--David McKee--
So I'm aware that I missed last week. (sorry.)And then I'm aware I told David I'd post yesterday evening... (sorry again)... But I'm finally back on top and will try to stay on top of things... or at least very near the top.
I don't have tons of time right now, but I've finally started doing some things at work. Microsoft SharePoint is pretty cool. They gave me a virtual machine with Windows Server 2008 on it. A virtual Machine (VM) runs inside a real computer. However it's not quite the same. If the VM messes up, all I have to do is shut the file because that's all the entire operating system is... one file that runs in Windows XP... or whatever.
I can go over it more if you wish later. It's called Virtual PC and it's free from Microsoft.
Anyhow, SharePoint is something that I thought would be EPICALLY BORING because from what I read in the book and things it was just a bunch of graphs and spreadsheets and...; just not very fun stuff. But they let me loose on my own site and one of the guys showed me how to do all this cool stuff... well it wasn't that cool, mainly making sites and pages and things. But I was able to customize the page and themes so now I'm going to make it all nice and shiny because that's how I believe things should be, very nice and visually attractive. Otherwise it gets boring to look at sooner than later.
I've got pics and things to post here later. I'll post them when I get back to GW.
Ok, good bye for now people!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Do You Want to be Disabled?
The word “disability” can mean many different things to different people.
In the AAPD office and among AAPD interns the word is void of its usual stigma or awkwardness. Disability is a life experience to be recognized and accommodated. Outside of the disability community bubble, disability is a condition, something that happens to people. This is what has made the past three weeks so memorable and interesting.
Last week I was researching the intersection of the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community and the disability community (a topic I’m sure I’ll write a separate post about soon enough), when I began to wonder whether someone who is transgender would be considered disabled. This eventually led me to a much more fundamental question about the meaning of disability.
To back up for a bit (I promise this will all make sense eventually… I hope) the word “transgender” is a broad term that encompasses everyone from those who enjoy occasionally wearing clothing associated with the opposite sex, to those who don’t match gender roles traditionally associated with their biological sex, to those who identify with a gender that is different from their biological sex (or identify as neither masculine nor feminine). Some who identify as transgender (or “trans”) choose to medically alter their bodies to match the gender that they feel best represents them.
From the perspective of most trans people there is no good reason why someone who is biologically male must act masculine, and there is nothing wrong with someone who is biologically female acting masculine or wearing men’s clothing or wanting to be called John instead of Jane. The reason everyone is so uncomfortable with people transgressing gender roles (the argument goes) is because society tells us its not right, for example boys must be “real men,” wear manly cloths and play with “action figures” as opposed to “dolls;” if they don’t they can face severe social consequences.
Anyways, many trans people believe there is nothing wrong with them psychologically (and reject the American Psychiatric Association’s “Gender identity Disorder” diagnosis… though this gets murky as the diagnosis is sometimes necessary for insurance purposes), however some feel that they have a medical problem in that their body doesn’t represent their true gender(just to be clear "transgender" is broad descriptive term and only some people who identify as trans have a desire to alter their body). In other words the problem is not with the mind not matching the body but with the body not matching the mind.
Here’s where things get interesting... under a broad and affirming definition of disability used by groups like AAPD I would say that of course transgender individuals who feel their bodies do not represent their true gender would be considered disabled. Having worked at AAPD, I have come to understand the term “disability” as an empowering term indicating a shared experience (that of not fitting the mold). But outside of the disability community the word “disability” still caries a great amount of stigma, it is not the symbol of a shared experience but simply a flaw, a limitation which negatively effects one’s life trajectory. So why would members of the trans community, who already face so much stigma and discrimination, want to self-identify with yet another label that brings with it the promise of additional stigma.
Ultimately, I think it is more a question of what it means to be disabled than of what it means to be transgender. Would someone want to self-identify as disabled if they have not been “marked” as disabled by society? Obviously, the trans community is not a monolithic community and the answer depends on who you ask, but I think it says a lot about the state of people with disabilities in America and the work that’s left to be done.
So I totally didn't mean for this post to be this long...
-Rohmteen Mohtari
In the AAPD office and among AAPD interns the word is void of its usual stigma or awkwardness. Disability is a life experience to be recognized and accommodated. Outside of the disability community bubble, disability is a condition, something that happens to people. This is what has made the past three weeks so memorable and interesting.
