Queer3

Further occupied

2012-02-15T10:43:00.000-08:00

The following is my column coming out in today’s Claremont Courier. I will add just that, based on what was said by all of those who addressed this issue during the public comment period at last night’s City Council meeting, I don’t see how the Council could not decide to reverse its decision to shut down Occupy Claremont. (It did appear that it would move in this direction - “these things take time” - although a new site may be suggested.)

THINGS THAT SHOULD OCCUPY US - EXPRESSION, AWARENESS

Last Fall, I was on a roll. I wrote two columns in November on the Occupy movement protesting economic inequality and other injustices. The first was about my visit to Occupy L.A, and the second had to do with how the issues brought up by the nationwide protests, which origintated in the Wall Street financial district in New York City, might be dealt with in Claremont. Obviously, I was very excited and moved and thought that this grass-roots, hands-on movement was the real deal, history being made.

I still think that.

But when the real deal became the real thing here, when Occupy Claremont started not long before Thanksgiving, I didn’t write about it. I may have written a few lines about finding it amusing that the occupiers camped out in front of the City Council chambers, mostly Pitzer College students, packed it in and went home for Thanksgiving, but I otherwise dropped the subject.

Probably because I was more amused than moved.

I have to confess that, with the critical exception of the Sunday afternoon general assemblies, I was thinking of Occupy Claremont as a joke. And not just because of the all-too-literal Thanksgiving break.

Much of this had to do with Occupy Claremont starting when most of the other occupy protests were (forcibly) closing down. Appropriately enough for the time of year, it was like Christmas decorations left up in January and February. Dude, it’s so yesterday, as my teenaged nephew would say. Take a clue from a fellow movement and move on.

Moreover, I kept thinking - yes, cynically and perhaps not getting all the information that I should have - that a few students thought, awfully late in the game, it would be cool to do Occupy Claremont. It was like they were playing Occupy.

I didn’t want to write this. I didn’t want to write that Occupy Claremont is a joke.

But, really, I didn’t have to write this.

For one thing, there were, as I said, the general assemblies on Sunday afternoons. With these sessions, the students made a real effort to make something happen, to at least raise awareness and create a truly open dialogue on economic and other concerns. They made it clear that this was/is more than a camp-out.

Also, even if it has been just a camp-out, it has been there for nearly three months (a month more than Occupy L.A). This is a long time to camp, especially on a cold, hard cement patio (even if this winter has been remarkably mild and dry). This is considerably more of an effort than spray-painting the wall of a bank (how much more constructive and productive the general assemblies are!) or attending an afternoon rally. This is not a joke.

No, when it comes to jokes, what was really a joke was when a man wrote in a letter in these pages that he didn’t feel safe doing his Christmas shopping in the Village with Occupy Claremont there. Really? A man - or a woman or even a child - being afraid of a few scruffy students from an expensive college?

This sounds like an argument from someone desperate for an excuse. A more cogent, more truthful, if no less ridiculous argument is the one in several letters in these pages saying that Occupy Claremont not only takes up public space but, most importantly, does so in an unattractive manner. One recent letter-writer stated that the encampment was “gross” to walk through when attending a city council or commission meeting.

Well, isn’t that the point?

I can’t help but recall that I started out writing about the Occupy movement by mentioning that some people probably were not amused when the Hot Pecans kept saying “Welcome to Occupy Claremont!” during their Friday Night Live performance in early October right where Occupy Claremont has been. Who would have thought there would be an Occupy encampment not only in Claremont, safely away from the big city, but in this very spot? But I did think that these people were uncomfortable and unhappy with such an idea.

This isn’t a surprise. Occupy Claremont isn’t supposed to make us comfortable and happy. Occupy Claremont is supposed to make us uncomfortable and unhappy. It is supposed even to be gross.

Keep in mind that “gross” isn’t the same as messy. It has been noted many times that Occupy Claremont is, in addition to not blocking anyone’s way, notably neat and tidy (not to mention safe and crime-free). But, as it is supposed to and as with all the other Occupy protests, Occupy Claremont makes us think about messy, uncomfortable, unhappy, gross issues. It makes us face homelessness, poverty, inequality and other unpleasant things.

These people would rather not see and deal with these ugly things and are cheering the City Council’s decision to include Occupy Claremont in the city’s camping ban - a decision that is not only a joke but a bad one. Saying that Occupy Claremont is a camp and thus has to be cleared is most unreasonable, because, as has been made clear, it is, as a mode of expression raising awareness, so much more than a camp.

A popular argument with those who are against Occupy Claremont is that the City wouldn’t have let the encampment stay up so long if it was done by Tea Party folks. I have to say that, putting aside the Tea Party message not really fitting with the camping mode as with the Occupy protests, they have a point and the City should let the Tea Partiers protest in this manner, as long as, like with Occupy Claremont, it is neat and tidy and doesn’t pose a threat or danger (as with, say, a white power group).

So, now, Occupy Claremont is due to clear out or be cleared out later this month. This is, unfortunately, no joke at all. It will be even less so if force and violence are involved.

Civil conversation in a time of incivility

2012-02-14T12:56:00.000-08:00

Bill Moyers is back. After retiring for the second or third time, this ever-thoughtful journalist, who served as President Johnson’s press secretary, has returned - for the election year? - with a new weekly, hour-long program on PBS called “Moyers & Company.” It features Moyers’ usual long, deep conversations with guests and impassioned yet measured commentary. There is also a website - www.billmoyers.com/.

I have to admit that I found the first two episodes, starting in mid-January, which focused laser-like on what Moyers calls “crony capitalism,” wearying, although I totally share his concern with the power of money and moneyed interests in this country. My curiosity and excitement were much more piqued by a guest on the third program, Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist who teaches at the University of Virginia and who has a book coming out next month called “The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion.”

What I found fascinating was Haidt’s premise that liberals and conservatives literally can’t talk to each other because they literally can’t compromise. This is because they literally see each other as evil and, therefore, compromising - or “being compromised” - with each other as evil.

Evil is an awfully strong word, but, disturbingly, it fits pretty well here. Take welfare, for instance. Conservatives are actually offended by welfare, because it violates their genuine belief in the Protestant work ethic, in earning what one has through hard, honest work. Someone getting something, especially something like a living, for nothing messes this up in an intolerable way. In addition, they see it as terribly unfair, especially when they are working hard and honestly.

On the other hand, liberals take offense at the denial of welfare, which they see as cold and heartless.

This - taking offense and seeing evil in each other - makes it all but impossible for the two sides to come together. Again, compromise is a dirty word, seen as selling out, a bad thing. (During the interview, Moyers showed a clip from a 60 Minutes interview with House speaker John Boehner shortly after the debt ceiling crisis, in which Leslie Stahl could barely get Boehner to utter the word.) It is Haidt’s hope and purpose in his new book that understanding this will lead to breaking the gridlock.

Even more striking, if not all the more disturbing, is Haidt’s notion or finding that, politics aside, a sizable majority of Americans agree with the conservative viewpoint and values. It’s not that they are stern and without compassion, but they do strongly believe in such things as authority, dedication (as in loyalty, hard work, etc.) and fairness. It is when these are taken to extremes that things get so tough.

No-fault war

2012-02-03T11:32:00.000-08:00

America has been at war in the Middle East for over a decade. That’s a long time. If I’m not mistaken, it’s longer than any war the U.S has been in. Yes, we are out of Iraq, more or less, but we’re still in Afghanistan, and I’m not seeing any quick, easy exit coming up.

I think a big part of why this war has dragged on is that it’s not real. That’s right - not real. For many of us, it is a video game. There is no draft, and most people don’t know anyone fighting. I don’t. This is in contrast to the Vietnam War, when everyone knew someone who was fighting - and probably dying - and was protesting.

What’s more, we now have drones. These unmanned planes, which drop bombs in Afghanistan, are controlled by a guy working a shift in a room somewhere in America. Talk about a video game!

And now there’s a plane coming out, the X-47B, which can not only land itself on an aircraft carrier but also will know what kind of weapons it’s carrying, when and where it needs to refuel with an aerial tanker and whether there’s a nearby threat. As Carl Johnson, Northrop’s X-47B program manager, was recently quoted in the Los Angeles Times, “It will do its own math and decide what to do next.”

So, as the Times article brings up, who is responsible for the bombs dropped and the deaths they cause? The commander who used the plane? The politician who authorized it? The military’s acquisition process? The programmer? The manufacturer?

And what if, dear God, there’s a glitch?

Where it's hotter and harder

2012-02-01T11:25:00.000-08:00

“When you make people no longer accountable for political reasons, even a dummy knows what’s going to happen. It’s going to make things more difficult.”

That’s R. Rex Parris spouting off - as usual. I have written before, not too long ago, about the mayor of Lancaster in northeastern Los Angeles County, where he’s at least as hard and dry as the desert surrounding the town.

This time, besides putting down the mentally disabled, he is griping about the county’s decision to stop providing funds for additional housing inspectors in Lancaster and another desert town, where rent is cheaper. Never mind that these inspections of units rented to people who, like me, receive Section 8 federal Housing and Urban Development subsidies are often unannounced (I always get a month’s notice) and with armed police officers in tow and focus on non-white residents.

Never mind that the inspections have been labeled harassment and intimidating. Never mind that they are now the subject of a federal investigation and that the county is making the wise move to untangle itself out of an ugly, illegal mess. According to the Los Angeles Times, Parris called the county’s decision “insanity.”

What’s insanity is this mayor, who has advocated that city council meetings should opened with a prayer to Jesus, taking his middle name - Rex - all too literally (not to mention degrading the mentally disabled in a public statement). Moreover, he sounds like those conservatives who say voting should be hard because people died for it.

These kids are alright

2012-01-30T11:15:00.000-08:00

It was noteworthy enough when I went to the Rose Hills Theater at Pomona College was two weeks ago and found it packed with students. They were there on the evening before the first day of the semester at the colleges here in Claremont. This was certainly a far cry from when I was in college and would pile into the dorm at 10 p.m on the last day of a break.

They were all there to hear Tony Porter, a guy from New York who apparently goes all over talking about violence against women and why men, good men, like those in the audience, let it happen. He spent most of the time discussing what is in “the man box,” especially attitudes towards women and, just as importantly, acting like women. Very effective. The evening was sponsored by two student groups, including a fraternity. (Those interested in finding out more about Mr. Porter’s work can google “a call to men.”)

What was even more remarkable than all of this was when, at one point during the highly interactive presentation, he had three guys who had indicated that they were in love join him on stage and asked them who they loved and why. It turned out two of the men loved men.

There was no gasps, no giggling, no double-takes. Porter proceeded calmly with his questioning, just as he did with the guy with the girlfriend, and the two guys gladly and proudly explained why they adored their boyfriends.

Like nothing happened.

Yes, but, as I was reminded as I sat there all but breathless, things happen, and things change - things always change - and, for those who wait, are getting better and better.

Queer is bigger

2012-01-20T11:50:00.000-08:00

I like Neil Thomas for a lot of reasons. When I went to see him on Sunday, he was funny, smart and quite charming. He is also gay and good-looking, and he said, with a grin, that he’s “available.” And that British accent, as almost always, didn’t hurt.

The other thing I like about this Metropolitan Community Church minister is that he said what I’ve been saying. Or trying to say. He just said it so much better.

Born and raised and trained in England, Reverend Thomas is Senior Pastor of MCC, Los Angeles - the founding church in the progressive, inclusive Christian movement - and is well-known in England and the U.S for his social activism. He has been instrumental in numerous service programs, including for LGBT youths and people with HIV/AIDS and with alcohol and drug addictions, and is currently President of California Faith for Equality, promoting the legalization of same-sex marriage. On Sunday, he spoke to a LGBT-and-allies group that meets monthly at the congregational church here in Claremont.

After talking about coming out and being sexually active at 15 in a supportive if concerned family, with a very strong mother, and in a country that is somewhat more liberal than America, which was, as Thomas cheekily pointed out, founded by puritans who fled England, he went on to discuss queer theology, the subject of his Ph.D dissertation.

Like me, Thomas likes the word “queer,” whereas many people feel that it is more of a slur. I have always felt, though somewhat vaguely, that “queer” connotes a sense of comradery and a sense of empowerment, and this turned out to be Thomas’ point.

He explained that gay theology, such as is found at MCC, sees the Bible through a gay lens. Likewise, feminist theology sees the Bible through a feminist lens, and liberation theology sees the Bible through an impoverished people’s lens. To Thomas, this is all well and good, but it is limiting.

Thomas posited that all these people - LGBT, feminists, impoverished and others - are queer, in that they go against the grain of society. Moreover, it is these people that Jesus reached out to and defended, and it is these people who now illustrate Jesus’ message of radical love and inclusiveness. And all these queer folks can be stronger - and take back Jesus and his message which has been hijacked by the religious right - when they get together.

In answering a question, Thomas stated that progressive Christians are now where evangelicals were 50, before they started getting together and when they were seen as a weird fringe group. He also said that the problem progressive Christians have is that they’re too nice to each other - “You believe what you believe, and I believe what I believe” - and then can’t speak up and say anything.

Facing the new year in a small town

2012-01-18T10:14:00.000-08:00

Following are my latest two columns in the Claremont Courier, the first published last Wednesday and the second published today. I think, together, they tell their own story and don’t need any explanation.

KEEPING THOSE LIGHTS SHINING IN CLAREMONT
“You could just picture it, and this was in conservative Claremont.”

Yes, well - and some of us think Claremont is pretty cool. I’m always hearing it said that Claremont is an oasis in a white-bread suburban Hell. Kind of like Austin in Texas.

But I also hear people say that Claremont drives them crazy. A friend recently told me she would go nuts when she would visit her parents in Claremont “and the sidewalks would roll up at 5.”

Sometimes the people who say that Claremont is cool are the same people who say it makes them crazy. (I’ve been known to be one of them.)

Maybe my friend was visiting her parents here around 1970. That’s the time Rebecca McGrew, a curator working at the museum at Pomona College, was referring to in the quote from an interview in the Los Angeles Times a few months ago. She was talking about when Judy Chicago, the renowned feminist artist, gave a lecture at Pomona College in February of that year and refused to answer questions from the men in the audience.

“The audience went crazy,” Ms. Chicago said in the same interview.

Judy Chicago, now 72, will be back at Pomona College later this month to, as her husband Donald Woodman says, “blow up” the football field. The spectacle will be an attempt to recreate an early fireworks piece - something like when she lit flares on Mt. Baldy in 1970, as documented in photographs and a video in an exhibit at the museum this last fall. The exhibit was the first of three this school year at the museum - “It Happened at Pomona” - in conjunction with the Los Angeles-area Pacific Standard Time showings spearheaded by the Getty Foundation.

Claremont can’t be all that conservative if it has world-class provocative artists coming here to stir things up and blow things up. Especially over 40 years ago.

And if nothing else, the story of Judy Chicago, the creator of the iconic “Dinner Party” installation, and her relationship with Claremont should brighten up our January. It is a reminder, after the bright and warming holiday lights have been taken down when the nights are still their longest and coldest (although the days might be quite warm), that Claremont has more than its share of lights that shine forth.

I am constantly amazed by how many people who get things done or do some much-needed shaking up are in Claremont or associated with Claremont. For example, I was looking at the Op-Ed page in the Los Angeles Times one day this last Fall, and there was a piece by Michael Shermer, arguing that God is wrongly given credit for making America great and Americans free and safe. This is pretty strong stuff in a country where God is invoked in the national motto and forever being called on by politicians.

I knew that Michael Shermer was the publisher of Skeptic magazine, but I didn’t know that, as cited in the biographical note, that he has been teaching at Claremont Graduate University.

Then, not long after this, I was watching the PBS NewsHour, and there was Philip Clayton, a Claremonter, being interviewed at the Claremont School of Theology. Mr. Clayton was talking about his work in heading up the school’s new Lincoln University, established to train Christian, Jewish and Muslim clergy-persons together so that they can better work together. Pretty cutting-edge stuff.

I am always seeing professors at the Claremont colleges quoted in the news. Jack Pitney, a political scientist at Claremont McKenna College, is a regular, and, just last week, Pomona College Latin American history professor Miguel Tinker Salas was quoted in an article, again in the L.A Times, about a Venezuelan television production company trying to export shows to the U.S.

And I also saw Claremont’s lights shining up north one morning a couple weeks ago in a funky pancake joint in Albany (Sam’s Log Cabin Café), just north of Berkeley. A teenaged girl and her mother sat down at the table next to me. The girl had a hefty college guide and talked excitedly about how, of all the Claremont colleges, Pitzer was the best fit for her (“environmentally concerned, socially conscious...”).

After a while of grinning over my grilled cakes, I couldn’t contain myself and mentioned that I’m from Claremont. Mother and daughter were quite pleased. It turned out that the daughter is a senior at Berkeley High and Mom is a Scripps College graduate. Claremont was the place to be in their eyes, even though the mother did mention that her daughter “thought it was Hell” when they passed through town last Spring and the colleges were on break.

Yes, Claremont has plenty of lights shining - good to remember now that the holidays are over and we face a new year. But “there is still work to be done.” This is what a friend said when I showed him the vandalism - the police label it a “hate crime,” according to the L.A Times - done on Christmas morning on the nativity scene in front of the Methodist Church on Foothill Boulevard featuring same-sex couples.

WHEN IT’S DARK, CAN WE SHINE BRIGHTER?
My friend said, “There is still work to be done.” That was all he said. He didn’t need to say anymore.

Suddenly, I wasn’t angry anymore. Or not just angry anymore. Suddenly, I knew what to do.

Suddenly, I knew that just being angry was doing no good.

I had been angry all that week. Good and angry. Sitting with it. Stewing in it. I had been ranting to friends and whoever would hear me and not hear me - and it seemed that a lot were not hearing me.

That’s why I had my friend with me. It was New Year’s Day, and, as I mentioned here last week in writing about how there are plenty of people in Claremont that shine forth after the holiday lights have been taken down in the dark of winter, I was showing my friend the vandalism done on the nativity scene in front of the Methodist church on Foothill Boulevard a week earlier, sometime during the night before Christmas morning. The vandalism had been labeled a hate crime by the police, and I wanted my friend, who was from out of town, to be angry like I was.

The vandalism was striking - truly a hate crime, much more than an ugly random hit - precisely because the nativity scene, created by John Zachary, was so striking. It featured same-sex couples.

The piece was more abstract than usual, consisting of three large neon-lit boxes. One box showed a man and a woman holding hands, one box showed two men holding hands and the other box showed two women holding hands. Above the boxes were a neon-lit star and large sign proclaiming, “Christ is born.” In front of the boxes, also neon-lit, was a small sculptured tree and a small sign explaining Jesus’ message of love for all, especially those who are marginalized.

As I saw on Christmas Eve, it made quite a strong statement and made it boldly.

When I went by the nativity scene that evening, I was expecting to see something provocative. For some years now, the tableaus in front of Claremont United Methodist Church, all evidently designed by Mr. Zachary, have been far from traditional and, to say the least, very interesting. There have been scenes set in a homeless encampment and a jail cell. One featured Mexican illegal immigrants.

As Mr. Zachary explained, “The nativity scene has been done hundreds of thousands of times, and everyone has that beautiful fourth century version of the Nativity in their minds. I thought we should do something in a more contemporary context that people can relate to. Something that would represent what it would be like if Christ was born today.”

I was indeed looking forward to this year’s scene. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the brave, striking, brightly lit message that I saw. It was definitely out there - in every sense. I sat there, stunned and moved, in awe.

The next morning, I began telling friends to go by and check out the nativity scene. I took a friend by in the afternoon, wanting to surprise him, and, instead, I got a surprise.

It was not a nice Christmas surprise. Something was wrong.

The “Christ is born” sign and star were ripped off the top, and the boxes were askew. It could have been wind damage, but it had not been particularly windy. I couldn’t help but have a bad feeling, a sinking feeling. There was something not random about the damage.

Why was it that just the box with the man and woman was left standing in place? And the star had been carefully placed over the sign explaining Jesus’ radical message of inclusive love.

No, I thought, this was vandalism. Anti-gay vandalism.

But, then, what bothered me - even more than the ugly vandalism - was the silence. I didn’t hear or see anything about what had happened. Not only did I see or hear no mention of the vandalism, there was no reaction, no outcry.

I assumed that a big part of this was that it was over the holidays, a quiet time with most people “off” with their family and friends, doing pleasant, enjoyable things. It wasn’t time for disturbing things. Then - likewise - two days after Christmas, I went out of town for five days.

It wasn’t until I returned the following Saturday when I saw any news of the news, in a link to a Los Angeles Times article that a friend had sent out through Facebook. (When I go away, I really go away, not looking at e-mail or going on-line.) I felt validated and not crazy. The story said that the act had been labeled a hate crime, and I was glad to see that there was a vigil held, with about 150 people in attendance, on the Thursday evening while I was away.

The next day was New Year’s Day, when I took my friend from out of town to see what had happened. This time, I knew what had happened, that it was vandalism, that it was a hate crime.

I wondered if more vandalism had been done since Christmas Day. The box with the two men had been knocked over on its side. (Why hadn’t the box with the two women been knocked over?)

But other changes had been made. The star was no longer covering the explanation. And there was a spray-painted cardboard sign attached atop the knocked-over box, the one with the two men holding hands. The sign said, “Choose love.”

Yes, there is work still to be done, as my friend said. We were also reminded of this with the recent Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday. What is the work we need to do to choose love and make Claremont shine all the brighter?

Sticking it to the disabled

2012-01-08T16:19:00.000-08:00

Early last month, there was an article on the front page of the Los Angeles Times about an author named Peter Winkler. Fine. I always enjoy seeing the arts and artists - and especially writers - get some attention. So much the better if it’s on the front page of the paper.

It was clear enough, however, that the reason why Winkler was featured on the front page isn’t so much that he is a fine writer. No, what was worthy of the front page was that, because of being disabled, he wrote his recently published biography of Dennis Hopper (“Dennis Hopper: The Wild Ride of a Hollywood Rebel”) by using a chopstick to type out one letter at a time. Not only that, but Winkler’s agent didn’t know of his rheumatoid arthritis and that he puts so much physical effort into his writing.

Indeed, the article is titled “Really sticking to it” and doesn’t just say that Winkler is disabled - he “increasingly is trapped,” “ravaged by arthritis,” which “has battered him for 48 of his 55 years.” That he doesn’t make this a big deal - he didn’t tell his agent of his disability and says that tapping one key at a time with a chopstick is “not so bad” (“He’s gotten pretty fast, and anyway, ‘I was always a two-finger typist.’”) - only makes it more of a big deal, suitable for the front page.

My first reaction when I read this story was: why doesn’t this guy use a word-prediction program like the one I use? I too type one key at a time, and I have been using this program (SoothSayer) for the last four or five years, and it has made writing - and my life - so much easier. Indeed, I wish I had it years, decades, ago!

Then I thought that if Winkler had such a tool, it would be less likely that there would be a big article about him on the front page. After all, there are thousands of disabled folks who use word prediction programs and other tools and not many (I hope) who use a chopstick to write. It also occurred to me that if Winkler really doesn’t consider his disability and his chopstick-typing a big deal, he wouldn’t have gone along with this article, which included photographs.

This situation - Winkler typing with a chopstick - is another example of how society makes life harder for the disabled, of how society disables people. Yes, there are many wonderful devices and technologies that make life easier for the disabled, but they are too often not easy to get.

What’s more, in a weird twist, as this article illustrates, this is used as a source of inspiration. And - trust me - being an inspiration is oh-so attractive.

Tech support

2011-12-26T10:50:00.000-08:00

I continue to marvel at how technology can help people. (Never mind for the moment, during this joyous season, how it can harm people.) Take my DynaVox, for example - the speech synthesizer I have written about several times here, which I use via a camera that follows a silver dot stuck onto the bridge of my glasses and which I now call Dyna. Incredible!

Dyna was outdone, though, when I attended a P-FLAG meeting earlier this month in Los Angeles. This was my second time at this meeting. I wrote here about my experience going to this meeting for the first time in October, saying I missed going to these supportive meetings after the one in Claremont faded out years ago.

One thing I didn’t write about at the time was that there was a transgender man at the meeting, accompanied by his mother, an American visiting him from Quatar.

The young man was at this month’s meeting. The mother had long since returned to Quatar, but she was there, with her son and us, at the meeting. Literally. The son plugged in his laptop, and there was his mother, on Skype, able to see as well as hear us, for the entire hour and an half.

That’s what I call support - through the wonder of technology. Like I said, incredible!

And all I want is my parents to just go to a P-FLAG meeting.

Season's reason and reasoning

2011-12-20T11:56:00.000-08:00

Things are getting plenty scary in this season of peace and joy. I read yesterday that Newt Gingrich, the new favorite among the Republican presidential candidates, declared that, if he is president, he will ignore court rulings that he doesn’t agree with and perhaps do away with some courts. He maintains that it’s time to end the tyranny of “activist judges.” (Interestingly, when asked if President Obama can ignore the Supreme Court if it outlaws the national healthcare law, Gingrich demurred.)

More timely, if not even more frightening, is that Rick Perry, another viable GOP presidential candidate, recently said that “there’s something wrong in this country when gays can serve openly in the military but our kids can’t openly celebrate Christmas or pray in school.” He went on to say, “As president, I’ll fight against Obama’s war on religion. And I’ll fight against liberal attacks on our religious heritage...”

There’s something wrong, terribly wrong, in this country when these utterances aren’t from a Saturday Night Live skit, when these guys are for real and are taken seriously, when one of them may well be our next president. I’d like to think that it’s less likely that the unpopular Obama will lose if up against one of these men rather than the less outrageous Mitt Romney, but, given the rabid Tea Partiers and evangelicals and the Democrats’ (arguably unfair) disappointment in Obama, I’m not sure if this is a real hope or just wishful thinking.

I don’t want to end with a bah humbug! To make these holidays a bit saner, if not merry and bright, check out these videos:

http://youtu.be/3epc2arU4g4

http://youtu.be/PEC7d5jbAbo

America can't take a holiday

2011-12-07T10:14:00.000-08:00

My family lived in London for a year when I was 15, and Christmas was on Saturday that year. The next day was designated “Christmas Sunday,” a holiday, and Boxing Day, a holiday usually celebrated on the 26th, was observed on Monday. (Never mind that a couple centuries ago, celebrating Christmas was heresy to some in Britain.) This meant three days off, and when I say off, I really mean off. There wasn’t even a newspaper published for three days.

This drove my father crazy. As he said, a nuclear bomb could be dropped somewhere in the world or our house in California could be destroyed in an earthquake, and he wouldn’t know. (The news was on the BBC, but my dad has never been one for television.)

He didn’t mind the stores being closed; he just couldn’t stand there being no newspaper for three days. My father - and anyone in my family - has never gone to a sale on “Black Friday,” the all-important shopping day in America on the day after Thanksgiving - and definitely not at 5 a.m.

This year, in addition to the market again being open on Thanksgiving Day, Black Friday crept into Thanksgiving, with many stores opening at 9 or 10 that evening.

So much for Thanksgiving. So much for taking a day, a whole day, off. In America, it’s all about “for your convenience.” It’s all about having every chance to cash in and for someone to make a buck.

There was a woman interviewed on the news on T.V - PBS - saying that “this is what’s wrong with this country.” As hysterical and right-wing as she sounded, she is right. To paraphrase, America is going to Hell in a shopping cart.

Pretty soon, stores will be open on Christmas Day, so there will be another shopping day “for your convenience.” After all, isn’t there a wall between church and state in this country?

There are those who argue that all this shopping is a good thing - and not just because it helps the economy and, as George Bush said, defeats the terrorists. In an Op-Ed piece published on Black Friday in the Los Angeles Times, James Livingston, a professor of history at Rutgers University, statement that “consumer culture is good for your soul.” He argues that “it is a part of leisure, not work” and goes on to explain, “Whether you’re purchasing food for a family meal, buying someone a drink or getting in line to buy a gift on Black Friday, you’re spending time and money to create new circuits of feeling among friends and family.”

So, in this essay, titled “Spend for your soul” and which was paired with an article titled “Stuffing ourselves” condemning Black Friday and the consuming it encourages, Livingston, who most recently authored “Against Thrift: Why Consumer Culture is Good for the Economy, the Environment and Your Soul” (really!), is positing that we need to spend money to find community and get love (“create new circuits of feeling among friends and family”).

To paraphrase again, something is indeed rotten - and terribly sad - in these United States.

Occupy Thanksgiving - bringing the movement home for the holidays

2011-11-23T10:10:00.000-08:00

Below is my latest column in the Claremont Courier. Meanwhile, two addendums:

1. Occupy L.A has been offered some offices for $1 a year and some land to farm for free in exchange for moving off the City Hall's now-dead lawn, in yet another instance, unlike in other cities, of the city bending over backwards to be accommodating. Mmmmm... I'm not sure if this - being bought off - is, or should be, what the occupiers had in mind. Then again, Occupy L.A has always been the Hollywood version of the movement.

2. There is now Occupy Claremont - two tents set up in front of the City Council chamber by Pitzer College students on Sunday, after my column came out. I can't help but chuckle at the fact that the students won't be there for the Thanksgiving break!

A LOT TO GIVE THANKS FOR - EVEN IF WE DON’T WANT IT

There it was. For all to see. It couldn’t be missed.

The words were spray-painted in deep red on the white wall of the exterior of the Bank of America branch in the Village when I passed by two Friday mornings ago. The paint dribbled down the wall at a few points, like blood oozing from a fresh stabbing.

“Pay tax.”

There was no mistaking the message, and it was indeed a piercing of sorts.
In my last column, I wrote about how the Occupy Wall Street movement, protesting corporate greed and other injustices, social and otherwise, isn’t so far off from Claremont. But I wasn’t expecting it to be this close. Then again, I can’t say I was that surprised.

“That’s horrible!” a friend exclaimed. “How could this happen in nice, little Claremont?” I couldn’t tell if my friend was genuinely disturbed or was being tongue-in-cheek.

When I passed the wall again a few minutes later, a man was working to clean off the graffiti.

“I wish they had done this on the windows,” I heard the man say as I passed by. “That would have made my job a lot easier.”

Maybe it was just as well that he was having a hard time scrubbing off that graffiti. Perhaps we next to look at the writing on the wall, so to speak, here in “nice, little Claremont.”

No one can tell me that there are no people living in Claremont who agree with the sentiment sprawled on the wall, that big financial institutions should be more socially responsible, should be more fair to consumers and shouldn’t be bailed out by the taxpayers. No one can tell me that there are no Claremont residents who are frustrated and hurting, maybe out of a job, maybe out of unemployment checks, having trouble making ends meet.

I don’t think this was some high school kid thinking he was being cool with the message of the moment. After all, it was reported that there was a similar message written on the wall of the other Bank of America office in Claremont, on Foothill Boulevard, that same morning. No, this was someone who knew what they were doing, who had a specific plan and a specific message.

Heck, there are probably at least a few students at the colleges here - or recent graduates sticking around town, who are feeling all but frantic and despairing about paying back hefty student loans, perhaps without being able to find a job.

Not that writing on walls is the best way to express anger and try to change things. But I have to say that I can’t get that worked up about this vandalism. It was not a threat, and I much rather see this than something more destructive or lethal.

I think the real question is, what do we do with the message on the wall? Do we just have it scrubbed off and then go about our way in “nice, little” Claremont?

With the holiday season coming up or more or less already here - we can tick off Halloween and the Pilgrim Place Festival - this may sound like the way to go. It may be best, it may be easier to snuggle into the celebrations and merry-making as the year winds down, even if things are not the best for some or many of us. But it could be that the disturbing, piercing writing on the wall is more bounty in this season of giving thanks.

It could be that, even as we want to not hear all the bad news and all the loud back-biting, this venting, this expression of anger and frustration is a rich bit - a rich, unexpected and even, yes, unwanted bit - in this harvest season.

This venting, this messy, ugly outcrying, even on our quiet, leafy streets, could be seen as a curse, but it is really a blessing - another one this Thanksgiving.

It is unfortunate and sad that things have gotten to the point where people feel that they have to camp out or scrawl messages on a wall, but such activism, such passionate, hands-on civil engagement is something to behold and be thankful for.

That what this is. The Occupy Wall Street movement is way past being a bunch of kooks. It is getting harder and harder not to take it seriously. The question, again, like with the graffiti in the Village, is what to do with it - or should we be doing anything with it here in Claremont?

