All posts by Ouyang Dan

About Ouyang Dan

is an extremely proggy-liberal, formerly single mommy, Native American, invisibly disabled, U.S. Navy Veteran, social justice activist and aspiring freelance writer currently living in South Korea on Uncle Sam's dime. She has a super human tolerance for caffeine and chocolate and believes she should use those powers for good. She said should. She is not a concise person, and sometimes comes on a little aggressively in comments. Sometimes her right arm still twitches when military brass walks past her, but she would rather be reading YA Lit or pwning n00bs. She can be found being cliche about music, overthinking pop culture, and grumbling about whatever else suits her fancy at her personal website, random babble.... She also writes about military issues for Change.org's Women's Rights blog. If you have something interesting to say email her at ouyangdan [at] disabledfeminists [dot] com. Lawyers in Italy looking to hold lottery winnings in her bank account may wait longer for reply.

The One Damned Sock…

happy posts, small stories, ,

May 1st was Blogging Against Disablism Day, and I have in my drafts at all three blogs to which I contribute regularly a post started where I had intended to write something for the day. I had my work writing caught up, so it was all I had left, really. Then something unexpected happened.

I had a really good day that day.

Like, a low pain, high energy day. The kind where I woke up and the first thought in my mind was not “oh, damn, my neck should not be moving right now”. The kind where I was able to sit up right away, get dressed, make the bed, and not even think about much else other than what I wanted to do. I didn’t have to stretch or cry or shake The Guy awake for a pain pill. I felt… good.

I got up before anyone else, and went straight to the kitchen, and turned on the stove, and got out all of the ingredients to make my famous on two continents and a Pacific Island brownies, which I had been wanting to do, but hadn’t really felt up to in quite some time. I have managed to do the things I have needed to do, mostly with great pain, and some of the things I have wanted, with guaranteed pain. Often “things I have wanted” meant that I had to plan on some quality time with my sofa, or even my bed the day after because of the massive overdraw of spoons. But on this day, this particular day, I got up and made brownies, before anything else (OK, I lied, I went to the bathroom and such things). I made brownies, and when Kid woke up she arrived just in time for me to have finished the double boiler melting portion and she got to help, and it was a joyous experience that we seldom get to share.

Then, as the brownies were baking I made Kid’s favorite breakfast; Spam, eggs, and rice. We ate to the wonderful smell of chocolate baking in my DeMarle muffin cups, which I managed to rig in my Korean oven, all while correctly guessing the temperature (our oven doesn’t have numbers on the dial for whatever reason and we have yet to find an oven thermometer) and to the sound of my new Kelly Clarkson CD mixed with my pop/rock mix on the iPod dock in the kitchen. Everything was perfect by the time we cleaned up. We had cupcake-shaped brownies for later, a clean kitchen, and I still had energy… all before 1000 (that’s 10 AM for you non-military folk).

So, since laundry is my nemesis and I was feeling spunky, I rounded up all the white clothes to be done and tossed them in our Korean combo. We packed up all of the things we needed for the baseball game for that afternoon ahead of time so we wouldn’t be rushed later. I washed and packed our new sun tea-pot and the tea we intended to brew (Ginger Snappish, you can’t find that when it isn’t the holidays, but thankfully my Guy picked up a ton of it at the after X-mas fiasco sales) and snacks. We had Kid pack her after game bag for her over night play date (you mean, a grown up night alone!?! Perish the thought!). Everything went so smoothly. Showers, dressing, all without near-passing out in the shower simply trying to wash up. I didn’t have to sit down for a rest after my shower before dressing and managing my hair. Everyone was ready to go, and I checked on the laundry before we left: one hour to go and we could hang it when we got home.

The baseball game was so much fun, as I have decided Coach Pitch games are. If you haven’t had the pleasure you should swing by one and check it out. NO ONE KEEPS SCORE! It is one of those rare things that fills you with such glee (the lighthearted joyeux feeling kind, not the rage-inducing trainwreck of a U.S. Telly show kind). There is something about the event that is kids sliding into home plate when no one is even in the vicinity of the catcher with a ball. We bantered with our new friends while our kids picked flowers in the outfield (“Hey! The ball is coming right at you, Center Field!”) and our tea brewed in the sun. A good friend I have made here wandered over and we had a genuinely great time watching 6-8 year olds slide into home plate while perfectly safe.