Last week I was researching the intersection of the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community and the disability community (a topic I’m sure I’ll write a separate post about soon enough), when I began to wonder whether someone who is transgender would be considered disabled. This eventually led me to a much more fundamental question about the meaning of disability.
To back up for a bit (I promise this will all make sense eventually… I hope) the word “transgender” is a broad term that encompasses everyone from those who enjoy occasionally wearing clothing associated with the opposite sex, to those who don’t match gender roles traditionally associated with their biological sex, to those who identify with a gender that is different from their biological sex (or identify as neither masculine nor feminine). Some who identify as transgender (or “trans”) choose to medically alter their bodies to match the gender that they feel best represents them.
From the perspective of most trans people there is no good reason why someone who is biologically male must act masculine, and there is nothing wrong with someone who is biologically female acting masculine or wearing men’s clothing or wanting to be called John instead of Jane. The reason everyone is so uncomfortable with people transgressing gender roles (the argument goes) is because society tells us its not right, for example boys must be “real men,” wear manly cloths and play with “action figures” as opposed to “dolls;” if they don’t they can face severe social consequences.
Anyways, many trans people believe there is nothing wrong with them psychologically (and reject the American Psychiatric Association’s “Gender identity Disorder” diagnosis… though this gets murky as the diagnosis is sometimes necessary for insurance purposes), however some feel that they have a medical problem in that their body doesn’t represent their true gender(just to be clear "transgender" is broad descriptive term and only some people who identify as trans have a desire to alter their body). In other words the problem is not with the mind not matching the body but with the body not matching the mind.
Here’s where things get interesting... under a broad and affirming definition of disability used by groups like AAPD I would say that of course transgender individuals who feel their bodies do not represent their true gender would be considered disabled. Having worked at AAPD, I have come to understand the term “disability” as an empowering term indicating a shared experience (that of not fitting the mold). But outside of the disability community the word “disability” still caries a great amount of stigma, it is not the symbol of a shared experience but simply a flaw, a limitation which negatively effects one’s life trajectory. So why would members of the trans community, who already face so much stigma and discrimination, want to self-identify with yet another label that brings with it the promise of additional stigma.
Ultimately, I think it is more a question of what it means to be disabled than of what it means to be transgender. Would someone want to self-identify as disabled if they have not been “marked” as disabled by society? Obviously, the trans community is not a monolithic community and the answer depends on who you ask, but I think it says a lot about the state of people with disabilities in America and the work that’s left to be done.
So I totally didn't mean for this post to be this long...
-Rohmteen Mohtari
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A Hobby of Mine by Adam Dovens
I really like editing photos and manipulating photos. One of my favorite techniques is combining pictures and making panoramic photos. This is one I created from nationals stadium.
Different Type of Post by Adam Dovens
I am not the kind of guy who does long drawn out blogs, I prefer short and sweet. I think that pictures and videos are a much easier and more effective way of getting you message accross.
In our exploration of Georgetown we found the steps where the exorcist was originally filmed. The actual location where real the exorcist occured is in Maryland lol!!!!
In our exploration of Georgetown we found the steps where the exorcist was originally filmed. The actual location where real the exorcist occured is in Maryland lol!!!!
History Speaks to Us (Ari Ne'eman)
I sometimes wonder what Ed Roberts felt like, fighting for access to the campus of the University of California Berkeley. It was 1962 - Nelson Mandela had been arrested, the US and USSR would face off in the Cuban Missile Crisis, Federal Marshalls escorted James Meredith to the University of Mississippi and Ed Roberts decided that disabled students should not be kept out of college. Did he have any inclination of what was to come? Did he dream of something different? Did he realize what a big step he was taking, not simply for himself, but for disabled people everywhere? Did he know that what he was doing would lead to something so much bigger? A movement, a culture, a community - vibrant, growing, strong.
