Allison Unfiltered

Um, no, looks like it's still there.

When the sighted get taught about seeing.

I watched a blind woman walk to the metro yesterday. 

She used the tactic of sticking to the right side of the sidewalk, tapping her cane in wide sweeps as she went.  I was fascinated as I watched her progress.  I couldn't help it.  Being blind is something I know nothing about.

She walked down the sidewalk, toward me where I was standing by the wall.  As she neared and I realized she was going to stay on the right side, I stepped forward and let her pass behind me uninterrupted, and then stepped back to my waiting place.

She kept traveling down the wall, to where usually the wall would end in the doorway to the metro station.  But yesterday a white van was parked between her and the door.

People were staring.  I wasn't the only one.  I saw a young guy, college age, call out to her.  Her back was to me by then, so I don't know if she answered.  I saw him say something about the van in her way, and he gestured toward it too.  Then I saw him say something about following his voice, and her path began to deviate as she followed him and he kept talking until she was well alongside the van.

Then the young man turned around, good deed done for the day, and went on his way.  I smiled then.  It's nice to know people still notice those little things, make the connection between people and the things their environment means to those people.  Warm fuzzy moment.

The blind woman kept walking.  She was about to walk into a lamppost that stood between her, the van, and the doorway.  People were still staring, some of them turning around to watch her progress.  The young guy who'd helped her turned around to check on her.    He stopped, turned around, and began to walk back towards her.

She stepped around that lamppost and walked into the metro station. 

The young guy stopped when she disappeared, shrugged, and turned back around and started walking again. 

Yeah, baby!  I cheered for her then.  More because she'd showed that guy, even if she didn't  know it, than because she'd walked through a doorway she's probably walked through countless times before without any help. 

On a tangent, watching this reminded me of reading this poem, "The Magic Wand," by Lynn Manning a couple weeks ago in a workshop.  I love how it shows the change in perception of people once something different about them is noticed.

Representation of Disability in Hollywood: "Code of the Freaks" video -- a MUST-WATCH!

I attended a workshop by Kenny Fries this week, "Extraordinary Bodies."  It was intended to give attendees an overview of disability representation and get them thinking about writing characters that may fall under the category of disability, whatever that means to you.

Kenny showed this extra-long subtitled trailer for "Code of the Freaks" during the workshop, and I fell in love.  I absolutely cannot wait for it to be finished.  There's no mention of us deafies in the trailer (except for a brief mention of Marlee Matlin at the end -- and the context in which she appears had me laughing.  Out loud.  Hard), but I related quite a bit to the statements the trailer makes.

Watch it.  If you're disabled in any way (visible or not), or know anyone who is, you'll relate.  If you're not and you think you don't know anyone, you'll learn something new.

WATCH, dammit.

 

Code of the Freaks (work-in-progress) from salome chasnoff on Vimeo.

Oh, and you can find more information about the documentary project here.

Update: link for the documentary project has been fixed.  My apologies, my dear internet elves!

An unforeseen consequence of having more than one deaf student at my school...

... is suddenly having people I've seen for the last two years call me by someone else's name.

I've said this enough times that I'm seriously considering getting it on a T-shirt:

"No, I'm the other one."

Why spring allergies are like a fetish gone bad

Yep.  It's starting.  Just when I get giddy about seeing the cherry trees blossom I can't see them anymore; my nose itches and my eyes water and I start fantasizing about shoving my hands up my nostrils so I can scratch the prickly caverns of my sinuses back there.

Times like these, I curse our attempt to be Mother Nature's dominant top.  I read an article years ago that explained where all these allergies come from and why so many of us (especially in the cities and suburbs) have them compared to say, 60 years ago.  I'm sure it's not entirely accurate, what I just told you, or that the article had some arguable points, but the porniness seared itself into my pervy head.

See, some trees are gendered.  Some are male and some are female.  And way back when, some geniuses figured out that the way to keep our sidewalks and streets free of annoying female clutter like fruit and other tree crotch-droppings -- and therefore easier and cheaper to maintain -- was to plant only male trees.

Problem is -- where female trees drop fruit in our pathways (the audacity!), the male trees are kinder to our cleaning efforts and are considerate enough to spurt their seed into the air. So with the abundance of male, non-fruit-bearing trees lining our boulevards now, we get an overage of spores and pollen and whatever the hell else trees use to breed in the air ...and then we inhale it.

So next time you're wishing you could use a cheese grater to scratch the inside of your head, take a moment to appreciate what you're experiencing: 

Mother Nature just came all over your face. Take it all, baby -- oohhh yeah.

First world complaint: Why bureaucratic processes suck donkey balls.