The Guy and I had a quiet evening and went up to the mall to catch a movie, and after eating at our favorite Ramen place (because my new throat thing has left me Not Allowed to have spicy food, so budae jjigae, which is our usual grown up night dinner, was right out. WOES!). We wandered through the book store and I got a lovely key chain for 3,000 won that is shaped like a shooting star and a pencil case for my purse, and a few bobs and bits for crafting. We went to the theater at iPark to see what was playing, and saw that Iron Man 2 was here, but decided that we just can’t see it w/o Kid, so we decided to have some Red Mango and go home.

We got a cab easily, which is a surprise, got home and put on some comfy clothes. I read my new Star Wars book and laid my head in The Guy’s lap while he rode a Chocobo around for some post-game Final Fantasy XIII fun. Then, before long we just went to bed. Because it was the end of the day and we were sleepy. Not because I was exhausted or because I was in so much pain after having been out for the day that I was pleading for a pain-killer and sleep to get through it. Just…because.

The next morning we decided to treat ourselves to Early Bird Brunch at the Dragon Hill Lodge (where, as it turns out, The Kid was brunching with her school mate and her family, but we played like we were some big movie stars hiding in the corner, which was both funny and ineffectual). With the hour and a half we had before we had to pick Kid up we hopped a cab toward Dongdaemun to do some quick errands. I got a new mug with a smiling waffle on it, which makes me so happy I could *squee*. A smiling waffle! On my coffee mug! I love Korea!

Kid and her Friend and Friend’s Brother were playing baseball at the playground when we picked her up. We loaded her stuff up, brought her home for a short nap before we did our Sunday chores (like we have regular chores on Sunday! HA!). When Kid was rested from her night of fun, she helped me hang all of that laundry. Getting all of the white clothes done is a special accomplishment for me because I hate washing and folding socks. Like, loathe with the passion of ten thousand suns hate. I remember my mother saving entire baskets of socks for me to mate and fold, and to this day I detest the chore. They were all done and I was so happy. Yay me and my body that let me get something done.

And that is when I found it. Stuck under the shelf in our laundry area. One sock. One damned sock, smudged with baseball dirt from the field from last week’s game I am sure or maybe practice, but there it was. All of the white clothes hung on the line clean, and there I was with one dirty sock.

That might also be the time I realized that I had missed finishing any post about BADD. I honestly felt like crap about both. In truth, though, I think that when we live with disabilities we seldom remember that living those good days — if we are privileged enough to have them — is our own way of speaking out against ablesism/disablism in small but powerful ways. We are allowed to live, and to not make every moment about our disability if we are able. Because we are more than the sum of our abilities or disabilities. We are also people. We have lives and families and friends events that mean things to us. There are things that happen every day that keep us, sometimes, from that drafts folder. Occasionally life happens and we are allowed to hold on to it.

This is not to downplay the activism that is writing and blogging because these things are essential in my life. They keep me whole as a person and fill wounds that are gaping for me, emotionally, especially when there are so many that doctors can’t fill for me physically. It has given me a network of people who I can’t believe I ever did without. But I am going to say that I will not flog myself for missing this one event this one day, or rather, getting this done a few days late.

That one damned sock got away from me on Saturday, and I am going to wash it eventually, but it will have to wait until I am ready. I certainly didn’t plan for my disability to take over my life, and I don’t get to plan my good days. I just take them when I get them.

Originally posted at random babble… on o3 May 2010

When Accommodations Conflict (Continued)

accessibility, bodies, feminism, introspective, , , , , , ,

Reflecting on the extremely thought provoking post by abbyjean earlier, I was walking to breakfast with The Guy (caution, try not to walk while lost in thought, OYD) on a day when I was low on sleep, high on pain, and therefore using my cane. (edit: I just saw my typo! I had a funny visual of me trying to balance on a can! HA!)

Conflicting accommodations do not always mean that the conflict will occur between separate PWDs. For example, on a high pain day, I am in desperate need on my cane due to the intense pain in my hip and legs in general (though, which leg I want to use if for is debatable, even though I favor one hip). When I am that fatigued, however, using the cane is an intense use of my spoons, to the point where if I have too much to do I can’t even bother because it just winds up with me on a chair or bench in tears. Or the cane causes additional pain in my back or shoulders.

