Jazz, Blues 'N' Other Stuff

On the "Ground Zero Mosque"

2010-08-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

The controversy surrounding the "Ground Zero Mosque" has nothing to do with "preserving the sanctity of the site," as some critics state. If it does, why not tear down the strip clubs, sex shops, liquor stores, bars and even the other mosque that sit just as close--if not closer--to "Ground Zero"?

Perhaps the reason behind the dispute is people's fear and hatred of Muslims. Yes, radical Islamics were responsible for 9/11. But not all Muslims were involved or support terrorism. Every religion, Christianity included, has fanatics and followers who would do anything for their God, be that Allah, Jesus or Buddah. Further, President Obama was correct to get involved. If this is only a zoning issue, then it is indeed just local and Obama should have kept his mouth shut. But what happened on September 11, 2001 was anything BUT local.

"Close-minded" is defined as being "stubbornly unreceptive to new ideas." In a poll, most people came out against building a Mosque two blocks from "Ground Zero." This suggests that they are either woefully uninformed, underinformed, misinformed or close-minded.

Dutiful Accommodation

2010-07-26T16:37:00.000-07:00

I ran across an article about "Disability Equality Duty," Great Britain's version of the "Americans with Disabilities Act." Sounds good, but I am troubled about equal-access being seen as just a duty. It's also a right and responsibility, like voting. However, while punishment for non-compliance with Disability Equality Duty" is unclear, the word "duty" can imply something that business or individuals have do--or face consequences. No court-induced penalty exists for not voting, but a person has a duty (and responsibility) to pay income taxes or a fine, or register with the Selective Service or go to jail. In addition, resentment may result if duty is seen as being forced.

Public accommodations need to be accessible to everyone. Equal-access is a duty, the sense of which should arise from wanting to do what is right, just and fair--not fear of a lawsuit.

Happy Birthday, ADA

2010-07-26T12:08:00.000-07:00

Today marks the 20th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act. As I've stated, we have made good progress from an architectural standpoint. But much work needs to be done in terms of attitudes. Pity, condescension and even anger toward those of us who have disabilities continue. The stigmata of helplessness and the assumption that we just want to be "cured" or "healed" still attach to disability. A former co-worker once told me, "We all know that, if you could change your situation, you would."

Some business-owners will not make any modifications until forced. I recall visiting an apartment where a couple of steps led inside. The manager unabashedly told my mother and me that he would not make accommodations unless sued. Rather than go to the expense, I decided to look elsewhere for a place to live. I had already been through the court system, anyway, having brought a lawsuit against a local cab company for not picking me up a few times because I use a wheelchair. Some drivers are not shy about informing me that others will pass by wheelchair-users because "it's too much trouble." In the end, I lost the case. Speaking to the foreman afterward, I learned that I would have won had the circumstances been a little "more serious."

I also started thinking about various euphemisms others have come up with in order to quash negative connotations of "disability" or perhaps cope with the fact that they are just a wreck, bullet or fall away from having one. ("I'll never get one of those! It'll just be a flesh wound! A mere challenge! En garde, world!) Thankfully, most of these terms have gone by the wayside: "wheelchair person/case," "handicapable, "differently-abled," "physically-challenged," etc. But one still persists, to my chagrin: "people with special needs." This term (and the others) leads to an "us-and-them" mind-set. Besides, we all have the same basic needs: food, water, clothing, shelter and love. Beyond that, aren't everyone's needs just different?

No matter how many buildings, vehicles or curbs people with disabilities can successfully negotiate, we will never achieve anything more than second-class citizenship until society changes its way of thinking.

Day At A Time 5

2010-07-22T00:11:00.000-07:00

I earned a 4.0 in the spring semester to go with my 4.0 made last fall. But I withdrew from Document Processing because, after all the work I put in documenting my disability and getting a letter from Disability Services to my instructor explaining the need for an accommodation (Dragon Naturally Speaking) due to my slow typing speed, she never installed the program. I didn't need the class, though. I took it only to boost my speed to the forty words per-minute required for Intro to Word Processing/Microsoft Word, mandatory for my degree. On the first day, however, the teacher emphasized that Document Processing is not designed for speed-building.