In my last column, I wrote about visiting Occupy L.A and about how, although things are relatively, even surprisingly calm at the encampment (I think of it as, appropriately enough, the Hollywood version of Occupy), there is notable tension there, with people having differing views and styles, even if they have the same desires and goals. I wrote about the detailed guidelines there for holding meetings and reaching consensus and that, if nothing else, the protesters are learning and showing us all how to and how not to live and work together in community.

Since then, I have heard about people at Occupy L.A getting tired and yelling at each other about smoking pot and drumming late into the night and also segregating themselves. I have heard about people there coming to blows. I have also heard about some of the protesters meditating together and about the suggestion of asking someone who is angry to sit down, “because it is harder to be violent when you are sitting down.”

What can we learn from all this here in Claremont? Is there a message here about making this community more inclusive, where people can express differing views and improve things together, and even more something to be thankful for? Or do we just do what’s easier and only scrub off the unattractive, challenging writing on the wall?

Eye in the sky

2011-11-18T10:23:00.000-08:00

Starting next year, the city of Lancaster, in the desert roughly 45 minutes northeast of Los Angeles, is set to have a plane flying around 24/7, keeping an eye on the city. One resident quoted in the Los Angeles Times calls it a “spy plane” and is happy that it is coming.

The ACLU isn’t so sure. There is concern about privacy - duh! - especially with the plane videotaping and being able to see into backyards. The Lancaster police point out that the plane will enable them to see someone in trouble and needing assistance, and they promise that certain people won’t be targeted and that a very limited set of people can see the videotape. Meanwhile, Mayor Rex Parrish declares that he wants to make Lancaster “the safest city in America.”

Ah - Rex Parrish. Is he still the mayor there? Apparently so. This is a mayor who tried to have the City Council start all their meetings with a prayer to Jesus. He also tried to make it harder for landlords to rent to people with Section 8 housing subsidies, who are poor and tend to be of color. In fact, there is an ongoing federal investigation into surprise inspections of Section 8 rental units within the city (the annual inspections are typically scheduled weeks in advance) which are usually and very atypically accompanied by gun-toting police officers.

I draw two conclusions from this. One is that it really is the case that things tend to get much less progressive pretty quickly as one heads inland, at least on the west coast. The other is that it might be time to donate to the ACLU.

Looking at looking at the disabled

2011-11-04T11:11:00.000-07:00

When I got to the theater, the man who was to speak wasn’t there. But he did speak. He was on a large screen, and not only did he speak live, he could see those of us who were there in the theater at Scripps College here in Claremont.

It is amazing what technology can do, and that was the point that Tobin Siebers, the V.L Parrington Collegiate Professor and Professor of English Language and Literature and Art & Design at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, started off with in his lecture, pointing out that it makes things easier or possible to do for people with disabilities. In this case, as he said, technology made it possible for him to be with us, so to speak, without having to travel. I am assuming that Siebers is disabled, although I couldn’t tell by looking at him, at least on the screen.

This was ironic - eerily so - since he was talking about how we judge whether someone is disabled or not by how they look. In his talk, entitled “The Mad Woman Project: Disability and the Aesthetics of Human Disqualification,” Siebers discussed the fact that disabled people have been dismissed, pitied, seen as in need of curing or repair, segregated, even eliminated primarily because they are unattractive, ugly, grotesque. Siebers posited that, even with recent civil rights laws and other gains, people with disabilities are the only minority that it is “okay” to do this to (for example, trying to cure them, the implication being that they are “not okay.”) I would add that some may argue that this is also the case with queer people, but I would also say that this is really getting to be less okay.

The talk, part of a series called “The Body Politic” put on this semester by the Humanities Institute at Scripps College, was full of facts and insights - many more than I can convey here - but focused on a collection of photographs called “The Mad Woman Project” by a Korean artist. The photographs, shown on the screen along with Siebers, featured women who were mentally disabled/retarded, looking unkempt, disoriented and disheveled and sometimes behaving inappropriately, and were clearly meant to make us uncomfortable. Siebers later revealed that the women in the series aren’t disabled and talked about how the artist is also commenting on the powerful role of beauty or the lack thereof plays in how women are judged (i.e: an ugly woman is or can be more easily called “mad” or, more often, a “bitch”). He went on to briefly contrast this artist’s (I regret that I don’t recall the name) intentions with that of American artist Cindy Sherman, whose photographs are more simply about theatricality and shock.

I want to mention that Siebers took time to point out that the academic field of Disability Studies is not about understanding the disabled and how to help or cure them. Rather, it is about looking at disability as a social concept and how society, in how it does or does not accommodate, makes those with limitations inferior, left out and, indeed, “disabled.”

Aside from the photo project, none of this was new to me. In fact, much of my artistic work has been about how people judge me by how I look as a severely disabled person, and I have also written here about this and what I call the “disabling society.” It was just nice to see it all laid out plainly and matter-of-factly, if not simply, for a general audience (too bad the audience was small), including in the very way it was presented.

Welcome to Camp Sociology

2011-11-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I mentioned my visit to Occupy Los Angeles and said that I would write more about it. I did so in my Claremont Courier column which comes out today and which is below.

I’ll mentioned as an addendum that I read an interesting article in the Los Angeles Times several days ago about how, for the most part, progressive Christian churches aren’t involved in this movement, especially in L.A, despite sharing many of its values and goals. As one religious scholar was quoted as asking, “Where are the Quakers?”

Also, it seems that, with the relative lack of police action and violence and even inclement weather associated with it, Occupy L.A, perhaps appropriately, is the Hollywood version of the Occupy movement. There's something pat and movie-like and not quite real about it.

AN OCCUPATION NOT SO FAR OFF

“Welcome to Occupy Claremont.”

Perhaps not everyone in the Village for the Friday Night Live concert by Squeakin’ Wheels a few weeks ago appreciated this repeated barbed salutation from the band. It is likely that the commentary resonated with fans of the longtime Claremont folk group as it played in front of the City Council chamber, but I wonder if there were other passerby that evening who were shocked that Claremont could have anything to do with the boat-rocking, rabel-rousing Occupy Wall Street movement protesting economic as well as social and environmental injustice.

It was about this time, in fact, that it fully dawned on me that Claremont isn’t so far off from this phenomenon - literally. After all, Occupy L.A, which started in September on the lawns flanking Los Angeles City Hall, is just some 30 miles away. Not even that, it turns out.

As I saw several days later, it is an easy Metrolink train ride and a few blocks’ walk away. One can also include a short ride on the Red Line subway. So, really, it is a jump and a hop, or perhaps a jump, skip and hop, away to a fascinating bit of history being made.

In a bit more than an hour after leaving Claremont, I was in the colorful sea of tents that I saw on the front page of the Los Angeles Times before I left. (According to the Times story then, there were about 350 tents, with something like 700 nightly residents.) I immediately thought of the music festivals I have camped at, except that the tents were much more jammed together, and there were many more, and more pointed, signs and banners (mostly hand-made).

Yes, as an article in the next day’s Times pointed out, the lawn was quite brown, but just as notable was, unlike with occupiers in some other cities and in day-and-night contrast with what happened in Oakland last week, how welcoming a host City Hall is. I saw several police officers chatting with the occupiers in a friendly manner, and it is well-known that Mayor Villaraigosa gave out plastic ponchos when it rained last month. I also quickly noticed that, for its part, the encampment is really quite tidy. There are “zero waste” trash, recycle and compost bins in various locations.

Indeed, what struck me most was how very well organized this group is. On a monument at the center of the main encampment south of City Hall were posted a series of large-print broadsheets with detailed guidelines for conducting business and reaching consensus. Also explained was the difference between a general meeting, a committee, a workshop and an affinity group, as well as a number of hand and arm gestures to facilitate communication in a large meeting. Nearby, there was a whiteboard with a full schedule with all these meetings, plus mealtimes.

While I was there, there was a short pep talk by a comedian, Jeff Ross. (Unlike on Wall Street, where the occupiers have come up with the “human microphone,” there was amplification, and it was announced that the microphone was “solar-powered today.”) It was also announced that there would be a workshop the following day on how to make one’s own generator. In addition, during my visit, an affinity group meeting for GLBTQ (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning) folks got underway.

These protesters may not know exactly what they are saying, but they definitely know how to say it. Too bad we have seen the focus on the former rather than the latter.

I am not saying that there are no problems and that all is lovey-dovey at Occupy L.A. While I noted the peaceful atmosphere, there was some tension in the air - another thing, as with the drumming also evident during my visit, that the mainstream media unfortunately tends to focus on. It is evident that some chronically homeless/street people and an anarchist element have gotten into the mix.

I heard one occupier, apparently on security/maintenance duty, say into a walkie-talkie, “Oh, that dude! I know the one. He’s always causing trouble!”

Several times during the comedian’s spiel, there would be a shouted interruption (“Down with the capitalists!” or whatnot) and some spontaneous chanting.

And the guys with bandanas over their noses and mouths? What’s that all about? Please don’t tell me it’s supposed to make them look more serious, like they mean business.

The next day’s Times article mentioned that one woman had left the protest, feeling that it was corrupted by people who didn’t care about economic justice. “Everybody is pretty much partying it up,” she was quoted as saying. The article also said that there was tension in the encampment over drug use and drinking. I have to say that I caught a sweet whiff or two during my visit, and I hope, especially with City Hall bending over backwards to be tolerant, the protesters nipped the use of illegal substances in the bud (pun intended). Otherwise, Occupy L.A will be gone. Like that.

As I write this, it sounds like City Hall may be running out of patience, even if the occupiers keep their act straight. Whether or not Occupy L.A remains, it, along with all the other occupiers in other cities, have brought up plenty to ponder.

At one point while I was there, a man rode a bicycle around and around the center of the protest, joyously shouting, “The revolution will be televised!” Whether or not the revolution will be on T.V, it will certainly be on-line. During my visit, I saw a number of people using laptops, and I made note of the “media tent.”

It has been said over and over that the occupiers’ message is vague and unclear. I think the message is pretty clear, and I’m beginning to wonder if the media - and the rest of us - don’t want to hear it.

Another thing that has been said, awfully glibly, is that the Occupy Wall Street movement is the Tea Party of the left. At the risk of being glib myself, I would argue that there is a crucial difference: the tea partiers don’t want to pay taxes to fund services for others, and the occupiers are happy to pay taxes but want everyone to get the services the taxes fund.

At the very least, the occupiers are learning and also teaching us all dramatically what it’s like to be homeless, when having to pee or sleep can be a crime. (I saw that someone had set up a solar-powered shower tent, but why have it so close to the street?) But there’s more. This protest has become a big social experiment, challenging both its participants and the rest of us, both in its message and how it is done, to consider how a fair and decent society works or should work.

As for Occupy L.A being not so far from Claremont, it may be even closer. Soon after I arrived, a woman I didn’t know approached me with the greeting, “Rise up, Claremont!”

Waving the the (P)flag

2011-10-21T11:56:00.000-07:00

I went to a P-FLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) meeting last week. It wasn’t my first P-FLAG meeting, but it may as well have been. And not just because it was at a place I’ve never been (the Metropolitan Community Church) in Los Angeles, and nobody knew me when I made my entrance in my wheelchair, and I was asked, “And who are you?” (Yikes, but I’m delighted to say that I passed with flying colors - pun intended - with my speech device.)

I had learned a few days earlier that a friend of mine is involved with this group, and I decided to go out there on a whim. As I told the group, there used to be a P-FLAG meeting here in Claremont when I came out about ten years ago. Going to the meeting at that time was very helpful, and I missed it when it ceased to exist.

But I really didn’t remember. I forgot how powerful a P-FLAG meeting is. I forgot about the funny and wrenching coming-out stories, about how moving it is to hear a mother say all the horrible things she thought when her son told her that he’s gay, about how touching it is to see a father cry when telling how he rejected his lesbian daughter. Even more powerful is when, as in a couple cases at this meeting, both the child and parent are there.

I forgot how much I love having this community, even as it hurts me when I, as I also said at the meeting, wish my parents would attend a P-FLAG meeting (if not march in a gay pride parade as part of a P-FLAG contingent).

I also remembered the piece I wrote attending my first P-FLAG meeting. I was terrified - not only of announcing that I’m gay, but this was long before I had my speech device - and I was accompanied by my friends Alan and Jim, who all but held my hand. Unfortunately, I can’t find a hard copy of the piece, which was published in the chapter newsletter and which was lost, along with all my other writing, when my hard drive crashed two years ago. (Hard lesson learned: Always back up your files!)

Soon after attending the meeting last week, I got the idea of getting the Claremont P-FLAG meeting up and running again. I probably can’t, but I sure would like to. It is crazy that I have to drive to L.A and my P-FLAG-attends Claremont friends trek to Orange County.

There’s something more, though. It can be argued that the laying down of a P-FLAG meeting is a good thing, because it means that everything is okay for GLBT people. I don’t buy it. I don’t think P-FLAG is about or all about getting gay rights. Even if we queer folks get all the rights we need and want, it is still important to have places where we and our loved ones to go and have community and support.

P.S: Speaking of community, I went to Occupy L.A a couple days ago. What struck me most was how very, very organized it is. There are detailed guidelines on conducting business and reaching consensus, and there are general meetings, committees, workshops and affinity groups (including “GLBTQ”. (Sound familiar, fellow Quakers?)

However, that doesn’t mean that there are no problems and that everything is lovey-dovey. For example, I read yesterday that the people there are arguing over drugs. They need to nip this is the bud - pun definitely intended - and ban illegal drugs, or Occupy L.A will very soon be over. (I plan to post more about Occupy L.A soon.)

Oh, Claremont!

2011-10-07T11:09:00.000-07:00

Here, in my latest column in the Claremont Courier, is an example of how my beloved hometown of Claremont, like with all that we most love, sometimes drives me crazy.

I’ll also note that this column coincidentally appeared during the same week that Ken Burns’ Prohibition was broadcast on PBS. The three-part documentary about the constitutional amendment banning the sale and purchasing of alcoholic beverages in the 1920's is a brilliant look at the folly of legislating morality. What started as a well-intentioned attempt to end a possibly dangerous and destructive behavior went terribly awry and ended up making the behavior not only more attractive but also even more dangerous and destructive.

I should also point out that Rancho Cucamonga is a town several miles east of Claremont.

THE WRITING’S ON THE SKIN

Now, the picture, with its fine lines and exquisite details, can be seen. At last, the message, whether it be small and ever-so-discreet or big and out-there bold, can be exposed. Finally, the truth, either in simple black and white or in glorious color, is revealed for all to see.

After all this time, the Claremont Tattoo Parlor can now, finally, be in Claremont.

At least, technically.

The Claremont Tattoo Parlor? Yes. There has been a Claremont Tattoo Parlor - actually, Claremont Tattoo Studio - for years.

In Rancho Cucamonga.

Not in Claremont.

Because the Claremont Tattoo Studio, which is at 3086 Archibald Avenue in Rancho Cucamonga, couldn’t be in Claremont. It, along with all other tattoo parlors, was banned in Claremont.
The Claremont Tattoo Studio has been in Rancho Cucamonga for over 15 years since, in 1994, it tried to open up shop in the arcade in the Village and it was deemed necessary to outlaw tattoo parlors in Claremont.

That’s all of Claremont. Not just the Village. (I’ll get to why this is important later.)

Never mind that, at the time, most of the guys working at Some Crust Bakery, just down the street from the arcade in the Village on Yale Avenue, doling out our beloved croissants and cookies, were covered in tattoos. Not only did they have the standard tattoos on their upper arms, they had tattoos running down their arms. And down their legs, which the guys showed off in their shorts.

Yes, this was a big deal, a huge bruhaha. I got three columns out of it. Three consecutive columns. That’s about a month and a half that the controversy went on for.

And it was weird. Just as weird as it sounds, with a bunch of tattooed bakers a block down the street. Just as weird as the Claremont Tattoo Studio being in Rancho Cucamonga.

The City, backed by the City Council, kept coming up with problems that a tattoo parlor in the Village would present. There were concerns about the instruments being kept sanitized. There were concerns about the tattooing being screened off.

It was argued that there were not enough or strong enough state and county regulations pertaining to these and the many other such issues that the City came up with. That other towns which had tattoo parlors also didn’t have all these health regulations didn’t matter.

The thing was that the City had no rules regarding tattoo parlors, and here it had the Claremont Tattoo Studio wanting to set up shop. The City, backed by the City Council, deemed it best to ban tattoo parlors.

Of course, the sanitizing and the screening and all that weren’t the issue. But they were easier for the City to say than something like, “We don’t want these seedy joints and the kind of folks they attract here.”

It was even easier just to outlaw tattoo parlors.

Like I said, it was weird. Because look at the folks Some Crust was attracting. And - oh, yeah - what about Rhino Records?

But it gets weirder. Or, really, it gets logical and makes sense.

Flash forward twenty years, and the brilliant colors are filled in on this puppy.

Because, now, after all this time since the Claremont Tattoo Studio was told that it and its fellow establishments weren’t welcome here, tattoo parlors are allowed in Claremont.

And that’s because it turns out, these twenty years later, that banning tattoo parlors may well be unconstitutional.

It turns out that Claremont can’t ban “these seedy joints and the kind of folks they attract.” Even when these folks are already here.

Like I said, brilliant.

It turns out that a tattoo artist tried to set up shop in Hermosa Beach and was stopped because of a ban similar to Claremont’s. The tattoo artist appealed, and, last year, the U.S 9th Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that the ban violates the First Amendment, with its guarantee of free expression. Especially with the state and county health officials beefing up their inspections in the last decade, there was no escaping this conclusion.

And there was no escaping for Claremont. The City realized that its ban is a no-go and that it too could be sued.

Brian Desatnik, director of community development, couldn’t have said it better. “Banning tattooing is unconstitutional. Changes needed to be made in order to be in compliant with the law.”

So, in order to be legal, in order to be constitutional, Claremont now allows tattoo parlors.

But not in the Village.

It’s still weird but not as weird.

Along with lifting the ban, the City Council approved restrictions on where tattoo parlors can locate within Claremont. In addition to not being able to set up shop less than 200 feet from any residential district, religious institutions, school or public park and 250 feet from another tattoo parlor, tattoo parlors are only allowed in business/industrial areas just above Foothill Boulevard and just above Arrow Highway.

The Village is out - no question.

Mayor Pro Temp Larry Shroeder assures that the City will have “the ability to place those businesses in the appropriate space and not necessarily right in our Village.”

Of course. Not “those businesses.”

Like sex offenders.

It doesn’t matter that, while tattoos aren’t for everybody, an awful lot of people under about 35 have them, and more and more don’t hide them. It doesn’t matter that, yes, gang-bangers and ex-cons have tattoos, but so do office workers, teachers, computer technicians, postal workers, waiters - all kinds of people - and don’t forget bakers and record store clerks. It doesn’t matter that all these people, with all their tattoos, frequent the Village, and some also work in the Village.

Speaking of frequenting the Village, I always hear it lamented that not enough of the college students, as well as others, go to the Village. Well, if there was a tattoo parlor in the Village, more students would definitely be in the Village.

Or maybe we don’t want those kinds of people.

And, furthermore...

2011-10-05T09:52:00.000-07:00

For worse and for better, when it comes to two issues I wrote about earlier this year, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

*I wrote about how crazy it was that Jared Loughner, the alleged gunman in January’s Tuscon massacre, was being forcibly medicated so that he can stand trial and be convicted. According to recent news, things are still crazy, if not crazier.

Last week, U.S District Judge Larry Burns, who ruled in May that Loughner was mentally unfit to stand trial, extended Loughner’s treatment, including forced medication presumably, at a federal prison hospital in Missouri by four months, declaring that “measurable progress towards restoration has been made.” It was noted that, although his lawyers say that he is so disabled that he has been on suicide watch since July and continues to be psychotic despite medication, Loughner no longer smears feces on his bed, is less likely to speak in a confusing “word salad” and has expressed remorse. Loughner has also spoken of his dogs and turtles with affectation, and one expert said, “His humanity is coming back.”

Good. That means, hopefully, he can be put to death.

*Last week, I went to a talk at Pomona College by Carlos Motta, a queer artist and activist. He talked about his on-line project, http://wewhofeeldifferently.info, featuring interviews with dozens of queer activists, and I was reminded of a transgender performance artist and comedian I wrote about seeing at Pomona College in the Spring saying that while gay people want to be like everyone else (marriage, military service, etc.), queer people want everyone else to be like them.

This wasn’t just a joke, and I feel this way more and more. As Motta pointed out in his talk last week, rather than celebrate the end of don’t-ask-don’t-tell as in the gay community, queer people ignore or reject it, in that it promotes the fighting of war and the destruction of humanity.

A September come true

2011-09-23T11:37:00.000-07:00

I could have told you. In fact, I did tell you.

At the end of last month, I wrote here that I was happy that September was on the way. I wrote about how I really like September here, about how things really pick up at this time in this college town, even though it can be awfully hot. And I wrote that I liked knowing that everyone else is here, at work, even in the horrible heat, like me - and not off on some vacation.

Yes, I shouldn’t be surprised. It always happens. Just when I’m ready for the cooler weather, just when I’m set for my favorite season of Fall, which starts today, it gets really hot.

Then why was I surprised yesterday when it got really, really hot and really, really humid, leaving me again with no energy? Why am I shocked today to be starting another Fall shirtless in my cut-off overalls?

I really can imagine a poor freshman kid from Vermont or somewhere at one of the colleges here calling home in tears and saying he had made a terrible mistake.

Like I said, along with many other things, in my Claremont Courier column earlier this month.

A TURN IN THE YEAR

Random thoughts - like the leaves that will start falling soon enough:

*A grunt is not like a cobbler. Instead of a topping, a grunt has little dumplings.

*It’s amazing what can be learned - like what a grunt is - on-line. (I was looking for a recipe with blueberries.)

*The hand-painted signs on the buildings at Pomona College for freshman orientation this year were very clean-cut and straight-forward. No crazy curves and tie-dyed rainbow colors.

*Speaking of tie-dyed rainbow colors, I found out this summer that Spensers has way cooler shoelaces - and lots of other way cooler stuff - than Hot Topic. In fact, I don’t know how Hot Topic gets by with Spensers two doors down in the Montclair Plaza.

*I didn’t find this out on-line. The guy at Hot Topic told me to check out Spensers when I couldn’t find my usual rainbow shoelaces at Hot Topic. I wonder if he tells this to a lot of people.

*Hey, if I could buy rainbow shoelaces in Claremont, I would. I certainly wouldn’t go to the mall.

*In Claremont, September might just as well be January. With Claremont being a college town and with all the students settled back in school, it really feels like a new year here.

*Or let’s just say it’s a turn in the year. A big turn.

*Unfortunately, the weather in September isn’t like the weather in January. It may be cool at times, but September has been known as the hottest month here. After all, it’s “Fair time.”

*Why can’t the Los Angers County Fairgrounds be pretty - that’s right, pretty, with grass and pine trees - like the Nevada County Fairgrounds in Grass Valley?

*I wonder why The Help came out last month instead of in the Fall, when the better, more prestigious movies come out. It is an old-fashioned good movie. Too bad it also has an old-fashioned Hollywood view of a white person coming to the rescue of the blacks.

*Am I the only one who looks forward to the end of Daylight Savings Time?

*The Hodads, who played at Memorial Park last month, give the Ravelers a run for their money in my book. As for the Answer, please - it’s so old-hat.

*Speaking of books, it’s not too late for a good, crazy, trashy read. Mark Haskell Smith’s Baked, which I happened upon at Barnes and Noble after buying the rainbow shoelaces, fits the bill quite nicely. The blurb on the back - “murder, mayhem, marijuana and Mormans” - pretty much sums it up. And Smith, by the way, is a damn good writer.

*It’s also not too late for one last trip to the beach. Or two or three.

*Lots of times, I wish there was only one band playing in the Village on Friday evenings. Maybe they is just the obsessive compulsive in me, who wants to respect both acts, speaking. At least have the two acts be completely different.

*I’m actually glad that Sunset Junction, the annual two-day street fair in the Silverlake neighborhood in Los Angeles, was denied permits due to not paying thousands in fees and had to cancel at the last minute. It got too big for its britches with its big-name acts. I remember getting in with a $3 voluntary donation, in contrast to the $25 charge in recent years.

*And I get cranky when the Village Venture - yep, another thing that’s coming up - takes over our downtown for one day. Imagine having to pay $25 just to go to the Village, before shopping or anything. That’s just wrong!

*Actually, I was on-line looking for a recipe for blueberry glop, but I couldn’t find one. Was blueberry glop - a very loose cobbler with lots and lots of blueberries - something we made up when I was a kid?

*I have written a lot about how Claremont in recent years has gotten to be not quite so dead in the summer, with the street fair and all the music in the Village. But it’s still nice to have the colleges back in session and having all those talks and performances going on.

*Okay, I have a confession: Another reason I like September is that, even if it gets really hot, everyone is back at work and back at school. I don’t feel like I’m stuck here working while others are off on fabulous, cool vacations. We’re all in the same boat.

*I wonder how many students from back east call home during a heat wave saying they made a horrible mistake after taking a campus tour on a bright, crisp February day.

*I’m also looking forward to those falling leaves, so brilliantly colored.

*And apple crisp, speaking of crisp.

*Apple is the best crisp, but what about making a crisp with blueberries? It’s not bad with peaches and raspberries.

*It’s sad to see Borders book store closed down.

*Shame on Amazon.com trying to get away with not collecting state taxes so that it can look more like a bargain, driving stores like Borders and especially smaller book shops out of business. And more shame for trying to do this by having us vote on it.

*Amazon.com - the new Walmart.

*With apologies to the Claremont Forum’s used book store benefitting its wonderful prison library project, the Village needs a good, big book store. And somewhere to buy tie-dyed rainbow shoelaces.

*Spensers. For such a hip store, it sounds so old-fashioned. Like a five-and-dime. Or a grunt.

Living on fear

2011-09-14T13:29:00.000-07:00

There he was, advocating torture, pure and simple, in no uncertain terms. He said he would use water-boarding in a heartbeat (if it would lead to any terrorist information).

I never did like Dick Cheney, and I didn’t expect to like him when I saw him interviewed on television last month. The man widely believed to be the force - the force for evil, many say - behind President George W. Bush was making a very rare appearance to promote his recently published memoir, and, not surprisingly perhaps, he didn’t pull any punches.

What was surprising was that, even as he was spewing awful things, I found myself having feeling, having heart, for Dick Cheney. That’s because he literally doesn’t have a heart.

In the interview, Cheney sat in a room and walked around his Wyoming ranch wearing a bulky vest loaded with batteries and wires. Quite eerily, he looked like a suicide bomber, but these batteries and wires keep his heart going after so many heart attacks. The interviewer panicked when, at one point, he disconnected the batteries and it beeped.

This may make Cheney look even more like Darth Vader, with powered breathing, but it occurred to me, as I watched all this, that this is a scared man, a man living in fear. His life is based on fear. To Cheney, death - never mind illness and disability - is imminent, and he has done everything, to the extent possible, to shield, if not arm, himself against it.

Unfortunately, perhaps because he is not good at dealing with this fear, he made everyone else feel it and the need for shielding and arming. And unfortunately, this fear was all too evident in many of the wall-to-wall commentaries and events marking Sunday’s tenth anniversary of the September 11 attacks.

The end of the tunnel

2011-08-31T10:29:00.000-07:00

I am happy that I’m writing this. It means this month is over. And what a month it has been!

It started off with my birthday, August 1, falling on not only a Monday but the Monday I returned to working after more than two weeks of more or less not working. I was bummed big-time.

Because of the two and a half weeks off in July, I had to write three instead of two columns for the Claremont Courier, and I wrote a report on Pacific Yearly Meeting, an annual gathering of Quakers. This was on top of my blogging and some other work - and all in August, a month God made for laying out by the pool, if not the beach, with a trashy novel.

What’s more, I think the last week of August is one of the year’s arm-pits (the other is the week below Christmas and New Year’s). This year, it appropriately enough came with a big heat wave - but at least not a hurricane!

The other reason I’m happy is that I really like September - and not just because I’m taking off for six days on the first. For one thing, it means it won’t be too, too long before the cool weather comes, although there may I be some serious bumps along the way. Also, here in Claremont, September is really a new year, with all the college students coming back and things really picking up. But the real reason I like September is that, even if it turns out to be the hottest month as it sometimes has, with everyone back at work and at school, I’m not stuck here working while others are away on fabulous, cool vacations.

Where are Jerry's Kids?

2011-08-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, the big news was that Jerry Lewis was ousted as the spokesman and public face of the Muscular Dystrophy Association. He will no longer be doing his famous - or infamous - stint as host of the M.D.A’s marathon Labor Day telethon.

In what I read in the Los Angeles Times, there were plenty of people who were “outraged” that the “iconic” comedian was “unceremoniously dumped” from this “legendary” role. There was mention of how important it was to Mr. Lewis to find a cure for muscular dystrophy and to help to do so, including by annually hosting a live television broadcast for 24 hours straight. There was comment on how the comic is beloved despite having made impolitic remarks about women and gay people.

But there was nothing, other than a brief mention in a commentary, about Jerry’s Kids. There was nothing about how Jerry’s Kids have always considered Jerry Lewis and the telethon - or his telethon? - to be infamous, to say the least.

Jerry’s Kids are adults living with Muscular Dystrophy, spearheaded by Mike Ervin and others, who are active and productive and who have strenuously objected to the way Mr. Lewis has always, often in tears on the telethon, portrayed those with M.D as helpless, all-but-dead victims to be pitied. I remember at one point the Kids got into a public argument with Mr. Lewis, in which Mr. Lewis, in a television interview, not only adamantly refused to say he was doing anything wrong but also chastised the Kids for causing a ruckus.

There was nothing about this in all the news I saw. And I think this is more than another instance of the mainstream media ignoring the disabled and what matters to them.

In fact, Jerry Lewis’ ouster as the M.D.A spokesman can be seen as a victory for Jerry’s Kids and at least in part spurred on by them. The M.D.A surely recognizes that Mr. Lewis’ pity model is badly outdated (as is the telethon, which has been drastically shortened to 3 or 4 hours). Give the Kids some mention, if not some credit.

Good-bye, Mr. Weinberger

2011-08-05T11:24:00.000-07:00

This was my column in the Claremont Courier a couple weeks ago.

AN EDUCATION WITH MARTIN WEINBERGER

“Do you need to wear shorts for therapy?”

Mmmmmm. Shorts for therapy. It was the perfect excuse for a guy fresh out of high school. Yes, I need to wear shorts to keep my legs in shape. Or how about this? If I don’t wear shorts, my health will be endangered.

Alas, I couldn’t use it. It was the Friday of my first week of being a summer intern at the Courier, and Martin Weinberger, my first boss, had gotten me. I went home, red-faced - why didn’t he tell me on Monday that short pants weren’t allowed at the office? - and made sure I wore long pants when it was time to go to work, no matter how matter how blazing hot it got.

Later, when I began writing my column at home and before I could e-mail it in (hopefully not the same as phoning it in), I would sort of panic when I showed up at the door to drop it off in my overalls, especially if I wasn’t wearing a shirt.

I thought of all this in the days after I heard that Martin had died a couple weeks ago during a hot spell. I also thought that it was most appropriate that this passing took place - almost like with Thomas Jefferson and John Adams - only a few minutes after the Fourth of July.

For Martin was always, always a teacher - sometimes quite a stern one - and his principle, most heartfelt subject, much more so than office attire, was a free, accurate press and its critical role in there being citizens with the right, if not the obligation, to be informed and active. I wasn’t surprised at all to read in his obituary that he wrote news stories as a child in school. And longtime readers surely remember him frequently opining in these pages on the importance of voting, lamenting and even chiding those who didn’t.

The summer of no shorts, in 1980, was the first of two or three, and it was when the Courier office was still on Harvard Avenue, with Martin perched at his desk on the upstairs balcony from where he could see all (including, no doubt, my bare legs...). It was when Martin’s bold, innovative use of super-sized, close-up photographs in the paper, with which he told me he wanted “to bring Claremonters into each other’s living rooms and kitchens” (remember the “Mug Shot” features?), were still causing a bit of rumbling and when Thelma O’Brien and Hope Weingrow were furiously banging out their stuff on manual typewriters, gunning, with cheers from their ardent fans, for the Pulitzers. It was also when I noticed that I was one of the few guys working there and first heard of what was affectionately referred to around town as “Martin’s harem.”