There are others that come to mind. My medication provides me with more pain free days, which is a good thing. This is an active choice I made with the advice of my doctor whom I was lucky enough to find at this duty station. The flip of that coin is that I have side effects which means that I can not always drive places, or have the energy (HA!) that I want to do things with my family, to name a few. This might not sound like a huge accommodation, but it makes a great impact on my family life, people who play a huge role in my care.

I know that some people use caffeine to both relieve some pain and migraine effects (I sometimes do) but that this has the crash effect at the end of the day (for me it means my spoons run out faster).

So, gentle readers, what accommodations do you have/use that conflict…uhh…internally? What individual needs to you have that you have to weigh daily?

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief — The Special Thing About You

books, media and pop culture, movies, , , ,

Percy Jackson, a pale young man in a grey t-shirt and jacket holds a lightening bolt in his hands in a New York City Background.Every now and then a movie comes out and I get super excited about it because it sparks something form my childhood or youth that I love.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians did that. I loved Greek mythology in High School (even if I went a little cross-eyed reading The Odyssey and The Illiad). Hollywood is trying to make mythology cool again, and I was stoked about that.

I so wanted to see this movie…and because I think I live under a rock sometimes, I hadn’t heard it was a book series *scribbles a wish list*.

And then we went to the theater.

***Spoilers Ahead. Turn Back Now!***

Last Chance to Avoid Spoilers! Continue reading Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief — The Special Thing About You →

An OYD Airline Rant

accessibility, feminism, justice, oyd rants, policy, , , , , , , , , , ,

I won’t apologize for her actions and I’m not sorry for what happened to you. It’s not in our contract to assist passengers with their luggage and we reserve the right to refuse assistance to anyone. If that’s what you need, then perhaps in the future, you should make other travel arrangements.

Well, to say the least, that is not the kind of response I expect to get from a customer service representative; not the Entry Level Line Memorizing Oh Dammit Did You Really Ask For A Supervisor people, and I certainly don’t expect it from a supervisor. Were I to get such a resonse I would certainly suspect that something slightly sinister was going on here at said establishment where I was complaining. After all, if I am speaking to a Customer Service Supervisor, things have reached a fairly epic proportion of shit deep inconvenience, because I pretty much go out of my anxiety issue way to avoid having conversations with people I don’t know in person (let alone on the phone). Because I have to weigh the cost of spoons spent on holding myself together long enough to get out the details of what happened, as I did recently with my complaint to Patient Admin about Nurse Midwife V, versus the benefit of getting shit cleared up so it doesn’t happen again to other people who may follow after me and patronize a company, needing services, like in this case, travel.

But here, this is exactly the case. Here, evilpuppy from Incoherent Ramblings From a Coffee Addict, who, expending great energy, spoons, and emotional well being tried to file a complaint on the completely despicable treatment doled out by the staff at United Airlines, and received this condescending and otherwise completely, well, jack-assed and ignorant response from someone who should have a working knowledge of how an employee on an airplane should treat a person with a disability. Not in an email response or even in a letter form; this response was delivered face to face. All of this after she already went to the trouble of pre-arranging accommodations for a wheelchair and made sure to note with the ticket agents — multiple times — that she would need assistance on the plane.

Just a small dose of what evilpuppy endured:

The wheelchair left me off at the door and after making sure I had all of my belongings, he turned around and left. I boarded the plane and made my way back to my aisle seat where I set down my special seat cushion and lumbar brace before looking around for a flight attendant to help me put my luggage in the overhead compartment. The attendant standing in the front section of economy was a blonde woman probably in her late 40s-50s and I called her over to explain that I needed her assistance because I wasn’t capable of lifting my luggage due to my disability. To my surprise, the attendant rejected my request while excusing it by saying: “If I helped everyone do that all day then MY back would be killing me by the end of the day!” I asked her how I was supposed to get my luggage stowed and her answer was: “You’ll just have to wait for someone from your row to come back here and ask them to give you a hand.” When I asked what would happen if no one would, her response to me was: “Well, normally a passenger is around to overhear something like this and they’ll offer to help with it on their own. You’ll just have to ask someone when they get back here.” Then she turned back around and went up to the front seats where she waited to “assist” other passengers.