I am telling you the story of my week, my dear internet elves, so that if any of you are women who think changing your name might be even the least bit romantic... you can now consider yourselves forewarned:

IT SUCKS THE SWEATIEST, HAIRIEST, WRINKLIEST BALLS IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF RUMINANTS.  Side note: I don't know why I gave it up, but now that I have it back, I am keeping my name forever and ever and ever and ever.  The End.

At the bank:

"Um, you didn't change your name on your driver's license?"

"No, I will in a few days.  The bank's closer so that's what I have time for."

"Do you have anything with your new name on it?"

"My divorce papers aren't enough?"

"Uhhh..."

"Here's a triple-A card I never changed."

"Oh good!  But do go get your driver's license changed."

"Yeah, yeah."

At Social Security:

"Uhm, what are you here for?  OH!  That letter was a mistake."

"So I didn't need to come in after all?"

"Uh...  I don't... think so."

"So I just waited an hour and a half to be told it was a goof?"

"Yeah."

Sigh.  "Okay, while I'm here I need to change my name anyway, so..."

"I need to see your paperwork."

"Here's what the courthouse sent me."

"Yeah, no, I need to see the original."

"That's what the courthouse sent me."

"Yeah, yeah -- you have to go to the courthouse and pay them money to give you a certified copy." [draws a big dollar sign on my form with an arrow pointing to the word "Court"]

"Okay, so I can't do anything here today?... Well, I don't really have the time to leave work and come in again, can I just mail in the paperwork next time?"

"No, you want to bring it in.  You REALLY want to bring it in." *meaningful, sinister glance*

At the MVA:

"Uhhhh.... Do you have your divorce decree?"

"Here."

"Hold on." *taps at keyboard*

"You didn't change it with Social Security."

"Not yet, I went the other day, but I still have to get some paperwork."

"You need to change it with Social Security."

"I know, I gotcha.  I will."

"No, you need to change it with Social Security..."

"I said --"

"...'cause that's where we draw our information from.  If your name change isn't in their system I can't give you a corrected license."

"Oh. Okay.  [beat] You open Saturdays?"

"Yep.  Have a nice day."

"Uh-huh."

At the courthouse:

To woman behind Desk A: "I need a certified copy of my divorce paperwork."

"Central Files."

"Huh?"

"Central Files. [mumbles]"

"What?  I'm deaf."

"[mumbles louder]"

"Can you write that down?"

[Sighs, points finger across hall at a sign: "Central Files."  Nods and then waves me off.]

To the guy behind Desk B: "I need a certified copy of my divo--"

"Yeah." [Points at huge sheet full of blanks with numbers and signatures on it.]

"What?  I just want a certified copy of--"

"Write down your case number."

[I write it.]

"You forgot to sign and print your name."

[I write some more. He scans some barcodes with a bleepy bloopy thing and then walks away. Another guy comes to the desk, asks me what I need.  He does the exact same thing, interrupts me and points at the sheet. I say, no, that guy did that already.  He nods and walks away.  I stand alone at the desk for a few minutes.  A woman comes to the desk, tries to help me.  I wave her off.  First guy comes back with a blue folder with my case number on it and holds it out.]

"[indecipherable]"

"What?"

"[indecipherable]"

"Are my copies in here?"

"[Getting impatient but still indecipherable]"

"Can you just write it down, please?"

[He sighs, beckons.  We walk out of the office and through a maze of hallways.  He takes me to a room with a sign that says "Copy Room," sticks the folder in my hands and waves goodbye with a polite-but-not-really smile.]

To guy behind Desk C: "Hi, I'm looking for a certified copy of my divorce papers."

"How many?"

"Huh?"

"How many?"

"Oh!" [I tell him, he nods and turns to a copy machine for a minute.  He does some bleepy bloopy stuff to the folder too and then turns back to me with the copies and the blue folder.]

"Take those to Desk A."

"Again?  I just came from there."

"Yeah, I know.  They're the ones who certify the copies."

"These aren't certified?"

"No, I just xerox them."

"Ah, huh.  Thanks." [I manage to find my way back to Desk A, my shitty sense of direction notwithstanding.]

To the (different) woman behind Desk A: "Hi, I--"

"You want certified copies, right? Gimme. [She reaches for the papers I've been carrying around the whole damn courthouse.  Praying this is the last stop, I hold out my credit card.] We don't take credit. [I hold out some cash.] Okay, 30 minutes."

[35 minutes later, I walk up to the window]: "It'll just be a few more minutes."

[5 more minutes]: "Can you give us a few minutes?"

[10 more minutes]: "Oh, hold on, let me check... [taps at computer].  It's in the system, just a few more minutes."