Maybe he did. If there is ever an Ed Roberts movie - and G-dwilling, if such a thing should occur, Hollywood will get over its more maudlin instincts in respect to disabled people first - I imagine that is how it will be portrayed. Yet, isn't it just as likely that he acted like so many of us do - not out of some broad vision for a movement yet to come, some brilliant flash of inspiration that will inevitably lead to chanting and organizing and marching in the streets, but instead out of a simple desire to assert control over his own life? In some ways, this is less inspiring. In other ways, it is far more so.
When I was a teenager and had recently been placed in a segregated “special” school an hour and a half away from my home, I read about Ed Roberts. I read about the disability rights movement. Given the fact that the school I rode to in a small white van to every day treated academic education as an afterthought, reading was one of the only ways I had to learn. So I read - and I wondered what motivated people like Ed Roberts or Judy Heumann or any of the other disability rights leaders I had been introduced to through books and journal articles. This was relevant to me, because I saw in their success stories – rising from being considered as too disabled to go to college to founding the independent living movement or going from being denied teacher certification by reason of disability to becoming Assistant Secretary of Education – a chance for my own life.
When I did advocate to return to an inclusive setting, I left behind not just the special education school tucked atop a hill in North Jersey where it rented space from a convent and not just the two special education case managers I had arranged to be dismissed when they tried to tell me what I should do with my life, but also any remaining delusions about what my life would be like if I just went along with the system. I carried that newfound sense of clarity with me when I embarked on my first experiences in advocacy work. It continues to guide me as I work to advance the rights of Autistic people to control our own futures and that of our community in the national conversation about us. Despite the importance of that concept to my work, however, I stumbled upon it by accident – when all I wanted was a chance to get an education that might make the future I desired possible. I’m not Ed Roberts. I’m not a great hero of the disability rights movement. The path I moved on to get to where I am now was, while rocky, uncertain and often treacherous, blazed before me by great men and women whose work made my struggle easier before I had ever heard of them. Yet, I like to think that at some level I understand why they started doing what they did – not because of some grand vision or dream, but because of a simple and abiding desire to take control over their own lives. This is the essence of our movement. Basic. Simple. Essential.
Nothing About Us, Without Us!
-Ari Ne'eman
Maybe he did. If there is ever an Ed Roberts movie - and G-dwilling, if such a thing should occur, Hollywood will get over its more maudlin instincts in respect to disabled people first - I imagine that is how it will be portrayed. Yet, isn't it just as likely that he acted like so many of us do - not out of some broad vision for a movement yet to come, some brilliant flash of inspiration that will inevitably lead to chanting and organizing and marching in the streets, but instead out of a simple desire to assert control over his own life? In some ways, this is less inspiring. In other ways, it is far more so.
When I was a teenager and had recently been placed in a segregated “special” school an hour and a half away from my home, I read about Ed Roberts. I read about the disability rights movement. Given the fact that the school I rode to in a small white van to every day treated academic education as an afterthought, reading was one of the only ways I had to learn. So I read - and I wondered what motivated people like Ed Roberts or Judy Heumann or any of the other disability rights leaders I had been introduced to through books and journal articles. This was relevant to me, because I saw in their success stories – rising from being considered as too disabled to go to college to founding the independent living movement or going from being denied teacher certification by reason of disability to becoming Assistant Secretary of Education – a chance for my own life.
When I did advocate to return to an inclusive setting, I left behind not just the special education school tucked atop a hill in North Jersey where it rented space from a convent and not just the two special education case managers I had arranged to be dismissed when they tried to tell me what I should do with my life, but also any remaining delusions about what my life would be like if I just went along with the system. I carried that newfound sense of clarity with me when I embarked on my first experiences in advocacy work. It continues to guide me as I work to advance the rights of Autistic people to control our own futures and that of our community in the national conversation about us. Despite the importance of that concept to my work, however, I stumbled upon it by accident – when all I wanted was a chance to get an education that might make the future I desired possible. I’m not Ed Roberts. I’m not a great hero of the disability rights movement. The path I moved on to get to where I am now was, while rocky, uncertain and often treacherous, blazed before me by great men and women whose work made my struggle easier before I had ever heard of them. Yet, I like to think that at some level I understand why they started doing what they did – not because of some grand vision or dream, but because of a simple and abiding desire to take control over their own lives. This is the essence of our movement. Basic. Simple. Essential.
Nothing About Us, Without Us!