So rather than confronting her (which I shouldn't have had to do after presenting the letter) or allowing more time (a month had already passed) and running the risk of forgetting the drop date, I got rid of the problem. Unfortunately, I have to secure another letter in the fall when I take Intro to WP/MW and hope that instructor and is more on the ball.

I could have taken whatever grade I recieved without the accommodation. But speed was forty percent of it. I would have earned no higher than a "C" and ruined my perfect academic record. If I get a low grade because of something under my control, such as poor posture or study habits, I can deal with that. But my speed is, by and large, something I cannot do anything about and will not accept such a thing factoring into my evaluation.

Happiness Is...

2010-07-21T14:43:00.000-07:00

I have always wondered what it means to be genuinely happy. How and where can happiness be found? Is it even something a person can find? Is one just innately happy (or unhappy)? How can I be happy? Will I ever be happy? Am I already happy?

A couple of weeks ago, while browsing the internet, I came across this quote by the late Charles Schultz: "Happiness is anyone and anything at all that's loved by you."

Click!

In that spirit, here are some people and things loved by me:

My family and church group, and staff members of my haunts; listening to good music; writing; hugs; holding hands; playing bridge; completing crossword puzzles; reading aloud prayers and/or Bible passages in my church; making a positive difference in the world or lives of others; enjoying a cold beer, bourbon and Coke, Cape Cod or coffee with Jameson and Bailey's Irish Cream, presented to me in grand style by one of my preferred servers or bartenders; watching my regular television shows; munching on a hot dog garnished with chili and cheese from the downtown vendor; being accepted and loved for who and what I am; beautiful women; equal-rights for everybody; knowing that my favorite sports teams won; learning new information and skills; eating Chinese take-out; a clean apartment; reading daily and Sunday comic strips; setting and reaching goals; being remembered favorably; looking, feeling and smelling my best; peace and quiet

So Near, And Yet So Far (Parte Deux)

2010-07-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

As I was lounging in one of my downtown haunts, a bouncer approaches and motions for me to follow him. "Hey," he says, "I got a treat for ya!" He then leads me up a ramp to a newly-renovated part of the bar. "This is your access!" he proclaims, with excitement and pride.

O-kaaay. Aside from this conversation making it sound like I'm either a dog ("Does he get a treat? Yes, he does! Is he a good boy? YES, HE IS!") or a three-year old child ("Look, Mommy! This nice man gave me a tweet!"), when did equality become a "treat" for those being accommodated?

I'm happy that most business-owners are following the law, but big fucking deal. They aren't doing me any favors.

So Near, And Yet So Far...

2010-07-04T20:55:00.000-07:00

I overheard a conversation between my mother and an elderly, long-time family friend that illustrates just how far wheelchair-users have to go if we are ever to obtain a level playing-field. Thanks to the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1990, there have been important strides in physical access. But attitudes are still lacking. Those can't be legislated.

Mom was showing this woman around my apartment. The lady looks at my mother and asks: "How does he manage when things drop on the floor?" Mother politely answered, "He bends over and picks them up." I was tempted to barge in from the next room and, following a maxim learned in grad school ("Don't tell me, show me"), demonstrate.

Ringmaster: "And now, ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages, Wheelz will perform his next feat of derring-do! Watch carefully as he...picks something up off the floor!"

A nervous hush, so thick you could cut it with a knife, envelops the crowd.

"Hold your applause until he accomplishes his task...or dies from exhaustion, whichever comes first. At least he tried."

"Drum roll, please..."

"Ta-da!"

The audience lets out a collective gasp, followed by the aforementioned hand-clapping.

Me: "Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week!"

Somebody call "America's Got Talent."

Without Music, Life Would Be An Error

2010-06-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

Friedrich Nietzsche is right.

Music has always played an integral role in my life. Growing up, I took violin lessons. As an adult, I dabbled in the piano and acoustic guitar. I possess an extensive music collection, in styles ranging from rock, blues and modern country to folk and jazz. Some of my favorite musicians include Led Zeppelin, Buddy Guy, Gram Parsons, Eva Cassidy and Miles Davis. I also love to attend concerts. Some of the artists I have seen are Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne, The Who, Eric Clapton, The Rolling Stones and Aerosmith, in addition to several local and regional acts at downtown venues in the city where I live.