My job - or assignment, since I wasn’t getting paid then - from 8 to noon weekdays was to rewrite the press releases that kept piling up, taking out all the hyped-up language, giving “just the facts” but in a dynamic way, as Martin insisted. These came out as blurbs in the “Our Town” section. I also got to do some wedding and engagement announcements and even a few back-page items. None of these had a byline, but when the Courier came to my house, I very proudly circled every piece I had written in bright red.

My first byline came that first summer when Martin bought tickets to two Shakespeare plays (Romeo and Juliet and Love’s Labors Lost) at the Old Globe Theater complex in San Diego’s Balboa Park for me review. I was absolutely thrilled, having let him know I wanted to write reviews. He said this was fine but made sure I understood that what I was writing was not news. It was a review, an opinion - not news.

Martin loved - no, he adored - doing this kind of explaining. He really was a born teacher. And more often than not, as in his “My Side of the Line” column, there was a story or two, usually humorous, that went along with the explaining. I soon saw that these stories were quite familiar; as beloved as they were, there was always some eye-rolling from a staff member or two.

As with the bright, bold layout of the Courier, Martin liked trying new things, and I was certainly a new thing for him. Here I was - a kid in a wheelchair with speech he couldn’t understand. He clearly enjoyed the challenge. Even when he got stern with me, he would grin and chuckle. We were off on a grand, wild adventure together. (I just now realize he had me re-writing all those press releases so that I could do some straight journalism without having to interview people.)

After a few summers of doing internships in Riverside and then graduating from U.C Riverside in 1985 with a B.A in English, I was looked around for a job I could do and wrote to Martin, asking about doing movie reviews. He said that he already had a movie reviewer but suggested I write a regular column on goings-on in Claremont and how I saw them. This would be sort of like reviewing life, Claremont life - cool! At $10 a column, I was off and running.

We agreed that I would not mention my disability, except when it had something to do with what I was writing about (sidewalks and curb cuts, etc.). I loved not being a disabled columnist and that Martin encouraged this. (I’ve had plenty of other forums in which to write as a person with a disability.)

We did have our disagreements, though, especially in the first ten years or so, when he kept a particularly sharp eye on my column and although he would occasionally raise my pay in $5 increments. He got nervous when I got partisian (even though he agreed with me), didn’t like it when I didn’t mention Claremont in a column (“That could be in the Washington Post.”) and really had a problem when I wrote about an African-American professor publicly accusing (in an Op-Ed published in the Los Angeles Times) Claremont Graduate University of racism after being fired. He also told me not to include my poetry in my columns.

Most of these discussions, if that’s what they were, didn’t take place in person. (He had a fondness for typing out notes on his “letterhead” letterhead.) Once I started doing the column, I really didn’t see Martin much. This was no doubt for the best, since I had started wearing overalls - including, yes, short ones - and doing all kinds of things with my hair.

Much later, I would see him in passing slowly walking his dog Rosie outside the office on College Avenue. But I prefer to recall one of the other last times I saw him.

It was, in fact, in my final year at U.C.R. I was going down the hallway in the humanities building when I passed an open classroom door - and did a double take. There he was - Martin, standing at the head of the class.

Teaching. As always.

Playing with disability

2011-07-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

“Sadly, the cost associated with taking the medication to control that illness was that he completely lost what he called ‘the pep.’ The pep stemmed from that manic energy that would compel him to just burst out into song and write and create music. Once he started taking the medications, sadly that ended. He was no longer Wild Man Fischer... He became Larry Fischer.”

Yes, it was sad, but for who?

It is bad - and sad - enough - or perhaps I just find it irritating enough - when disabled characters, especially those with psychological illnesses, are portrayed as oh-so cool, even hip. I’m talking about movies like Benny and Joon and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, in which the eternally cool Johnny Depp puts up with being responsible for his schizophrenic brother played by a young, hot Leonardo diCaprio. There’s also Girl, Interupted, in which the hip, pre-shoplifting Winnona Ryder plays a young woman chills out in a mental institution.

I can list other films, but I think you get the point: Being crazy, being a freak can be cool and entertaining, even fun.

However, these are just movies. What about the case of Larry “Wild Man” Fischer, who died last month? According to the large obituary in the Los Angeles Times, Fischer was a mentally ill man who hung out on the streets of Hollywood ranting like many others. But his rants were particularly creative and entertaining and caught the ear of Frank Zappa and other who got him gigs on recordings and shows.

Fischer got to be a star, a cool, hip star of sorts, but this stardom depended on him for being sick, on him being a freak. As conveyed in the quote above by Jeremy Lubin, a documentary filmmaker, when he sought to get more sane and “normal,” he lost the ability to be entertaining. He lost “the pep” and was no longer a star.

Again, who was this sad for? Fischer, who was relieved of the demons in his head, or those entertained by his creative and cool rants?

I have also been thinking of Jared Lochner, charged in the mass shooting in Tuscon in January, who is being held in a mental ward, having been deemed unable to stand trial. That has been a legal fight over whether he can be forced to take drugs that will enable him to stand trial. A court has ruled he can’t be forced to take drugs for this purpose, but I just read this morning that he is apparently being drugged anyway.

This literally doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t know who’s crazier - Lochner, or those who want to dope him up so he can be tried and convicted.

Red, white and "shoot!"

2011-07-08T10:59:00.000-07:00

I think I mentioned in a previous post that I hate the Fourth of July and that the primary reason for this - on top of the All-American-America-is-Always-Right jingo-ism - is that I have a very difficult time, being startled, with the noise from the fireworks. This year was particularly tough, with there being more illegal fireworks than I remember in a good many years. They started going off around here more than a week before the 4th and kept going until after midnight on Monday. I even heard a couple the next evening.

“Don’t they know it’s over?” I kept saying to my attendant when she came to put me to bed on the 4th.

Who were they? I wondered, figuring they were more than the usual bad boys being bad. And why were they shooting off so much? A few thoughts:

A lot of people are angry, what with all the unemployment, foreclosures, high prices, etc., and this was a good way to let off steam. Who cares if it’s illegal? The government and laws are stupid, and, Hell, it’s the 4th, and everyone’s doing it - and should!

It has been ten years since September 11, and, by God, we’re still standing and still strong - and more of a big deal should be made about it!

Then there’s the killing of Osama Bin Laden - certainly something worth celebrating with pyrotechnics, even if it’s illegal. But this presents a quandry, because it was done under President Obama, which no doubt drives some people nuts. Which leads back to pissed-off folks blowing of steam.

Or maybe there were just more bad boys out there.

Unhealthy play

2011-06-24T10:52:00.000-07:00

I’m not a sports fan. Never have been. Frankly, they’re boring. I might watch some figure skating or gymnastics (or hot boys swimming in the Olympics!), but I far rather see a play or a movie or a concert. I could be cute and say that this is, of course, because I’m gay, or I could be profound and say that watching sports is silly when there is so much more important stuff going on. But the simple truth is that I just find sports boring.

At least until now. I think I have another reason for not liking sports. There’s something sick about sports and the way people like them.

Last week, after the Canucks lost the deciding Game 7 of the Stanley Cup hockey finals, there was a riot, causing much damage in the handsome city center of Vancouver, Canada. It is a bit like this happening in San Francisco (from what little I remember of a summer spent in the Vancouver area when I was a child, the city is quite elegant and sophisticated, not to mention remarkably green and lush).

It is really tragic that this destruction came out of a game and that, as an article in the Los Angeles Times pointed out, this isn’t unusual. What was unusual, as also noted in the article and bizarrely so, I think, was that this riot came after a hometown team lost. It was just a year ago when, as I noted in a post here, downturn Los Angeles was smashed up after the L.A Lakers won the basketball finals, which, weirdly enough, is far more typical.

Why riot when your team wins? Another fact that the Times article brought up is that, in these sports riots, the fans aren’t the ones throwing the bottles and lighting the fires. The actual rioting is usually done by anarchists and other rabble-rousers, along with those revved up after drinking, taking advantage of there being a large, boisterous crowd in which there is anonymity. But I don’t think this lets sports off the hook; these still are unique and still are sports riots.

About a week earlier, the L.A Times sports section had a big pictorial homage, including on much of its front page, to those who have played or competed and were victorious while sick or injured. Among those honored under the headline “Hurts so good” were football players who had played with the flu and runners who ran with sprained joints.

I can understand someone being hailed for saving a life or accomplishing something that improves society while ill or hurt. But for playing - even, yes, winning - a game? Shouldn’t they not be playing if they have a fever or a torn ligament? Shouldn’t they be taking care of themselves or getting care?

Instead, they are seen as heroes. Not only does this put things dangerously out of perspective - after all, kids have died after playing football in the hot sun or getting hit in the head - it reflects our society’s warped, nutty - yes, sick - view of the disabled as people to be pitied or admired or often pitied and admired at the same time.

Hey, it’s only a game.

Or, with it causing riots and such (heat-related deaths, brain injuries, etc.), is it?

The year of (V)maxing out

2011-06-16T11:24:00.000-07:00

I recently improved my experience with my Vmax, the voice synthesizer/computer attached to my wheelchair that I operate via a camera tracking a silver dot on my glasses and which I’ve now had for a year, by at least 100%. In late April, I was able to get an unit, called a WPAC, which enables the Vmax to run off my wheelchair battery.

I immediately loved this little thing. As far as I was concerned, it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I was able to leave the Vmax on, ready to use, all day. I didn’t have to always worry about its battery running out and about rationing it.

Then, one morning earlier this month when my attendant went to plug the unit into my chair, the plug wasn’t there. I had no idea how this happened - all I could think was that it came unplugged or wasn’t plugged in and got caught under my wheel when I was out - and I was devastated. I was crushed, ruined.

There was no way I could come up with another $400 for a new WPAC. And it didn’t help when my attendant called the company, DynaVox, several times, and they were less and less sympathetic, saying the warranty had expired, etc. I was stunned - yes, naively - that a company that had helped me so much (with the Vmax and the WPAC) could play such hardball (it is a business, after all....) and thinking of other options (hot-wiring....?) until, after more calls and waiting on hold, a senior manager agreed to send me a new cable in exchange for the broken one. (And when I get it, I’ll have it attached more to my chair so that it won’t dangle down so far when unplugged - lesson learned.)

So I’m happy again.

Happy, like I am with the Vmax - in general. I say “in general,” because, although it’s a fantastic help, I have learned a couple other hard lessons in this past year:

*There are definitely times and places where using the Vmax is very effective and other times and places where it really isn’t. It does help when, at least initially, people can see the screen and what I’m doing, but, in very general terms, the more comfortable (or sometimes even just familiar) people are with my speech, the less patient they are with my using the Vmax.

*Not unrelated to this and an even more difficult lesson is that, when I use the Vmax, people still have to stop and take time to listen to what I say. The difference with the Vmax is that - and this is a choice for those who know me - people don’t have to make the effort to try to understand my speech, but the hard fact is that, unless I pre-program it, I can’t casually toss off a comment.

I have learned other things - like typing in an initial comment before I approach someone and it sometimes being better (and okay) to just use the touch screen - but, all in all, the Vmax is a fantastic, life-improving device, even when I just use it to listen to my iTunes when I go out. At a recent gathering, I was able to talk to many more people or people I couldn’t talk to before. For me, this is what it’s all about.

At the same gathering, I also discovered that reciting limericks, especially naughty ones, on the monotonic Vmax is quite amusing. (Perhaps I’ll have another video out on YouTube...)

One less light left on

2011-06-03T21:14:00.000-07:00

It may be a bit harder to say that Wal-Mart is evil, now that the mega-retailer is going green. (In addition to recycling, energy-saving practices and all that good stuff, I read - no, I’m still not going there - that one can buy organic produce there.) Now that summer is approaching, and I’ve been making reservations, I’m here to say that it is Motel 6 that is evil. I see again that the light may well be left on but not for the disabled.

In a post last summer, I wrote about how I stayed quite happily and cheaply at Motel 6's - they suited my simple needs and limited finances quite nicely, thank you - until several years ago when they stopped having two beds in their wheelchair-accessible rooms, forcing me, in an unfair and discriminatory manner, to reserve and pay for two rooms for me and my attendant. I wrote about taking a trip and being pleased when a friend told me that the Motel 6 in Bishop, CA, has a wheelchair-accessible room with two beds, which I reserved, and then surprised when the the Super 8 Motel in Gustine, CA, where I had reserved a two-bed, wheelchair-accessible room in which I had happily stayed several times, turned out to be a Motel 6 but with the same nice wheelchair-accessible room with two beds.

Well, like I said, I’ve been making motel reservations recently. In planning the same trip in July, I called the Motel 6 in Bishop and got the two-bed wheelchair-accessible room. No problem. Then I called the now-Motel 6 in Gustine.

And I was told that its wheelchair-accessible rooms have only one bed.

Mmmmm.

No, make that grrrrr.

This is, as far as I’m concerned, proof. This is proof that Motel 6 is unfair and discriminatory to the disabled. Not only that, it is proof that Motel 6 is making money off the disabled.

If this is not evil, I don’t know what is.

I don’t know what the deal is with the Motel 6 in Bishop. It could be the only Motel 6 left with a two-bed wheelchair-accessible room. I don’t know whether to bless it or boycott it. I do feel a bit guilty about staying there, but, hey, it’s what I need and the right price.

More rainbow power

2011-05-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

This is my latest column in the Claremont Courier. I think it speaks for itself.

COMMENCING ON WITH FLAIR

“Lesson number one: Always check the weather forecast.”

This wasn’t an admonition to the planners of the outdoor graduation ceremonies at the Claremont colleges two weekends ago. Although I’m not sure if looking at the forecast would have helped, since, from what I saw, it didn’t indicate that there would be drizzle and even a few little showers on Sunday morning right before the start of the commencement exercises at Pomona and Scripps. No doubt there was some big-time panicking underway.

Nor was it exactly like when the late, great Kurt Vonnegut famously told a group of graduates to “wear sunblock.” I think this advice was somewhat less flippant and had more of an unique background story.

Jehan Agrama, a 1980 Pomona College alumna, was addressing a group of Claremont colleges graduating seniors, was talking about when she was a student at Pomona “before there was e-mail and cell phones.” As she explained, “When you wanted to make a call, you had to stop. And use a pay phone.”

She talked about how, at that time, she was very involved in a student group called Feminists Against Repression (FAR). They wore bright red t-shirts emblazoned with “Go FAR” in white. One night, they splashed red paint in a quad at C.M.C - then Claremont Men’s College - to protest some doings of a fraternity. However, it rained a bit later, and the feminists awoke in the morning to find their efforts all washed away.

Hence the importance of checking the weather forecast.

But there was something more unique about this address and Ms. Agrama giving it. Now the head of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance for Anti-Defamation (GLAAD) in the Los Angeles area, Ms. Agrama went on in her comments to explain that she later found herself coming out as a lesbian - something even less easy to do in a family with a Middle Eastern background.

This was a very important part, more or less the key part, of the address, which wasn’t given during commencement weekend. It took place several weeks before, and the assembled students, from all of the colleges here and all about to graduate, were all lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender.

The event, taking place on a Friday afternoon at the end of April in Balch Hall at Scripps College, was Lavender Graduation, Class of 2011, put on by the Queer Resource Center (QRC) of the Claremont Colleges.

I don’t know how long this ceremony has been going on. This was the first time I heard of it, and I’m glad I did and went. It was eye-opening and heartening.

This may have been a small gathering on a Friday afternoon, but it was obviously a highlight to the students who were there. The stage was decorated with balloons, and there were plenty of colorful dresses and bright shirts, jackets and accessories. There were also lots of cheering, whooping and joyful squealing.

The graduates were welcomed, warmly embraced, by Angie Moore of Pitzer College, who praised her peers for being “beautiful deviants” and for “daring to be who you are.” The same warmth radiated from Adriana di Bartolo, QRC Coordinator, as she went on to preside.

A particularly meaningful part of the ceremony was when each of the presidents of the colleges were recognized for their support of the QRC. Each of the presidents or their representative - David Oxtoby of Pomona was the only president who attended for this - got on stage to receive a plaque and some love and have their picture taken. A few professors who had given GLBT-related presentations during the year were also recognized.

It was very clear that those served by the QRC, located on the Pomona College campus, make up a real community. It was also evident that this community, as vital as it is, thrives with support from others.

I was reminded later of the importance of community at the colleges during another ceremony, the baccalaureate service on the Friday afternoon of commencement weekend this month. During her few minutes at the podium on the Garrison Theater stage, Abi Weber, a Pomona College graduating senior and one of eight graduating seniors to speak, told of getting weary of washing dishes after the hillel service and dinner every Friday evening in the tiny kitchen at McAlister Center as her friends headed off to parties and other fun activities. She was about to give up when a few other students joined her, and the dish-washing became a wonderful, rich time of sharing thoughts on religion, philosophy, books, movies and whatnot.

Two other things struck me about the Lavender Graduation, both having to do with names. One was that it was put on by an entity calling itself the Queer Resource Center - when the very use of the word “queer” is controversial in the GLBT community. Some claim and use it with pride; others see it, still, as a crude put-down. I suspect today’s younger-generation students are mostly among the former.

Arguably most moving and remarkable was that not only were these queer graduates named and presented, walking across the stage one by one, at the ceremony, they were listed, in black and white, for all to see, in the program. It wasn’t so long - less than 50 years - ago when people, in general, didn’t dare admit that they were homosexual and often went to considerable lengths to hide the fact. It was, after all, thought to be a sickness, if not a crime.

To paraphrase an old ad line: You’ve come a long way, fabulous babies, and will no doubt go much further!

A painfully sorry state of affairs

2011-05-19T10:53:00.000-07:00

I recently had a really bad toothache. If only my tooth was the only thing that was a severe pain.

Actually, the tooth - a lower right molar - had been bugging me for about a month, giving me occasional twinges of pain, but I thought I could deal with it. What was really going on was that I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I knew that Medi-Cal no longer funds dentistry, except for extractions and “emergencies,” and the local dentist I’ve been seeing for cleaning, funded by my parents, doesn’t take Medi-Cal and also can’t put me to sleep, which I now need when having any real work done because of my spasms. So I was going along living with it until one evening last week when I was eating pasta, of all things, and there were suddenly sharp pains and deep throbbing which eventually radiated throughout my head. I was about to discover that everything I was afraid of was true.

I began taking Tylenol, and the next morning, I had my attendant call the dental surgery center at Loma Linda University where I had gone annually for some years (they would put me under and fix any problems they found). I was in severe pain - could they help? No, Medi-Cal is no longer paying, and they no longer see Medi-Cal patients. Did they know where I could go? No. So much for Christian charity from the Seventh Day Adventists.

I felt quite small and not a little afraid, not to mention in considerable pain. My attendant and I decided to call my case worker at the Regional Center, who answered right away and got me in touch with its “dental coordinator.” That the Regional Center has a “dental coordinator” indicates that my sad problem was, sadly, not unusual. If it was not for this woman, I’d probably be still in pain, living on Tylenol and destroying my liver or something.

The woman asked about my pain and financial situation and said that getting help is tricky, but she soon had us on a three-way call with a place called Alta-Med in El Monte, about half an hour to the west. They take Medi-Cal patients because of a court ruling and take walk-ins at 1. Could my attendant and I go. Yes. Good.

The place was large and attractive and busy, mostly with Spanish speakers, and the woman at the front desk was very friendly, although harried. When I got in after more than two hours, the technicians had a difficult time getting a clear x-ray - only one is allowed - and I felt I was wasting time. Unlike the local dentist I’ve been seeing, they wouldn’t let me stay in my wheelchair, and I felt very unstable in the dentist chair, like I would fall over. No wonder it was hard getting a picture. When the dentist came, he said that he could see that, although there was no infection, the tooth was completely ground down, with the nerves exposed. He said that this was an emergency, that this was an extraction that Medi-Cal should pay for, but that he couldn’t work on me, because he couldn’t put me to sleep. I liked him - he got it - but it felt like a wasted afternoon.

When we got home, we called the dental coordinator. She didn’t answer, but she called back right after my attendant left and said that she’d be out of the office the next day but left her cell phone number.

The next day was Friday and I was in a lot of pain, not really able to eat or drink, and I was desperate not to spend the weekend like this. My attendant called the dental coordinator, but the phone seemed to be off. I had my attendant called the local urgent care center, but the woman there said I had to see a dentist. I told my attendant to call my local dentist - the one I see for cleaning - yes, I was desperate - but she called back Loma Linda. When the woman there heard about Alta-Med and the x-ray, she was much friendlier and asked for the x-ray to be faxed over. My attendant called Alta-Med, and the friendly woman at the desk said she would fax the x-ray when she could, explaining that she was working alone. Time went by, I was hurting and worrying about the weekend, and the dental Coordinator with a surgery center in Redlands, about half an hour to the east, not far from Loma Linda. It takes Medi-Cal and can put me to sleep. Could my attendant and I be there at noon? You bet.

We were at the Redlands office for less than an hour. When I first saw the dentist, I thought the pain had overtaken me and I was seeing things. He was so cute and looked like he was fresh out of high school! I pictured him surfing on weekends. (I was more than happy to have him put me under!) He also turned out to be quite smart and understanding and more or less got me. He asked me what I wanted done, mentioning a root canal, but my saying that I’m on Medi-Cal ended that conversation. There was also bad news and good news. The bad news was
*I had to have my physician sign an authorization before I could have the surgery. When I said that I’m changing doctors, because I’m not happy with the one I’ve been seeing and can’t see the new one until the end of June, I was told to see the old one. Damn!
*The earliest time for the surgery I could get was on Tuesday.
*and I would have to pay for some work that Medi-Cal doesn’t cover.
The good news was that the dentist gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and for vikadin. It turned out that the Alta-Med dentist was wrong about my not having an infection, for the pain dramatically subsided soon after I began taking the antibiotic. I only took the vikadin at night, because I didn’t want to be a complete zombie.

On the way home, we went by my doctor’s office. I was told that I had to see her, and I could get an appointment on Monday. I wasn’t happy, but my attendant pointed out to me that everything was lining up.

After a long, very quiet weekend of not doing much, including eating, I saw the doctor. Going in without my attendant and with my Vmax voice synthesizer - something I should always do - helped, cutting down her defensive arguing, and I left within minutes with the form signed.

That afternoon, my parents arrived from up north for a long-planned visit. I had not been able to tell them about my tooth, and they were dismayed to see me in such sad shape. They told me they would help with the extra costs and wondered about paying for a root canal, but I was concerned that they would have to pay for the whole surgery. (Loma Linda once told me that a surgery costs well over $1000.) When they called the office to ask questions, it was literally too late - the office was closed.

After not eating the next morning, I had to wait for more than two hours at the office in Redlands. I wondered about the other disabled people who were there, including a man who repeatedly moaned and slapped himself - where was their funding from, and were they just getting extractions? I was starving by the time of my surgery, and I again felt unstable when on the dental chair before being put to sleep - and frustrated when asked to sign a final form while on my back. The last thing I remember is the dentist looking at me - a nice last thing to see, indeed! - and asking if I was still okay with what he and I had agreed on on Friday.

I was pretty much zonked out for the rest of the day (I don’t remember waking up from the surgery or getting into my van - I would have loved seeing my attendant navigate my motorized wheelchair into my van!), and, with eating jello and fried eggs and hot cereal, I was more or less fine, if a bit groggy, the next day. I was a bit sore, but the toothache was gone - gone! I never did hear back from Loma Linda and don’t know if the nice busy lady at Alta-Med ever did fax them the x-ray.

I have left out some details, a few twists and turns, but you get the gist. Yes, I got what I needed, thankfully, but the system was, as someone commented and to say the very least, clunky. Be warned - or grateful for your coverage and funding that you have.

Reality check - or not

2011-05-09T10:38:00.000-07:00

Can we ever really know what is true, what is real? I’m really beginning to wonder. Really.

It was pretty bad two weeks ago when Barack Obama, the President of the United States, felt that he had to present the “long form” of his birth certificate. I call it sad and humiliating, as well as outrageous. How did the “birther” movement get this far? This is the man who was fairly and squarely elected, after all.

Now, there are people who are saying that the “long form” certificate is a fake, that it isn’t real. They point out differences in font, paper, whatever.

Although a recent poll indicates that their numbers have dropped notably, there is still the question: What will it take to satisfy the “birthers,” who insist that Obama wasn’t born in the U.S and thus can’t be president? Nothing. This is the ultimate form of denial - to say that someone who is different or not liked not only isn’t qualified but also doesn’t exist to boot.

I thought it was crazy enough that there are people who say that global warming isn’t real. Talk about being in denial - denying that something bad or not liked exists.

There is a new twist to all of this: People who say that Osama bin Laden wasn’t killed and is still alive. These are the “deathers,” and they not only include some of his followers in the Middle East but also some here in the U.S (not wanting to have Obama, who really isn’t the president, to have this victory). It is true that the photographs of the dead bin Laden won’t convince these people, and that this was articulated by President Obama in deciding that the pictures won’t be released is an absolutely delicious irony.

In my last post, I implied that I wasn’t wowed by bin Laden’s death, that I didn’t buy into the cheering and hype. I will concede, however, that, as someone who also wasn't into the hype pointed out, this was a major bit of history we have lived through, but I will also admit that, in addition to not wanting to applaud a death and act of war and all that, for some time, I half wondered if Osama bin Laden - Osama been Forgotten, who was all over but no one could find - wasn’t real.

Flat Earth Society, anyone?

Never enough

2011-05-03T10:55:00.000-07:00

When one of my attendants told me on Sunday night that Osama bin Laden was dead, my first thought was: who? After all, this was Osama been Forgotten.

My second thought was: does this mean the war is over? Finally? Please...?

I can only wish. Yesterday, even as there was talk of a great victory and of it being “a good day for America,” we were told that there might well be a terrorist strike to avenge bin Laden’s assassination. We were told to be on the lookout for the next six months or so. I think that if the terrorists are smart - and they seem to be - six years or so is more like it.

All this also made me think of Proposition 8, the California same-sex marriage ban now wending it’s way through all manner of hearings and courts. Not only is this anti-gay measure, along with others like it, an unique form of terrorism, this looks to be a fight that will never end. When there is finally a ruling - now slated for next year - no matter what it is, it will be appealed. That has already been said. And there can always be another ballot proposition.

Quite a plateful

2011-04-22T10:47:00.000-07:00

I have always heard that a meal is the thing to bring people together, that sitting down and breaking bread with one another promotes community. We see this especially at times such as Thanksgiving and in this week’s Passover and Easter feasts. But it appears that, in Washington, D.C these days, even eating is a divisive issue.
Maybe the “tea party” is against organic food, like it doesn’t believe in global warming.
That would appear to be the case as, according to the Los Angeles Times recently, a literal food fight has broken out in the cafeteria where the nation’s lawmakers eat. Since gaining more seats in November, the Republicans have done away with many of the changes that Nancy Pelosi instituted in the dining hall when she was Speaker of the House. There are still organic options available - with the emphasis now surely on “option” - but gone are the biodegradable and recyclable plates and utensils. There was supposedly too much griping that the cardboard dishes and corn-based spoons melted or fell apart.
So, it’s back to plastic and styrofoam. Yes, good old American plastic. “The future,” as Dustin Hoffman was famously once told.
Who knew that dining would be such a partisian matter? Not Dan Lundgren, a Republican representative who claims to be surprised by all the fuss and is quoted as saying, “I never thought I’d be known as ‘Styrofoam Dan.’”
There is talk of experimenting with washable mugs, perhaps leading to real plates and silverware, but one Republican warned, “You’re going to have lost silverware or you’re going to have drawers full of dirty silverware.” He went on to say, again not unlike a father who knows best, “Either way, that’s not going to save you money.”
And Heaven forbid we ask our esteemed congresspersons to have their own mugs and cloth napkins.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by this dining divisiveness. Not only is there chronic gridlock among our lawmakers these days, with them not agreeing on almost anything, but I was once in a market’s produce department and heard one woman say to another, “That’s organic. You don’t want that.”

Making it hurt more - or not

2011-04-08T11:42:00.000-07:00

Derence Kerneck and Ed Watson’s story is a pretty sad one.

As reported in the Los Angeles Times a couple weeks ago, Derence and Ed are a gay couple in California who have lived together for 40 years, and they would like to get married. As sad as it is that there can’t marry now because of the passage of Proposition 8 two years ago, what makes their story all the sadder is that they don’t know if they’ll be around when the law banning same-sex marriage will be repealed, as most say will happen.

See, Derence is 80, and Ed is 78 and is in rapidly failing health, afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease, obesity, diabetes and hypertension. Derence is concerned that if they don’t marry soon, it won’t mean anything to Ed (or he won’t remember it), and says that traveling to a state that sanctions gay marriage would be too hard on Ed. “Besides,” he says, “we wanted to do it in California, where our friends are, where we live.”

Meanwhile, it looks now like the Proposition 8 will be in the court for another year, since the California Supreme Court has been asked to decide if the backers of the proposition have the “standing” to fight the appeal in court when the appropriate officials wouldn’t. Recently, after hearing an argument on behalf of those like Derence and Ed, a federal appeals court ruled that the ban will stay in place during this process, not allowing same-sex couples to legally marry in the meantime.

I am sick of reading stories like this. I am sick of people arguing that gay marriage will hurt the institution of marriage - what about adultery, divorce, etc.? - and I am sick of this argument being used to degrade and hurt gay people. Every time there is a story like this, it increases the pain, like a twist of the knife, like salt rubbed in the wound. As Derence says, “I just don’t see how who I love hurt anyone else’s marriage.”

But there is a part of me that doesn’t let this bother me so much. It’s the part of me that says, “Fuck it! Fuck them!” and doesn’t really care, doesn’t give a damn about what goes down in the larger society.

It’s the part of me that says that, when I find a mate, I will get married, whether the State recognizes it or not. It’s the part of me that, when, as a severely disabled person, it was nearly impossible for me to get a “real job,” I created my own job. It’s the part of me that doesn’t get caught up in the fight over same-sex marriage and other such gay rights - a fight likely to go on for some time, with appeal after appeal and counter-initiatives after initiatives.

It’s the queer part of me.

I was reminded of this last week when, at Pomona College here in Claremont, I saw D’Lo, a gay, transgender performance artist and comic born to parents from Sri Lanka. One of the things that he said that really struck me was that the difference between gay people and queer people is that gay people want to be like everyone else, and queer people want everyone else to be like them.

In the mean-time

2011-03-25T12:04:00.000-07:00

I recently received a thick envelope from Medi-Cal. No doubt it cost more than a first-class stamp to send. It basically contained a multi-page letter, including a sheet in a number of languages, stating that, according to a new law, in order to remain on Medi-Cal for another year (this letter comes every year, I guess), I have to provide proof that I am an U.S citizen unless it is already proven that I am an U.S citizen. According to more than one of the criteria listed, it is very much established that I am an U.S citizen. As I threw out the letter, I wondered why I got it and how many others, for the same reason, were throwing out the letter.

In the meantime, the State of California is something like $26 billion in the red. I can’t even imagine $26 billion!

In the meantime, friends keep asking me if my attendant hours have been cut more than they have been. All I can say is not yet. Nearly every day, I read about new cuts in funding for schools, parks, roads and, yes, as always, the aged and disabled.

In the meantime, Medi-Cal no longer pays for nutritional supplements unless the patient is tube-fed. As Elizabeth Landsberg, a lobbyist for the Western Center on Law and Poverty, says, "Two years ago, we cut dental services for people on Medi-Cal. We won’t pay to save teeth, only to pull them. Now for people who can’t eat because they don’t have teeth, we won’t pay for nutrition they can ingest." I have written here about being thankful that my parents help me pay for dental check-ups and wondering what will happen if I need major work done.

In the meantime, Governor Jerry Brown is racing time and Republican legislators hell-bent against taxes to place measures on a June ballot, before the end of the year, to let voters decide, as he promised during his campaign last year, whether to extend certain taxes to prevent a complete services meltdown. He is now considering a citizens’ initiative for the November election - meaning the taxes will be "new" - or somehow doing an end-run around the GOP lawmakers in regards to the June ballot, both will be harder to pull off, and the latest poll shows that public support for the June measures has eroded.

In the meantime, one of my attendants says she is thinking of voting against the tax-extension measure. She has also said she wishes it was the 1950's. When I pointed out that if it was the 1950's, I’d be hidden in a back room, she said, "Oh, I hadn’t thought of that."

Hunger wins

2011-03-23T10:39:00.000-07:00

"I love working with hungry people."