I was completely flabbergasted, but with no other option, I sat down to wait and pulled my carry-on suitcase as close as I could to try to get it out of the way of the aisle. As I’m sure you’re aware, however, your aisles are considerably narrow and even my best efforts left half of even my small carry-on suitcase in the aisle. What’s more, rather than help me, most of the passengers simply knocked into my suitcase and shoved past me on the way to their own seats. Every time they hit the suitcase, it in turn hit me and jarred my back more and more with each strike. The plane wasn’t even half boarded and it already felt like the pain medication I’d taken less than a half hour prior to entering the airport had worn off as though I hadn’t taken it at all.

Now, I have endured some pretty meh-hessed treatment at the hands of customer service personnel. I have seen other people treated pretty horribly. I have had my disability status questioned, rejected, laughed off. I have had it compared to the fatigue of being a stay at home mother of two children (I am not downplaying the work of SAHMs, having once been one myself, but these are apples and well NOT APPLES!), and of course DIET AND EXERCISE! but never have I had someone so flatly refuse to acknowledge that 1) their co-worker/staff/employee so royally screwed up and 2) that their co-worker/staff/employee’s royal screw up really fucked my world up and over in a way that might just have rendered my next few days useless, since that might mean that I will then be spending the next two or three or more days in bed or on a couch with my feet up trying to recover from the aforementioned loss of spoons and emotional well being.

To put it concisely: Wow. That is messed up.

Not to mention, I am not sure I have ever patronized any business where it was standard procedure for other paying customers to assist a person in lieu of the paid employees who are standing around. It just seems lately that airlines are giving me more and more reasons to not give them more money than I can afford to basically be treated like crap.

I have never been told that it wasn’t the job of the person whose actual job it was to help me.

OOPS! UNITED STEWARDESSES! ITS LIKE TOTES YOUR JOB!

Once passengers are onboard the aircraft, our flight attendants can help with stowing and retrieving carry-on items, as well as providing wheelchair assistance to move passengers to and from the aircraft lavatory (although they cannot provide assistance inside the lavatory). Flight attendants may also provide assistance with taking oral medication, identifying food items on meal trays and opening packages.

Is there a single airline that isn’t treating humans like chattel these days? That isn’t outright pissing me off for one reason or another (well, Korean Air hasn’t yet, but I haven’t flown International since the Christmas debacle). I am beginning to think I will need to take a boat to get home the next time. And Space A military flights are a privilege I am willing flex more and more if I have the time and pain medication available. It might be worth it to not be herded on and off a plane like cattle, denied bathroom and water privileges for hours on end (which can be living hell to a PWD).

Oh, and also:

Then the flight is delayed. We sit on the runway for some time, and because of the new federal law requiring that airlines not keep people on the tarmac for more than 3 hours, they let us off for about 5 minutes before insisting we all get back on because we are leaving right now. We do not leave right now, or for several more hours. They let us off the plane again. Shortly thereafter, they insist that we all get back on the plane because we are leaving right now. We do not leave right now.

At some point after the second or third round of boarding and being told to sit down because we are leaving right now, a man towards the back of the plane stands up to get himself a cup of water. For context, this flight is (or was supposed to be) a 7:40 a.m. flight from Atlanta to New York, landing around 9 a.m. It is full of (mostly white) business people in suits. This man is brown, and appears to be South Asian. A flight attendant at the front of the plane, near where I’m sitting, sees him stand up and panics. She throws open the airplane door and starts yelling at him that he isn’t allowed to stand up, and that he needs to exit the plane immediately. The man is confused, and says, “What? I was only standing up to get a cup of water.” She yells out, “I don’t care, you’re off the flight! Get your things, you’re off the flight!” Water Man starts arguing with her about how he just wanted a glass of water, and he is happy to sit down now, but he’s not getting off the flight. The flight attendant says that she feels threatened and gets a supervisor, who in turn gets airport security, who in turn tell the man that he is going to be arrested and charged with a felony if he does not exit the aircraft. The man, probably smartly, exits the aircraft.

Like Jill passes over in her rant here, with all the hype of racial profiling being trendy, if you assert your right to a simple thing like a drink of fucking water while daring to be brown you can be thrown off of a flight.

Thankfully The Consumerist has picked up on this (although “who says she’s disabled”? Could we pour more salt on this?). I am not entirely sure how much good this does things like this, except that I give them all kinds of link love on Facebook when I find something relevant, so maybe this went viral? I would however, like to point out that the comments at The Consumerist are some of the worst disability blaming shite I have seen in a while (and it shows how safe my social justice bubble is). It seems that we, the PWDs, should not dare to carry on a bag if we a) need a wheelchair to get on a plane b) can’t lift it ourselves and c) have the audacity to want to be treated JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE ON A PLANE. Also, don’t forget, if you take pain medication, and/or dare to have a drink on the plane to settle your anxiety you are not to be believed when you make claims as to the crappy ass treatment you received. Nope.