Music is my solace, catharsis, mistress and muse. I recall times, as a teenager, retreating to my bedroom, donning headphones, cranking the stereo, closing my eyes and drifting away; or as a young adult in the local arenas and clubs, pretending to be the center of attention, wielding the microphone, guitar or piano. I still visit that fantasy from time to time.

Music has enriched my life with adventures and dreams. Any life not lived to the fullest--and without journeys real and imagined--would be a mistake, indeed.

Day At A Time 4

2010-06-15T19:59:00.000-07:00

Anxiety surrounds me these days. I'm anxious to get back to school in the fall. I will take Legal Research and Writing II, Torts and Introduction to Word Processing/Microsoft Word.

Meantime, I struggle to find ways to pass time this summer: sleeping in; playing computer and sometimes, when Mom needs a fourth, real bridge; going to church; hanging out downtown; following the NBA Finals (Go Celtics!); watching late-night TV; adding to my blog; looking forward to my Aunt and her family's visit from New Mexico; and planning to see a local production of "Jesus Christ, Superstar."

I mostly try to escape the feelings of annoyance, tedium, ickiness and solitude that, for me, comes with living in my building. The fire alarm sounds whenever someone burns food or coffee, puncturing the silence with a high-pitched, continuous noise and robotic voice telling us an emergency has been reported and we should head to the nearest exit and evacuate the premises, but NOT use the elevators (comforting news to us wheelchair-users). Neighbors tromp up and down the hallways, playing loud music, talking to each other or mumbling to themselves. These walls are thin. I have had a couple of tenants knock on my door looking for money. I'd complain to management but, since I am probably moving out when my lease expires in January, what's the point?

In this warm weather, bugs wander my apartment--even after the exterminator sprays. It's almost like residing in a nursing home. There are plenty of socialization opportunities, but I usually opt out, save for the rare lunch or 8:30 A.M.(EEK!) game of dominoes. Although I can be "social," I am not "sociable." I just can't see myself enjoying bingo, throwing a bean bag through round holes in a piece of wood, making jewelry (especially with my manual-dexterity issues), or group sing-alongs. And much of what goes on here, conversation-wise, is just gossip.

I thought about getting part-time work, but plan to devote all my time and energy to school once the semester starts and don't want to take a job only to quit in a couple of months. I did volunteer at our city's film festival a and saw three movies for free: "P-Star Rising," a tale set in Harlem about a teenage rapper; "American: The Bill Hicks Story," about a struggling stand-up comedian from Georgia; and "Racing Dreams," chronicling the lives of three kids in the South who aspire to be NASCAR drivers.

So I count down the days until August 17th.

At least I helped make my sister smile.

Same Shit, Different Difference

2010-05-26T02:36:00.000-07:00

I recently boarded mass-transit and noticed in one of the seats an African-American guy wearing a t-shirt advertising the "Black Rodeo." This took me back to the day I chatted with a homosexual man I used to know from downtown and he informed me that, "The gay rodeo is in town!" We laughed as he squealed, "Ride 'em, cowboy!" and I said that it "gives a whole new meaning to the term "Cowboy up!" On the bus and still pondering the "Black Rodeo," I recalled reading articles, and cringing, about the "Miss Wheelchair America" and "Miss Wheelchair USA" pageants, as well as the "Disabled Sportsmen Association."

Is there something about being gay or black that affects one's ability to lasso livestock? I also didn't realize that walking is an integral part of obtaining success in beauty pageants, fishing or hunting. I understand that activities like these are the only way some folks can get involved. I question, though, whether they are attempts by well-meaning individuals to be "P.C." or perhaps an overreaction to fears of excluding some groups. As a member of a minority and person who enrolled for five years in martial-arts with "able-bodied" students, my concern is that such "special needs" recreations lead to segregation, an "equal-but-separate" mentality and exacerbate participants' feeling of obtrusiveness. Lastly, I share the desire to acknowledge, raise awareness of, and embrace diversity, but isn't that a point of organizations such as the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation and the National Organization on Disability?

This past winter, partially-blind skier Brian McKeever was named to his country's Olympic team. That's a good start. I wonder what would happen if a woman sitting in a wheelchair took to the runway alongside "Miss California," or a man using crutches caught large-mouth bass or hunted elk with everyone else. Would the earth quit spinning on its axis or the sun refuse to shine the next morning?