[10 MORE MINUTES LATER, GODDAMMIT]: "Uh, I don't think it's rea-- OH! Found it.  Have a nice day!"

"You too."

Drawing the line in the virtual sand...

Noticed this interesting little juxtaposition on my profile tonight.

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME ABOUT MY FRIENDS, FACEBOOK?!

 

For the record, I've "liked" neither of them.  But then again, I think the last thing I "liked" was a game.  Which is the same thing, right?

UPDATE: Two days later, I saw this.  Now there's no doubt -- somebody at facebook has a sense of humor. My friends, I am learning SO MUCH about you...

 

When the presence of ovaries trumps "common decency."

In searching for news about the Gabrielle Giffords shooting I came upon a blog posting by Matthew Cooper over at The Atlantic that purported to comment on the cultural significance of the first time a female politician has been violently targeted. He writes:

"And yet the first time we hear about a mother killed in the line of duty or a female POW, it curdles the stomach, not because of paternalism but because it marks a new barrier of decency that's been broken."

Dude. People were shot.  What new barrier?

Cooper is suitably writing from a place of shock and disbelief, so I won't pick on him too much.  But still, there's something kind of twisted going on here... and I'm not talking about the ugly partisan rhetoric being gleefully slung.  ("They're not gunsights -- they're "bullseyes!" People are dead -- Why are we even having this conversation?!)

Perhaps part of what makes this angle newsworthy is that Gabby Giffords is a young, good-looking woman who happens to be married and a mom.  Sociological images has blogged twice in the last few days, first about how those posting initial news reports apparently felt the "married to an astronaut" angle was more of a hook than, you know, the "shooting" angle, and then second about how google doesn't seem to recognize "congresswoman" as a valid search term.

Clearly there's a lot to unpack and digest when it comes to the tragedy in Arizona, much of it more important than the fact that Giffords is a woman, but if our paternalistic framework colors our reception of that news to the point a survivor's female traits make headlines... whoo.  We've got a long way to go, baby.

ASL terps provided at Colbert/Stewart Rally

Planning to keep fear alive with Stephen Colbert on the 30th in DC?

I contacted media liaison Renata Luczak from Comedy Central after not finding any info re: accessibility for deafies like me.  There was mention of accessible seating, but of course the implication of "accessible seating" is that it's for people who need, like, special chairs or something.  And it's my eyes that need access, not my ass.

Happily, Renata responded quite quickly and said not only will ASL terps be provided (just ask an event marshall to be directed to the appropriate area), they got so many requests for information that they ended up adding mention of interpreters to the rally's FAQs section.

First you're hearing of the event?  You need a life.  Go here (or here if you're a Stewart fan) and make your plans.

Does your phone company fund Tea Party candidates?

Got this in my e-mail from Bitch Magazine this week (click here for the entire pdf file, complete with clickable links -- especially the sources for their claims):

It's a tempting offer for Credo, a mobile provider that bills itself as "a proud sponsor of Bitch Media, and supports other progressive causes that work to create social impact. In fact, CREDO Mobile is the largest corporate donor to Planned Parenthood and the only vocally pro-choice phone company."

Furthermore, the offer is beautifully targeted, (complete with contract buyout credits) and effectively deployed. 

For one, Bitch only ever sends me e-mails that are either updates on how their staff and the magazine is doing or fundraising letters (the magazine is nonprofit and passionately subscriber-supported).  And it's more often the former than the latter, so this bait and switch is easy and always sucks me right in. 

Add in the headline about my very own phone company (use T-Mobile, Verizon, AT & T? Read the pdf file I link to above!) supporting politicans I (and a majority of the magazine's readers) happen to think are better off being weeded out of the gene pool, and you've got marketing gold.

I'm wondering, though, how much of a lost cause this political activism at the grassroots level stuff is.  So many of us default, for reasons related to our personal economies or geography and so forth, to being customers of businesses that have carte blanche over their political spending.

Need I remind you of the ruffled feathers some of us got over finding out about Target and Best Buy's donations to candidates who were largely viewed as contrarians to LGBT civil rights?  And Target is to me as heroin is to Courtney Love, circa mid-nineties (Yes. Yes, I AM getting as old as my references, thank you). 

Let's get a little nuanced here for a minute, people... one of my pet peeves is single-issue voters, i.e. those who will choose a candidate solely based on what they tell the press about gender and sex rights.  So if you're reading any endorsement (or lack thereof) here, stop it. Right now.

Any hoo, if you're like me, you think this political stuff is a lot to keep track of.  More so when you connect it to understanding where your money goes.

So this Bitch e-mail?  Good move. Veddy good move.