So says Simon Cowell, who, according to an article last week on the Business page in the Los Angeles Times, is all but salivating over Pepsi sponsoring "X Factor," his new singing competition show which has been a smash hit in the U.K and will debut here in the U.S this Fall. It is widely thought that "X Factor" will give "American Idol," which is sponsored by Coke and has persistently topped the T.V ratings, a run for its money.

Cowell, who was arguably the most popular element of "American Idol" with his snide judging until he left last year to start the new show, loves this. Not only does he love it that Pepsi was the most aggressive, the most hungry sponsorship rival after passing up the chance to back "American Idol" when it launched. He loves it that the Coke-Pepsi rivalry, in which millions of dollars are at stake, will ratchet up the competition between the two shows.

"Bring it on," Cowell says. "I love it."

Never mind the stupidity and absurdity of artistic expression being in competition, on - more accurately - the chopping block. Or what it says when snide, humiliating judging is so popular. (I don’t think I need to say that I’m not one of the millions who watch the show.)

On the same page where this big, multi-million dollar soda story made a big splash, there were not only articles about the economic havoc caused by the earthquake in Japan but also an article saying that food prices are going up, probably permanently, and that there’ll no doubt be more hungry people in the world.

All fun and games (until someone shoots themselves - maybe)

2011-03-11T11:34:00.000-08:00

I wonder if Dave Duerson will be heard. That is, if his shot will be heard.

Dave Duerson is a former NFL star who shot himself not long ago. His suicide - or, more accurately, his shooting himself or, even more accurately, the way he shot himself - was clearly meant to send a message.

We’ll see if anyone gets it.

Duerson shot himself in the heart and not in the head. He did this very carefully, with much thought, for a very specific reason: so that his brain can be examined. He was obviously sick of hearing about retired football players having brain damage - dementia, Parkinson’s disease, etc. - stemming from having their heads banged repeatedly during games.

He was no doubt sick about football players, including in high school, being allowed or even pressured to play after their "bell has been rung." (This practice has been more or less stopped.) He was no doubt sick of hearing about high school football players collapsing on the field and dying soon afterwards.

I always thought that boxing is bad enough. I have never understood people being encouraged to punch the living daylights out of each other, sometimes quite literally, and why this is a sport, much less a massively popular one. Look at Mohammad Ali, who is celebrated as all but a god even as he is a stumbling mess.

Now it turns out that football is just as bad. Bad enough for a man to kill himself to make the point.

But will the NFL get the message? We’ll see. As with boxing, football is big business, with billions of dollars at stake and fans not likely to settle for less excitement and, sure, danger. Even now, the NFL is floating the idea of adding two more games in its regular season. Two more chances for head banging and concussions.

Interestingly, Duerson’s suicide occurred at about the same time as the ten-year anniversary of NASCAR driver Dale Earnhardt being killed in a fiery crash during a race. Yes, NASCAR has made significant and commendable safety improvements, including a more secure, protective seats, in the accident’s afternoon. But it was also noted during the anniversary that Earnhardt surely would have laughed them off and refused to utilize them.

Under lock and key - disabled or not

2011-03-08T11:24:00.000-08:00

Too bad I can’t find the two books of cartoons by John Calahan that I had. I think one was stolen, which is perfectly understandable. John Calahan is a brilliant disabled cartoonist. I think he draws with his mouth, but he’s definitely no Joni (no doubt this would be a joke to him)! He has a wonderfully wicked, black sense of humor. One of his more well-known cartoons shows a desert scene with a man in a manual wheelchair and a sheriff and his deputy on horseback. The sheriff says to his deputy, "Don’t worry. He won’t get far."

Apparently, California officials didn’t get the joke. According to the Los Angeles Times last week, a law, adapted a couple years ago, saying that terminally ill prisoners are to be released isn’t being enforced. Instead, as described in the Times, inmates who are in the hospital and barely able to move or walk, if they can at all, are shackled to their beds. Not only that, but each is watched over 24/7 by at least two guards.

These guards, who are paid quite handsomely with taxpayers’ money, consider this to be a "plum assignment." One guard was quoted as saying that, unlike in the prisons, these hospitalized inmates can’t do much to talk or fight back.

Not only is this inane, as John Calahan would no doubt gleefully point out, it is a scandal in a state that is awash in debt and slashing services, including those for the disabled. Indeed, the day after the first Times story appeared, it was reported that the state will consider releasing the ten most terminally ill patients. (Don’t ask me why it’s ten. I guess it’s a nice, easy, people-pleasing round number.)

There are hard-line conservatives who are raising objections to this releasing, who are saying "not so fast." They are asking questions like: What if these people get well? Who will now pay for their care? These are problems that aren’t problems or are easily resolved.

Mostly, though, these are silly, stupid questions hiding the real issue. These right-wingers, even as they insist that costs be cut, even as they loudly profess to follow a loving and forgiving Jesus, can’t stand the idea of a crime going unpunished, of an eye not given for an eye, a tooth not given for a tooth.

And no matter that the criminal can’t get far. They’re worried.

The movie of the year

2011-02-25T11:29:00.000-08:00

I don’t think it was for nothing that the only movie I posted about last year was The Social Network (10/8/10). Not that long afterwards, the film about Mark Zuckerburg and the start of Facebook began winning every award - mainly critic awards - that was being handed out.

Then, beginning with the Golden Globe Awards last month (for some reason, the vote of some 80 foreign journalists writing on the Hollywood film industry and known for their annual boozy dinner show, backroom deals and having a thing for Pia Zadora has come to matter), The King’s Speech began to pick up steam, awards-wise, big-time. It now looks like the fact-based film about the British King George VI having debilitating stutter and being helped and befriended by an unconventional speech therapist is the one to beat - or is running neck and neck - for best motion picture at the Academy Awards on Sunday evening.

I adored The King’s Speech. I thought it was a sumptuous jewel of a film, with a topic particularly fascinating to me with my impaired speech. (I see that there is an article in today’s L.A Times about the film boosting business for speech therapists.) I’m also interested in anything with Wallis Simpson, the abdication ("the woman I love") and all that. Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush give a virtual master acting class, and there are many delectable bits by such great English actors as Michael Gambon and Derek Jacobi.

Yes, The King’s Speech is worthy of the Oscar, but I think that The Social Network should get it. Not only is this movie very well made, it captures our lives, our times, perfectly. And not just because it’s about Facebook, which dominates more and more of our lives. (By the way, there was an article in yesterday’s L.A Times about the Winklevoss brothers, the identical twins who, as seen in the film, claim that Mark Zuckerberg stole the Facebook idea from them, still pursuing legal action.) It nails a lot of things that go on today - from rating girls to ruthless business practices to college boys walking around in the freezing rain in flip-flops and hoodies. Like I said, I don’t think that it’s insignificant that this is the only movie I blogged about last year.

Here are two other movies up for the best-picture Oscar that stuck out, among other excellent ones, for me:

True Grit - Seeing the Coen brothers practice their craft is a real treat, even when it gets a bit too showy.

127 Hours - Yes, seeing the guy cut off his own arm is harrowing, but this film, like most directed by Danny Boyle, bubbles with spunk. And James Franco, who is on screen almost the whole time, is yummy!

Taking it to the (V)max

2011-02-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

For the last week, I’ve been zipping around town in my wheelchair listening to songs by the Scissors Sisters, Pet Shop Boys, Siga Ros, Radiohead and more. The music comes from my Vmax, the speech device attached to my chair, which I operate via a camera which tracks a dot stuck onto my glasses (funny how such a high-tech device relies on a piece of foil!) and which I got in June and have written about here periodically.

It is like having a big iPod, and it’s great fun - although I don’t know if Medi-Cal would approve. (I was actually given the pc features by mistake.) I feel further liberated - like this is another way I can be myself and also perhaps reach out and connect to others ("Hey, trip out! How are you playing that music?").

I have been finding out how to do more things with the Vmax, especially now that I have someone who can really help me with it and even as I come to terms with the speech component’s limited value. I can play Concentration on it, and it looks like I’ll soon be able to text with it and maybe get on-line and read the paper, although my company representative has warned me that a virus would ruin the speech device. Another recent discovery is that, since the Vmax is really a laptop, it can be put into hibernate mode so that I don’t have to wait the eternity it takes to boot up when I turn it on. The tech people at the company didn’t think of this. (Speaking of turning it on, the power button is small and difficult to use, especially as it is right under the camera. I guess it’s assumed that an attendant would turn it on.)

As I’ve indicated, I have been learning that the speech component is very effective at times and not so much at other times. It really depends on the setting I’m in and who and how many people I’m dealing with. In general, it works best when I’m one-on-one with a stranger or someone who is really uncomfortable with my speech. It helps if people how I use it. People who are familiar or somewhat familiar with my speech tend to be impatient with it, although it can sometimes come and in handy. I’m also finding it good to silently compose an entire statement before having it spoken aloud.

It was a huge help when, some time ago, the therapists who I have been working with told me to "use it when you need it." It was like I thought they’d be angry at me for not using it all the time. Now I don’t feel so guilty if I don’t or forget - less likely now that I have the tunes! - to have the Vmax attached to my chair, although I often find that I should have it when I don’t. On a rainy day like today, for example, although I now have a great clear plastic cover with which I can still operate the Vmax, I won’t take it out unless I know I’ll really need it.

There is a new unit out now, called a WPAC, that I want, which enables the Vmax to run off my wheelchair battery. If I had this, I wouldn’t have to worry about trying to conserve the battery - a whole other adventure (the hibernate mode helps a bit) - and running out of power. I recently found out that Medi-Cal won’t pay for it - "not medically necessary" (like the MP3 player!) - but I think I’ll have another option for paying for the unit, which costs almost $400.

Well, these are some of the adventures I’ve been having with my new Vmax, which some people have been asking about. I am still thrilled with it, even with its challenges and limitations, and my next adventure will be taking it on a plane this weekend.

Can love be disabled?

2011-02-03T11:26:00.000-08:00

It’s a sorry, old trope - the woman who is left by her boyfriend or husband when she becomes disabled. You can find it in countless sappy T.V movies and dime-store novels ("The Other Side of the Mountain," etc.), often with the woman giving the man permission to leave, because she can no longer "satisfy" him. I even had a life-long friend, no longer living, who was severely disabled with arthritis and got married, only to have the man divorce her when she contracted M.S. It turned out the guy was having an affair with one of her attendants.

Now we have the ugly story of the Dorns, which adds a wicked twist. As I have been reading about in the Los Angeles Times, when Abbie Dorn gave birth to triplets four and a half years ago shortly after she turned 30, there were serious medical complications and errors, leaving her catastrophically brain-damaged and unable to move or communicate except by blinking and other eye movements. Not long afterwards, her husband Daniel - you got it! - divorced her.

Recently, Abbie, whose parents moved her away to their home in South Carolina, got to see the triplets for the first time since their birth. The meeting was more or less secret, because Daniel doesn’t want the children to see their disabled mother.

He says that he fears that they will be traumatized by seeing their mother in this state, by her not being able to play catch with them or help them with their homework. He says that he is afraid that the children will be devastated, hoping that their mother will get better and then seeing that she won’t.

During the visit, when the triplets tried to show Abbie their drawings, Daniel told them, "She can’t see."

Give me a break. Abbie isn’t blind. Not only that, children are much smarter than this, and they don’t deserve to be lied to and shielded from reality. They know their mother can’t read them a story, but they also know that showing her a drawing, at the very least, won’t hurt. In fact, upon arriving at the visit, one of the triplets announced, "We know our Mommy got sick, because the doctor made a mistake."

Abbie’s parents, who are advocating for her and waiting for a judge to rule on if she is able to be a mother, insist that she is not a vegetable, that she has feelings. With the help of a speech therapist and using printed word cards and eye movements, Abbie indicated before the visit that she was happy and sad about seeing the children. After the visit, she indicated she was happy.

Daniel, who is arguing that Abbie’s parents are trying to take control of the children, was recently quoted as saying that Abbie "is not the woman I married." I think what he really fears is that his children are smarter and more sensible - and more sensitive - than he is. I think that what he is really afraid of was how he left her when she most needed him.

So much for "in sickness and in health, for better or for worse."

Still not heard

2011-01-20T11:36:00.000-08:00

There has been a lot of talk lately. There has been so much talk that it looks like not even a hail of bullets heard across the nation, if not the world, has made us hear the message that needs to be heard.

Immediately after the January 8 shooting in Tucson - Happy New Year! - people started talking, saying who should be blamed or not blamed for it happening. And yes, it was so easy, so tempting, to join in on the talking and blaming. I was all ready to say that the shooting happened because of Sara Palin and Glenn Beck and the Tea Partiers and their threats (see my last post), their cross-hairs, their gun-toting.

But that was like my dad always looking for someone to blame when something broke. The washer couldn’t just be worn out.

So, Palin, for example, with the cross-hairs on her website (one of which focused on Gabrielle Giffords, the Democratic Arizona congresswoman said to be the primary target in the shooting), is an obvious target (pun very much intended!) for blame. But its not like MoveOn.org of "General Betray-Us" fame and others on the left haven’t indulged in plenty of nasty, tough, provocative talk.

Politics is usually a tough business. Look at how the country burned - literally - in the 1960's. If that’s not enough, go back another 100 years and check out the Civil War.

I think "provocative" is the key word, and I, as much as I am loathed to, have to agree with the right-wingers when they say it is not fair that they be lumped together with an insane man. Yes, Jared Loughner, the alleged shooter, did target a congress member (who, by the way, graduated from Scripps College here in Claremont), but all reports have made it crystal clear that he has a very serious mental illness and is not rational. He may have been ticked off with the congresswoman after a brief, non-sensical exchange with her, as he was clearly ticked off with the college he was attending, but it is evident that he is seriously troubled and not in charge of his thoughts. To put it very roughly, he heard all the talking, all the voices, and these voices took over.

This may be an over-simplification, but I don’t think it’s an over-simplification to say that, with all this talk going on, there are two questions we are not hearing - or not hearing enough.

The first is, how come a man, who was known to many, including police, as mentally unstable, was able to buy a gun, much less a semi-automatic one? (I’d like to know why anyone can buy a semi- automatic - or even any - gun, but that’s for another posting!)

The second question has to do with people like Jared Loughner, who are so lost and alienated in our world and are desperate - sometimes violently so - for help. Can there be a place, a way, for them to be safe, contributing members of society?

A week after the shooting, I read an article about a petting zoo in the greater Los Angeles area where a number of autistic and mentally disabled adults worked having to close down. The zoo was owned and operated by the parents of an autistic man and was called Danny’s Farm. It was shut down, because neighbors said there was too much traffic and that the animals made too much noise.

Tea Party express-way

2011-01-07T11:10:00.000-08:00

Over the holidays, I went up north to the San Francisco Bay Area. As usual, driving up and down the state proved to be an interesting political lesson. Even more so this time.

When I drove up Highway 5, which goes through the Central Valley, the agricultural hub often called "the salad bowl of America," I got an eyeful (as opposed to an earful) of anti-government anger. In recent years, there have been a few signs claiming that the U.S Congress has created a "dust bowl" in the Valley. This time, there were dozens, if not hundreds, seemingly at least one every few miles. In addition to the dust bowl signs, there were signs condemning Nancy Pelosi and Barbara Boxer, the U.S Senator from California, as well as signs saying things like "No water + no jobs = higher prices."

Who put up all these signs? I wondered. The Valley looked pretty green to me, and I was reminded of all the outcry against federal power from Tea Party types that lead to the many Republican victories in the recent elections. Except that California is still solidly Democratic.

I also noticed that I wasn’t seeing any anti-abortion signs. I have usually seen these when traveling on Highway 99, another freeway running up and down the Central Valley. Whenever I saw these, I felt like I was suddenly in some Bible belt and that it would perhaps be better if I was invisible - or at least not so loud and rainbow tie-dyed.

While I was up north, I told my dad that I would probably not see such signs when I returned home down Highway 101, which runs closer to and sometimes on the California coast. I was right - I didn’t. As my dad suggested, it looks like it’s all about geography and demographics.

Something to learn, indeed.

That's the spirit(s)

2010-12-26T15:45:00.000-08:00

"[I]t was a Christmas party, one could assume there was [drinking]"

Of course! That explains it.

Why didn’t I think of that?

I’m so glad that a Los Angeles County Sheriff Department’s spokesman, quoted a week or two ago in the Los Angeles Times, offered this explanation as to why there was a brawl at a Christmas party for Men’s Central Jail employees, resulting in seven deputies being relieved of duty. It certainly cleared things up.

Never mind that the Christmas party, attended by about 100, including family and friends, was for jail staff. That’s already something to get one’s head around.

And never mind that, as the spokesman helpfully pointed out, "Deputies are supposed to be peacemakers, not law violators."

What’s more, "they’re not supposed to be assaulting their fellow co-workers."

Just in case you’re wondering.

But - excuse me - I’m sorry.... I don’t get it. I’m still confused.

It’s bad enough that New Year’s Eve is devoted to drinking, if not to getting drunk. (Much for this reason, I don’t like New Year’s Eve and spent many holed up at a Quaker retreat deep in the dark, dank California redwoods.) But at least it’s done just to mark time, to celebrate a significant passage. At least it’s not done for Jesus.

I don’t get why Christmas is an excuse, an obvious, natural excuse, for drinking. I don’t get how getting drunk and even out of control celebrates the birth of Jesus, who was all about peace and love.

I’ve never forgotten about the attendant I had years ago who told me she had to stay home on Christmas Eve to make sure things were safe, what with her parents and others drinking.

So much for all being calm and bright.

Sitting here in limbo

2010-12-17T12:51:00.000-08:00

On one front, things look good, but on the other front, they don’t look so hot.

Or maybe not.

Put it another way, are we taking one step forward and another step back?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

It could be that we’ll end up taking two steps forward or two steps backwards.

Who’s to say when it comes to Proposition 8 here in California and the don’t-ask-don’t-tell rule in the U.S military?

Earlier this month, there was a hearing on Proposition 8 in an appeals court after a judge had ruled the same-sex marriage ban to be unconstitutional. It was reported that the appellate judges - two of the three of them were known as liberal - appeared to want to rule in such a way so that the case won’t go to the U.S Supreme Court. A big fear is that the U.S Supreme Court, which would close the case for at least a while, is increasingly conservative and could well set this cause back decades if it got its hands on it.

However, this reporting was really just tea-leaf reading, and the ruling is likely not to be out for months.

Meanwhile, the congressional repeal of D.A.D.T is, after lots of fanfare, all but dead in the water. There is a bit of talk about bringing it up again, probably on a separate vote, in this lame-duck session, but that looks like a tall order after the brutal fight over the tax-cut extension and when an usually popular nuclear arms reduction treaty is an iffy proposition. Prospects for the repeal look even dimmer come January, when the Republicans will take over the House of Representatives and gain seats in the Senate.

Then again, the courts will likely repeal D.A.D.T anyway. Good - but this path will be more abrupt and a rougher ride for the military.

Good grief! Enough already! Can someone please make a decision? The problem is that everything rides on who makes the decision. Sure, we can have a say on who makes the decision, but, again, that takes time.

Marriage and military service may be abstract and far-fetched for me - unlike, say, attendant-care funding - but, as a gay man with gay friends, I am sick of being a political football, a pawn in a social game, dependent on what time it is and who’s in charge, making the decisions, at the time.

Rainbow radiance

2010-12-03T11:17:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, I was at a gathering which I attend several times a year and about which I have written about before. Near the end of the weekend, a man told the group about being an openly gay teacher at a big-city junior high school in a poor, rough neighborhood consisting of mostly immigrants.

Although he was already "out" at the school, after the recent spate of highly publicized gay teenage suicides, the teacher decided that he had to speak out more. With the other teachers’ blessing, he went to all the seventh grade health classes, beginning the conversation by asking, "Who here is gay?" After some denials and giggling, he would say, "I am." This would produce considerable shock, but then there would be lots of good, constructive questions from the students, which the teacher answered as honestly as possible. When the teacher asked if any of the students know anyone who is gay, most did - a cousin or such - and said that "they are alright."

The man explained that the school shares the campus with a much larger high school and said that, one day after these conversations, he decided to sit outside during recess, knowing that he was taking some risk. He noticed some seventh-grade boys looking and pointing at him and went over to ask what was up. The boys asked him more provocative questions ("Who gives the sperm?"). The teacher was beginning to answer when he was hit by an open carton of milk thrown from afar.

The seventh-graders were nearly as shocked as the teacher and asked him why this happened. The teacher asked the boys if they saw who threw the carton. One or two pointed out a high school student. The teacher, still dripping with milk, went over and confronted the boy, who told him, "Don’t talk about gay stuff!"

After finding out that the high school student is the older brother of a seventh-grader, the teacher was told by school administrators that he had to get a number of witnesses in order for anything to be done about the incident. The teacher found that many students refused to get involved, but he did get enough of them to point out the high school boy, who was then sent to a juvenile rehabilitation facility.

We can admire this man and say that he is brave. We can say that he has balls to teach at a junior high school - not to mention one in a tough inner-city neighborhood and being known to be gay. But that would be too easy.

This man is doing what we in the GLBT community all should be doing, the hard work every one of us needs to do. He is getting out there day after day, standing up for all to see and being honest about who he is. Not only that - and more importantly - he is not letting those who want to deny his existence, shame him and destroy him succeed. In being his true self, he shines and is the one who, in the end, is stronger, survives and thrive.

The failure to do this is clearly evident in the success of Proposition 8, banning same-sex marriage, in California. The gay community couldn’t even say "gay," and the opposition ran with it and made it all the more shameful and frightening.

Another closet heard from

2010-11-19T10:05:00.000-08:00

Last week, I attended a forum at Pomona College sponsored by the Pomona Student Union on "The Future of American Atheism." I had not heard of the three speakers - Hemant Mehta, David Silverman and Chris Mooney - but while they are not big names like Sam Harris, Christopher Hutchins and Bill Maher (who they often referred to), they are apparently respected commentators, bloggers and leaders in the "atheist movement." The basic question of the evening was "Now that not believing in God isn’t a big deal, now what?"

Who knew there was "atheist movement?" I didn’t. Well, there is - not unlike there is a "gay movement." In fact, what struck me is that, throughout the 90 minutes, I kept thinking that I could well have been listening to three gay men. Indeed, they repeatedly mentioned the gay community.

In answering the initial question about how they discovered atheism, all three men talked about thinking that they were the only person who didn’t believe in God until they went to the library or went on-line and stumbled upon writings by other people who didn’t believe in God. Near the end of the forum, someone asked the panelists how they realized that they were atheists, and all three answers sounded like when gay people talk about realizing that they weren’t attracted to or aroused by people of the opposite sex (as opposed to people of the same sex). Classic coming-out stories.

Things really got going and the gay analogy just kept showing up when the panelists were ask to talk about their goals as atheists, what they want to accomplish in the greater society. While all insisted that they are not out to recruit or convert people - a hoary gay stereotype, right? - but there was some disagreement about how active and "militant" - how "out," it occurred me - one should be.

Mr. Silverman, who is the vice-president of American Atheists, was continually ribbed by the other two about being "angry," but he kept saying that he is just "honest and blunt." He pointed out that he doesn’t like the term "militant," but he did sound a bit like a member of ActUP or Queer Nation and was the one who is most concerned about the U.S Supreme Court is one vote away from tearing down the wall between church and state. Despite or because of this, he was quick to agree with the others that America shouldn’t be an atheist country.

No, these atheists - at least - don’t want to push their non-belief onto others or live in a country where religion is banned. What they want is to be accepted and able to live openly and comfortably in the society at large. Sound familiar?

A prayer for Johnny

2010-11-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

It riles me up enough when I hear about parents who kick out a child when they learn that the child is gay. As a friend once said, how can a parent love a child one day and then not love the child the next day? I don’t get it.

I also don’t get parents who are so into drugs that they neglect their children. I have seen this up close and personal more than I care to admit, unfortunately with people I have hired as attendants in the past, and it is disturbing and ugly to see. While I understand about addiction and its power, I still, perhaps naively, don’t understand how anything can be more important than one’s children.

Then I read the article in the Los Angeles Times last week about Johnny. Johnny is a 6-year-old boy rescued last year from his drug-addicted mother and her gang-leader boyfriend, "Bullet," and their "associates" who continued to abuse and torture him after the L.A County Department of Children and Family Services declared that he was "not at risk."

From the article: "According to Bessinger and the Los Angeles County documents, Johnny was forced to eat food scraps and lap water from a bowl like a dog; he was denied access to the bathroom; he was made to eat his own feces, urine and vomit and drink soda mixed with soap. Johnny’s tormenters made him sit in a corner, unable to lie down or move for extended stretches, sometimes taunting him with a plate of food they forbade him to eat... His tongue was torn, and one of [the] associates forced him to perform oral sex, leaving extensive sores in his mouth." The article also states that the boy was beaten repeatedly and burned with a glue gun and hot spoons.

How can a child be treated this way? Yes, it is a scandal that the L.A County DCFS is riddled with lax oversight - this was only the latest revelation - and I am horrified that the mother and boyfriend could be such monsters. But my heart is with Johnny, who is, after all, a child, a child of God.

Reading the article makes me want to scream and cry into the night which now is all the darker and colder. I can only hope that Johnny, who is reportedly doing well in intensive therapy and a class for gifted students, will be like one of those kids who thrive despite tremendous odds and grow up to shine into the night, making it just a bit less dark and cold.

Trouble with the help

2010-11-01T13:08:00.000-07:00

"The ‘myriad reasons’ voters might need help carrying out their intent could include language barriers and memory problems or learning disabilities that make word retrieval difficult, the high court said.

"‘Providing the proper spelling of names written in English could assist those voters who want to vote for a particular candidate and need assistance in ensuring that they write the candidate’s name correctly,’ the court said."

The ruling late last week by the Supreme Court in Alaska, reported in Saturday’s Los Angeles Times, is seen as helping Senator Lisa Murkowski, who took the extraordinary step of mounting a write-in campaign for tomorrow’s election after being defeated by a more conservative "tea party" candidate in the Republican primary election. Ms. Murkowski and her supporters were concerned that voters would have difficulty with remembering how to spell her name and wanted a list of write-in candidates to be made available to voters who ask for one at the polls. In response to the ruling, right-wing radio talk show hosts urged their listeners with similar names - who knew? - to get on the list, with the result being that there are something like 160 write-in candidates in Alaska.

I could comment on how this not only is yet another example of Alaska’s wacky politics but also shows that voting there is now officially even wackier than voting in Florida. I could also be snide and point out that Sarah Palin will probably rail against this ruling that will one day help her "special needs" child.

What I want to say, though, is that this reminds me of when my mother took me to vote for the first time. When my mom asked for two Democratic ballot, the old man manning the poll gave her a dirty look. No doubt he was a Republican and thought I was retarded and thought my mom was voting twice. (I now mark a "permanent absentee voter" ballot at home and drop it off at a poll.)

Spooked off

2010-10-29T12:09:00.000-07:00

Halloween sucks.

Okay, I don’t hate it, but am I a bad gay man if I don’t just love Halloween?

It started when I was little. There were a few times - well, at least one time - when I was sick on Halloween and couldn’t go out. When I could go trick-or-treating, my mom and dad would always fight over who would accompany me, pushing my wheelchair and helping me say "trick or treat!" (For the record, Mom always lost and had to take me out.)

And it was tough finding a costume that looked good in a wheelchair. (This was before I got fabulously creative.) I was thrilled when I got the idea of being a black blob. I had my mom dye a sheet black and throw it over me. It was cool until the sheet began getting caught in my wheels.

Later, when I had my own place, I had another problem - handing out candy. Answering the door and giving out candy was a problem. Plus I didn’t really like being the real freak show. I began leaving the candy out on the porch.

One year, I skipped out and went to West Hollywood and met some Radical Faerie friends at the street festival there. My friends were adorable - like little boys in a candy shop way past their bedtime. But the scene was insane, with people constantly running into me and $10 parking to boot. Also, I gave a lesbian friend a ride out there and lost her two times. I should have put a leash on her.

The last straw came a few years ago when I left the candy out on a chair. It was a nice, sturdy, dining chair - from Ikea, with blond wood and a rattan seat. The next morning, not only was the candy gone, but the chair was gone, with pieces of it strewn up and down the street.

One thing I like about Halloween is the annual special column I write for the Claremont Courier, the latest of which follows here. Some people hate it. Good. That means I’m doing my job.

WHEN THE TRICKS ARE THE REAL TREAT

Oh, Horror of Horrors! Oh, Terror of Terrors! It is that time of year! Yes, once again, it is time for me to greet you, oh, Most Ghostly of the Ghostly, oh, Most Ghastly of the Ghastly, before your night of nights, when you rise up in all your heinous glory. This, indeed, is your season of seasons, the season of All Hallow’s Eve.

And, as always, it is the greatest of privileges for me, your humblest of minions, to have this opportunity to come before you and to wish you the best - or, er, the worst? - on this most auspicious of occasions and to report to you on the doings among the mortals in this all-too fair town of Claremont. I do regret that I’m quite far back in your receiving line, with 11 days to go until Halloween, but I can’t help be pleased with this date - 10/20/2010. Sure, it’s a bit of a stretch - not anything like 10/10/10 - but you know what fools these mortals be with their numbers and their attributed meanings. Besides, if this was in Europe, today would be 20/10/2010.

But this, as you well know, oh, Raj of the Ridiculous, is America, and, as you also know well and as is common, this October 31, in a most delicious irony, comes right before Election Day. No doubt you’ve already heard lots about the perfectly ugly mud-slinging and the wonderfully nasty barbs, both in this state and all over the U.S, especially with the Republicans and the rabid "tea partiers" going all out and widely believed poised to take back at least some power from the Democrats. I guess this shouldn’t be surprising, since it is pretty much a mirror image of what was going on under eight years of President Bush.

Claremont is also voting on a school bond on November 2, and there has been a nice amount of dust kicked up over the issue. There is even an organized group arguing against Measure CL, saying mainly that it is too costly in these recessionary times (whether or not the recession is over, as was recently touted - not unlike "Mission Accomplished!"), but I wonder if this is yet another vocal minority in this town that so prides itself in its educational institutions and strong sense of community. That a school board member has endorsed a "no" vote on the bond makes this all the more delightfully vexing.

I have to tell you, oh Saint of the Sniping, that there was no raucous town hall meeting this year, with people yelling and screaming and even hitting at each other, but you’ll no doubt be pleased to know that there has been a steady stream of letters in the local paper here, mostly on national issues like healthcare funding and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, from liberals and conservatives attacking each other, often in quite personal and nasty ways. The letters seem to be from the same people and are entertaining in a delectably weird way, and many people say that they are tired of them. The paper has tried to limit these letters from time to time.

I hope you’ll allow me to editorialize just a bit here. I am astonished, even as your underling in all things dark and dubious, at how people, like the "tea partiers" and other conservatives, rail against things that will surely help them.

Take healthcare funding reform. Not only do these people not want to help others, many of them, judging from the huge number of uninsured, don’t want to help themselves. I think these people are, as you’ll be happy to hear, either greedy (over and over, I’ve heard people say something like "I’m already insured, thank you....") or fearful, especially after September 11, and easily manipulated. Or both.

Then there’s President Obama. I have to say I actually feel sorry for the guy. Everybody wants to crucify him, either for being too much of a Jesus or for not being enough of a Jesus.

Excuse me for getting off track... You might be interested to hear, oh, King of Chaos, the there was a bit of a bruhaha this year over Claremont’s cherished July 4 parade. In this event beloved for kids riding by on bikes and groups of neighbors twiddling their thumbs in formation, there was a remarkably large contingent of people from different churches marching in support of same-sex marriage. This may or may not please you, but I know you’ll love it that some people were so upset that there has been a proposal to ban such "political" entries from this parade that supposedly fetes America’s freedoms. The really crazy thing is that the contingent won two first-place awards!

There is also the story of Bell, of which you’ve no doubt heard, with its outrageous salaries for its city manager and other officials. What does this have to do with Claremont? It turns out that it hasn’t escaped such a municipal mess. As a Los Angeles Times columnist pointed out, Claremont is stuck paying most of the hefty retirement pension for its former city manager, Glenn Southard, recently retired from Indio and known for his imperious attitude, lavish spending and bungling the Landrum shooting.