Inclusion: what a concept!

Who's The Inspiration?

2010-05-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

I just read a story about a 13-year old boy who became the youngest person to reach the summit of Mount Everest.

Now, THAT'S inspiring, not some 45-year old gimp who does laundry. I suppose inspirational is in the eye of the beholder, though.

I bet, unlike the contestants on "The Biggest Loser," that kid won't go around saying, "If I can do it, anyone can!" Comments like that diminishes their accomplishments, I think. Granted, those folks aren't climbing mountains--not literally, anyway--but they are losing 100 pounds and completing marathons.

So, if they can do it, anyone can try. Even of they don't reach their goals, just making the effort assures that they will not fail.

Day At A Time 3

2010-03-21T12:49:00.000-07:00

Spring break has finally arrived. Time to reflect on this semester. It's turning out to be a lot harder than the last one. In the fall, my classes were one after the other and in the same building. I have an additional course this time and they are spread out during the day, in time and location. The wheelchair-accessible part of the school grounds resembles a maze: long, winding and decorated with low partitions and hand rails. Going from class to class, I feel like a mouse chasing the cheese. So this year is more exhausting--physically and emotionally.

At mid-term, I've got 106% in one class, 100% in another and a 73% in the third. The last is only because of poor typing speed, which is due to my disability. Speed is worth forty percent of the final grade, and figures into another twenty-five.

My degree plan includes a course requiring a typing rate of forty words-per-minute. At the end of last semester, I took a typing test at Disability Support Services. I made thirty. An advisor suggested I enroll in an extra class in which the prerequisite is only thirty, with a goal of building up to forty. So that is what I did.

One of the first things our instructor said was, "This is not a speed-building class." Great. During the ensuing days, my first few speed grades averaged twenty-seven words-per-minute with acceptable accuracy. The problem was that this translated into 59%, a high F or low D. My teacher made some suggestions she thought would increase my speed, such as spacing once instead of twice after a period and letting words wrap at the end of lines as opposed to hitting the "Enter" key. I developed these habits and, sure enough, my speed grew--back to thirty words a minute.

My therapist told me about "Dragon Naturally Speaking," a voice-recognition tool allowing the user to speak instead of type the text. I returned to DSS and went through the necessary steps to obtain accommodations, filling out paperwork and getting medical documentation of my disability--lengthy processes. The DSS representative told me I could "opt out" of the class or get the software, which they had. Since I didn't need this course for my AAS, opting out made no sense. So we decided on "Dragon Naturally Speaking." Weeks later, I received a letter stating that I am eligible for the program.

The technology requires a training period and, in order to install it on the class computers, my instructor has to obtain permission from the department dean. Therefore, the software may not be in place before the semester's end. So I can either take the grade I'm going to get, probably a C or high D because I've been making A's on the quizzes and homework, or drop. I will not settle for a low or average grade. I have a cumulative 4.0 so far at this college (not to mention an MA and a 3.7 in graduate school). So dropping seems likely. Thanks to my Technical Writing degree, I am already familiar with the skills we are learning (creating academic reports, business letters and resumes). I could take a speed-building class, but can't see myself improving by ten words a minute. So what's the point, since I'm gonna need the software anyway for another course? The drop date is not until late April, though. I have time to make up my mind.

Stay tuned.

Happy Birthday To Me!

2010-03-14T23:10:00.000-07:00

"I hope I die before I get old."--Roger Daltrey, "My Generation"

This was a big one. I cleared 44, the age at which my father died. So I'm not going to class; I'll be taking a "mental health" day. I can't believe I was even considering going to school on my birthday! What was I thinking?!

And Sometimes, It's The Big Things!

2010-03-11T14:27:00.001-08:00

As promised, I went to the law library today and looked up cases ALL DAY!
For the first time in quite a while, I feel a real sense of accomplishment!

Day At A Time 2

2010-03-09T12:48:00.000-08:00

I managed to get out of bed again in time for lunch. Unfortunately, I wound up in the same spot with all the other wheelchair-users. So no raised eyebrows.