Because there is no way in the entirety of the multiverse that you would ever remember something as abusive or as hurtful or as downright dehumanizing as what Dina the Customer Service Supervisor at SFO said to you, for the rest of your life, or how it made you feel at that moment in dog damned time. Evah.

PWDs are not human. We are not people who should be existing in the same world with those good, hard working, abled-bodied people who can do everything themselves. To hell with us, for not being able to lift our bags! Forget that we just maybe had to scrape together all the money we had to afford the damned flight in the first place so that extra twenty five dollars is NO BIG DEAL JUST CHECK YOUR DAMNED BAG YOU LAZY STONED JERKS!

Silly me for expecting human treatment for all humans.

Via commenter Livre at The Consumerist, United is apparently attempting to contact (or has, I am looking into it) in true “Oh Snap Kevin Smith Has One Million Twitter Followers DOOOOOO SOOOOOMETHING” fashion to try and do damage control sort this out.

Sort this out? That would be something, now, wouldn’t it?

h/t to my friend Kate on Facebook

Quick Press — Professional Sports and “Disabled Lists”

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Many professional athletic teams in the U.S. and Canada (for Hockey and Baseball, but I do not know of other sports, or of other countries’ sports’ teams) have what are known as “Disabled Lists“. Major League Baseball calls it this specifically, where a player who is temporarily injured and can not play for whatever reason is placed on this list.

The National Hockey League and the National Football League have what are called “Injured Reserved Lists“, but these are basically the same thing.

These lists are made public, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is for fantasy leagues and gamblers so that they are always on top of who is in and who is out of the game.

How does this poke you, gentle readers? Does this feel like an appropriation of language by people who make their living off of able bodies who stretch them to extremes?

Does this fall under the “temporarily abled” thought train that some of us use when talking about how our bodies will eventually break down, knowing that professional athletes will often succumb to serious injury at younger ages than expected by society due to the constant beating they take?

I leave it to you, now to discuss.

The Importance of Being Bellatrix Lestrange

books, media and pop culture, mental health, representations, social attitudes, , , , , , , , , , ,

Bellatrix Lestrange, as portrayed by Helena Bonham Carter, a pale woman with a mop of dark, thick curly hair lightly tinged with strands of grey, smirking devilishly in a black dress with white embroidery, pointing her wand at her own face.It is odd the way that The Guy and I have these conversations…or maybe it is a sign that we watch our Harry Potter movies too much, but one night while viewing HPatHBP for appoximately the nonillionth time I turned to him during the Unbreakable Vow scene at Spinner’s End, and began the following thought train (all quotes should be presumed to be “air quotes”):

Me: You know, all of Snape and Dumbledore’s plans would have been shot if anyone at all would have listened to Bellatrix.

The Guy: No kidding! She never trusted Snape. Look at how she taunts him!

Me: It’s because everyone dismisses her as just being “insane”, you know.

The Guy: Because she was in Azkaban, you know, and it has “driven her mad”, so she obviously doesn’t know what she is talking about.

Me: Obviously.

See, I am not in anyway advocating for Team Voldemort or something. There is a great discussion on racism that can be had about the antics of the Death Eaters (and the dynamics of having that point made from a primarily White PoV) in another post, but more interestingly to me right now in this particular post is that Bellatrix was completely right in her mistrust of Severus Snape and his position beside Lord Voldemort. Her feelings go much deeper than mere jealousy (but why shouldn’t she be jealous, since she alone stood proudly, unafraid of the consequences of supporting Voldemort when others did not?) to a practical mistrust of someone who seemed to benefit all to much from a convenient and literal get out of jail free card.

We know that Bellatrix was described as having a personality that bordered on displaying psychopathic tendencies* (from a lay perspective), in that she showed little to no conscience. We know that her cold and callousness was often played up if for no other reason than to reinforce that Bellatrix was someone who was a little unbalanced. Her pride in being a “pure blood” was over the top to a “normal” person, and we are to presume that no rational person would behave the way that she would. So, no rational person would honestly believe that anyone would dare betray the Dark Lord. She goads people with baby talk and laughs at inappropriate times which all adds to the image of the mentally unstable woman who just can’t be taken seriously, but is tolerated for whatever reasons (in Bellatrix’ case, it is more than likely her undeniable talent and power. Even Death Eaters can’t look that gift horse in the mouth, mental illness or no!).

