would really do it, but I was wrong.

My friend Mike is a member of a kick ass disability rights group called the Campaign for Real Choice in Illinois. I’m proud to call myself a member too. The Campaign along with some other groups like Illinois Voices and the Springfield Area Disability Activists are the reason Mike and the rest of us were standing outside the Governor’s mansion in the cold. They organized a march from the Lincoln statue at the Illinois Capitol Building to the Governor’s mansion where a candlelight vigil was held honoring those murdered at Howe Developmental Center. Soon Governor Quinn will have the opportunity to decide if Illinois will continue to fund Howe. The Feds have already decided the place isn’t worth their money and all federal dollars have been yanked out of Howe’s budget. Illinois has been shouldering the full cost of running this multimillion dollar deathtrap where the staff have been known to engage in knife fights and drug sniffing dogs are needed to ensure they aren’t trafficking illegal substances through the facility. One would think this should be a simple decision for Governor Quinn to make, but this is Illinois, and nothing about Illinois politics is simple.

My friend Mike reminds me of a little promise I made to myself earlier this year. When world class disability rights advocate JoAnn Bayer passed away in February, I decided that I would honor her memory the best way I could – my plan was to channel the spirit of JoAnn when I needed courage and not be intimidated by anyone when it comes to advocating for people with disabilities. I’d have never of had the nerve to ring the Governor’s doorbell, and if I had I wouldn’t have been as articulate as Mike was. Apparently Mike has got a direct line to JoAnn who I’m thinking is probably up in heaven right now annoying the crap out of St. Peter until he finally installs an automatic door opener on the pearly gates.

My friend Mike is a man with a past. I was told he was a bad seed and that I should steer clear of him, which I did for a while, but I’ve never followed directions very well. Mike has been to jail before. The FBI has a file on him and back in the day he was quite the instigator. He was involved in a lot of anti war and civil rights protests and sometimes people even whisper to this day that Mike is a communist. They also liberally apply the “L” word to him. Lean in and I’ll tell you a secret – all that stuff about him is true, except for the bad seed part.

My friend Mike inspires me and makes me want to work a little harder as an advocate. He makes me realize that I shouldn’t care what other people might think of me and that I should never be shy about standing up for my convictions. Being an advocate means you will be unpopular sometimes, but that’s okay. Mike has helped me to realize that in the end it isn’t about what other people think of you, it’s about whether or not you can be proud of yourself at the end of the day. I know I sure was proud of Mike Tuesday night outside of the Governor’s mansion. I wanna be like Mike.

Wanted: Screenwriter with a disability

2009-03-30T21:59:00.009-05:00

Friday night I thought the Pod People had taken my husband away and replaced him with someone else. He picked me up after work and said that he thought the two of us should go out to the University and watch a free screening of the film Milk which was to be followed by a discussion group featuring a panel of gay, lesbian and transgendered politicians. This sort of activity is right up my ally, but not so much his. Maybe I don’t give him enough credit, but that’s an entirely different blog entry . . .

For those of you who live under a rock, Milk is the Academy Award winning film about pioneering San Francisco politician Harvey Milk – the first openly gay person to be elected to public office in the United States. Sean Penn won the Best Actor Oscar for his portrayal of Milk; he was divine. In fact I can’t actually remember what Sean Penn is like because in my head he is now Harvey Milk.

The movie Milk is about grassroots advocacy. In the 1970’s it was dangerous to be gay and to come out openly to your family or your employer was almost like committing social suicide. Harvey Milk hid the truth about his sexuality most of his life and in his early 40’s moved to San Francisco. It was from his little camera shop in the Castro that Harvey Milk would go on to lead one of the greatest grassroots advocacy movement our nation has ever seen.

I’m perturbed at myself. I didn’t really know who Harvey Milk was before the movie came out. I knew the Harvey Milk School for gay, lesbian and transgendered students was in New York, and I’m ashamed to confess that I thought Milk was some famous Broadway actor/singer/dancer or something.

Dustin Lance Black did however know who Harvey Milk was and the world is a better place for it. Black’s family moved him from a conservative Mormon upbringing in Texas, to California so he could grow up and not be ashamed of the fact that he was gay. Black never met Harvey Milk, but his story and life’s work inspired Black to write the screenplay for Milk.

Now that’s one hellofa grassroots movement. Harvey Milk was murdered 30 years ago by a fellow San Francisco City Supervisor (Councilman) and he’s still moving young people to action today!