Our Legal Writing instructor is cancelling class tomorrow to allow us time to go to the law library at noon for an assignment due Sunday. I have to figure out how to get there. I have one class at 10:00 and another at 2:00. If I take a bus, I must transfer, meaning I'll end up with only about forty minutes for studying. I'm trying to rely less on Mom for transportation, so I'll go to the law library on Thursday when I have no class and can research ALL DAY! FUN, FUN!!!!

I MUST do laundry today.

Lust Is The Drug

2010-03-06T13:44:00.000-08:00

"Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine. You taste so bitter and so sweet. Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling. Still I'd be on my feet. I would still be on my feet."
--Joni Mitchell, "A Case Of You"

Every now and then, when I go to my regular downtown spots, I see people who just do stuff to me. Hot, moist, wicked, sexy stuff....

Here are a few of my faves:

There is "The Asian Persuasion," a gorgeous waitress of Chinese heritage. Like me, she is an academic pursuing an advanced degree, and has a penchant for showing off hints of cleavage and midriff with a nice roll of flesh spilling over the waist of her jeans; and her co-worker, the long-legged "Jello-Shot Girl." Next door is the voluptuous wench: equal shots of Paris Hilton, Betty Boop, Minnie Mouse and Jessica Rabbit--on helium. Then two striking, petite Beer Goddesses: one, a single mom, with amazing and sad eyes, a throaty voice, the face of an angel and, as writer Steve Lynch put it, "a body that would make a man write bad checks." She puts my name on reciepts, brings my order even if I am not sitting at one of her tables, and consistently graces me with efficient, kind and prompt service; the other, reedy with wavy, light-brown hair and a sensuous mouth highlighting a bright smile. In a few months, she will be resigning to take new job and another little piece of my heart will break. Further up the road works a beautiful black woman wearing low-cut shirts and form-fitting jeans. She always knows what I like to drink. My last stop features a bartender who shares my interest in crossword puzzles. The quintessential "chick," she sports a bevy of tattoos and her trademark cowboy hat and boots.

I cannot take my eyes off these women. They are absolute narcotics. Human heroin.

It's The Little Things

2010-03-05T14:14:00.000-08:00

As I labor on the computer in the lab at school today, my patience wears thin. I am trying compose an e-mail and attachment, and run off some documents. Nothing's cooperating. My e-mail won't open. The printer doesn't want to work. And time is short. A fellow student attempts to help me, but is having no more luck than I am.

Just as I come close to boiling over, a child of about four years of age bounds in the room, accompanied by thirty-something year-old gentleman. "Oh, great," I mutter to myself. "Now I'm not even going to be able to THINK, let alone complete the assignment." The young tot sprints over to the woman sitting next to me, squealing with delight, "Mommy! Mommy!" Huge grins sweep across both their faces as mother outstretches her arms and gathers up daughter for a big hug.

The excited tyke continues: "Daddy and me are gonna get something to eat! Do YOU want to come with us to get YOU something to eat, Mommy?" The woman explains patiently: "No, sweetheart. Mommy has to stay and finish her homework." "Okay, bye-bye, Mommy!" daughter replies, still beaming, and leaves with her papa, proclaiming on the way out, "I LOVE YOU, MOMMY! I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!"

I can't help but smile. That little girl made my day.

Inspirationally Courageous (Or Courageously Inspirational)

2010-03-04T19:07:00.000-08:00

Sis sent me a link to a bingo game which has words and phrases that the non-disabled community uses to describe people with disabilities. It reminded me that I, as a young employee of a local non-profit, coined the phrase "architecturally inconvenienced" to refer to those of us who use wheelchairs.

I also recalled an essay, "Inspirational Differences," written by a fellow wheelchair-user, which pointed out that "compliments" such as "You're such an inspiration," "You're so courageous," and "I admire you" are nothing more than well-meaning insults because they are usually doled out in the context of us performing everyday, mundane tasks such as getting dressed, fixing a meal or even just traveling from point A to point B, thus implying that society as a whole indeed has low expectations for us. Years ago, I was doing laundry in my apartment building when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a woman who had been there awhile silently washing her clothes kept looking at me. Right before she left, she blurted out, "You're an inspiration!" Was that supposed to motivate me to do more laundry?