-Ari Ne'eman
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
It's ok. 1,2,3,4
It’s ok. 1, 2, 3 4. Let’s go. 1,2,3,4.(turn neck all around to the left and stretch upper vertebre). It’s ok. 1,2,3,4. Let’s go. 1,2,3,4. (crack lower back from side to side while cracking knuckles) This 1,2,3,4. Olympian. CIA. You have everything to be happy for and nothing to be upset about. 1,2,3,4. Ok. 1,2,3,4. Just do it. (crack neck forward).
It makes no sense, I know. But that (and variations of it) is what I feel ‘compelled’ to say hundreds of times every day. Compelled is the important word. People always ask me, “Well, what happens if you just refuse to do it?” Well, I don’t detonate or anything. I just feel incredibly uncomfortable. It’s like an itch. A horrible itch that doesn’t go away. For some unknown reason, my body feels uncomfortable. Most itches are on the skin but my itches are in my mind. While most itches get soothed with fingernails mine get soothed by saying “It’s ok. 1,2,3,4 etc.” So what would happen if I didn’t say it? Well, what would happen if you had horrible poison ivy all over your body and you refused to scratch it or put anything on it? You would be incredibly uncomfortable, you would be unproductive and unable to take your mind off of it, and you would feel like screaming. Same thing for me. So, I scratch my itch. And I feel better… for a few seconds.
It’s not that simple though. Everything has to be done perfectly… or it doesn’t count. My mind makes up these rules… “if I’m not focused when I say my phrases then it doesn’t count,” “If I stutter or mess up a word, it doesn’t count,” “if I don’t say it out loud it doesn’t count,” “if I rush through it, it doesn’t count,” etc. So, what happens when “it doesn’t count?” Well, I have to say it all again. BUT WAIT! My mind has a policy for these things… NO EVEN NUMBERS! I can’t succeed on my second try. So… I have to do it twice more. And there’s no fooling my mind. If you rush through the second one because you want to get to the third and final one quickly… my mind will know and you’ll be doing 5.
This process is incredibly stressful. It requires intense focus. And I hate it. I resent it. I don’t like doing it. But I have to do it before everything. Before I eat a meal (or my mind tells me I can’t enjoy the meal), before a test or before writing any kind of paper (or my mind tells me I will do poorly and I actually feel like I can’t focus), before I go out for the night, before I begin a movie, or a book, or a newspaper article, or a day at work. Before I go to sleep, before I clean my room, before I do anything and everything. Sometimes I just can’t get the energy to do it and so… I don’t. Often, when faced with the simplest task, I will simply become paralyzed, mentally paralyzed. This blog, for example, is late, in part because I just couldn’t get myself to do it. I’ve sat at my computer a dozen times this week but haven’t been able and/or willing to get myself to do it. One night this week dinner was too stressful, but I was really hungry, so I just went to sleep at 8:00. Cleaning my desk or doing laundry are monumental tasks. I went a week charging everything to my credit card because for some reason I was unable to get myself to go to the ATM.
This is a good place to write about how the OCD impacts me too. OCD and Tourette’s are interchangeable to me. I can’t really articulate which is which but it doesn’t matter. The ATM. Why couldn’t I just put my card in? I obsessed. Every day to a debilitating extent. The 2 dollar service charge. Why do I care about a 2 dollar service charge? I don’t. My mind does. I feel like I’m being inefficient. I’m wasting money. My mind chastises me. Yells at me. Tells my I’m a failure. For the most ridiculous things. Every time I buy something, I overpaid or I wasted money. Every time I go out, I went to the wrong place or I should be doing something else. My mind judges me like the stereotypical 1950s war veteran father. Everything I do is wrong. To make it worse I obsess over it. While most people can push these things out of their mind, I can’t. I spend hours worrying, stressing, feeling WRONG. Every decision becomes the most important one of my life. Which restaurant to go to? If I’m spending too much at the grocery store? If I’m getting the most out of my summer? And the consequences, oh my God. I don’t have the ability to say ‘so what?’ The smallest thing has the worst consequences. I feel like I am ruining my life. This leads to depression. Irrational depression. Yes. But depression none the less. In order to talk myself out of my depression I would have to go through an extensive version of one of the rituals that I listed above but those take too much energy so… I just go to sleep.