Mr. Southard probably should be given credit for bringing lots of businesses to Claremont during his tenure here. However, I’m not sure if he could save Claremont from the recession (oops - I forgot - it’s over!). There are perfectly lovely signs of the downturn, such as large, prominent stores in the Village, like Casa Flores, standing empty for months on end. And just in the last two weeks, the popular Cruise Night being closed down and Barbara Baretich’s remarkable horse statue being knocked over only adds to the gloriously sorry mess.

Before I leave you, I can tell you that, just this month, a 79-year-old Claremont resident, Joseph O’Toole, plead guilty to and could face 5 years in federal prison and a fine up to $250,000 for attempting, with a partner, to export weapons to Somalia without a government license. This is terrorism, oh, Duke of Destruction, not unlike when, several years ago, a man held a threatening vigil outside of a local bank for months and was found to have a stash of high-caliber weapons hidden in his Claremont home. That Mr. O’Toole ran (unsuccessfully) for City Council here and was an outspoken leader of a group calling itself, without tongue in cheek, the Citizens for the American Dream, set up to foil an affordable housing project in Claremont - yes, the proposed site was too close to a freeway, but it also was in or near the most affluent part of town - will, I’m quite sure, warm whatever cockles are left in your cold, black heart.

The right to tell them where to stick it

2010-10-22T10:26:00.000-07:00

These people are sick. They need to shut the hell up.

Yes, Fred Phelps and his Westboro, Kansas Baptist Church - they of the infamous "God Hates Fags" signs - have been at it again. And they’ve up the ante, showing up and picketing at the funerals of slain U.S soldiers. They argue loudly and in the boldest of colors that the dead military personnel will or should go to Hell for fighting for a country that tolerates homosexuality.

See? These folks are sick. That’s some truly twisted, sick, screwed-up logic.

What’s more, they’re fighting for the right to do this. At the Supreme Court.

A couple weeks ago, in one of the first cases of the new session, the justices of the highest court of the land heard arguments stemming from a lawsuit filed by a father against Phelps’ congregants for picketing the funeral of his son who had been kill in the war in Iraq. The father, who is Catholic, felt not only that the protest marred and degraded the solemn rite but also libeled by the protesters saying that he raised his son in a bad way. The craziness was topped off by one of Phelp’s wacky daughters herself - not an attorney - arguing for the protesters, citing free speech.

Guess what.

I think she when right. I think the justices should rule in her favor.

I say this not only as a writer and journalist who believes strongly in a free press. This is more than taking a highly principled stand.

I say this as a gay, disabled man who fights everyday to get out and be an active, visible part of society. I want a man to be able to wear a hat with a Confederate flag on it, because I want to be able to go around in my bright, gay-pride rainbow tie-dyed overalls and with rainbow laces in my shoes.

I say this, because I want to be free to say that these people are - or act like (I’m a Quaker who sees God in everyone, remember) - sick, evil, twisted, stupid, heinous assholes.

Facing up

2010-10-08T12:04:00.000-07:00

I liked Jesse Eisenberg in "The Squid and the Whale," and I adored him in "Adventureland." Even more than Michael Cera (especially in "Scott Pilgrim vs. the World"), he owns the market in playing the cute nerd - slightly scruffy, slightly hippie, slightly punk. So it was a bit of a surprise and a real treat to see him doing such a fine, fine job in playing an arrogant asshole as Mark Zuckerberg, the Facebook co-founder, in "The Social Network.

Whether or not this portrayal is completely accurate and fair, Eisenberg is mesmerizing, contributing to the film being a terrific, absorbing two hours, with zippy direction by David Fincher, crackling dialogue by Aaron Sorkin and driving music by Trent Resnor (the new Danny Elfman?) of Nine Inch Nails. Making a heady intellectual property dispute downright thrilling, with intriguing characters, this is an old-fashioned, good, adult drama - the kind Hollywood used to be so good at making but rarely does anymore.

What I like best about the movie is the way it sharply evokes college life, especially on the east coast - running through a freezing midnight drizzle in a hoodie and flip-flops, studying alone under a bare florescent light in a tiny dorm room, riotous partying in centuries-old, stately, stained-oak rooms. Reznor’s steely music adds to the sense of loneliness and alienation felt even at the heart of this exclusive, clubby setting. This is one of the best depictions of the strange, protected, suspended life in academia since Mike Nichol’s production of "Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolff?"

The film and all its publicity made me think of how much Facebook has changed our world. A few days before its released, in a most bitter irony, a gay Ruttgers University student committed suicide after being filmed on-line, for all the world to see, having sex with another man. Although the roommate and friend who did the broadcasting saw it as a lark, it strikes me that this is the 2010 2.0 version of what happened to Matthew Shepherd.

I have to say that I suck at Facebook. I have heard about thousands of people going off Facebook because of it eating up time and being a substitute for face-to-face contact, but I hardly get on it.
Yes, it is good for getting the word out, like when I have a new blog post, and I’m sure I’m missing out on some things, but I don’t really care that Jane is enjoying a nice bowl of homemade asparagus soup, and I don’t want to spend hours playing games with animals. I understand all those people wanting face-to-face contact rather than Facebook.

Then again, on the day I saw "The Social Network," I had the extraordinary, moving experience of going to visit a friend I had been out of touch with for 25 years - half my lifetime. He had found me on Facebook.

Now, that’s a status update worth sharing.

Those pesky disabled folks and their A.D.A

2010-09-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

I can’t tell you how many times I have read or heard about the Americans with Disabilities Act being blamed for problems. The costs for a construction project sky-rockets due to A.D.A regulations. A project is delayed, because it turns out that there were A.D.A regs that were overlooked - and costs will also go up. A good idea, like toilet kiosks in New York City, is shelved because it violates - yes - the A.D.A. Or making it A.D.A-compatible would be too expensive.
Damn that A.D.A. Things would be so much better, easier, less costly without it.

This is pretty much the message I get. In the mainstream media, I rarely see stories about how the A.D.A, which was enacted about 20 years ago, makes life easier for those of us who are disabled. The stories are always about how expensive, how restrictive, how much of a hassle the accommodation law is.

Sometimes the A.D.A doesn’t make my life easier. I get angry when I get a hotel room and find that the bathroom has a tub - rather than a walk-in shower - with bars on the walls. I assume this passes muster with the A.D.A, but I can’t use it. And I don’t think there about many people in wheelchairs who can.

But I was reminded recently when I read an article that the A.D.A has even more of a black eye - with help from the disabled. The story in the Los Angeles Times was about a guy in a wheelchair going around and taking pictures in small stores and these pictures being used by a lawyer in sending out dozens of letters at a time threatening to sue for A.D.A violations and demanding thousands of dollars. The article pointed out that this is going on despite a law designed to prevent such schemes and that a new law is being developed.

I have read about such schemes before, and "schemes" is definitely the right word. This is definitely a case of advantage being taken - not to mention a good thing being given a bad name. It is one thing to use a law to make things better and quite another to use it as a money-maker. I would even ask if the guy in the wheelchair taking pictures is really disabled, but perhaps I’m in denial that a disabled person would be in on this.

And I bet the new law being developed will make it harder to file legitimate A.D.A claims.

The man with the ten hats

2010-09-10T11:59:00.000-07:00

Not a ten-gallon hat. But ten hats - actually, perhaps nine - on his head. Literally.

This past weekend, I was at a gathering of a group that I have been involved in for ten years. There was a guy, a very sweet, gentle guy, that was there for the first time who turned out to have Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of autism which makes social interaction and relating to others (empathy, etc.) difficult. I soon noticed that at each meal, he would have an additional hats on his head. (The stack started with cowboy hats and was topped off with a few billed caps.)

I asked a friend what this was all about, feeling stupid for wondering if this hat-stacking is a characteristic of Asberger’s Syndrome. He explained that the guy told him that he wears the hats to attract attention to himself and away from his disability and to help him interact with people, with them asking him what’s up with the hats.

"Smart guy," I told my friend. "He’s a smart guy."

I said this, because I know exactly what he is doing. As I have written about before, I do the same thing with my overalls, as well as my mismatched high-tops, rainbow shoe laces, dreads and hats - although I wear one hat at a time. I use them to focus attention on myself and away from my disability. When, at one point during the weekend, the guy said with considerable pride and warmth, "I’m the crazy, autistic man with the hats," I totally related and was thrilled.

What’s more, I said this and also that the guy is brave, even though I usually hate it when people say this about me. Okay - I admit it - I admire this disabled guy and found him - yes - brave and
inspiring!

What’s even more, I went to the gathering with my new Vmax speech synthesizer, and it was a huge success. Not only was I able to talk more to more people, it turned out to be, once people saw how I use it, a magnet.

Like those hats for that guy.

Who would Jesus hate?

2010-09-01T11:09:00.000-07:00

"Would you want to be adopted by a pair of faggots or lesbians?"

I didn’t find this quote in the deep, dark nether regions of the Internet. It isn’t from some ultra-conservative radio host, and I didn’t hear it from a gay-bashing skinhead scowling on the sidewalk.

No, I saw it in the Los Angeles Times two or three weeks ago, and it is from a bishop - an archbishop - Cardinal Juan Sandoval Iniguez, archbishop of Guadalajara and one of the most senior Roman Catholic prelates in the nation. He said this in reaction to Mexico City’s ordinance allowing same-sex marriages and adoptions and the Mexican Supreme Court’s upholding it. (He went on to accuse the court of taking bribes.)

Never mind how I would answer his question, and forget, for the moment, the whole gay rights issue. My question here is, how can a respected man of the church - not some fringe minister, a la Fred Phelps - spew such hateful gutter-talk ("faggots").

I may sound shocked. I should be shocked. I wish I was shocked.

But I’m not. This fits right in with the furor over the building of a mosque two blocks from "ground zero" in New York City. Never mind that it will be more of a community center open to all, that it will be run by sufi Muslims, who are the blissed-out flower children of Islam, and that it certainly won’t "loom over" the Twin Towers site. There are people calling the building of the mosque a jihadist victory, a symbol of "Islamic triumphalism."

New York City isn’t the only place where there’s consternation over a mosque being built. It is happening in several communities across the nation, including Temecula, not far from here, and there was a fire a few days ago where a mosque was under construction in Tennessee.

Then there are the increasing number of Americans who believe that President Obama is a Muslim - as if that’s a bad thing. I was at the market the other day and saw a tabloid paper at the check-out stand with a large photograph on its cover of Obama wearing a white robe and a turban - "SHOCKING PROOF THAT OBAMA IS A MUSLIM!"

Even more disturbing and sad to me is that a number of mosques are cancelling their festivals - a big deal for children in particular - marking the last day of Ramadan, which this year happens to fall on September 11. This is a bit like cancelling Christmas morning, and it is being done because they don’t want people to get the wrong idea - that they’re celebrating 9/11.

It has been observed and lamented that it appears more and more that, contrary to the official rhetoric, America (and the West) is in a War on Islam.

Not unlike those who are against same-sex marriage saying they simply want to "protect marriage" when it is all too evident that they are against queers.

And meanwhile, Glen Beck and his rallying crowd, who more or less all loudly label themselves as Christians (there might be a few Jews, but that’s okay, because they’re in the Bible, unenlightened though they are) claim that all this, all this hate, is about "honor" and God.

I recently saw a production of "South Pacific," and I keep thinking of the song, "You Got To Be Carefully Taught," about how children learn to be prejudiced. It seems to me that it took some extraordinary teaching to get people to believe that Jesus espoused or endorsed all this bigotry and hate.

Either that, or it took a lot of people being scared shitless.

The power of theater

2010-08-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

Here is a column of mine, published in the Claremont Courier a couple months ago, that reflects and explains, at least in part, my passion for live theater. (Okay, I’ve been very busy, and it’s really hot. Yes, this is filler, but I hope it’s good filler!)

SOMEWHERE A PLACE FOR COMMUNITY THROUGH THEATER

"You guys make the world awful!"

There was no doubt about this when, minutes later, the gunshot rang out. The bang was enormous in the cavernous theater, and, with it coming from offstage, it was all the more jarring. Of course, it was no surprise - of course, Tony was going to be shot, leaving his beloved Maria to mourn and to hate - but it was a shock nevertheless.

This was West Side Story, after all - a musical, yes, but not one ending with laughter and the peal of wedding bells. The Claremont High School production of the masterpiece by playwright Arthur Laurents, composer Leonard Bernstein and lyricist Stephen Sondheim, loosely based on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, dealt with the age-old problem of racial hatred and rivalry, set in the gritty world of New York City street gangs in the mid-1900's and with songs that are beautiful and sometimes funny but also cynical and bitter. As Doc, the café proprietor, points out in addressing the gang members, it is about everything that makes "the world awful."

This was pretty heady stuff for the high school students. It made the year-end musical production in Bridges Auditorium a couple weekends ago just that much more big-time
No doubt it was a big weekend for Andrew Lindvall and Emily Dauwalder who played Tony and Maria. They shone onstage like the stars on the ceiling of the renowned auditorium. And so did the dozens and dozens of kids who appeared. I was especially impressed with the boys dancing with precise and daring scissor-kicks, choreographed by Daniel Smith, in the high-flying, metropolitan spirit of Jerome Robbins.

As always, these students were supported by at least twice as many others behind the scenes, handling the props and costumes and the lighting and sound, making the show run smoothly. Although none couldn’t be seen, they clearly did an ace job, looking like pros. When I attended on Saturday night, even the sound, which is usually tricky and which always presents a problem in Big Bridges, was pulled off with only the slightest of hitches.

And then, of course, there was, as usual, Krista Carson Elhai, the legendary C.H.S director who, along with Musical Director Joel Wilson, whipped these hundreds of students into spectacular shape. Yes, it may be the case that "boy, is she tired!" after having directed over 250 productions in her 26 years of teaching theater, as her program bio crankily noted, but, as was evident in this production, she hasn’t lost her touch in getting teenagers to do wonderful, magical stuff.

I also can’t praise her enough for having them do mature, provocative work. This show ranked up there with The Laramie Project, the Who’s Tommy and Metamorphisis. Ms. Elhai is confident and isn’t afraid to trust and challenge her students, as well as her audiences, with these brave shows.

Yes, there was plenty to be proud of that weekend. Yes, it was the big-time show in big-time Big Bridges. My one real complaint is that the music wasn’t live. I think these hard-working kids and the beautiful, grand venue deserved to be accompanied and serenaded by a live orchestra.

What’s more, it was a celebration of community, a celebration of a school and of students and teachers supported, encouraged and nurtured by our community. There was a large, slick program loaded with ads and sponsors, and there were lots of cheering parents and friends. This was very much something put on by the community. I kept thinking that it was like a warm-up for our Fourth of July fete.

I also saw this sense of community, of a community coming together and growing, at another play, another musical, I saw a few weeks earlier. It was in Temecula, and it was Rent and it was a delightful surprise.

What was I doing seeing Rent in Temecula? As I discovered a year or two ago when I went to the Old Town Temecula Community Theater, although it is 60 miles away, it takes no longer to get there than it takes to get to a theater in L.A or Santa Monica with the nearly constant city traffic - and the drive is considerably less stressful. Besides, this was the first time I could see this work for less than something like $65 a pop.

Still, I was quite wary. Although the relatively new theater is very attractive and state-of-the-art, the rock opera by Jonathan Larson dealing with prostitutes, druggies and drag queens didn’t seem to fit in this rural (but growing) town with its distinctly western themes, complete with wooden plank sidewalks and country music piped in on the streets. Rent is a long way from La Boheme, although it is based on the Pucinni opera, and Main Street, Temecula, is definitely a long way from Hollywood or Santa Monica Boulevard. It also didn’t help that I had been less than impressed with the previous production I saw there - a victim of a lazy director.

When I entered the theater - late, I’m afraid - I was immediately thrilled, even electrified. Not only was there a live band jamming onstage, there was a young, long-haired man, dressed in the red, plaid pants and black t-shirt of a rocker, singing to a stripper about losing his stash and how he might be falling in love with her. I certainly didn’t think I was in Temecula - or what I think of as Temecula - anymore, Toto!

The play went on from there and didn’t let up, driven by the band, with its stories of people in New York City dealing with eviction, drug use, whoring, AIDS, homelessness, etc. Many of the songs were punctuated with the strongest of profanities. No doubt some in the audience found the work eye-opening, to say the least, but even they had to admit that it had tremendous heart and was being performed, by the Temecula Valley Players, with tremendous heart. I had the sense that the challenging, daring quality of the work inspired the players to do such a fine job with it.

I also had the sense that there was a group of young people in the audience who were cheering especially often and especially loudly. I wondered if they had been to at least one or two of the other performances. I wondered also if they felt that they were finally being heard and understood.

This is the sense I have of live theater and the unique, magical power it has. It can bring a community together. It can inspire a community - all the more so when it challenges the community. And it can open eyes in a community to other communities, other worlds, other ways.

Theater brings us together to build, strengthen, nurture community. Indeed, as everyone sings in West Side Story, "take my hand, and we’re halfway there."

The big question

2010-08-06T11:56:00.000-07:00

"Let’s see how fast you are with that."

I was at the local Borders Books, using my new Vmax voice synthesizer to order a book which wasn’t in stock, when a guy came up behind me and said, "Hi, John!" I wasn’t quite sure who he was - not atypical around here where I’m well-known - but he seemed to know me and about the Vmax, impressing the young man who was assisting me, and who was at first a bit impatient although curious, even more. By the time I had the device voice "sweet" and "peace out," which I have pre-programed, after he gave me a receipt, he was laughing, clearly charmed and stoked.

I was pretty fast with the Vmax, which operates using a camera tracking a silver dot now attached to my glasses and which I have posted a few times about getting in recent months, this time, and this adventure with it was a big success. Some adventures, since having the Vmax attached to my chair a month ago (it is easily removable, and I have it removed when I eat, write, etc.), haven’t been so successful, but they have all been a learning experience - really a full-time learning experience - and I can tell you a lot.

I can tell you about...
...the Vmax being placed right in front of my face for the first few days and my having to peer around it when I traveled. Horrified, the therapists at the hospital set it a bit lower and at a slight angle, making all the difference in the world and enabling me to more or less see where I’m going and also to unlock my front door. Also, it turned out that the dot falls off my forehead when I sweat, and it lasts much longer and seems to give me more direct control with in on my glasses. (Also, people don’t ask me anymore if I’ve converted to Hinduism, and my glasses, which also have a bit of foil on them, are now, appropriately, my tiara.)
...going home in my wheelchair and having the Vmax start to fall forward; the clamp had loosened with the bumpy ride (I suspect that typical Vmax users don’t go out like I do). I was scared shitless that the $8,000 device would smash to the ground. The next day, a friend who works at the hospital cleverly devised a velcro strap, which appears to have done the trick.
...how I love the Vmax’s word prediction. It not only predicts the word I’m typing; it predicts, with impressive acuity, the next word, speeding things up all the more. This is one powerful program!
...discovering at a picnic that the Vmax doesn’t do well in the sun. The screen is hard to see, and the camera kind of goes haywire. Bummer - especially at those pool parties and when my wheelchair breaks down when I’m out. My hospital team is talking about devising some kind of shade.
...how I’m figuring out when and when not to have it on my chair. Should I have it with me whenever I go out - even, say, when I’m shopping with an attendant?
...people either being fascinated by it or not seeing it at all. This is weird - how can they not see and be curious about this big thing in front of me, especially when it’s on and glowing? Is it just another high-tech gadget? Are they just used to seeing John - or that guy - in the wheelchair?
...having trouble with the screen coming on at other times, instead of just when I touch it, and with the battery lasting 2-3 hours instead of the 4-6 hours that it’s supposed to last (even that is silly and frustrating to me). The Vmax takes a very long time to power up - impractical when I want to talk to someone - and, to conserve the battery, I have the screen set to go black after 5 minutes of non-use, but it keeps coming on when I look at the camera or the camera picks up something. Do I have a bad battery? Should I get or make a little cap to go over the camera? Meanwhile, I’m having the device plugged in, including when I use it, as much as possible.

There are other issues, but I think the biggest is knowing when to use the Vmax and when to speak. This came to the fore when I attended Pacific Yearly Meeting, a five-day gathering of Quakers from California, Nevada, Mexico and Hawaii at the end of July, where I got a lot of practice and feedback, where I found out I am much better using the Vmax with individuals and small groups than with a large audience (making me nervous and less able to focus) and where, despite having a note in the daily newsletter explaining the Vmax, at least one or two people thought I use it for playing games.

The big question: Would you rather be patient trying to understand my speech or waiting for me using the Vmax?

I think my experience at Borders gives an - but probably not the - answer. I think the thing to understand, including by me, is that this device is not a miracle, but it is a powerful tool that can help, really help.

A couple lights still left on

2010-07-26T11:16:00.000-07:00

I have broken a vow. Two times. But one time was an accident. Really! And - what’s more - I don’t know if I can say that I’m really sorry.

Last weekend, I went to Grass Valley, quite a ways up north, to camp out at the California Worldfest music festival, and I spent a night on the way up and a night on the way down at two different Motel 6's. After saying that I would never again stay at Motel 6.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I was quite happy staying at Motel 6 and paying its low prices, making travel somewhat affordable to me, until a few years ago, until it began having only one bed in its wheelchair-accessible rooms. This forced me to pay for another room for my attendant, which I felt was unfair, discriminatory and immoral (making money off the disabled). (I considered suing, but it turns out each Motel 6 is separate.) Then there was the time when two rooms were reserved for the wrong night, and I was charged for them anyway. This was the last straw, and I swore off Motel 6.

Two or three months before this recent trip, I was telling a friend who uses a wheelchair that I had made a reservation at a Super 8 Motel for the drive home but that, unlike with other Super 8 motels I have stayed at in recent years (they, along with Days Inn, have wheelchair-accessible rooms with two beds and are inexpensive and nicer than Motel 6), this motel’s wheelchair-accessible room had not been so wheelchair-accessible when I stayed there two years ago. When I told him it was in Bishop (I wanted to drive down the spectacularly picaresque Highway 395, after having a picnic lunch at Lake Tahoe, again), my friend suggested I stay at the Motel 6 there. I was surprised, but he said that its wheelchair-accessible room has two beds and is adequate and that he often stays in it.

I called the Super 8 Motel in Bishop the next morning and cancelled my reservation. Then I called the Motel 6 and reserved its wheelchair-accessible room. (You can’t do this on-line or by calling the 1-800 number - a lesson I learned the hard way years ago.) I happily imagined I had found the only two-bed Motel 6 room left that is wheelchair-accessible.

Meanwhile, I had also made a reservation at the Super 8 Motel near Santa Nella on Highway 5, which I had been pleased with a couple years ago, for on the way up to Grass Valley. Imagine my surprise when my attendant and I pulled up late at night and found that it is now a Motel 6. I was a bit alarmed but discovered the exact same, nice, two-bed, wheelchair-accessible room.

Perhaps the light is not completely off at Motel 6 for us wheelchair-using travelers with attendants. Who knew? This recent trip was a big success thanks partly - and surprisingly - to Motel 6.

A few thoughts on what can't be discussed

2010-07-13T13:35:00.000-07:00

Late last month, I watched a documentary film on P.B.S called "Ask Not," dealing with the "don’t ask, don’t tell" policy which bars gay men and lesbians from being out while serving in the U.S military. I wasn’t sure if I had seen the film before, and I had, but it was worth seeing again, especially now that President Obama is trying to repeal this wishy-washy and ultimately corrosive law that, as the film makes clear, President Clinton endorsed in a moment of caving in. It is definitely provocative and certainly brings up a lot.

It is shocking - and damning - to see, as the film shows...
...gay people being turned away and even arrested when they try to sign up at recruiting stations d mention that they are gay.
...the large number of people who have been kicked out of the military for being gay.
...that some of these people who can’t sign up or have been kicked out due to their sexuality have language skills that would be most helpful in the Middle East and could have even detected and prevented the 9/11 plot.
...that the military, struggling to get enough people to sign up, has been accepting some convicted criminals - but not queers.
...the staggering list of countries that let gay men and lesbians serve openly in the military.

As a pacifist Quaker, I have wondered if I should stand against this policy, and, indeed, I have heard it argued that queers should be grateful that they are excluded from the opportunity to fight in a war. This not only misses the point - it is foolish. This is not about war and whether one should fight or not; it is about equality. It is like gay marriage, where I know gay guys who enjoy being single and have no desire to marry. And as someone points out in the documentary, how can we credibly demand other rights if we don’t demand the equal opportunity to serve in this way if so lead?

Finally, it is evident in the film that "don’t ask, don’t tell" is all about homophobia. There is amphibians footage of enlisted men, generals and politicians saying essentially that they just don’t feel comfortable being near gay men. Meanwhile, there is also brief footage of some soldiers having fun at a swimming pool. It occurred to me that, if they didn’t have their trunks on, it would look for all the world like some pool parties I attend. Mmm...

(I can’t help thinking of when I was working out recently at the local rehabilitation hospital. A young man, a patient at the hospital, was being raised to a standing position and said, "Wait, I’m not straight—I mean, I am, but my legs aren’t." Okay - you’re not gay - thanks for the heads-up, dude! Was he so insecure about his sexuality that he felt he had to make a point of clarifying it? Then again, he was no doubt wrestling with his new identity as a disabled man.)

Party pooping

2010-07-02T13:56:00.000-07:00

It’s all fun and games, all peace and love, until someone dies. Which is exactly what happened.

Last weekend in Los Angeles, the Electric Daisy Festival, called the biggest electronic music event and featuring five stages and carnival rides, took place over two days at the Memorial Coliseum and Exposition Park, with 185,000 people attending. A 15-year-old girl attended on her own, although no one under 16 was supposed to get in without an accompanying adult, overdosed on drugs and was pronounced dead a few days later. Now these sorts of these events have been "temporarily banned from the venue, which is owned by the city, county and state.

I have many questions right there - Why wasn’t the girl’s I.D checked? How did she get the drugs, or was it an accident (a laced drink, perhaps)? Did her parents know where she was? Would it have been any better if she was 16 or even 17? - but it gets more complicated, much more complicated.

Something like 125 people were arrest for using or dealing drugs. What’s more, thousands were injured when some barricades were stormed.

And - get this - right before this fourteenth annual festival, hospitals in the area went into crisis mode, like they do when there’s a train crash or earthquake. They knew what was coming.

Something is wrong, terribly wrong, with this picture.

With hospitals literally getting ready for a disaster, with doctors pleading for an end to these raves, I have to say that I support the ban. At least until the folks to put on these events figure out how to make them safer and saner.

I don’t like saying this. I am all for having fun, and I really believe in the power of music to bring many different people together in peace. I also hear those who say that the vast, vast majority, thousands and thousands, of people had a good, safe time and shouldn’t be punished because of the foolish, thoughtless actions of a relatively few. Perhaps I’m not over the anger in my last post about another celebration turning into a melee, but, with the notable violence and death at this event (and other similar ones recently), I feel irked that the talk of peace and harmony, of groovy, global love, especially by the promoters and even music critics, not only rings hollow but sounds flat-out irresponsible.

Am I the party pooper here? Or is it those who act recklessly and those who insist on intoxicating substances being in the mix? Or is it those who put on and profit from these events and then pretend not to know what will happen?

Another win for violence

2010-06-24T11:34:00.000-07:00

"A typical scene played out on Figueroa Street... As police in riot gear approached, the crowd hurled unopened cans of energy drinks at them. Several men stomped on a SUV parked on the street, breaking its windows.

"Police chased the roving groups for about two hours, pushing them further afield until they dispersed and relative calm returned.

"Before it was over, police had fired tear gas and stinging pellets to disperse a scrum of several hundred people who surrounded a city bus filled with passengers and attempted to yank the driver out through a window. A cabbie fled when his taxi was set upon by another mob that kicked in the windshield and set it ablaze. A local YWCA, several restaurants and other storefronts had windows smashed. At least eight people, one of them beaten unconscious, were taken to area hospitals."

No, this article in the Los Angeles Times last week wasn’t about another racial riot in L.A. It wasn’t about another uprising in the Middle East or Africa or another volatile spot. It wasn’t about Iraq or Afghanistan.

No, the article was about what happened in L.A after the Los Angeles Lakers basketball team beat the Boston Celtics in Game 7 of the N.B.A Finals for this year’s championship. Thousands of people streamed out of the Staples Center, where the game was played, and mayhem erupted.

A riot after the hometown team wins. I don’t get it.

Maybe I could understand - barely - if there was rioting in Boston. And the rioting this year wasn’t as in previous years. Yes, "the rioting this year" - this has tended to happen every time the Lakers win the championship (at least when the final game is in L.A), and there was much pleading before this game, including from the Lakers, not to riot.

Still, there was rioting, and, as the Times article focused on, merchants in the areas were the real losers, being left with plenty of cleaning and fixing up to do. At least one had prayed that the Lakers wouldn’t win.

I thought people riot when they are angry, when they have a grievance, when they lose. I really don’t get this.

One psychologist quoted in the article says that it is due to emotions and chemicals, especially testosterone, with fans being heavily invested in a team and aroused, with increased aggression, when it wins. I’ve also heard it argued that drinking is the culprit. Remember, many of the revelers had been in bars.

I’m not sure. But I keep thinking of the studies that show that gay bars are more able to use glass (bottles, cups), because it is less likely for violence to occur in these venues, as opposed to straight bars.

What I do know is that this rioting is completely ridiculous and uncalled for and that L.A Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa should have called off the victory parade, which was on Monday. But then there would have been real rioting.

Sweet troubles

2010-06-18T11:04:00.000-07:00

I got it!

Last week, a large package came in the mail. This week, two more, smaller boxes arrived. I had been told a few days earlier to expect the deliveries, and they did indeed turn out to be my Vmax - the wonderful, spectacularly high-tech speech device that I’ve been posting about in recent months and looking forward to getting - and the accompanying camera and stand that attaches to my wheelchair.

I should be ecstatic. I should be brimming over with unmitigated joy. After all, I’ve been waiting for this for about a year, and it will supposedly make things easier for me and for others and change my life for the better.

Then why aren’t I?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m very excited. I’m thrilled. But I’m also full of questions and worries. And I’m scared.

For one thing, I’m mystified. In late May, I learned that my doctor had not sent in the prescription for the device to be submitted to Medi-Cal. This means that not only did Medi-Cal approve - which I had serious doubts about - but it approved this extravagant machine, which, I’ve learned, costs $8,000, in two or three weeks. This almost doesn’t make sense, when Medi-Cal won’t cover dental work and I have to wait months for my wheelchair to be repaired. I guess my dad’s theory is correct - the more common a request, the more likely it will get bogged down or be questioned. There aren’t many people asking for a Vmax.

But, more than this and perhaps feeling guilty about it, I am worried - and, yes, scared - about how I’ll do at using it. It may be that, in a sense and despite my griping about it, I was expecting the long Medi-Cal approval process to enable me to put off dealing with these concerns.

I am afraid of breaking the device once it is attached to my chair. Yes, I’ve been assured that it’s quite durable, but the camera which tracks the sticker on my forehead looks pretty delicate. I go over many rough bumps when I’m out, and what if I’m not as careful as I always should be when going through a narrow doorway or by a table?

I am concerned that I won’t be able to operate the device fast enough, especially for those who know me who may be impatient or are expecting too much. I am realizing that I may well be included in this group. Will I find the balance between having the device function slowly enough for me to effectively use and between quick enough for whoever is waiting to hear what I’m saying?

Perhaps most interestingly, I am anxious about how I’ll be speaking spontaneously or "on my feet," so to say. All my life, I have thought out what I will say when I speak - sometimes to a lesser extent when a person is more familiar with my speech - picking words that are simpler and easier to understand. A result is that my mind sometimes goes blank when it’s time for a quick comment - perhaps a sharp, witty interjection - or I need to quickly answer a question requiring more than the simplest of answer. Sometimes, because of this, I just take a pass and don’t speak. How much will all this change with the Vmax? Will people expect me to rattle off spontaneously? Will I become known for having a quick wit? Will it be any easier to chat with a guy, face to face, who I meet through an on-line hook-up ad? Or will it change any of this at all?

There is also the question of when and with whom to use the device or not use it. I still want to speak and have people try to and get to understand my speech. I don’t want to be mute and have people always rely on the Vmax. (This was also an issue for me when I got the LightWriter, the small typewriter/speech device that I used for a while, but I imagine this will be more of an issue with this device, since it is significantly easier to use.)

Another thought that I’ve been having lately is that I wish I had gotten the Vmax years ago when I had more energy to deal with the changes it will bring. Then again, isn’t it supposed to make things easier, especially now that I have less energy?