I am not a doctor, nor anyone qualified to make medical opinions about the fictional personality of Bellatrix Lestrange, but I do know that often in real life people who have mental illness, to any degree, are in fact taken less seriously than those who do not. They are dismissed in everyday goings on, dismissed when it comes to their own medical care, told they shouldn’t have children, told they are not suitable parents if they do already, and when they leave the room you had best believe that people snicker that “poor crazy Bellatrix is raving again”… The importance of Bellatrix Lestrange is that she represents real people…real women who exist — whether intentional on the part of J.K. Rowling or no — who have valid concerns in the world, and who can not get their voices heard because their mental illness (or any disability) creates a barrier between what they say and what others are willing to hear.

So J.K. was free to write this character, whose madness and temper were often mirrored in her own cousin, Sirius Black (interesting, no?), who could go on and on at will about Severus and how he was not to be trusted, how he was really going to betray the Dark Lord. Severus was able to rest easy through her rantings, knowing full well that no one was going to believe her, that his triple agent status was going to remain unscathed, because, after all, who would ever believe a crazy person, right? Voldemort might have been better served had someone actually listened to her.

But no one did.

Interesting, that.

I mean, I guess it is a good thing, both for Harry himself, and for the sales of books five through seven or so and the corresponding movies, since the story might have stopped cold had any of that happened. Something to consider, I suppose.

Oh, how I do love discussing Harry Potter.

*These descriptions I take mostly from the Harry Potter wiki.

Photo: The Harry Potter wiki

Cross Posted at random babble…

For Cereal, Time?

For Cereal?, language, medical practice, oyd rants, shaming, social attitudes, , , , , , , , , ,

I was perusing the internets doing some research for work when I came across this lovely list from Time.

Seems some orthopedic surgeon is now the ultimate authority on all things medical…in every iteration thereof. Doesn’t matter what specialty or what your history. Dr. Scott Haig is now the expert, so stop what you are doing, right now. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, and certainly do not trust whatever you have worked out in your personal health care, and just do what Our Dear Dr. Scott says.

Of particular interest to me is that the Great Dr. Scott says that narcotic pain medication “never” works for chronic pain. Ever. You should never use it unless your pain is acute, and if you are using it for such, you should stop, now. Forget your medical history, or whatever other methods you have tried or that have failed you:

The drugs are relatively easy to get and tempting to take, but you should never use them for chronic pain. Narcotics addiction is insidious. The drugs change who you are, and over time they make any and every pain worse.

This tidbit makes me want to say something to Our Dr. Scott…something that starts with an “F” and rhymes with “uck You”. Because Dr. Scott does not know my pain, or what I have been through trying to manage it, or how for the first time since all of this started I am living a semblance of a life that doesn’t leave me feeling worthless.*

I have some other very interesting and loud thoughts on Our Dr. Scott’s advice on “Exercising an Injury”, “Overplayed Allergies”, and “Google Abuse”, but I will let you all have at it now. I am going to go chronically abuse some narcotics.

/sarcasm.

*As in, each person has to decide what they can live with, want to live with, are willing to live with in terms of their medical care, and base their decisions on that personal choice insofar as it is in their control to be a part of that choice. It is part of my privilege to be able to do so and to say “I want to be able to do these things, and these side effects are worth it”. It is not that way for everyone, and I want to acknowledge that.

For Cereal, Stars and Stripes? Mocking “Paranoia” is Headline-Worthy?

activism, class issues, disability activism, For Cereal?, military, shaming, social attitudes, , , , , , ,

OK, so I saw this one in my paper edition because I get it the night before (and technically a day late, since I am in the future!), but you can find it online too.

In the 16 March edition of Stars and Stripes writer Jeff Schogol wrote an article containing letters from people who sent letters to the Defense Department website. He calls the letters he said the DoD provided to him “the more bizarre feedback it gets” and notes that “[t]he authors’ names were withheld, but all spelling, grammar and paranoia are authentic“. (emphasis mine)

The article, titled “Airborne bears to catch bin Laden and other letters to the Pentagon” seems little more than a great way to laugh at people for myriad reasons. Let’s poke fun at their lack of intelligence! See how they can’t construct proper sentences? Those silly people without proper educations and who aren’t newspaper columnists or Pentagon officials! Ha ha! That’s so funny!

