The right to tell them where to stick it

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

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

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

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?

"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

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

"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.