OK, MTV, thanks for visiting now get out of my head. I hope you all found my thought process interesting. Please, if you found my thought process interesting take it with you. I don’t like it. Take it for free. Peace.
Andrew Lustig
It makes no sense, I know. But that (and variations of it) is what I feel ‘compelled’ to say hundreds of times every day. Compelled is the important word. People always ask me, “Well, what happens if you just refuse to do it?” Well, I don’t detonate or anything. I just feel incredibly uncomfortable. It’s like an itch. A horrible itch that doesn’t go away. For some unknown reason, my body feels uncomfortable. Most itches are on the skin but my itches are in my mind. While most itches get soothed with fingernails mine get soothed by saying “It’s ok. 1,2,3,4 etc.” So what would happen if I didn’t say it? Well, what would happen if you had horrible poison ivy all over your body and you refused to scratch it or put anything on it? You would be incredibly uncomfortable, you would be unproductive and unable to take your mind off of it, and you would feel like screaming. Same thing for me. So, I scratch my itch. And I feel better… for a few seconds.
It’s not that simple though. Everything has to be done perfectly… or it doesn’t count. My mind makes up these rules… “if I’m not focused when I say my phrases then it doesn’t count,” “If I stutter or mess up a word, it doesn’t count,” “if I don’t say it out loud it doesn’t count,” “if I rush through it, it doesn’t count,” etc. So, what happens when “it doesn’t count?” Well, I have to say it all again. BUT WAIT! My mind has a policy for these things… NO EVEN NUMBERS! I can’t succeed on my second try. So… I have to do it twice more. And there’s no fooling my mind. If you rush through the second one because you want to get to the third and final one quickly… my mind will know and you’ll be doing 5.
This process is incredibly stressful. It requires intense focus. And I hate it. I resent it. I don’t like doing it. But I have to do it before everything. Before I eat a meal (or my mind tells me I can’t enjoy the meal), before a test or before writing any kind of paper (or my mind tells me I will do poorly and I actually feel like I can’t focus), before I go out for the night, before I begin a movie, or a book, or a newspaper article, or a day at work. Before I go to sleep, before I clean my room, before I do anything and everything. Sometimes I just can’t get the energy to do it and so… I don’t. Often, when faced with the simplest task, I will simply become paralyzed, mentally paralyzed. This blog, for example, is late, in part because I just couldn’t get myself to do it. I’ve sat at my computer a dozen times this week but haven’t been able and/or willing to get myself to do it. One night this week dinner was too stressful, but I was really hungry, so I just went to sleep at 8:00. Cleaning my desk or doing laundry are monumental tasks. I went a week charging everything to my credit card because for some reason I was unable to get myself to go to the ATM.
This is a good place to write about how the OCD impacts me too. OCD and Tourette’s are interchangeable to me. I can’t really articulate which is which but it doesn’t matter. The ATM. Why couldn’t I just put my card in? I obsessed. Every day to a debilitating extent. The 2 dollar service charge. Why do I care about a 2 dollar service charge? I don’t. My mind does. I feel like I’m being inefficient. I’m wasting money. My mind chastises me. Yells at me. Tells my I’m a failure. For the most ridiculous things. Every time I buy something, I overpaid or I wasted money. Every time I go out, I went to the wrong place or I should be doing something else. My mind judges me like the stereotypical 1950s war veteran father. Everything I do is wrong. To make it worse I obsess over it. While most people can push these things out of their mind, I can’t. I spend hours worrying, stressing, feeling WRONG. Every decision becomes the most important one of my life. Which restaurant to go to? If I’m spending too much at the grocery store? If I’m getting the most out of my summer? And the consequences, oh my God. I don’t have the ability to say ‘so what?’ The smallest thing has the worst consequences. I feel like I am ruining my life. This leads to depression. Irrational depression. Yes. But depression none the less. In order to talk myself out of my depression I would have to go through an extensive version of one of the rituals that I listed above but those take too much energy so… I just go to sleep.
OK, MTV, thanks for visiting now get out of my head. I hope you all found my thought process interesting. Please, if you found my thought process interesting take it with you. I don’t like it. Take it for free. Peace.
Andrew Lustig
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