There were several letters published by Jeff Schogol in his article that I don’t feel comfortable publishing here, because I don’t feel that it is proper to display these letters that were meant to be private correspondence and won’t further his ableism. I don’t want to further hurt a person who might already be pained by finding hir something they never meant to have public spattered all over the internet and a military wide newspaper. They were not meant for this type of dissemination, and I think it was vile of whichever Pentagon employee thought it was appropriate to release them to a newspaper. I also don’t feel that it is in good taste to print a letter in a newspaper with the intention of laughing at the “crazy” person, as it is clear here that is what is meant. We are supposed to have a good chuckle at the supposed ludicrous ideas that are put forth by the letter writers. Schogol obviously feels that it is OK to call people paranoid and make light of mental illness and disability. Har har.

I am going to invite you to write to Jeff Schogol at Stars and Stripes and let him know that you don’t think it was a great idea to run this article, or that it was in good taste to reprint these letters. Or if you feel inspired, maybe you would like to use the same venue as the original letter writers who thought that they were writing private correspondence to the DoD, and let them know just how unprofessional it was to release those emails to a newspaper for a chuckle.

Quick Hit — 4D Plexes

accessibility, media and pop culture, , , , ,

Movie poster from the Korean realease of Avatar, showing a white man on the left and his blue faced Avatar on the right, with fantasy creatures imposed in the bottom foreground. Bottom has Korean writing for title "Avatar".Our local theater in South Korea has one of the first and only 4D Plexes in the world (and it is currently showing Avatar, so I could possibly be entertained and annoyed and over-stimulated all at once! Whee!).

“The way the company finally cornered that elusive fourth dimension is by engaging all five senses: moving seats, wind, water sprinkling, lasers, and synthetic smells are all used in time with the movie.”

What are your thoughts/feelings on this so-called break through in the movie going experience? Does the thought of a moving seat and being accosted with sprinkling water and scent sound like an enhanced movie experience for you? Does it seem like it would just provide another barrier to your enjoyment?

Personally I picture myself using my popcorn bucket for something other than its intended purpose…

Have at it in comments.

A Conversation With a Pharmacist

accessibility, justice, medical practice, military, social attitudes, , , , , , , , , , ,

[Scene opens with a loooooooong wait in the pharmacy before my number finally “pings” on the digital number-pinging thingy, as I struggle out of my chair, and hobble up to the pharmacist’s window, and hook my cane on the window ledge for emphasis as I hand over my ID and number slip, wincing in the fluorescent lighting on the other side.]

Army Medic Pharmacist: One moment.

Me: No problem, Specialist. (I am well aware that two of my three expected prescriptions require me to wait as they are counted, twice, some other fun stuff, though I no longer have to run around to get them, and have to be signed for, so I amuse myself by reading the literature he hasn’t bothered to hand me yet.)

[AMP returns with the Civilian Pharmacist]

Civilian Pharmacist: You have taken pregabalin with topamax before?

Me: Yes.

CP: What about this antacid?

Me: No. But I assume it is the same as my previous one.

CP: Yes.

[I sign for one med. CP hands me two bottles.]

Me: There should be a third script.

CP: No, only the two.

Me: There should have been a vicodin script as well.

[CP raises her eyebrows at me]

CP: You are on pregabalin.

Me: Yes.

CP: That is a time released pain medication.

Me: Yes ma’am.

CP: You don’t need vicodin with a time released pain medication.

Me: With all due respect, ma’am, I usually have both.

CP: Well, there isn’t a script for it, and I don’t think you need it.

Me: Well, ma’am, there should have been one, and I am going to ask you to call my provider about it.

[Staring contest ensues between Me and CP. I win. CP picks up phone and asks AMP for Dr. Awesome’s number. I can hear Dr. Awesome on the other end apologizing for forgetting the script, that the computer wasn’t working right when I was in her office, which it wasn’t, and that she forgot to put it in before leaving the office, and would put it in the next day she was in.]

CP: Dr. [Awesome] apologizes for your inconvenience. You can pick up the script on Monday.

Fin.