Every one of us has disabilities, differences, challenges, obstacles. I try not to be so arrogant as to think that, just because mine are visible, they are worse--or my days and nights harder--than those of, for example, a pregnant, single mom recovering from addiction, working two jobs and going to school in order to build a better life for herself and family.

We all gotta do what we all gotta do.

Day At A Time 1

2010-03-04T17:12:00.000-08:00

Woke up in time for lunch with some of the other tenants. All the wheelchair-users have been grouped to one table. I've never been one for segregation. Perhaps next time I'll sit with the "regular people" (as I called them in middle school) and see how many raised eyebrows I get.

Found out that the grocery bus run is only on Wednesdays, when I'm in class. I was told that it was on Tuesdays, when I'm not. Rats.

Working on my blog; eating leftover Chinese for dinner; trying to get the motivation to finish homework.

Super Cook

2010-01-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

Here is an interesting site I found for those, like me, who don't cook but are tired of the same-old, same old.

All Is Quiet On New Year's Day...

2010-01-01T10:23:00.001-08:00

"The unexamined life is not worth living for a human being."
--Socrates

It's a new year. Time to take ownership myself; my whole self, particularly my self-loathing. I have to admit that I self-loathe. On good days, I have delusions of adequacy. Why? Maybe because, when I stare in a mirror, what reflects is a scarred-and-skinny-legged, scrawny cripple with a small penis. And I think, "'The Situation' can eat his heart out! Say hello to 'The Unforeseen Circumstance With Tragic Consequences!'" In spite of all that, I also see no reason to run from or try to fix my self-loathing. It's part of me--like melancholia--and, as such, I'd better learn to embrace it. Perhaps by embracing, I will fix it.

I was hesitant to post this entry. I felt squeamish about exposing my underbelly to the world. But this is who I am. Besides, if I'm to find love (a perennial goal), I need someone to love me warts and all. I don't mean the motherly/sisterly-friend sort. I get loads of that. I'm referring to hot, sweaty, spasmodic, monkey lust. Because there are times when you long to cuddle with someone and make love. And there are those moments when you just want your brains fucked out. It's not just about sex, though. I hear it's overrated anyway. I'm talking about being in love. Passionately in love.

"You know how it is with me, baby. You know I just can't stand myself. It takes a whole lotta medicine, darlin', for me to pretend that I'm somebody else."
--Randy Newman, "Guilty"

I suppose self-loathing is the motivation behind some things I do: frequenting titty bars, where no one sees me as a "scarred and skinny-legged, scrawny cripple" (at least not until I run out of money), ignoring certain aspects of my physical health, spending money recklessly and hanging out until the wee hours when most self-respecting people my age are home in bed asleep. Of course, I'm not "most self-respecting people."

Going downtown or to an adult club gives me a sense of smug superiority. I observe loud, rude, obnoxious sots slurring, stumbling and staggering about; dudes hitting on chicks; women throwing themselves at men; clingy girlfriends, jealous boyfriends; and most everyone making complete asses of themselves. I breathe a sigh of relief: "Thank God I'm not like that!" No, I'm a quiet drunk. A good tipper and a peaceful, respectful, amiable fellow. However, Leo Durocher was wrong. Nice guys don't finish last. To quote a line from one my favorite TV shows, "Two And A Half Men": "We finish in the shower."

I remember years ago, lolling in a cocktail lounge, being approached by a woman who was impressed by my congenial nature but seemed amazed that I had a disability "because," she gushed, "from the waist up, you're fine!" Yep. And in the immortal words of Lili Von Shtupp: "Let's face it. Everything below the waist is kaput!"

I confess to crushes on a few waitstaff and strippers. If I discover that they are spoken for, it's a buzz-kill. I bask in their non-judgementalness and "affection"--a hand-hold, touch on my head or shoulder, pat on the back, hug or even "Thanks, Mike!" and a smiley face written on my reciept--and miss them when I go without. The dancers are only after my money, but I maintain a good and long-standing rapport among a few of the downtown ladies and don't suspect that about most of them. Still, I wouldn't expect to find "Miss Right" working in a tavern. I'm self-loathing, not delusional. But sometimes I'd settle for "Miss Right Now." With apologies to Woody Allen, "The ego wants what it wants." Using this as a salve, though, can cause me to over-budget. This leads to more self-loathing. So it's a vicious and endless cycle.