Harvey Milk had a broad understanding of civil rights. The grassroots movement he helped to start was specific; they wanted to ensure the civil rights of people who are gay. But Milk understood that civil rights as a whole is a much, much bigger issue and that if you advocate for civil rights for one group, then by its very definition, you are a civil rights advocate for every group.

I wonder how many people know who Justin Dart, Jr. is. I’ll bet the average Joe on the street couldn’t tell you. Dart is the disability rights movement’s Milk. I have often thought that a major motion picture needs to be made about Justin Dart’s life. Do you think Dustin Lance Black knows who Justin Dart is? I’ll bet he doesn’t, but he isn’t the one to write a screenplay about Dart anyway. It should come from a young man or woman with a disability who is inspired by the movement Dart lead for so many years.

I love this picture because I feel like it sums things up in a full circle sort of way that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It is of Justin Dart, Jr. and a young man named Kyle Glozier. Glozier was 14 years old when he gave a speech at the Democratic National Convention in 2000. His speech talked about legislation that would create money follows the person funding for disability services. To see Dart and Glozier together in this photo gives me hope for the future.

The success of the film Milk has brought gay rights issues front and center. There’s nothing like a giant Hollywood movie to make Americans pay attention to something, and now Harvey Milk is a household name. Proposition 8 banned gay marriages in California this past November. I’m willing to bet that the film Milk opens a few minds and does its part to help repeal this hateful and unconstitutional piece of legislation.

I hope there is a bright young person out there with a disability who is working on that Justin Dart screenplay. I hope they get to interview Dart’s wife Yoshiko and all of the other advocates he worked with so closely. The Americans with Disabilities Act exists today due in large part to efforts led by Justin Dart. The law isn’t perfect and there is still much work to be done, but I can’t even fathom the renewed interest in our cause, and more importantly our civil rights, that a film about Dart would create. I feel like I need to go out on Craig’s List or Monster.com and post the following:

Wanted: Screenwriter with a disability, understanding of civil rights preferred, hero worship of Justin Dart, Jr. a definite plus, must be willing to change the world, all others need not apply

So Say We All

2009-03-25T22:27:00.007-05:00

Battlestar Galactica came to an end this past Friday and it was like losing an old friend. It was truly the best fracking show on TV. But it’s never gonna get the accolades it so righteously deserves. Why you ask? Because it’s science fiction and we just can’t take that seriously now can we? We can when it stars Edward James Olmos and a crew of other ridiculously talented people.

Edward James Olmos (EJO) first blipped on my dradis screen when I was in high school. My algebra teacher decided to show us a movie and we thought, who gets to watch a movie in math class? For that reason alone, I can remember being excited. They showed us Stand and Deliver, a film starring the man himself as an inner city high school teacher who reaches a bunch of kids … ok, I won’t get into that. Point is, he was good. Great in fact, and you know he had to be if 16 year old me noticed. You see EJO isn’t exactly a handsome leading man type. His teeth are atrocious, his complexion is unfortunate and I wouldn’t say he’s ever been the most fit and trim fellow. But he is a great actor. It’s like Al Pacino or Robert De Niro or Christopher Walkin – they aren’t especially good looking men, but they are these incredible Academy Award wining actors who transcend shortness (Pacino), unfortunate facial mole placement (De Niro) and skeletal creepiness (Walkin). If those guys can win Academy Awards, can’t we give Edward James Olmos an Emmy?

On Battlestar Galactica EJO portrays Admiral William Adama, the leader of what’s left of the Colonial fleet after the Cylons attack and nuke the colonies. Basically, if you happened to be in space at the time, you had a chance at surviving. In the original 1970’s series Adama was portrayed Loren Greene, you know, the Alpo guy who used to be on Bonanza. The new series is nothing like the original (thank the gods!) and the Loren Greenesque style of portraying Adama fortunately got flushed out an airlock. EJO’s Adama is gritty and flawed. He drinks too much, hates change and is a stubborn old bastard. His love affair with President Roselyn is one of the most beautiful and complex relationships ever captured in a TV series. For spacing Loren Greene and loving President Roselyn, can’t we please give Edward James Olmos an Emmy?