It occurs to me that all these concerns and worries (and others like how long does the battery last? and what happens when I’m out in the rain?) aren’t really that much more than the usual anxiety when facing a big change, even when it’s for the best. I have no doubt that if I was told I would be able-bodied tomorrow, I would be on Cloud 9 but also totally freaked and scared shitless. And maybe having to be more careful when driving my wheelchair will force me to slow down and take it easier - like I really should and (sometimes) want to.

It also occurs to me that the Vmax came at the right time. I now have, with the support of "my team" at Casa Colina Hospital at least for right now, a great summer project.

Dental gap

2010-06-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

I liked her. She got me right away.

I had taken a note - a note explaining that I’m a college graduate and can understand when spoken to in a normal tone of voice, a note explaining that I usually go to the dental surgery center at Loma Linda University because of it now being too difficult for a dentist to work on me when I’m not sedated (because of my sudden involuntary movements) but that Medi-Cal isn’t covering dentistry (except extractions), a note explaining that I had come to this dentist office, recommended by another hospital I’m working with, to make sure my teeth are okay and don’t need work. When the hygienist had read it, she said that she went to school at Loma Linda. I immediately felt she understood my situation and that I was in good hands.

I was already feeling quite comfortable. The office, although it was in a strip mall, was spacious and unusually attractive, and the waiting room felt like a living room (the cookies and lemonade were a nice, homey, if completely illogical, touch). The staff was nice and accommodating, without being overly cheerful or patronizing, and I was allowed to stayed in my wheelchair instead of having to be transferred to a chair. The x-ray technician and hygienist were thorough in their examining but were also patient and understanding of my limitations.

But I felt like I didn’t belong. No, this wasn’t about not wanting to see the dentist. I felt like I was there not by mistake but almost by luck. I felt like I was getting away with something I perhaps shouldn’t be. I felt something like a stowaway.

I was paying cash for this visit - cash provided by my parents, after finding out that going to Loma Linda would cost me $1,200. This was weird enough. What was weirder - and flat-out alarming - was wondering what would happen if my teeth need work. Can my parents keep paying? And will the dentist be able to work on me without putting me to sleep?

Will Medi-Cal ever kick back in? Can I ever go back to Loma Linda? And what about all the other people like me who don’t have parents who can help out, at least a bit?

I was in a quiet panic when the dentist, a kind-looking, white-haired man from India, came in. After looking over the x-rays and in my mouth, he said everything was okay and bid me good day.

A good day, indeed. I had gotten away with it. This time.

Sign-up shame

2010-06-03T10:40:00.000-07:00

Should I go, or should I not go?

This past weekend, I went to a semi-annual men’s gathering. This is a group of primarily gay men that I’ve been involved with for nearly 10 years and that I mentioned in a post in late November or early December ("Anything but Jesus"). For several days, I considered attending a workshop there on Sunday morning - was the timing intentional? - that was a discussion for atheists, agnostics and "other non-believers."

Although the workshop description said that "curious believers" were welcome, I was thinking about not going. After all, I go around sporting a picture of Jesus on the bib of my overalls, and I am known to spout off about him when given the chance. (Again, see the previous post and others.) My presence may be seen as inappropriate, intrusive or even hostile.

At the last minute, I thought "what the Hell?" and went. (It helped that I know the facilitator and that he’s cool.) I’m glad I did.

There were about 15 guys, including two or three other "curious believers," and the conversation was stimulating, substantial, heartfelt and utterly civil. There was talk about how the earth began, how the early church made up stories and rules to protect its position and riches and about workers in a government office displaying religious symbols and ending phone conversations with "God bless."

One comment really struck me, though - for an unfortunate reason. A guy said that when he was signing up for the workshop, he was given a bit of a hard time by other guys making defensive comments.

I thought of when, at a similar gathering in March, I facilitated a workshop on - of course - Jesus and how he can be reclaimed from those who has used him to suppress and oppress various people, including those who are gay. One man mentioned that he had been questioned and harassed when he indicated that he was attending this workshop. "Why would you want to go to THAT?"

And I thought of how I almost didn’t go here.

I think this is really sad - even tragic. It is not unlike coming out and how daunting, scary and even dangerous that can be. But if we can’t say who we are and what we are about, how can we have a discourse and hopefully understand and live with each other in peace?

Protesting a protest

2010-05-24T11:56:00.000-07:00

At a local community center, there is a monthly presentation of documentary films, usually with a strong advocating, progressive bent. The name of the film series is "Conscientious Projector," which really tickles me. I think it’s a terrific, even beautiful, clever take-off on conscientious objector.

But there are times when progressive advocacy and action isn’t so clever and terrific. It is often not beautiful, it is often downright ugly, but there are times when it is just silly and foolish. Such was the case on two Sundays ago.

It was Commencement Weekend here in Claremont, when the colleges held their graduation ceremonies. The speaker at Pomona College’s event on Sunday morning was Janet Napolitano, the former Democratic governor of Arizona and current director of homeland security under President Obama, and I decided to go by and hear her after attending Quaker meeting.

I thought I would get there in time to hear Ms. Napolitano, but as I approached the site, I heard considerable noise, like a large crowd cheering or clapping. Was I too late? Did Ms. Napolitano already speak, and were the diplomas already being handed out? It was only about 50 minutes into the ceremony.

When I was able to see what was going on, it turned out there was a big crowd, but it was not cheering or applauding. The people - a few hundred of them, according to reports that I read later - across the street from where the graduation was taking place were chanting and drumming, and they were not happy or celebrating. They were quite angry and all fired up.

Maybe it was because I was coming from the silent meeting for worship, but I was shocked and confused. Then I saw their signs about Arizona.

Of course. They were protesting the new Arizona law requiring state and local police to request proof of U.S citizenship from anyone they stop and suspect is an illegal immigrant, and they were targeting the director of homeland security, Ms. Napolitano, the morning’s honored guest and speaker. Perhaps I should have known.

But I was still shocked. Perhaps I was just not ready for such a large, noisy and angry protest. There was also a bunch of police, and it didn’t help that I had to go through a small contingent of supporters of the new law. Yikes!

And, more significantly, I was still confused.

When I made it into the graduation area, I saw that I had made it in plenty of time to hear Ms. Napolitano speak. I heard a few others speak before her, including honorary degree-recipient Robert Towne, the screenwriter of such highly regarded films as "Chinatown" and also a 1956 Pomona graduate. Hearing them was no problem, but there was definitely no escape from the relentless, furious noise from the protesters. I was exhausted just wondering how they kept it up. I was also wondering why they were doing it.

It’s not that I didn’t agree with what the protects were saying. Like them, I think the new Arizona law will lead to racial profiling and is discriminating and divisive. I also strongly believe in speaking up and protesting. But it seemed to me these people were barking up the wrong tree - and being unnecessarily obnoxious about it, to boot.

Sure, Ms. Napolitano and President Obama are operating with some of the old immigration policy from the Bush and previous administrations, but both have said that it has to be changed and made fairer, and both have strongly and clearly condemned the Arizona law. President Obama has directed the Department of Justice to see if the new law is unconstitutional, and Ms. Napolitano has said that if she was still governor, she definitely wouldn’t have signed the bill.

So why were these people angry at her? It occurred to me that they were perfect examples of liberals who are angry at Obama for not being the miracle-making Jesus that they expected.

More significantly, I was frustrated - yes, mad - at being made to feel bad for wanting to hear Ms. Napolitano. It was like I was guilty, like I supported the Arizona law. Moreover, although the college official who introduced Ms. Napolitano, who also received an honorary diploma, said that it was very exciting and a great honor that the day’s speaker was playing such a critical role in a vital national issue and also noted that many in attendance were wearing white ribbons in opposition to the law (if I’d known, I would have worn one), I felt bad for the graduates and their families and friends, whose big day was being marred.

I do wish Ms. Napolitano talked a bit more about policy. Instead, she veered more toward traditional commencement sentiments - being secure in one’s knowledge and values, having conviction and courage. In any case, I noticed that by the end of the speech, the protesters had left.

I left after the speech, I ran into a friend who had taken part in the protest and who was helping carry away a large sign. I was asked what I was doing there. "Are you protesting discrimination?" I laughed and said yes as they walked past me. If there had been more time, I would have explained that I was there to protest discrimination and also to listen to Ms. Napolitano.

Bad bad news

2010-05-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

I’m being held hostage.

At least I was. I may or may not still be held hostage. Which, more or less by definition, means I’m being held hostage.

Last week, in the Los Angeles Times, there was a prominent article - big, section-leading headline - saying that Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger was considering the elimination of certain programs assisting the poor and disabled in debt-swamped California. The article noted that the governor was about to unveil his revised budget proposal (the "May revise") after the April tax revenue was even more abysmal than expected and that one of the programs that Schwarzenegger was thinking about ending was funding for in-home personal care attendants for the disabled.

That’s ending. Elimination. Not cutting. Schwarzenegger, who last year literally jumped to do a photo-op to save an apartment complex for the developmentally disabled, was arguing that he had to end these programs, because the courts had ruled that the programs can’t be cut. Yes, you’ve got it. The courts didn’t say that programs can’t be eliminated.

This would have been a hysterical farce, a beautiful example of Orwellian logic. Except that my stomach was being churned inside out. Except that it was my life that was poised to be eliminated.

What was even more upsetting and frustrating about the article is that it didn’t answer any of the questions that were screaming to be answered but that nobody thinks to ask. Questions like what does Schwarzenegger think people like me will do without the money to pay our attendants who get us out of bed, help us use the toilet, feed us, etc.? Does he think that our attendants, who need to make a living, will work for free, out of the kindness of their hearts? Does he think we’ll rely on family - even when, as in my case, they are too far away or aren’t able to help? Is he saying we should be forced into nursing homes, which is not only barbaric but far more costly? Or are we to be left to rot in our beds or on the sidewalk?

In a way, this is nothing new. Every year, for the last decade or two, when it comes time to pass a budget on July 1 (a deadline rarely not missed), there is some talk like this, and I worry. I worry for my life.

But this was the most drastic talk I’ve ever heard in such a flat, matter-of-fact way. Even as I knew it was just talk, even as I knew there is no way that the attendant-funding would end, I couldn’t help thinking the most drastic thoughts and worrying all the more. This was bad news told in the worst way.

Indeed, two days later, after Schwarzenegger had presented his updated proposed budget, the L.A Times story reported that it included cuts in - not the elimination of - the attendant-funding program. (Other programs, like the Cal-Works welfare-to-work program, are slated to end.) I don’t know what happened - perhaps Maria, with her Kennedy/bleeding-heart-Special-Olympics background, threatened to withhold sex from him if he terminated it. And hopefully the courts will hold their ground and not let the program be cut.

Hopefully.

(A p.s for faithful readers: At about the same time I was reading about the state budget and wondering also about Medi-Cal, I found out that Casa Colina Hospital only recently submitted the request for the Vmax speech device I have been writing about lately. I thought this was done weeks if not a month ago and that the response would be coming before too long. Hopefully, the delay was due to the therapists being extra careful in making a strong case and crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s for the notoriously nit-picking Medi-Cal. Keep those fingers and toes crossed!)

The politics of giving

2010-05-07T10:09:00.000-07:00

There’s a new film out called "Please Give." I haven’t seen it yet, but the title itself is plenty provocative and controversial these days of program slashing and fomenting tea-partiers.

I was struck by two recent letters to the editor. One appeared in my hometown paper, the Claremont Courier, thanking those who attended and contributed to a fund-raiser for a local public elementary school. The other, appearing in the Los Angeles Times, had to do with a large donation by Hugh Hefner which will enable land next to the iconic Hollywood sign to be purchased, so that builders can’t develop it. The letter read, in part, "We have more homeless, unemployment is rising, education is suffering and our police and fire departments lack funding - and yet we have money for a sign. Yes, the sign is a monument of Hollywood, but so are the people of L.A. How about taking care of them?"

Maybe Mr. Hefner doesn’t care about the homeless and thinks the unemployed should fend for themselves. Maybe he rather save the Hollywood sign. Or maybe he already donates to the homeless, the unemployed, the schools, etc. After all, he has enough cash to spread around far and wide.

At about the same time that these two letters appeared, there was a massive free health clinic going on in a sports arena in Los Angeles. Thousands attended and got treatment, and while not as many were turned away as when the clinic was in L.A for the first time last year, some people did have to be turned away. Why? Because there still weren’t enough doctors and dentists volunteering during the week-long clinic.

Were there doctors and dentists who didn’t care or who didn’t want to take time off from their lucrative practices and work for free? On the other hand, there were doctors and dentists from other states wanted to come and volunteer and were frustrated that there are laws requiring a state’s license to work in a state.

The bottom line is that charity and volunteering are great and well worth cheering, but they can’t be relied upon. People are likely to give to a museum but probably not to the police or the sewer works. Or they may give to one school and not others. As if public schools should have to beg and rely on donations.

One argument that I heard constantly in the furor over healthcare insurance reform was, "I pay for my health insurance, thank you very much. Why should I pay for others’?" There are also thorny issues like some people not wanting to contribute to the public funding of abortion and others not wanting to fund war or the death penalty.

Putting these questions aside - if that’s possible - I have a question: I always hear people complaining about politicians who "tax and spend." Forgive me if I’m being naive, but why is it so wrong for government to "tax and spend?" I thought this is the purpose of government - to collect money from its citizens and then spend it where it is needed. Yes, there is abuse, which needs to be taken care of, but why would there be a government if it couldn’t tax, and why wouldn’t it spend the tax money?

On Medi-Cal - or not

2010-04-30T12:02:00.000-07:00

It’s the waiting game, and I know a lot about playing it. I’m playing it now.

I went back to Casa Colina Hospital a couple weeks ago as part of an evaluation for a getting speech device - the Vmax by Dynavox. (See April 7 post.) This was the last appointment in the process, and now comes the hardest part.

Yep - waiting for Medi-Cal to approve - or not approve - my getting a Vmax (a reader has told me that "the device" sounds like a disease).

The three therapists who have now seen me - I have a team! - have (hopefully) written a report, endorsed by my physician, arguing why I should have the Vmax and submitted it to Medi-Cal. (The report was still being written as of last week, when I was called with a question.) I have been assured that my case is strong (gee, why do I feel like I’m on trial?). I’ve also been told that it will take only about a month for Medi-Cal to process the request, which, based on past experience, I find hard to believe.

Actually, the appointment two weeks ago wasn’t about the Vmax. It was about my wheelchair. The two therapists who had seen me were not happy with my chair, and so I had this appointment with a physical therapist and a wheelchair vendor. I went with some trepidation, fearing that they would want to get a chair in which my movement would be severely restricted, and I took a note explaining in detail what I want and don’t want in a chair and why I like the kind of chair I have. The P.T was completely cool, agreeing with my assessment. She had me get down on a mat, and I said I hadn’t been looked over so carefully since I was about 10 - literally. The wheelchair vendor was a rather amusing, opinionated woman who couldn’t get over how dirty and gross my chair was. (Okay - I’ve had it cleaned!) It was agreed that I should keep this chair and have it remodeled, with the back moved back, so I’m not thrust forward with my legs splaying, etc., and with more supportive footrests and a better cushion.

I was told that it will take several months for Medi-Cal to process the request for this remodeling, which makes more sense to me. It also fits with what a few people I have spoken to about this have theorized - the is, that Medi-Cal is more likely to take longer with and perhaps deny requests that are more common. In other words, unlike with a wheelchair or wheelchair repairs, it is easier to get a Vmax, despite its high expense, because the demand for it isn’t high. This sounds backwards, but it makes weird, logical, bureaucratic sense. (I was once told by Medi-Cal that I couldn’t get a new wheelchair, because I was getting too many repairs on the one I had.)

This is probably what’s behind the decision to stop Medi-Cal funding for dentistry, except for extractions, when California’s finances got even worse last year. Everyone on Medi-Cal needs dental care, making the demand all but overwhelming and, thus, too difficult. Speaking of Medi-Cal not paying for dental care, I recently called the dental surgery center where I have work done (I have to be put to sleep) and asked what I would have to pay. The answer was a shock: $1,200.

I thought briefly about going to the free medical and dental clinic going on now at the sports arena in Los Angeles. Thousands of people are going there, many coming from far away and waiting hours and even days, and thousands were turned away when the clinic took place last year. Then I remembered having to be put to sleep (because of my uncontrolled movements). Besides, I don’t want to wait in that line. Am I spoiled? In any case, the pictures of people waiting in line and getting care in factory lines, all in one of the world’s richest cities, is an eloquent answer to the loud, angry questions about why healthcare insurance reform is needed in this country.

A thin - but saving - line

2010-04-23T11:22:00.000-07:00

I was interested to read the obituary in yesterday’s Los Angeles Times marking the life of Dorothy Height, the black civil rights leader who died on Tuesday at age 98. Years ago, I saw her speak at one of the colleges here in Claremont, and I recall having only a vague sense that she was very important. (She did look very important, or at least grand, wearing a large, Sunday-best hat.)

Indeed, as was pointed out in the obituary, Ms. Height - she never married - was "overlooked" and "overshadowed" despite being considered to be the "Godmother of Civil Rights." Because of her gender, she was the seventh of a cadre of black civil rights leaders, including Martin Luther King, Roy Wilkins, James Farmer, John Lewis, A. Philip Randolph and Whitney Young, often referred to as the Group of Six.

Two incidents described in the obituary really caught my attention. In one incident, a police officer threatened her life when she defied his order to wait for a train in the "colored waiting room" rather than board with her white colleagues. "Don’t you go straight on that train or I’ll blow your brains out," the officer growled. Later, Roy Wilkins, one of the leaders of the NAACP, told her the she would have been dead if she was a man.

Perhaps being a woman was an advantage in this incident, but, in the other incident that stood out for me, it was a real disadvantage. In organizing the historic March on Washington, Bayard Rustin insisted that no woman should speak, arguing that women were part of all the groups represented. Ms. Height commented, "Mr. Rustin’s stance showed us that men honestly didn’t see their position as patriarchal or patronizing. They were happy to include in the human family, but there was no question as to who headed the household!"

No doubt Ms. Height was thinking what I’m thinking: Bayard Rustin, of all people.

It is said that hate stems from ignorance, along with fear. I’d like to think that these two incidents show that hate and ignorance don’t always go together, that ignorance doesn’t always lead to hate.

Bayard Rustin was gay, and, because of this, he too was marginalized in the black civil rights movement. He knew what it was like to be even more of an outsider; indeed, he was once arrested for homosexual behavior. I’d like to think that, unlike the police officer at the train station, Mr. Rustin, who was also a Quaker, was simply being ignorant and not hateful when he denied Ms. Height and other women the opposite to speak at the Washington, D.C rally. (Mahalia Jackson did get to sing the national anthem.) Ms. Height, who did most of her work with the National Council of Negro Women, implied the in saying that "men honestly didn’t see" what they were doing.

I’d also like to think that this is what is happening with same-sex marriage bans - that they will be rejected as more people know gay people. In California, Proposition 8 passed by less of a margin than the earlier Proposition 22, and it is thought that it can be overturned by voters in a few years. This seems to be in contrast to the hateful, apartheid-like bill approved by the Arizona legislature targeting illegal immigrants, even as more and more people accept their existence and agree they should be dealt with fairly.

Beware the Santa

2010-04-09T11:44:00.000-07:00

I recently watched the PBS program with Tavis Smiley examining the sermon given by Martin Luther King, Jr., exactly a year before his assassination, in which he denounced the war in Vietnam. Unlike King’s "I have a dream" and "Mountaintop" speeches, this April 4, 1967 sermon, delivered in New York City’s Riverside Church, isn’t talked about much these days. Although it was arguably more powerful, this speech, demanding that justice requires peace, was dangerous.

The speech made King a villain in the white community, including President Johnson, who had been a friend and strong ally. Even the black community was upset with him. Everyone said he should have stuck with civil rights and not get involved with foreign affairs. One King associate interviewed on the program opined that King was killed because of the sermon.

Yet, King is now remembered quite fondly and lauded, almost as a saint and also a martyr. There are schools and streets named for him, and his birthday is a national holiday. How did M.L.K go from being a pariah to being a hero?

We have forgotten - conveniently - that King was a man, a man who was passionate and full of feelings, including anger. We ignore the fact that his soothing message of non-violence was something that he strove for and didn’t preclude strong opinions and emotions. We have sanitized him. As Harvard University black studies professor Cornell West explained to Smiley on the program, there has been a "Santa Clausification" of King. "He now comes with a bag of treats for the kiddies."

Not unlike, it has occurred to me, what has happened with Jesus.

It’s not that Jesus now hands out toys. In fact, to the contrary, he is, to a not insignificant number of people, a stern master who with-holds love and acceptance from those who don’t conform to a certain code of people. The condemnation of gay people in his name is an example of this.

Nevertheless, this wasn’t who Jesus was at all. Jesus was all about love and about reaching out to the other and the enemy. He also wasn’t some pious, prissy follower of rules. No, Jesus was a radical, a hippie (as the patches sewn onto my bibs say), who broke rules, who knocked over the tables of the money-changers in the temple. Furthermore, in being so, he was a man who got furious, had temper tantrums, and who questioned God and wept bitterly.

And he laughed. Taped onto the wall above my desk is a drawing of Jesus laughing, sent to me from a friend who said it was from Playboy magazine. My friend said that when the drawing appeared, Playboy got more hate mail than for any other item it had published.

So I guess Jesus can’t laugh (and be human and sexual). Funny what people want Jesus - and M.L.K - to be.

Keeping on with the talking

2010-04-07T13:09:00.000-07:00

Last week, I returned to Casa Colina Hospital to continue the evaluation for a speech device. (See "Talking Needs" post, March 25) An occupational therapist joined the speech therapist and the representative from Dynavox for the session that was nearly two hours. It looks like I’ll be getting the device; I was signing a number of documents at the end that looked plenty official.

I continue to be surprised that Medi-Cal will pay for the device (or nearly all of it - see below), and I all but said so. It feels to me like the women at the hospital have been living in a cave and haven’t been reading and hearing what I keep reading and hearing about the state budget crisis and all the things Medi-Cal isn’t paying for, but, brushing aside my concerns, they insisted I need the device and said that they have a very strong case. Okay. I mentioned that I’m a Regional Center client, and they said this would be a back-up funding source.

Several other things came up during the session:

*I was frustrated, because I was having a harder time using the device than I did the first time around, but the women said I was doing fine and were, in fact, impressed. No doubt I was anxious as well as impatient and hard on myself - nothing new there. I also was a bit tired, which made me more aware that the device will require some heightened effort from me and that there will be times that it may be less effective. In addition, I realized later that I am worried that friends - and perhaps I - will think I will be able to rattle off comments with the device and will be disappointed when I won’t. (Stephen Hawkins pre-sets his comments - I asked.) Yes, I’ll get better with practice, but it is important for all to remember the device will be just another tool - a very powerful, easier-to-use tool, but still a tool.

*Speaking of a powerful tool, I found out something very cool about the device; it is, or can be, essentially a P.C. For a nominal fee, not covered by Medi-Cal, I can use it to write, e-mail, go on-line, read books, etc. It will be like having a laptop attached to my wheelchair. I can see myself doing work or e-mail on my patio or in the park! I can even turn on lights and my T.V with it.

*The therapists continued to be not happy with my wheelchair, so I have an appointment next week for a wheelchair evaluation. They say I will be better able to use the device in another chair, but I am wary. I suspect that what I like about my wheelchair - that I can move around in it (lean over, stretch my legs, raise my butt up, etc.) - is what they don’t like about it, and I don’t want to be pinned down or trapped in a chair. I will see what they have in mind and hear them out, but I’ll also make it clear what I want and don’t want in a wheelchair. While I am very grateful for - and moved by - all the attention and care that I am getting, I do not want to be told what to do or taken over.

One more thing: I was at a potluck on Sunday, and no one sat by me. In addition to wondering if it was because of the messy way I eat and if my attendant should feed me in such a situation, I thought about probably not being able to use the device while I eat.

What about them?

2010-03-26T11:23:00.000-07:00

In this season of new life, promise and renewal, here is a recent column of mine published in the Claremont Courier.

LOVING THE NEIGHBOR WE DON’T LIKE

"We should treat sexual predators no different than murderers. Sexual predators should be put away for life. Period."

Period?

These are strong words, and "period" is the strongest, making the rest of the words all the stronger. And they, and other such words, are being heard more and more. No doubt they are heard in Claremont.

But does Claremont really want to say "period?"

These words aren’t from Claremont. They are part of a letter appearing two weeks ago in the Los Angeles Times, written in response to the rape and murder of Chelsea King, a high school student in northern San Diego County. The writer is from Chino.

Yes, the person who abducted Chelsea King (allegedly a man who may have killed another teenaged girl) was a killer as well as a sexual offender, but I have no doubt the writer’s words would have been just as strong if the person was just a sexual offender. And I’m pretty sure that Claremont, in this case, may well have been Chino. I could easily see this letter written here. For better or for worse.

This is a town that can’t even stand having a 7-11. For better or for worse.

Much more than even the outcry years ago over the opening of a Starbucks in the Village, the uproar over the proposed 7-11 convenience store, which would be open late at night and sell alcoholic beverages, at Foothill and Mills proves that Claremont goes out of its way to protect its image as a nice, clean, safe town. Never mind that there are two similar mini-marts a block away. Never mind that there is a 7-11 store on Foothill Boulevard in Pomona just outside Claremont. Never mind that Claremont can really use the sales tax from such a store.

The argument that a store selling liquor, much less at all hours, shouldn’t be across the street from the colleges makes the most sense, but let’s not kid ourselves. For one thing, does anyone think that the kegs at the big parties at the colleges are filled with root beer? I was once at a meeting of theater students where a party featuring 100 bottles of wine was being planned.

In any case, not wanting a store in Claremont is one thing. Not wanting a person in Claremont is another thing.

Of course, we don’t want anyone like who raped and killed Chelsea King living here. If any such thing happened in Claremont, there would be shock and outrage, to say the very least. And rightly so. Claremont takes great pride in being a good, safe place for raising a family, a good, safe place to grow up in. (It should be noted that Chelsea King lived in a gated community.)

I remember protests in Claremont over rapists and child molesters living here. Some years ago, a convicted child molester living in La Verne voluntarily returned to prison, because there was so much tension, including in Claremont, over him living there.

New laws have made it virtually impossible for released sexual offenders to live in the community. There are so many places - parks, schools, libraries, churches - that they can’t live near. In addition, where they live is made public. They are all but driven out of town. Any town.

To where they can’t get the help and support and the sense of community and belonging there so clearly need. To where they have more loneliness, more hurt and anger and all the more reason to lash out.

Is it just better to not let these people go after they serve their time? Is it just better to lock them up and throw away the keys? Or to just kill them, as obviously dangerous and worthless people?

And what about Marcia Meier’s brother? He’s pretty scary.

Ms. Meier writes about her brother in an op-ed piece that appeared a bit earlier in the Times, on February 28:

"He is agitated. Someone is trying to harm him, take his money. He’s going down to the sheriff’s office. He’s serious. He’s going to take a gun and shoot somebody if those people don’t back off.... And so my brother...is gesturing wildly, storming about the yard. I am wary. He threatened to kill me once.

"I look at him. Reed thin. Hollow cheeks. Half his teeth are gone. He is 52."

It looks like this guy should be put away, locked up with the key thrown away. He is definitely bad news, a real danger.

But, as Ms. Meier writes, her brother "lives in a world of shifting realities, voices and paranoia." He is mentally ill and disabled. He has severe schizophrenia and needs help.

Being in prison isn’t what he needs.

Ms. Meier worries about what her brother needs and how he will get it. Ms. Meier writes that her brother has been in and out of jail for petty crimes and that he has done drugs. She writes about how he lives - barely - on Supplemental Security Income and about how their mother always helped him out, buying stuff and paying a bill here and there. She writes that their mother has died and that she is now the one looking out for her brother.

Who, she wonders, will care for him when she no longer can? Will anyone?

I wonder if Claremont would. I wonder if there’s a place in Claremont for this man if he wanted to live here. I wonder if he would be welcomed, would be part of the community, here.

Some years ago, Claremont decided to restrict the number and location of group homes for the developmentally disabled here in town, saying they can’t be less than a considerable number of feet away from each other. To this day, I still don’t understand what it is about the developmentally disabled - which I technically am - that their presence have to be so limited.

At about the same time, there was much tension over a proposal to house developmentally disabled criminals at Lanterman State Hospital (now in the process of being closed down). A San Dimas man stated at a public hearing that he was concerned about a man "with a carrot for a brain" escaping and causing harm.

What I want to know is this: How much harm can a carrot-brained man concoct and accomplish? That is, if he can manage to get anywhere. Or are we, even in our post-9/11, on-guard society, that scared and paralyzed?

Talking needs

2010-03-25T10:57:00.000-07:00

Last week, I went to be evaluated for a speech device at Casa Colina Hospital for Rehabilitative Medicine, a very well-regarded institution not far from here (in fact, I traveled there in my wheelchair, and I work out in a gym there twice a week). This had been a long time coming, with friends encouraging me to do this for at least a year and my calling for an appointment in October. To say the least, Wednesday afternoon was eye-opening, making the wait totally worthwhile. I was quite impressed, in every sense.

When I went, I took a note that I had typed, explaining that I had used a LightWriter, a voice synthesizer with a small typewriter keyboard, for about five years but that it ended up being frustrating and tedious, that the letter board that I use is only a bit better and that friends have asked me why I don’t have a device like Stephen Hawkins uses. Meeting with me were a speech therapist and a young woman from Dynavox, which designs and makes a variety of speech devices, and both clearly knew what they were doing. Within five or ten minutes, they totally "got" me.

I have to say that this was most refreshing. It hasn’t been since I was in elementary school that I received such caring and thoughtful attention in regard to my disability and what I need to make it easier to deal with it. The two women were even ready to order me a new wheelchair ("Look at the chair you’re in!"), although they agreed that I’m happy with and used to the chair I have! (See - I didn’t have this kind of evaluation when I got this chair.)

I like it that they quickly saw that, yes, I can type with a finger, but using my finger on even a touch screen is too much work and not practical in a conversation. I like it that, when I said I hate using a key-guard (I get my finger caught), they didn’t have me try one. I like it that they quickly saw that, even though I can easily click, push a button, flip a switch or whatever with my finger, my elbow, my knee or whatever (but probably not my eyebrow), it would be too tricky and not practical in a conversation. I like it that, for the most part, they didn’t argue with me or try to tell me I wasn’t trying or working hard enough.

So they had me try the eye thing, which involves a camera that follows my eye movements to operate a mouse on a screen that can feature a keyboard, words, phrases and predicted words. This pretty much drove me crazy and was clearly not practical. Later, I realized that this works with people like Stephen Hawkins who essentially can’t move, whereas my body, including my head, is in constant motion, and isolating my eyes is a real challenge - something like following the eyes on a bobble-head. (But I don’t understand how Hawkins "speaks" without pauses. Does he pre-program all his statements - even his replies in a conversation?)

Next came a sticker on my forehead, which the camera followed. So I looked like a Hindu, but that’s cool, because it worked! This may be the jackpot. Yes, I will need to practice, will need to try harder and work harder, but, with my getting noticeably better in the short time I used the device, especially when I sat up straight in my wheelchair, I have a clear sense that this effort will make things easier in my life. (Among other things, in addition to getting better at using the device, I’ll have to keep a supply of stickers and make sure one stays on my forehead, like when I sweat, and figure out what hats I can still wear. Also, after a lifetime of thinking out lots of what I say, spontaneous conversation will be almost a new world and an interesting challenge.)

The two women were almost more excited than I was. They saw me as a project, an unique challenge, with great potential. Calling me a "complicated case," they wanted to set up another appointment, also including an occupational therapist, requiring another prescription from my doctor. The Dynavox rep said she is even willing to get up early and drive through the morning rush-hour traffic from Long Beach for a 9 a.m appointment with me. I asked them point-blank if I am eligible for this device, even though they could kind of understand my speech, and they said, "Oh, yeah," that I "definitely" am.

When I left the two-hour session, I was drained and exhausted, and I went home with a bunch of feelings. Some were positive:

INTERESTED, FASCINATED - What is available now is really amazing, jaw-dropping.

EXCITED - Wow! I see my life getting easier and many possibilities, doors opening, etc.

HOPEFUL - This may well happen.