Superciliousness was also an impetus behind my decision to return to school. As someone with two college degrees, I revelled in the idea of sitting in a classroom full of know-nothing-but-think-they-know-everything, early-twenty-something students and lording my knowledge and relative maturity over them. Would I have to feel that I'm smarter or more sensible than others, or crave warm fuzzies from women toiling in bars, if I weren't a self-loather?

And so I continue through this new year, down the path to enlightenment.

Now if I could just learn to embrace my scarred, skinny legs and small penis...

Happy New Decade...NOT!

2009-12-31T09:35:00.000-08:00

If I read one more article--or hear another prattling talking head--about 2009 being the last year of the decade, I will jab my eyes out with a salad fork. For the last time, IT IS NOT!

In fact, people count starting with "1" and ending with "0." Also, there is no year "0." The zeros are contained in the years 2000, 2010, 2020, etc. If one accepts those premises and the definition of a decade as ten years, then 2001 was the beginning of the decade and 2010 is the end of it.

People counter this argument by pointing to the "Roaring 20's." You wouldn't count 1930 as part of that era, they say. Well, no, if you're going to insist on referring to a decade by some cutesy moniker. By that standard, and common usage, "The Oughts"--as some people call this ten-year period--will end at midnight tonight. But "common usage" also insists that "couldn't care less" and "could care less" are synonymous. Clearly, they are not.

I would rather be factually correct than right in terms of common usage. I feel bad for the poor saps who booked cruises and other trips to celebrate the "end of the Millenium" on December 31, 2000. I wonder if any of them, when and if they came to their senses, asked for refunds?

Happy New YEAR!

Wishful Thinker

2009-12-19T03:02:00.000-08:00

During my weekly ritual of going downtown to do that voodoo that I do do so well, I stopped in a cafe. As I was lost in thought, enjoying my House Blend with cream, an older lady who had been there a while passed by me and said, "You're so quiet. I thought you were a statue

"Nope," I replied. "Not yet." I have no idea what I meant by that.

Maybe I should have just said "Thank you!"

Closet Singer

2009-12-17T16:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when I'm in my favorite club hearing some live music or at home listening to a Starroy cd, I close my eyes and pretend I'm in the spotlight.

More About Me

2009-12-17T11:28:00.000-08:00

I was born in the northeastern United States but have lived in the southern U.S. since the early 1970's. I am a die-hard fan of the New England Patriots, Boston Celtics and Red Sox. As the title of this blog states, I also enjoy jazz, blues and other stuff such as playing bridge and writing. I am an Episcopalian, and have attended the same church for nearly twenty years.

I possess a Master of Arts degree in technical and expository writing and a Bachelor of Arts in broadcasting. I write for pleasure and my work has been published in a local non-profit's newsletter and our state's daily paper. Currently, I am pursuing a Associate of Applied Science in paralegal technology. To quote Al Pacino, as Michael Corleone, in "The Godfather III": "Every time I try to get out, they pull me back in!"

Another passion of mine is advocating equal-rights for people with disabilities. I was born with spina bifida and use a wheelchair. After years of denial, I have come to not only accept my disability--but see it as a gift. Although my disability does not define me, it does shape who I am. Having a disability, and using a wheelchair, has caused me to have to work twice as hard than I would otherwise. Therefore, whatever successes I have obtained in life have come not in spite of my disability, but because of it.

Bachelor Haiku

2009-12-17T10:07:00.000-08:00

Cut and remove film
From green beans and pork patty.
Ah, the single life!

Yo, Gimp Daddy!

2009-12-17T09:31:00.000-08:00

I have a memento on a wall in favorite watering-hole signifying my consumption of all the beers that they sell. Patrons get one every time they drink all of them. If they drink all the brews a second time, they get another souvenir, then another for a third, etc. Some regulars have more than ten. I guess everyone needs a hobby.

Introduction

2009-12-17T08:59:00.000-08:00

"Has this life counted for something other than just my own narcissism?"
-Patrick Swayze, The Time of My Life

That is a sentence, to paraphrase one of my former college professors, I would kill to have written. I suppose it is a question that most of us ask ourselves. And, in doing this blog, one I hope to answer.