William Shatner portrayed the captain of another famous starship that whether you love or hate, is ingrained in our pop culture – he’s of course Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise. The Shat is best known for this role, and also for how seriously bad his acting was while portraying him. Has a fictional character ever been more mocked or impersonated than William Shatner doing his very best Captain Kirk complete with pregnant pauses and meaningful looks? He even parodies himself now as the Priceline Negotiator. We apparently all live in some mirror universe because in 2005 the Shat, world renowned bad actor extraordinaire, won an Emmy for his work on Boston Legal. If the Shat can win an Emmy, I mean really people, can’t we give Edward James Olmos an Emmy too?

Have you ever seen an original SciFi Channel movie? They have titles like Boa vs. Python, Mansquito and Supergator. They are as gods awful as their titles sound. “SciFi Original” is like the brand of death – it sucks the quality right out of a project. Except for Battlestar Galactica. They had a long history of really bad juju working against them, but somehow pulled this amazing show right out of their asses. The special effects are movie quality and the writing is mind blowing. More would happen each week before they rolled the opening credits than would happen on three episodes of most shows. And the acting …what can I say. Can’t we please just give Edward James Olmos a fracking Emmy already!?

I don’t know how else I can say this in order to make myself clear, so I’ve composed the following haiku to better convey my feelings on this subject.

So Say We All, a fracking haiku to be read in the voice of the Cylon hybrid

Edward James Olmos
a nod from Emmy deserved
righteous, end of line

Obama's Comments Not-So-Special

2009-03-21T20:12:00.004-05:00

There was a part of me that knew the second I credited the man with greatness, he’d do something really stupid in public. Okay, so it took longer than a second – I published my blog at 9:30 pm and a little over an hour later President Obama is on Leno dissing Special Olympic athletes. It was kinda like a personal insult aimed right at my head. I tried to duck, and no matter how much I wanted to find that the conservatives were blowing it out of proportion, I’m forced to admit that it pissed me off.

There are lots of groups of people out there he could have insulted. He coulda went with just about any flavor of ethnic from Asian to Hispanic, or he could have picked on rednecks, racists or Republicans. But no, it had to be people with disabilities. Damn the luck.

It’s obvious to me that President Obama hasn’t spent much time at Special Olympics bowling events. You see, I have, and I know for a fact there are a great many Special O athletes who can bowl a 129 in their sleep. His comments went down like this:

Jay says to Obama that he assumes the bowling lane in the basement of the White House is history.

Obama says, no way, he’s been practicing and bowled a 129.

Jay makes fun of him.

It really isn’t a very good average, in fact I can even bowl 129 on a good day.

And then Obama says “It’s like Special Olympics or something. I’m making progress.” That quote is pretty close. There was a lot of noise from the audience, but I think it’s accurate.

I worked at a residential group home where all 8 of the gentleman who lived there competed in a variety of Special Olympic sports. I know that not all Special O programs are created equal, but the one I volunteered with for several years in Jacksonville, IL was a model of what it ought to be.

First off, to ever suggest there isn’t real competition in Special Olympics is offensive. No one is competing for a million dollar sign-on bonus with the Lakers, however there is just as much competition, passion and excitement as you would find at a high school sporting event. Special O athletes train, no matter the event, and most of them are dedicated, and strive to do better for themselves and their team.

Obama talked with Jay about his love of basketball – most of us know that’s the President’s preferred game – and I have to say that I’d like to see him go up against a top level Special Olympics basketball team. I have no doubt they’d hold their own. In fact when I coached Special O basketball, I was qualified to do nothing more taxing than operating the scoreboard. They were all such strong players that I honestly had nothing to contribute that would have been even remotely coach-like. However I can count, so playing to my strengths, they let me keep track of the score.

Special Olympics is about doing your best and personal growth. Athletes don’t get cut from the team if they aren’t good enough (they may move to a lower division) and at track and field events they recruit volunteers to engage in a practice I loath – they are “huggers” at the finish line. In the real world random strangers don’t hug you when you lose. Somewhere though deep in the Special Olympics machine it was decided that losing a race was too brutal and emotionally bruising for most people with developmental disabilities, so the huggers were instituted. And that is complete bullshit. Special Olympic athletes are just people. Some are graceful when defeated, other are sore losers you can hardly stand to be around.

Many of my brothers and sisters in the disability rights movement aren’t fond of the entire concept of Special O. They cite reasons like the ones I’ve listed in the paragraph above. I concede those points, and also that the program has a most unfortunate name – the “Special” part is pretty gacky. Of course it’s a multimillion dollar charity with immediate name recognition, so I’m thinking they won’t be making the name more PC anytime soon. And lots of disability rights activists don’t like the fact that it’s separate from other community programs. I do however submit this for thought - for athletes in some of the divisions with lower skill levels, there really aren’t other options. I’m pretty sure most parents would object to having a 40 year old man on their child’s t-ball team.