And some were negative:

FRUSTRATION, ANXIETY - This is taking so long! I just found out, finally, that my next appointment is on Tuesday. (The new prescription and occupational therapist were rounded up.) And, yes, I’ve been assured that the case for me getting the device is strong, especially with an occasional therapist chiming in, but what if Medi-Cal won’t pay for it? I keep hearing about what Medi-Cal won’t pay for and am amazed that it is paying for these appointments. If Medi-Cal does pay for the device, it will probably take months.

ANGER AND SADNESS - I shouldn’t be worried about all this. I should just get the help I clearly need to live the fullest, most productive life I can. Also, why didn’t I get this device years, if not decades, ago? Why was typing on the LightWriter deemed best for me? Why wasn’t this device considered at all? Or was I too proud and stubborn? Come to think of it, why, when I was in elementary school, did therapists make me spend hours dressing myself, and why did another squeeze my lips while I ate canned peaches, trying to get me to eat with my mouth closed? I don’t want to cry abuse, but....

Time in our hands

2010-03-19T10:12:00.000-07:00

Saturday night was the start of Daylight Savings Time. This meant that we set our clocks forward an hour, which meant we lost an hour, an hour of sleep. I’ve always hated this, and every year I gripe and say I look forward to getting my hour back in the Fall. I even went to bed an hour early on Saturday night, but I still ended up groggy.

I remember one year the beginning of Daylight Savings Time fell on Easter, and I wondered with amusement about all those people who found themselves getting up even earlier - an hour earlier - for sunrise services.

This year, I had at least one more question than usual about this annual time-changing. Why was it on the second Sunday of the month this time? This seemed so random. And who picked it? For as long as I can remember, Daylight Savings Time has started or ended - I get my blessed hour back! - on the first or last Sunday of a month. This any-Sunday stuff really has me going!

Last year, I was away for the first weekend of March, and I completely forgot about Daylight Savings Time starting. If it was not for my friend’s iPhone making a big scene, I would probably have missed meeting on Sunday morning. Someone always forget about the time-change, and this will no doubt happen even more with random Sundays.

Another weird thing is that I seem to be the only person I know who likes Standard Time more than Daylight Savings Time. And, no, this isn’t about the lost hour of sleep. Everyone says they like it when it when it stays light in the evening, that they get depressed when "it gets dark so early." But I like it when it gets dark around dinnertime, like it’s supposed to, although it was a bit much when I lived in London for a year, and it got dark around 4 in the winter.

I think this is really about the weather. I don’t like the long, very hot summer here, and the start of Daylight Savings Time means that it is coming, and the end of Daylight Savings Time means that cool weather is here. Indeed, this week, the temperature has suddenly gone way up, and, although I’ve been enjoying these warm days with clear blue skies, bright green grass and snow-capped mountains not far off, I know that it will get much hotter before long.

Then there’s the whole thing about messing around with time. It has always freaked me out a bit that we can change the universe just by changing our clocks. Is time really that much of a man-made construct? Also, I used to try to get a picture of how all this works, of how changing the clock makes it get dark later or not changing the clock makes me late. And what about states, like Arizona, that don’t change their clocks? Are they off, or are we?

Finally, if the purpose of Daylight Savings Time is to save energy by having it light in the evening, and if we need to save energy so badly, why not have Daylight Savings Time all the time - and stop fooling around with it? Time, that is.

The more they know

2010-03-12T11:39:00.000-08:00

Yes, as we have been reminded of this week in California, there are gay legislators who push for anti-gay laws, and there are those like Pete Knight, who wrote Proposition 22, banning same-sex marriage, despite having a gay son. However, I do think that it is correct that more people support gay rights, because more people know GLBT people.

I see this all the time when it comes to disability - people tuning into disability issues and rights when they know someone who is disabled or when they become disabled - and it is more often than not dramatic and moving. Take what happened when I was at the Post Office yesterday.

I was buying stamps, and the clerk who helped me was a guy who has been there for years. He has always been nice enough but a bit brusque. Just doing his job. Dealing with people, including people like me.

As he was assisting me with getting out my cash, he asked me if I know what Bell’s Palsy is.

I said I did, wondering what was up. Did he think I have Bell’s Palsy instead of Cerebral Palsy?

"I was out with it for three months last year." He must have seen that I was still looking for a point, because he quickly added, "The point is that I really admire you, John. I got a tiny idea of what you go through every day."

Sure, maybe he was being patronizing, but I think - or like to think - he was too much of a man changed for that. He did say that he had only a "tiny idea."

I’m thinking we might get somewhere if everyone was disabled or gay or something for three months.

Time to stop hiding behind the signs

2010-03-05T11:39:00.000-08:00

My Quaker meeting marching in a gay pride parade. Imagine that.

This was, literally, the challenge given when a friend of mine, a gay man who attends another meeting not too far away and who is very active in the unprogrammed Quaker community, gave a presentation at my meeting last Sunday. I had asked him to speak on GLBT issues and Quakers just over a year ago when we attended a national gathering of queer Quakers.

He didn’t give the talk I had in mind, but it was the richer and more powerful. He spoke of accompanying someone through a hard or challenging time and how it can be both very difficult and very rewarding. He spoke of helping friends and his sister as they went through the process of dying, and he spoke of assisting me several years ago to get to a gathering in a rural area in another state.

My friend pointed out that it is important to be open to the other’s experiences and feelings and not to presume to know what s/he is going through. Also important is being patient with the other’s anger and frustrated and not to take it personally.

What my friend did so marvelously was to relate all this to how Quakers can embrace GBLT people. He talked about not only supporting but being an ally to queer friends in their struggle for validation and equal rights. He mentioned that, as in many cases of accompanying, this involves recognizing privilege and moving beyond it. For example, it is important to see that, in sharp contrast to a common argument, a straight couple’s marriage is devalued when a gay couple isn’t allowed to marry.

My friend stressed that it isn’t enough for Quakers to say, as my meeting does in minutes deep in our files, that GLBT people are equal and that they can marry. He said that Quakers need to "hang out there" with queer folks.

As in a gay pride parade. And not as individuals but as a meeting. And with a sign proclaiming our name. (My friend mentioned that this would be ten times more powerful than a gay church, like the Metropolitan Community Church, being in the parade.)

I’ve been saying something like this for a while. The way I put it is that Quakers have been hiding behind their "No on Proposition 8" signs (referring to California’s initiative banning same-sex marriage) and behind their minutes. It’s time for Quakers to stop hiding and to come out.

Giving into the T.V

2010-03-03T13:35:00.000-08:00

Last night, I recorded a television program. Not only that, I was able to watch another program at the same time.

To say the least, I am thrilled. Even as I am grumbling - if not kicking and screaming.

Faithful readers know that I haven’t been able to do this for about nine months. It would have been a year, except that the government delayed the switch to digital T.V from February to June when so many people had trouble with it. They also know I haven’t been able to record at all since September when I bought a digital television after going through two converter boxes with which my ability to record was severely limited, and I certainly couldn’t record a program while watching another. What’s more, I haven’t even been about to watch D.V.D’s and videos, because I wasn’t getting sound with my V.C.R.

Yes, faithful readers know all about my railing. I proclaimed that it’s totally unfair that the powers-that-be took away my ability to do something. At least for free. Indeed, after months of looking, asking people, paying for advice, thinking, whining and even making a misguided purchase and returning it, I realized that if I want to record, I have to pay. At the very least, I needed a D.V.R (about $375 - more than what I paid for the T.V), plus a monthly service. I also griped about not wanting hundreds of channels, sports, movies and whatever.

This weekend, I stopped whining and had DirecTV installed. I got the cheapest package, and I think it’s a good deal. After paying $20 for the professional installation (the guy also fixed the wiring on my V.C.R, so I can now watch D.V.Ds and videos with sound), I’m paying about $41 a month, and it includes a D.V.R. I need to call, as I was instructed by the very nice, understanding and helpful man who took my order, and cancel Showtime, the one cable channel in the package, before the free three months expire.

What’s more, I really like the features. Not just that I can record, including while I watch another program. It lists the actual T.V programs, and I just click on a program to record it. No more time-setting, etc. Pretty cool. And no doubt there’s more cool stuff that I may or may not discover or use.

But, as happy as I am with what I got, I still, in addition to wondering if I’ll be able to afford this, as good as the deal is, feel like I’ve sold out, given in. I’m still pissed off that I now have to pay to be able something that I used to be able to do for free. I still say that this is terribly unfair, and I wonder if other low-income people are stuck with regular T.V and no recording.

And here’s another thing I can bitch about now: I’ll be spending more time watching T.V!

Going back to take back Jesus

2010-02-18T10:37:00.000-08:00

"Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning
Our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!
God in three persons, blessed Trinity!"

Hearing this song - let alone singing it - took me way back. I’m talking way, way back. They didn’t even sing "Holy, Holy, Holy" in the Catholic church when I was a young teenager. They sang it there when I was a little boy, when my parents felt I was old enough to take to Mass. I’m talking my Grandma’s Catholic church.

And this was the second time in recent months that the song was being sung. It was quite a jolt for me, after years of being at home in a silent, universalistic, unprogrammed Quaker meeting and even with me being as Christo-centric as I tend to be.

What was even more jolting was that the song was being sung, full-throated and whole-heartedly, by a room full of GLBTQ folks. Make that a church full of GLBTQ folks. Lead by a very out and very strong lesbian pastor.

I have been visiting - "sojourning," as I announced to my meeting - at a Metropolitan Community Church, and it has been quite eye-opening, to say the very least.

Moving is more like it - powerfully so. I have written several posts here about Jesus and his message of radical love and inclusiveness, of loving the other and even one’s enemies, have been hijacked and distorted by Christian conservatives and fundamentalists to, among other things, oppress the queer community. The M.C.C, a Christian church founded by a gay man to minister to the GLBTQ community, boldly reclaims Jesus and points out his true, original message of love for and to all. Although I see Jesus more as a teacher and model than as a virgin-born, resurrected savior, as posited by the M.C.C, I am deeply inspired by how the church not only takes back the Christ-centered language as its own but also so plainly illustrates how it also specifically affirms same-sex love.

Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the next song on the recent Sunday morning:

"Jesus loves me, this I know,
Though my hair is white as snow.
Though my sight is growing dim,
Still He bids me trust in Him.
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me,
For the Bible tells me so!"

Wow! A bunch of gay men and lesbians singing that the Bible tells them that, yes, Jesus loves them. A bunch of queer folks singing "Yes, Jesus Loves Me," which I always thought of as a conservative, Southern Baptist, that-old-time-religion song (we didn’t even sing it at Mass). That’s some powerful stuff. Not only that - it’s power.

Clearing the air

2010-02-05T11:54:00.000-08:00

The Los Angeles City Council has recently passed an ordinance limiting the number and location of medicinal marijuana dispensaries. This happened after two or three years of the council dithering and bickering over the issue, during which time - and despite a moratorium - something like 700 dispensaries opened, turning L.A into a pot - er, medicinal marijuana - mecca. A fair number of people, concerned about crime, etc., were not, to say the least, getting a good buzz from this.

I have to say that this mess was caused by Proposition 215, the passage of which made California the first state to legalize medicinal marijuana despite the federal ban. I voted for Prop. 215 and am still all for it in principle. I very much believe that people who are ill, in pain, can’t hold down food, etc. should have easy access to the soothing herb and not fear getting arrested. The problem is that it was written so sloppily, leaving everyone confused if not dazed.

Now, the L.A ordinance is being called one of the toughest, and the med-pot advocates are now the ones grumbling. Among other things, the ordinance dictates
...that there be no more than 70 dispensaries (actually about 150 with the old ones that can stay).
...that a dispensary can’t be within 1,000 feet of a school, park, library, place of worship and other such "sensitive" sites.
...that the dispensaries have to close at 8 p.m, and that the cannabis can’t be consumed on the premises.

What I’m wondering is, what’s so wrong with there being strict regulations?

Yes, some of the restrictions are a bit too strict and unfair - like the one prohibiting a dispensary from operating across the street or an alley from residential properties. This will make it far more difficult to find a location. But, for the most part, the restrictions make perfect sense.

For example, why would someone who is ill or in pain want to go out and get medicine at 11 at night? It is better to go in the daytime, when it is easier to get around and more help is available.
And why shouldn’t the dispensaries be prohibited, as I believe they will be under the new law, from having names such as "Temple 420" and being decorated with big, neon pot leaves and red, yellow, green and black paint jobs?

Such displays, as well as being open late at night and other things, feeds the argument that medicinal marijuana is being used as a way to get pot for recreational use. Don’t get me started on those doctors in Hawaiian print shirts who sit in empty offices and hand out prescriptions for marijuana to anyone who claims to have a headache or writer’s cramp.

Giving relief to those who are sick or in pain is a very legitimate, very serious business, and it should be seen and done as such. Otherwise, medicinal marijuana will be another Cheech and Chong comedy, and that would be a tragedy.

I have long argued that Claremont should have a medicinal marijuana dispensary. With all its professors and strong community activists, Claremont can show how to do it in the right, serious, caring way. Very sadly, after a smart aleck opened a dispensary without a permit from the city, the City Council, after voting to allow dispensaries, took the opposite tack, reversed its earlier decision and banned dispensaries in Claremont.

Too P.C or not too P.C?

2010-02-03T12:02:00.000-08:00

For about a year now, I’ve been puzzling over the case of Matthew Kim, a teacher who a judge just recently ordered the Los Angeles Unified School District to fire.

I first learned of Matthew Kim when he was featured in a series of articles in the Los Angeles Times about how hard it is to fire teachers. According to what the Times found, the teacher unions have been so careful to ensure that tenured teachers aren’t fired arbitrarily or without sound cause that the appeals process can take years. Mr. Kim was one of dozens of teachers being "housed" during this appeals process, meaning that they can’t work in the classroom but have to show up at an office or perhaps call in from home while still being paid their salary.

As odd as this is, I find the facts in Mr. Kim’s case even odder. One fact is that the primary reason why Mr. Kim was dismissed is that he allegedly touched some of his female students in "inappropriate" ways. The other fact is that Mr. Kim is disabled - he has Cerebral Palsy, uses a wheelchair and has impaired speech - and claims that his movements were involuntary when he touched the girls.

Excuse me, but am I the only one who finds this whole thing ridiculous and downright silly? Or am I being totally uncool and not politically correct bringing this up at all?

For one thing, it is certainly curious that Mr. Kim had involuntary movements only around girls and not around boys.

What I find most puzzling, though - and here I venture deep into political incorrectness - is that the school district had someone this disabled teaching in a grade school classroom.

Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s fantastic and cool for kids to have a disabled teacher. (Think of all the prejudice it would eliminate.) And I’m all for making accommodations and being P.C. But, even if Mr. Kim had a bunch of aids, isn’t this stretching it a bit too far?

There are certain thing the disabled can’t do. At least, the disability and its severity should be seriously considered. It is a bit like me wanting to be a fireman.

Am just I being un-P.C, or was the school district too P.C?

The crime of needing help

2010-01-21T14:29:00.000-08:00

"I xxx xxxxx....!"

"I don’t understand you," the woman on the phone said.

As far as the woman was concerned, I may or may not have been a babbling idiot but was certainly speaking gibberish. As for me, I was certainly unwise and could well have been speaking gibberish.

Indeed, this wasn’t me. I was enraged - frighteningly so - feeling like a trapped animal, and I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself - or at least the nice, calm, thoughtful, quakerly self that I like.

I had foolishly taken the phone from my attendant and was shouting at the woman. No, I didn’t expect her to understand me, but I wanted her to see - at least hear - that I’m for real, that I’m really disabled and in need of assistance. I wanted her to see that I wasn’t lying, that I wasn’t committing fraud.

That’s how I felt. That I was lying. That I was trying to get away with something and cheat the tax-funded system.

Last month, right in time for the holidays - ho, ho, ho! - I got my annual re-evaluation packet from the county housing authority, which administers my Section 8 rental subsidy from the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development. I dutifully filled out and signed the dozen or so forms and mailed them in, along with the various documents I always send, before they were due and thought that, as usual, all was well.

Then, last week, a woman from the Housing Authority called, saying that the documents I sent - the ones I always send - were "inadequate." She mentioned needing pay stubs and other things that didn’t make sense. She also said that I had a mandatory appointment with her at 9 a.m on January 27 and that if I don’t comply, my subsidy will be terminated.

My yelling at the woman didn’t help. Two days later, I received an official letter with a list of required documents and stating the "MANDATORY appointment" and the danger of termination. It still didn’t make sense, but I was not about to go to the office, like a scofflaw, especially during the morning rush hour traffic. I was also damned if I was going to my Section 8, which I have gotten for almost 20 years after being on a waiting list for a few years, because of a few pay stubs and whatnot.

To make a story of a long, stressful, exhausting week (during which, among other things, the woman from the Housing Authority, in another phone call, scolded my attendant for not knowing my business) short, I paid $12 yesterday to fax a slew of documents - everything I could think of - to the woman. I called her this morning, knowing she wouldn’t call me, and she said everything is fine and that I don’t have to go in on Wednesday.

Relieved as I was, I was almost disappointed. I was thinking of going in on the 27th, without my attendant (but with my documents), and seeing how she fared with me and my gibberish. I know - I’m wicked!

To be fair, the woman was just doing her job, probably under the gun, no doubt because the Section 8 program is, like with In-Home Supportive Services which funds my attendants, is under the gun due to rampant fraud. (See my 11/4 post.) But this doesn’t keep me from feeling like shit, feeling like I’m accused of a crime, having to fight to defend myself.

Not helping is Tuesday’s shocking Republican victory in Massachusetts for the U.S Senate seat long held by Ted Kennedy, dimming the hope for healthcare funding reform and other life-easing measures. Once again, fear - and money - triumphs.

I don't want to play - or be played with

2010-01-13T13:28:00.000-08:00

It could be a pawn. Or it could be a football. Whatever it is, I don’t want to be it.

I feel like I’m "it" - tag, another game - with the trial regarding same-sex marriage now going on in San Francisco. Stemming from California’s Proposition 8, the non-jury hearing, which will reportedly go on for a few weeks, is to determine whether or not it is unconstitutional - whether or not it is illegal - for gays to wed. This essentially means that I am on trial.

I am not saying that the trial isn’t fascinating or even necessary. It is fascinating to speculate on whether this is a too-risky challenge to Prop. 8 and if the U.S Supreme Court, where this will no doubt end up, is too conservative. It is fascinating that one of the lawyers defending gay marriage is a big-time conservative and to see whether or not the hearing can be aired on YouTube. It is fascinating to see all the expert testimony given for and against not only same-sex marriage but also homosexuality.

What I am saying is that is that it is most unfortunate, even tragic, this has to go on and that I hate it. I hate it that my life is on trial, literally, having to be justified. That’s all.

A few months ago, I was at a community meeting on what to do about Proposition 8. It was suggested that we go door to door and talk to people about gay marriage. I flinched. I am all for educating people - hence this blog and a lot of what else I do - but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go around begging people to tolerate me and my life.

As I told a friend afterwards, I feel like a football and don’t like it.

Another way that this is like a game and that I don’t like is that, as always in a game, someone will lose.

A clear path in the new decade

2010-01-01T20:18:00.000-08:00

Shortly before Christmas, I read an article about Caltrans, the California Department of Transportation, agreeing to settle a lawsuit by making the pedestrian passages along its roadways more accessible to the disabled. Not only was it a nice Christmas gift. It’s about time.

There was an article several years ago about a man who was involved in filing the lawsuit. He used a wheelchair and, I think, lived in Long Beach. He showed a reporter what it’s like to travel in a wheelchair along Pacific Coast Highway, a major thoroughfare with constant traffic. With some sections not having curb cuts and others having utility poles in the middle of the sidewalk, the reporter shared that it was a pretty harrowing experience.

Yikes! I remember thinking I know the feeling.

I remember it being pretty harrowing getting from the Santa Monica Pier to the boardwalk below in my wheelchair. (That is, before I found that there’s a ramp leading directly from the pier. Duh!) I had to cross a Highway 1 off-ramp, and the sidewalk was so high and narrow that I sighed with relief when I was able to get back into the street.

This doesn’t only happen in the big, bad city. I live off of a major road, which is called a highway, and I avoid riding along it in my chair. When I have to do so, I usually ride in the street. As unsafe as this may be, it feels safer than going on the sidewalk with all its cracks, utility poles, bumps, driveways, plants, etc.

So I say hooray to Caltrans for finally taking this on. The project will go on well into this new decade and will not only include improvements for those of us in chairs but also for the blind (audible crossing signals, etc.) and others.

Walking along a highway isn’t very attractive, not to mention safe, but sometimes it is by far the most convenient or the only route. A sidewalk that is really narrow or high or is blocked by trees and poles can very well be like having no sidewalk.

What were the designers thinking?

It is like the bathroom in the motel room that I stayed in a couple nights ago while I was on a holiday trip. It was pretty good, pretty accessible. Except for the mirror above the sink, which was way too high for me and anyone in a wheelchair to use.

Who designed this? Certainly not a disabled person.

Season's spirit

2009-12-25T10:03:00.000-08:00

I am posting my two most recent columns that came out in the Claremont Courier. They are about what I think the holiday season is - or should be - all about.

The first deals with an annual two-day festival, put on in mid-November by the residents of a community of retired Christian missionaries here in Claremont. I don’t think the second one needs explanation.

THESE PILGRIMS REMIND US OF OUR PROGRESS

The golden leaves all but glittered on the green grass. There was a brisk snap in the air. At long last.

Fall came, at long last, on that Friday last month - I had to put another blanket on my bed, finally, that night - appropriately enough, the first day of the Pilgrim Place Festival. It came only after it rained that morning, just after the festival opened with a brass band playing.

It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, one person after another said. I bought my annual persimmons and some other things - the festival is a cool place for Christmas shopping - as it began sprinkling, and the sprinkling just got heavier. I didn’t hear anyone talk of leaving of breaking down, but, when I went home with my rain cape on and with the rain falling harder, I wondered if the pilgrims would be washed out after all their preparations. Such a shame.

But, before long, it was sunny again. I decided to return in the afternoon. I had heard and read that the pageant was not only completely revamped and updated this year but also now included music by the Pilgrim Pickers. I wanted to see this, so I headed over, with the hope that the sun was out for a while, that the festival hadn’t been shut down and that the show would go on.

It turned out that the festival was very much still going on, with cars parked blocks away and with the booths bustling with business. Not only that, but, along with the leaves shining on the lawn and the crisp snap in the air (or at least suggested and coming that night), there was a large crowd eagerly awaiting the 1:45 performance.

It also turned out that the new pageant was every bit as sparkly as those brilliant leaves on the green. It had almost been rained out but instead, as if with the rain, went on reinvigorated, full of bright ideas and with a renewed, inspiring message.

I have to be honest and say that I hadn’t seen the pageant for years and years, perhaps since I was a child. Even then, it was a bit musty - a straight-ahead re-enactment of the first Thanksgiving, weighed down with stuffy "thees" and "thous" and perhaps more than its fair share of stereotypes. I remember feeling even then that there was something a bit or very wrong about the Indians - the Native Americans - being painted red and festooned with feathers.

It here been my sense that people have watched the pageant because it was tradition, if not duty. It was the thing to do at the Pilgrim Place Festival.

Not this year. And not only did these retired Christian missionaries rip a huge hole in the myth that senior citizens can’t change. They gave us something, in an enjoyable, entertaining way, to think about and even to challenge us.

In this pageant, the first Thanksgiving was just the beginning, only a starting point. Two pilgrims come onstage, ready for the usual tale, only to be confused by the presence of two modern-day narrators, a man and a woman, as well as the Pilgrim Pickers. To mollify the lost pilgrims, the narrators offer to tell them what has gone on in this country since the first Thanksgiving .

A remarkable thing about the ensuing hour-long journey, accompanied by the Pickers’ folk music and the audience singing along on many songs, was that it not only hit America’s high points - freedom, civil rights, etc. - but also its low points. It didn’t shy away from telling of the Native Americans having their lands taken and being put on reservations, of black people being enslaved and then discriminated against, of Japanese-Americans being interned during World War II, of Mexican and other immigrant laborers being exploited. At one point, the narrators wondered how to explain the atom bomb to the two pilgrims.

This all was certainly not meant to be depressing or to signal that the U.S has failed. Indeed, the point of the presentation was that this country has always striven to get better. This was a review - truly a pageant - of America’s on-going progress in trying to fulfill the original pilgrims’ vision of building the kingdom of God on Earth.

Yes, the kingdom of God. This was another remarkable thing about the play is that it didn’t shy away from talking about God. A lot. But this wasn’t the God that is heard of so much these days. This wasn’t an exclusionary, threatening, side-taking God.

This was welcoming, embracing God, open to all. So, while the performance sometimes sounded like something going on in a church, it did not seem strange that it was out in the open.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were people there who see this God as too accepting, too inclusive. I wondered what their God would do, what their Jesus would do. About women? I wondered. About gays? And what about the people who don’t have a God, who don’t believe in God?

What I heard being said in the performance, ultimately, was that all of these people were included in the original pilgrims’ vision. The blessed community is indeed open to all - people worshiping freely and in different ways or not at all - living together harmoniously.

Building and maintaining such a community is not easy and often requires much work. In illustrating this work, this striving, this progress, the new pageant showcased the work done by Pilgrim Place residents. One man spoke about working with Martin Luther King, Jr. A Japanese-American man talked about having to live in an internment camp. Another man spoke of his experience working with Ceasar Chavez. The pageant ended, appropriately enough, with pageantry, a parade of men and women living in Pilgrim Place who have done much in the effort to bring about that community.

In front of me where I sat was a group of boys and girls sitting on the lawn, holding their balloons, guarding their Glue-In creations, while they ate sandwiches brought from home and hamburgers and hot dogs purchased at the Festival. They eventually wandered off - the boys first, of course, followed by the girls - but before doing so, they were clearly drawn in by what was happening on the stage, singing along with the large audience.

On this beautiful day shared by all, saved by and saved from the refreshing rain, this was truly a pageant, reminding us of the goodwill and hope of the season.

STRAIGHT, AND NOT SO EASILY, FROM THE HEART

Puppies are easy. Prisoners? Not so much.

"Although the project...angers some, for the most part the community appears supportive."

Who can get angry about seeing puppies? Who can not be supportive of puppies? Who can resist puppies?

What can be wrong about a recent project at Chapman University , providing puppies for students to play with as they study for final exams? The puppies were brought to the Fullerton campus by the Active Minds Club, a studying organization promoting mental awareness, during "cram week." The event was called "Furry Friends for Finals."

"It has been proven that having a dog helps relieve stress, so we thought it would be a cute idea if we brought some furry friends on campus," said sophomore and integrated educational studies major Jennifer Heinz, who helped organize the event.

The puppies, provided by a Torrence-based company called Puppies & Reptiles for Parties, were positioned outside the university library for students to pet and play with during study breaks. As Ms. Heinz emphasized, "It’s a nice way to step back from reality and just be stress-free for a moment."

Besides, according to Megan Brown, a licensed marriage and family therapist who is the Active Minds Club’s advisor and a counselor for the school’s Student Psychological Counseling Services, many students miss the pets they leave behind at home.

Awwww! How cute! I thought about heading over to Fullerton for some cuddly puppy therapy. I can really use a break, studying or not. After all, it’s the holidays!

Or how about this being done at the colleges here? Like outside the friendly, remodeled Honold Library?

Certainly, no one can object to such a puppy project...?

No. The quote above about there being anger is not from the Los Angeles Times article about the Chapman University endeavor. It is from another recent Times feature about a help-giving undertaking in Claremont - the Prison Library Project.

Unlike the puppies at Chapman University, the Prison Library Project is not new. Since 1987, the project, which has been associated with the Claremont Forum and is currently located in the Packing House, has been sending out books to prisoners throughout the U.S and beyond. One new thing that I learned from the article was that Rick Moore, the Claremonter who runs the program, moved the program from Durham, N.C, having taken it over from Bo Lozoff and Ram Dass, famed for taking L.S.D trips with the likes of Ken Kesey and for writing books on eastern spirituality.

How the project works is well-known, at least in Claremont and, apparently, in prisons everywhere. Without any publicity other than word of mouth, the project receives letters from all over the country and a few from overseas requesting books and other reading materials.
More than 250,000 books have been sent out in the past two decades by the volunteer staff.

The shelves are kept full by community members dropping of books and publishers discarding old stock. Requests for dictionaries are the hardest to keep up with. Dictionaries? Yes, while novels are popular - men prefer westerns and anything by Louis L’Amour and Stephen King, and women favor romance novels - but most of what is sent out is educational, spiritual and self-help in nature. The Prison Library Project is really about helping their clients improve themselves.

As Tom Helliwell, a Claremont resident whose church donates money to the project, says, "It’s important for them to have access to tools to use their brains in a constructive way."

Sometimes, this involves tough love. Requests for true crime novels, anything by British crime novelist John Wainwaight and such works as John Grisham’s "The Chamber," set in the Mississippi State Penitentiary, are turned down. Other guidelines include no hardcovers (they can be fashioned into weapons), removing all handwriting left by previous readers and wrapping packages in plain brown paper. And inmates who sell the books or use them to curry favor are put on a do-not-send list.

Tough love, indeed. But what the Prison Library Project does is a wonderful example of the good will and hope that is both praised and yearned for during this holiday season celebrating the light and warmth found when it’s darkest and coldest. It reminds us that not even prisoners should be forgotten and forsaken.

This isn’t easy - in more ways than one. Yes, this isn’t easy, like Santa and puppies, but who can object? Apparently, even with the love being tough, people do. "Although the project’s correspondence with convicts angers some..."

Humbug!

Who, I wonder, are these angry people? Who are these people who would throw away the key and not give others any hope, any second chance to better themselves? Are they the same people who throw rocks at the gay church I recently visited?

I went to the Good Samaritan Church in Whittier a couple Sundays ago. This is part of the Metropolitan Community Church, a Christian church for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people. During the potluck after the service, I asked the pastor if the church had ever been vandalized. She explained that the stained windows had been broken and had been replaced with shatter-proof glass - the kind used on police cars. Also, the street-side sign had been "fortified, so that nothing can knock it down."

Talk about tough love!

Peace on earth and good will to all isn’t just cute, warm puppies. It is often, as at the Good Samaritan Church and at the Prison Library Project in the heart of Claremont, hard, necessary, lonely work.

What would Jesus do - if anything - for Christmas?

2009-12-16T13:41:00.000-08:00

I’ve always thought there was something weird, something bizarre and schizoid, about Christmas, at least in America. For one thing, Christmas is such a huge deal, while Easter, which marks that for which Jesus is supposedly celebrated - or celebrated by many - is barely a blip.

Then, there’s the mind-boggling fact that, until relatively recently, Christmas was banned - illegal in certain countries, like Scotland, and Christian denominations that saw it as pagan. Now it is the biggest of holidays - and not only in the U.S. When my family lived in London for a year and Christmas was on a Saturday, we didn’t get a newspaper for three days.

And finally, why is Christmas such a huge holiday, let alone a federal holiday, in America, which takes pride in its line between church and state?

With all this, it is hard not to think that Christmas is there to make money. Like what my parents always said about Mother’s Day and Father’s Day - that it was made up by the Hallmark card company. After all, I’m reading everyday in the paper that merchants make about a third of their annual income during the Christmas season, and it is like whether or not Christmas is good this year hinges on how the merchants do.

I’ve been wondering what Jesus would make of Christmas. What would Jesus say about his birthday and how it is celebrated?

No doubt, he would be disgusted, at the least. He would be appalled by how Christmas, at least in this country, is very much about money and very little about him and what he said and modeled.
I keep thinking of Jesus getting mad, getting furious - yes, he was human - in the synagogue and kicking and knocking over the tables of the money-changers, screaming that they violated the holy, the sacred.

I can see Jesus doing that in a mall today.

Anything but Jesus

2009-12-03T11:11:00.000-08:00

There was a workshop on shamanism. There was a workshop on Hawaiian spirituality. There was a workshop on making a medicine wheel.

It was pretty typical at this past weekend’s gathering of a men’s group that I’m involved in. Over the past eight years that I have been attending these weekend gatherings with other gay men, there have been workshops on any number of spiritual issues - yoga, meditation, mandalas, totems, magic, labyrinths, sweat lodges, atheism...

Anything but Jesus.

I saw the same thing in the Radical Faeries, and I see it in the queer community at large. There are workshops, classes and groups for all these issues plus others - tantra, solstice, witchcraft...
These are all cool, but where is Jesus?