I think the general public has a certain perception about Special Olympics and the athletes who participate, and it seems like our President has that same misunderstanding. Special Olympic events aren’t easy, and not everyone wins. Special O athletes are honest to goodness athletes and they aren’t brave, or courageous – hell they aren’t even special! If I could find a mountaintop in Illinois I’d start my climb so I could shout from the peak, that Special Olympic athletes are just people. I can see The Onion headline now, it would read “Special Olympic Athletes are Actual People; Spectators Stunned”.

I love Barack Obama for a lot of reasons, and foremost is that the man is wicked smart. I don’t think he’s given any thought at all to Special Olympics. It really is sorta completely off the radar. He’s got a lot to worry about at the moment – see my blogger muse Big Noise for a little more on that.

I’m talking directly to you now President Obama. I know you’ve got the brain power to figure this out, and here’s how you do it. Invite some gold medal Special O athletes from the top bowling divisions over to the White House, and head for the basement. Let them give you some pointers on improving your game, feed ‘em dinner and just hang out with ‘em for a while. It won’t take long and I’m sure you’ll be completely caught up to speed. Oh, and one more thing you might not of thought of, in addition to spanking you on the bowling ally, lots of Special Olympic athletes vote too.

I Heart Obama

2009-03-19T21:41:00.000-05:00

This week I bought my first Barack Obama t-shirt. This is a big deal because he isn’t campaigning anymore. Had I bought one while he was running, it would have signified my support for a candidate – it’s like sticking a yard sign out by the curb. Now, he is actually in office and everywhere you go there are t-shirts, mugs, key chains . . . Have you seen that ad for the commemorative Obama coins?

There are framed pictures of the President of the United States hanging in living rooms across America. When was the last time that happened? JFK I suppose. Kennedy was President long before I was born, so I’ve personally never witnessed anything quite like this. I’d imagine any pictures hanging in American homes in the past 8 years of W. were located on the dart board, or possibly lined the bird cage.

The truth is Obama is cool. That’s not news, but it still just keeps catching me off guard. I was watching MSNBC last night and they went live to Obama speaking to a crowd in California. The room was humongous of course and he had them eating out of the palm of his hand. He was talking about the economy (no surprise there) and he took responsibility for the AIG bonus screw up. Now you’d think that would be an unpopular thing to do - think again. The analysts on 1600 Pennsylvania Ave right before they cut to Obama were ranting on about how he needs a scapegoat because this would bite him in the butt. Nope, not at all. You see, he acts like, oh I dunno, a President ought to. He really seems to get that shit rolls up hill and if it happens on his watch, ultimately it’s his fault.

But back to the crowd in California. He made ‘em laugh, and he knew when to cry with ’em. Someone in the cheap seats yelled “I love you.” He didn’t miss a beat and said, “I love you too.” You know, I think he means it. I don’t mean that he loves that disembodied voice, but I think he really does care about us. It feels foreign to me, but I think he does love me because I’m an American. I think he actually gives a crap about common everyday people.

He took his jacket off and the crowd went wild – hold up people! This is the President! Is this appropriate behavior? A bunch of women (and a few men) started screaming like he was Elvis. I’m not sure, but I think he might be sexy. Is any of this possible?

On St. Paddy’s day I caught a few minutes of an interview with the Irish President Mary McAleese. When asked about Obama, the woman literally light up. The Irish love him! She recalled when she first learned who he was which wasn’t all that long ago. In fact, his rise to the status of the-most-popular-guy-on-the-planet was so fast that the version of MS Word I’m typing this on right now doesn’t recognize Barack Obama in the spell checker.

So is Obama really that great, or were our expectations just so lowered over the past 8 years that we’d have elected any well spoken pleasant looking Democrat with a nice family and be happy with it? Obama is infectious and I guess I’ve caught this frackin’ disease called optimism. I admit it, I cried like a baby on election night. I know the economy is in a world of hurt, but somehow President Obama makes it all better. Tonight he is going to be on Jay Leno and millions of us will watch him and we’ll go to sleep feeling a little better about the world. It’s like he’s tucking Americans in and giving us a goodnight hug when we really need it most.