Let me be perfectly clear about three things. First, I’m down with all these practices. Like I said, they are all cool. Secondly, Jesus shouldn’t be forced on anyone. I’m not out to convert Jews, Buddhists, Muslims.... Yes, I go around with Jesus plastered on my chest, but I’m no evangelist - at least in the classic converting sense. And, yes, I do know about GLBT-friendly Christian churches, the Metropolitan Community Church, etc.

What is also achingly evident to me is that queer people are hungry - no, starving, famished - for a spiritual life. Equally clear is that they don’t want it to involve Jesus. They want anything but Jesus.

To me, this is one more tragic sign of how many in the queer community have been hurt by Jesus. As I have written before, Jesus has been taken by right-wing fundamentalists and used to bash gays. I suspect that many of the guys at the gatherings grew up in Christian churches and then fled when they came out, getting as far away as possible.

Now they are searching, desperate for something - anything - that’s not Jesus.

At the gathering this summer, I was thrilled that there was a workshop on Jesus. Finally! A small number of us showed up - me in my Jesus bibs, of course! - but we were passionate.
As we agreed, the sad, sad thing about this is that Jesus was all about love. He never drew lines regarding who should or should not love each other. What’s more, Jesus made a point about loving - indeed, reaching out with love to - the stranger, the other, yes, the enemy.

And now he is used to hate and to hurt.

We also agreed that it is important to not be quiet and shy, to speak up about Jesus and his message of radical inclusion. I try to do my part, but it is a challenge. It is so much easier to hide and let a snide comment slide, not be sneered at and ridiculed. I often feel like Prior in ANGELS IN AMERICA - a weak, disabled, gay man asked - commanded! - to spread the message. Why me?

Why not me?

The end is near - if not already here

2009-11-20T09:56:00.000-08:00

When I was little, Christmas couldn’t come soon enough. Now, increasingly, it comes all too soon.

Yes, time does go by faster as I get older. There is also the fact that Christmas comes earlier and earlier each year. I used to complain about seeing Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. Now I spot them before Halloween. In fact, it feels more and more like, once November 1 comes, Christmas and the year-end holiday madness, with an endless list of things to do and get done, is more or less here.

Perhaps more significantly, I love Fall, and I never get enough of it. Autumn is my favorite season, with its cooling temperatures and its glorious, bright colors in the face of death and the growing dark, but, unlike the long, hot summer, it always zips by, and, before I know it, Christmas is here, and another year is over. What’s more, here in Southern California, the summer heat lingers - it wasn’t until this past weekend (when, appropriately enough, a friend arrived for a visit from Vermont) that it got really chilly, at least at night - so I feel I am short-changed, getting even less of the fall.

It could be that I’m just not getting enough of a favorite thing. As I feel like I’m hurtling towards the end of the year, I suspect there’s something more to it. I like the image I was recently given - that of the year being like a roll of toilet paper which unravels more and more quickly.

T.V war

2009-11-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

Okay, I went and did it. I bought a T.V.

Faithful readers will know that the new digital converter box has been a bane of my existence. Last month, the picture on my screen broke up, and it turned out that a wire on the converter box was impossibly loose. If I bought a new box, it would be my third in less than five months, and the government coupons are pretty much gone. So I bit the bullet, went to Target (NOT Walmart, even if it’s cheaper!) and, after sitting there for an hour, bought a 22-inch LCD high-def television (plus an extended warranty) for a good price, putting it on my credit card, figuring I’ll pay it off.

I have to come out (again!) and say that I love the T.V. The picture is stunning! For the first time in my life, I have a T.V (on its own) with a crystal clear picture, with no static or fuzz at all, even on PBS. Period. (Yes, I have friends who say I shouldn’t watch T.V - "Kill your T.V" as the bumper says - and others who say I should watch it on my computer, but there are shows I like, and I like to watch them on a television in my living room.)

There has been one big problem, though. I can’t record. One of the things that drove me crazy with the converter box is that it severely limited my ability to tape programs. I tend to tape programs and really like being able to do so. With my V.C.R, I can watch videos and D.V.Ds, but I can’t record. It took at least five hours and exactly five lesbians (at one point, they were all here at once - yikes!) to figure out that my V.C.R couldn’t do the job and that I need something else.

The something else isn’t at Target, so I went to Best Buy - twice - and got very confused - twice. It doesn’t help that Best Buy is a confusing, loud place. Many of the devices that record - D.V.Rs - require a monthly service, like TiVo, that come with a bunch of stuff (football games, movies, whatever) that I don’t want. I did buy a TiVo device, because it wasn’t too expensive, but, despite the guy at the store answering my many questions and assuring me otherwise (I guess I shouldn’t trust a guy dressed up - it was Halloween - as a superhero who looks like a weeks-old balloon), it turned out that it worked only with cable T.V, and I had to return it AND cancel the service. (I was just glad my attendant didn’t murder me!) The TiVo device that doesn’t require a cable T.V (no, I don’t want cable!) is considerably more expensive, and it turns out that a plain D.V.R - without a monthly service and which will record programs later or while I’m watching another one - is even more expensive, costing more than what I paid more for the T.V.

Do I regret getting the television. No. I can watch videos and D.V.Ds, and I don’t have to put up with the converter box. But I still really want to tape, and I will keep my eye out for a D.V.R and may well bite the bullet again and buy one. Also, I can’t help thinking there’s something I’m missing, wonder if people on fixed or low incomes just can’t record programs and wish that I just had what I had before we had to get digital T.V.

Giving the disabled a bad name and a bad time

2009-11-04T11:52:00.000-08:00

I got the notice. I wasn’t sure when or how it would come, but I knew it would come. My attendants - those who I pay with funds from the state-funded, county-operated In-Home Supportive Services program - also got it, and they didn’t know it was coming and were confused and unhappy.

I knew that, over the summer, as the California state legislature and Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger struggled to pass a budget, it was discovered that, lo and behold, the I.H.S.S was riddled with fraud. It turned out that people were getting money to take care of people who were dead, to take care of people who don’t exist, to take care of pets. There was one guy who was getting money to take care of his father and was using it to feed his own meth habit. It turned out that all this fraud was costing the state millions, if not billions, of dollars.
This was bad. No doubt about it. Clearly, people were taking advantage of the program, and the already broke state - not to mention the taxpayers - was getting cheated of a load of money. Something had to be done, so Arnold, the governator, gave out the order to crack down.

Thus, the notices that I got and that my attendants got in the mail.

Because of the fraud that has taken place, my I.H.S.S-funded attendants, according to the notices, are now required to fill out a form and hand-deliver it to the county office, be finger-printed and get a background check, attend a training and sign a paper saying they will abide by I.H.S.S rules. This goes for all new attendants as of November 1 and my current attendants next July.

Giving them time to quit.

Not only are these requirements a big pain, they treat my attendants as suspicious, if not criminal. Also, the notices my attendants got state that, by state law, they must pay for the finger-printing and background check.

Here’s something else: I have enough trouble finding people to work as attendants. Now I’ll have to tell them, "Oh, by the way, you also have to do these...."
Thanks to the cheaters. Wish me luck!

I recently read that people are protesting these steps, saying they make things harder for I.H.S.S as well as its disabled clients. Who knows if this will get anywhere. Oh, well, at least a judge ruled last month that thousands of disabled people can’t be dumped from the program, as was being planned to save money.

And then there was the recent report on 60 Minutes on Medicare fraud. I wonder if this has anything to do with Medi-Cal now taking more than two months to approve new motors for my chair.

Living with passion

2009-10-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

Cleve Jones says he was once as cute as Emile Hirsch, the actor who played him in Milk, last year’s bio-pic starring Sean Penn as Harvey Milk. For about three months.

But, as I saw when he spoke here last week a few days after being involved in leading the October 11 gay rights march in Washington, D.C, he has no regrets. Mr. Jones is not bitter about being an older, somewhat sagging gay man, past his prime, so to say. In fact, he insisted that he is having a wonderful time now, perhaps the best in his life, telling the many college students in the audience to enjoy their youth but not to despair about getting older.

And what a life Mr. Jones has had! Not really a wonderful life, or a charmed life, but certainly a life lived with passion. And he spoke about it, quite generously, with considerable passion.

I am sorry I can’t recount all the details, but they are not so important. What grabbed me was the force and emotion with which Mr. Jones spoke of leaving his family as a very young man, going out to San Francisco and meeting and working for Harvey Milk; seeing Milk as he laid dead after being shot by fellow County Supervisor Dan White and taking part in the huge, silent, candle-lit vigil following the murder and the violent march after White got off with a light sentence; meeting a man who would be his best friend - "only a friend" - and then being devastated but embraced by the man’s family when the man died; starting the AIDS quilt with a friend and being amazed by how it grew and how beautiful and eloquent the panels were/are; being diagnosed with AIDS and almost dying.

Clearly, such a full, dramatic life have left him full of strong feelings. Indeed, he ended his formal talk with a full-throated demand that GLBT people have full, equal rights - not one right there and a different right here. I heard him saying that queer folks should be accepted as they are and not have to assimilate, and I suspect he’d agree with me that it was wrong that the No on 8 campaign here in California last year never mentioned the word "gay," furthering its shame.

By the way, the talk took place at Claremont McKenna College, a couple weeks after hosting RuPaul, the super drag queen (see "Playing with all the colors in the box" below). I was also impressed to learn that C.M.C was the first college to display the AIDS quilt years ago, which I remember attending. Not bad for a school known for conservative jocks!

Parks for all

2009-10-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

I almost feel sorry for Ken Burns. His films, shown on PBS, are almost parodies of themselves.

Even before I watch them, I know them. They are so familiar, like the back of my hand. Yes, always, always, there are the lovingly presented black and white and sepia photographs; the haunting, repeated, folky music; the letters and reports read by the best actors; the talking heads who are actually engaging; the narrator with the perfect, sonorous voice; the interest-piquing section titles and the thousands of fascinating, poignant, charming and humorous details and anecdotes. And then, although Burns has made shorter films, there is also the marathon, Wagnerian length of his documentaries.

Although he started out with a number of shorter films, this all really began with The Civil War. The trouble was that he started off with the perfect film, setting the gold standard, and his subsequent mega-docs - on baseball, jazz, the West, World War II - have almost been let-downs. Many other film-makers, including his brother Ric, have copied him with multi-part documentaries on everything from the Mormons to New York City and with varying degrees of success.

Last week, I watched Burns’ latest opus, the six-part, twelve-hour The National Parks: America’s Best Idea. Sure, it got stodgy and exhausting, and I did roll my eyes, but I adored it.
Certainly, there was all the spectacular scenery, including in some parks I had never heard of, such as Arcadia in Maine, and there were all the juicy and sad and funny and incredible tales and tid-bits about the people involved in the founding and development of the parks. And there was the inspiring message, hammered over and over, that these parks belong to all of us taxpayers and are thus, as is also seen in them being wide open and breathtakingly impressive, a reflection of our democratic ideals (if not our society).

But what really struck me - and this relates to the concept of the parks belonging to us all - were the stories of families having their most cherished times and precious memories in the parks. Not only that but of children being introduced to the parks by their parents and then, later, introducing their own children to the parks. There is something powerfully profound and touching about this.

I thought of the amazing amount of time I spent in Yosemite when I was growing up, with my father’s parents living a short distance from the park and my family going there at least twice a year until I was about 15 when my grandfather suddenly died of a heart attack while up on a ladder, and I thought of how incredibly lucky I was to be able to become so familiar with such a gorgeous and literally awesome place during my childhood. Even more, I marveled at being able, with my parents’ help and encouragement, to get so close to such wonders as Yosemite Falls and Mirror Lake and to wander through meadows with deer not far - all in my wheelchair. No doubt, I realized, this is a big part of why, today, I am quite adventurous, not afraid of going out (often on my own) and trying new things, and why I love to travel.

I haven’t been to Yosemite for about 15 years and want to go back, and I still hope one day to get Yellowstone.

Not all is wonderful about the National Parks, as the film pointed out with stories of vicious fights over the federal government taking land. During one of my last stays in Yosemite, I was very upset by how crowded it was, with the valley floor being like L.A, complete with smog - another issue brought out in the documentary.

And then there’s my wheelchair and how much it should be accommodated. I once almost got in a fight with a ranger at Zion National Park in Utah - figures! - over how wheelchair-accessible a trail was or should be. I forget the details, but I do remember my attendant practically having to hold me down when the guy opined that James Watt, Ronald Reagan’s notorious Secretary of the Interior, "was a great man."

Playing with all the colors in the box

2009-10-02T13:13:00.000-07:00

Who knew?

I went to see RuPaul Charles - RuPaul, "the most famous drag queen in the world," the host of "RuPaul’s Drag Show." the star of "Star Booty," etc. - at Claremont McKenna College the other night, and it was no joke.

C.M.C used to be a men’s college and is still known as a school for jocks majoring in econ and poli-sci and with a conservative bent, and its Atheneum is the kind of place that usually features dignitaries and scholars at its dinners (and sometimes at lunch), so I thought it was interesting, to say the least, that RuPaul had been invited to speak there.

Wearing a black and orange checkered suit and raised platform shoes and with his black head shaved and shiny, he did literally strut into the room upon being introduced, having no doubt requested to do so, and he was clearly tickled by the whole scene and laughed when he showed slides of himself in a variety of outrageous get-ups. But what RuPaul had to say was serious. Or it was something I needed to hear, seriously.

Entitling his remarks "Observations from the Inside," he spoke of always knowing that he was different, from the time he grew up with three sisters and a feisty, ultimately divorced mother in San Diego, and his he used this knowledge instead of being a victim of it. He showed a school picture from when he was a small child and said that that small child is still in him, just as there is a small child in all of us, and that he always tries to take care of that little child, and he talked about realizing that life is about more than what we do and what happens to us, that we are spiritual beings having a human experience.

According to RuPaul, who said he grew up with a sense, encouraged by his mother, that he would be a star, a key to his development came when he was in trouble at a performing arts high school, where he went after getting in trouble at another school, and a teacher told him not to take life so seriously. Later, he came to see that such notions as one not being able to be a mainstream pop star while wearing drag were ridiculous and holding him back.

RuPaul insisted several times that he is a man and that he does not see himself as or want to be a woman, even when he is in drag. He explained that he’s not taking life so seriously, that he is enjoying his human experience as a spiritual being, having fun with his body and "playing with all the colors in the box." Nothing more, nothing less.

Sounds like what I do with all my overalls and my mismatched high-tops and rainbow laces, with my shaved head and with my long dreads flying. Is this all my drag? Mmmmm.
The best part of the evening for me, and probably for RuPaul, was during the Q & A, was when a young man, no doubt a student, in a dark suit and tie, stood up and shared his drag name. (RuPaul congratulated him and said that he had a way to make a lot of money if school doesn’t work out.) Super sweet!

Arnold to the rescue!

2009-09-24T13:42:00.000-07:00

Things looked pretty grim. The article in the Los Angeles Times last week was about how a bunch of developmentally disabled adults were being evicted from their apartments in Monrovia, east of L.A. The owners of the Regency Court had concluded, after a number of years, that the complex had been designed for senior citizens and that people under 62 should not be living there.

This was a classic tale of the big, evil powers that be trampling over the little people, made all the more compelling and poignant with the little people here being not only disabled but mentally retarded. The story was complete with the usual tragic and pitiful but heroic and inspiring examples of disabled people trying to live independently, topped off with heart-tugging photos.
Then, a day or two later, there was another article in the Times, this one about California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger showing up at the Regency Court to tell the disabled residents that their evictions had been "terminated." There was a large picture of Schwarzenegger smiling and leaning down to talk to a smiling, dressed-to-the-nines woman in a wheelchair. In an interview, the former action star explained that he intervened with the apartment owners after reading the L.A Times story and being visited by the ghost of his recently deceased mother-in-law, Eunice Shriver, telling him he had to do something.

It was indeed a happy day, a day of celebration. The big, bad corporation had been brushed off, and the disabled folks could stay in their own homes. Then why wasn’t I feeling so good? Why was I wincing and a bit woozy?

Clearly, this pit stop by the gubinator was the coldest of P.R moves, right down to the gussied-up woman. All while thousands of other disabled people in the state are left in the lurch because of services being slashed by his administration.

Why didn’t old Eunice say anything about them to the restless Arnold? That’s where this all gets downright nauseating, with the stink of patronization. After all, Mrs. Shriver is most admired for starting the Special Olympics.

Ah, the Special Olympics, where the most unfortunately handicapped are oh so graciously allowed not to be normal - no - but to shine. As if a man wearing a life jacket and having to be guided down a swimming pool lane can be as great as Michael Phelps.

And as if he - and perhaps anyone who is anything like him - has no hope of being able to help, much less save, himself.

God loves gay marriage

2009-09-21T21:00:00.000-07:00

Quaker weddings, at least in the unprogrammed tradition, are magic. Unlike any other kinds of weddings that I know of, the couple declare their vows to each other, without an officiating minister, in the belief that only God can marry them. Then, those present, all of whom are considered ministers, can speak out of the silence, offering prayers, wishes and comments regarding the couple and the marriage. Afterwards, everyone signs the marriage certificate, stating that the marriage occurred. Magic.
On Saturday, I attended the Quaker wedding of two men at a lovely old meetinghouse not too far from here. It was truly an honor for me to be there. Not only was one of the men, Joe, a wonderful man and good friend of mine, and not only have I gotten to know and like his clearly cherished partner. This was the first gay wedding that I’ve attended.
But it turned out to be so much more. As the wedding went on, it turned out to be not just a nice ceremony with good friends. It became more and more evident, like the increasing heat in the room, oven-like, on the very hot day (when I marry, it will be in January!), that God was definitely present and very much in approval. Clearly - as much as I’ve ever felt - this was an act of God, done through those of us who were present. It was also oh-so clear that God is all about love and delights in it, revels in it, and that the couple being two men didn’t matter in the least. As long as there is mutual love, that’s all that God cares about.
I was very moved by the many messages coming out of the silence, testifying to the rightness of the marriage. There was the woman who thanked the couple for giving her young children a powerful example of putting Quaker belief into action, and I especially loved when one man reminded us that early Quakers signed the marriage certificate because they were breaking the law (not being in "the Church") and needed strength in numbers. We were still breaking the law here in California, where same-sex marriage is not legally recognized.
This all packed quite a whallop. I got to the meetinghouse very early, having been warned that seats were at a premium, and I knew right away that I was in trouble, that I would cry - and not just because there were boxes of Kleenex placed every few feet. I made it until the very end when we sang (unusual in an unprogrammed meeting) "Great Spirit, Joy of Earth and Sky," as the couple had requested. How could I not cry? Two days later, there are times still when I can barely keep from crying.

A fond farewell

2009-09-18T11:28:00.000-07:00

I am making an exception here and posting a column I have written for the Claremont Courier. I want to pay tribute to one of my best teachers, who recently died.

ONE LAST TOUGH, LOVING LESSON: SAYING "GOOD-BYE, MS. S."
Shortly after I came out to her almost ten years ago, Ms. S gave me a lecture on safe sex. In a letter, she shared with me the joy of finding love, but she also went on at considerable length about the gay men she had known who had died from AIDS and said, several times, "Be careful!"
It was decades after I had been in her English class at El Roble Intermediate School, where she taught for years, and Carol Schowalter, who I affectionately called Ms. S, was still teaching me. In later years, after she retired, she would, with her exquisite calligraphy, comment on my COURIER columns, sometimes quite sternly. She reminded me to always, always write from a place of kindness and compassion.
The fact that we were still in touch, that she was still instructing me and I was still telling her details about my life, spoke volumes (an appropriate metaphor, for she clearly adored books, handling them and even breaking their backs with the utmost of care, even reverence). Now that Ms. Schowalter has died, I will miss even this occasional caring and guidance, even if I didn’t seek it out.
I think that, if Ms. S had not told me soon after I landed in her class, I would have guessed that she had been trained as a minister. I and literally thousands of other Claremont junior high school students had the gift of her genuine, deep caring and her warm, heartfelt wisdom. We also knew and loved her as a natural born teacher.
And the terror that she often was.
Ms. Schowalter was (and still is) a Claremont legend. Even before I entered her classroom, I had heard stories about how hard she was, about the endless homework she assigned and the elaborate, torturous project she had her students do. She was known as a teacher that students love even while, or more likely after, hating her class.
Sort of like what I heard someone say about writing: I love having written.
I soon found out that the legend was very much true. Before I knew it, I was doing the infamous Student Dictionary - two words a day, which I had to copy from the black board, then define, write sentences with and find used in outside sources (newspapers, magazines, novels, television shows, etc.). I will never forget the words being there day after day, like widgets on an endless conveyer belt, and, almost teasingly, in that elegant calligraphy and with amusing sentences featuring names such as Mortimer and Gladys. Then there were the crazy book report projects - a simple book report was never enough for Ms. S - on top of weekly spelling tests, lots of essays, memorizing all of the prepositions, learning the difference between a metaphor and a simile and all the usual English class stuff.
I have to admit that I botched one project, but Miss Schowalter did teach me to work hard - or even harder - and to appreciate and indeed love how an author such as Carson McCullers can have quite a distinctive style of writing. Even when I slid, she saw not only my potential but also that I was more likely than not to fulfill it.
This was, I soon saw, a good thing. If Miss Schowalter had any fault as a teacher, it is that she really did not suffer fools or laggards gladly - or at all. I witnessed her talking to several boys who had misbehaved or goofed off, and not only was it not pretty, I’m not sure if any of them were in her class much longer. And watch out - even the star pupils - if Ms. S had a cold or wasn’t feeling well!
She was also fiercely proud of her work. When I told her that one of my previous teachers had used her idea for teaching Greek mythology, she was not amused in the least.
But the fact is that Miss Schowalter was one of the hardest working teachers I have known, and she expected the same from her students. Furthermore, in a special and fascinating way, I was almost as much of a challenge to her as she was to me.
I was in the first class of orthopedically handicapped students at El Roble, back when Danbury was still a school, and, out of that class, I was the first to be mainstreamed into a "regular" class. Miss Schowalter’s seventh grade English class was the one in which I was placed. I suspect this was a gamble carefully considered by all involved, and I have no doubt that she saw it as an interesting little challenge and eagerly took it on. It was interesting, to say the least, with me, a severely disabled boy in a wheelchair, lugging a typewriter (this was way before laptops) to class each day - and who knew how to understand my speech? (Being among the first disabled students in this most bratty of environments was itself quite a challenge, but that’s another story.)
So Ms. S and I both definitely dived into deep, sometimes cold, waters, and I think we both tried our damnedest to swim and make this grand experiment work. I know that, even when I flubbed, I worked my ass off for her. For her part, she always asked me questions about my life and its challenges and tried to hear my answers, even as she added more challenges. Again, she saw my potential - and helped me be sure of it.
For years after I left El Roble, I would drop by her classroom - like the institution it was, it never changed - to visit Ms. S. Even when she was tired or said she didn’t have time to talk, she was very interested to hear about my progress in high school and college, where I majored in English, and, later, downright intrigued to hear about my writing, living independently and theater work. "You haven’t forgotten old lady Schowalter," she would say.
No, I hadn’t. And I delighted in meeting Mel, the love of her life, at long last (she could indeed relate to my finally coming out at 39), who she soon married, and I loved hearing how she and Mel and Mel’s wife had been good friends for years until his wife died. It was right out of a novel, the literature that
she so cherished, and although I never heard Ms. S speak of Jane Austen, I’m sure she would have delighted in my referencing this particular novelist when it came to the courtship and marriage. I liked to think of them as "CarolMel."
And now, just as a new school year is starting, Ms. S is gone, leaving us to remember and honor her dedication to and passion for teaching hard work and good reading and writing. How appropriate! How literary! She would love it.

Going into orbit at the Saturn Cafe

2009-09-10T11:44:00.000-07:00

I asked my companion what took him so long. He said he had to ask for a key to use the restroom. Apparently, since the last time I was at the Saturn Café up north in Santa Cruz, there had been some incident or problem concerning the restrooms. Perhaps not surprisingly, for when I was there one time several years ago, my attendant at the time couldn’t tell which restroom was for men and which was for women.
It is that kind of place.
The Saturn Café, which proudly and adamantly serves no meat and where you can order raw chocolate chip cookie dough and where a customer may well sport a sky-high mohawk as well as tattoos and piercings and I feel right at home shirtless in my hand-painted overalls, is open until 2 a.m and is the kind of place where, as happened when I was there last week, it took me almost an entire meal to realize that the couple in the next booth were two women and not two men. (At least I think you can still get raw chocolate chip cookie dough. Unfortunately, not only has the menu shrunk, the decor, like North Pacific Avenue which the restaurant is on, has gotten less funky over the years. Like all the tabletops are now the same.)
It is the kind of place where, when my companion and I arrived, a large party of what looked to be two or three families were looking over their menus and abruptly got up and left. As I heard the waiter explain to one of the waitresses, "They went out for meat." All this to a punk-rock soundtrack.
My companion kept teasing me, saying I was smitten with the waiter, that I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The waiter wasn’t really my type, but I did enjoy the way he was totally out without being flaming. He had a button pinned to his little apron with a rainbow heart and saying "Support Marriage Equality." Very cute. But what I really liked - okay, maybe I was smitten! - was that he tried to understand what I was saying when I ordered. In fact, when I asked for a hot fudge sundae with coffee ice cream for dessert, he totally got it. Just like that.
(But as for liking the waiter, this was nothing. When I was last at the Saturn, the waiter was so adorable - all nerdy, with a touch of punk - that, after dinner, I went to a movie and then returned, supposedly for dessert. I’m so bad!)
The waiter was definitely not like the one a few days later in, of all places, Berkeley who just stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights when I ordered pancakes. And he certainly wasn’t like the one last year at Orphan Andy’s in the usually cool Castro who strutted around in the tightest of tight pink tee-shirts, pretended I wasn’t there and kept looking at my companion - the same one - like, "What are you doing with that?" Not "that man" or "that guy" - just "that."
That Miss Thing - he needed to get over himself and get a life!

A sick debate

2009-08-31T15:40:00.000-07:00

Call me naive. Call me a meek and mild Quaker boy, but I went to a town hall meeting last week here in Claremont on healthcare insurance reform, and I was frightened. I’m sure the organizers, a pretty progressive bunch with good, if not preaching-to-the-choir, intentions, got a bit of a shock, to say the least. It was a flat-out ugly scene.
It was just like those awful scenes we’ve been seeing on the news. There were people yelling and booing and screaming. At one point, a young man, an anti-abortion activist shouting that he was being assaulted, was dragged out of the room, and the police were called, and it appeared that the doors were being locked. It was bad enough that I sat behind an older man who wore a shirt featuring a waving U.S flag and images of Mt. Rushmore and who kept giving the thumbs down and shouting things like "lies" and "bullshit."
I wondered why these people were there, since there were no elected officials or lawmakers present. Were they there just to make trouble? (Meanwhile, I read an article on Sunday about how ammunition vendors are having difficulty keeping up with the demand...)
It also didn’t help that the panel of speakers was stacked with progressive types advocating a single payer system. One all but endorsed socialism, bringing on a particularly violent reaction. Nor did it help when the speakers, who I agreed with, said stupid, egging-on things like, "I like being called an Obama person!"
Here are the reasons I heard why people don’t like the proposed reforms:
*The government will drive private insurers out of business and will take over.
*The government will dictate everything, and I’ll have no choice. *Everything the government does ends up costing even more than first said.
*Rationing.
*The tax-payers will pay for abortions.
*Illegal aliens will get free healthcare.
*I work hard for my money and choose to pay for my healthcare in cash, thank you very much, and don’t want to pay for others who don’t work hard.
*I don’t want to lose what I have now.
*This is all coming too fast.
I also heard resistance to certain facts, like America not having the world’s best healthcare.
I heard people sticking to their ideas and ideology, based on and driven by fear (I.e: Rush Limbaugh, etc.), and that scared me - more than the shouting. I went home shaken and sickened and all but feeling hopeless.
"All but," because I was reminded that I need to keep getting out there and doing what I do. I once again saw that there are people who will never, ever see things the way I do, and that I can’t worry about them and changing their mind. If I do this, I will fail and die. All I can do is to keep on doing my thing. Maybe some of these people will see me and won’t change their minds; maybe some, a few, will. God knows it’s better than fighting.

Tuned out

2009-08-21T13:15:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I went to Best Buy and Target to see how much a new television would cost. The digital converter box on mine - yes, I did get it hooked up - is driving me crazy. It is difficult for me to turn it on and change the channels with the remote control, and it severely restricts my taping capabilities. For example, if I’m out for the evening, I can’t tape programs on more than one channel. And too bad if I’m out for longer than the box can stay on.
So I’d like a new digital T.V - no box. But, as I discovered, all televisions are now flatscreen. A new, free-standing T.V can’t be bought. Not only that, but the flatscreens, as terrific as they look, are terrifically expensive, with most over $500 and many, at least at Best Buy, over $1,000.
Meaning that a new T.V is now a luxury.
This leaves me - not to mention others on low or fixed incomes - out of the picture. I might have to get by with the clunky converter box and barely being able to use my V.C.R.
Oh well, I guess if it’s good ‘nuf fer gubbermint, it’s good enough for me.

A testing spirit

2009-08-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I returned home from a trip to yearly meeting to find out that my hard drive had crashed and that I had lost everything, including my writings. (I am now getting help in retrieving some, if not all, of the data.)
Then, my e-mail server changed its policy, and I had to get a new e-mail address after having the same one for at least 15 years.
Then, the batteries in my watch died.
Then, a friendship bracelet which I got at a men’s gathering a couple years ago came off my arm. It was too frayed to tie back on.
Am I forgetting something else?
Mmmm. Perhaps it’s time for a change.
But haven’t I made enough changes already this year? I’ve gotten on Facebook and MySpace. With much nudging and assistance, I put up a website and began writing this blog. I’ve been posting serious ads on craigslist for men. Can’t a guy have some slack?
Apparently not.
A friend has a theory that when things are hard, it is usually a sign of Spirit moving in your life, giving you an opportunity to grow. Another friend says this is probably true but that it doesn’t make it any easier.
Or, perhaps, to put it another way, as I said one morning in worship at yearly meeting (before I found out about my hard drive), the hardest thing about following God (or Spirit) is that, a lot of the time, you don’t know that you are following God until after you have followed God.
In the meantime, it sure feels like Hell.

The ministry of the overalls (and high-tops and hair)

2009-08-06T20:05:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I went to a workshop at the Quaker meetinghouse in Pasadena. A friend of mine was facilitating, and when she saw me, she immediately commented on the overalls I was wearing. "You always wear such interesting overalls!" she proclaimed.
Indeed, I was! Those who know me know that I always wear overalls and that many of them are "interesting." The ones I was wearing that day were a gorgeous light-weight pair, found at a thrift store, featuring a variety of patterns, including small flowers, in tan, black and red. (Unfortunately, they have since ripped quite a bit and are no longer wearable.)
I thanked my friend for her acknowledgment of my overalls and realized very soon afterwards that I should have said that they are my ministry.
Overalls as a ministry. What did I mean? How can the overalls that I wear everyday, along with, I later realized, the mis-matched Converse All Star high-tops that I wear from April through October (I wear Docs during the rest of the year) with rainbow laces, be, as I understand we Quakers define "ministry," a testimony or a mission? It has taken me years to figure that out.
For years, whenever I went home with a new outfit or a new hairstyle (long hair, braids, shaved head, etc.), my dad would always ask me if I was making a statement. Making a statement? No, no, I kept protesting, as if making a statement was the bad thing implied in my father’s query, I’m just wearing and doing what I like.
Who was I kidding? Why do I like wearing pretty overalls? There are many reasons, but my friend’s reaction that day - "You always wear such interesting overalls!" - basically summed them up. I liked it that she saw them.
I have said that I want people to notice my overalls, my shoes, my hair rather than my being in a wheelchair. I want to be "the guy in the cool bibs" rather than "the guy in the wheelchair" or at least "the guy in the overalls in the wheelchair." I also want it clear that I decide what I wear and how I have my hair and that some nurse or orderly isn’t just throwing some clothes on me.
More than that, I like being "interesting." If people are going to stare at me, why not make it interesting, even art-ful. Sure, I like it when people are amused, pleased and delighted by my colorful looks. I like brightening up their day. But I also like to wake people up, provoke them, get them to think. Like about what kind of a statement I might be making.