Little Miss Dromedary

This is real.

ABU DHABI (AFP) - More than 10,000 camels from across the Gulf will be competing for millions of dollars in prize money at a beauty pageant for the "ship of the desert" in Abu Dhabi next week.

The contest is part of a camel festival being staged from Wednesday in the capital of the United Arab Emirates which aims to celebrate and preserve the region's cultural
heritage.

Camels from Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar and Saudi Arabia will strut their stuff before a panel of expert judges who will decide which owners should be awarded prize money totalling around 9.5 million dollars. One hundred cars are also up for grabs.

According to the Neilsen TV ratings, the camel beauty pageant is much more popular among male viewers in Abu Dhabi than the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, which aired in December. When asked why this might be, one young pageant fan surmised, "Well...You get to see like 4 times as much camel toe."

THANK YOU! GOODNIGHT!

On Assessing The Qualitative Characteristics of Grass: Discerning Hue Saturation Levels on Opposing Sides of A Dividing Plane; Vis-A-Vis Greeness

Recently, on a thrilling Friday night in an effort to avoid watching yet another episode of Scrubs, I ended up watching the ABC TV news magazine 20/20. This particular episode profiled the stories of three people dealing with unusual physical deformities: a college student born without legs, a black, television reporter, with a rare disease that is turning his skin white, and a young model born without a right ear. Each segment focused the various challenges and difficulties each person deals with on a daily basis in relation to their disability. For example, in the case of the TV reporter (surprisingly, an entertainment reporter for Fox 2 Detroit) he has the challenge of being a black man turning white, working in a visual media, while trying to come to grips with revealing his changing skin condition or to continue covering his face with concealing make up. I found the story of the guy born without legs to be the most interesting, both in terms of the challenges he continues to overcome and how his situation relates to my own.

Some observations:
In terms of maintaining positive body image, I'll take useless legs; but on the other hand, useless legs are dead weight. He makes a life without legs look easy, but he's lived with it his whole life. Fully functioning arms and hands are the key. I loved the picture of the dog staring at him as he went on his skateboard at the dog's eye level. The skateboard is sweet, but in  Montana in the dead of winter? Seems impractical. He must use his wheelchair way more often.

Click picture for video

A production note: 
Not to be a dick, but to the producers of 20/20, if you really want me to have some sympathy for the model having a prosthetic ear created so her portfolio can also contain shots of both the right and left side of her head, try running her segment before the one on the guy born without any friggin legs who travels the world by himself on a skateboard! Just a suggestion.

Kevin Connolly's website

There's More Than One Way To Skin A Cat

There's nothing creepy about this.

And should you decide you need to preserve your cat skin in a tasteful pose, one of my good friends from high school has taken up the tools of the taxidermy trade. Visit North Country Legends Taxidermy for all your future taxidermy needs. Get your orders in now, hunting season is fast approaching!

Ask for Tim. Tell him Dan sent you.

The Week of 1000 Miles: Fin

Saturday, May 26th: to Big Knob

For the past 12 years a group of my friends have been camping together every Memorial Day weekend at a secluded campground in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. At its genesis, as I am told, it camping trip was a way for underage friends from Wisconsin and Michigan to convene at a midpoint destination and have a party. In the intervening years it has evolved in many ways and has seen a bachelor party, the ebb and flow of attendees, brothers and sisters, boyfriends and girlfriends, warm weather, freezing weather, sun and rain, late, late nights and sunrises, a ton of drinking, the odd hook-up, visitors near and far, marriages and now children. I have attended twice and this year, after a few years’ hiatus, returned for my third visit.

Big Knob campground is situated on the northern shore of Lake Michigan six miles down a winding gravel road off of U.S. Highway 2, west of bustling Naubinway. The entrance to the campground is so well marked that those who blink at the imprecise moment will miss the turn. This is not all bad, as its seclusion pretty much guarantees the campground is completely empty when we descend on it in mass every year. A little internet research yields that Big Knob gets its name from what amounts to a dune hill that rises a whopping 140 feet above the surrounding terra firma. I have yet to lay eyes on this Rock of Gibraltar, but the DNR claims it exists.

I have camped in a lot of places in my life starting in the backyard as a child and progressing through various stages of rustic to plush accommodations. As I got older many family vacations took the form of camping trips as we paraded around the state, first with tents, and then in the minivan towing a pop-up camper trailer. Both of my parents in their youth vacationed with their respective families on numerous camping vacations. My mother’s family undertaking a well-documented 3-week trip to the American West when she was a teenager and my dad’s parents driving he and his brothers to places like Gettysburg; quintessential American vacations of the 50s and 60s. The farthest my parents took me and my sister was a two-week trip to Gettysburg, Washington D.C., and into the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. Aside from that most of our family camping experiences took place in any number of state park campgrounds in and about northern Michigan. Once I started college I met a group of friends that shared a love a travel and so, in varying groups and numbers, I’ve camped in several places in the western U.S. and Canada. These trips were undertaken with a greater sense of seeking adventure and bare-bones subsistence than compared to parking the pop-up on a campsite for three days and roasting marshmallows every night around the campfire. The pinnacle being backcountry hiking and camping in Denali National Park in Alaska: no manicured campsites, nary a trail, navigating by topographic map, fording rivers, filtering water from mountain streams, keeping an eye out for the odd Grizzly bear or irritated moose, and being bombarded by billions (yes, billions) of hellacious mosquitoes. Big Knob, despite its secluded location, lack of electricity, and pit toilets, is not rustic camping. This is fine because Big Knob weekend isn’t about adventure, it’s about camaraderie.

Camping in many ways is an ironic undertaking. In an effort to live minimally in harmony with the natural surroundings, we pack mountains of equipment that would be completely unnecessary were we to spend the weekend at a friend’s house or at a hotel. Packing for Big Knob is no different. In its twelve years, the core nucleus attendees to Big Knob have become a well-oiled machine in regards to knowing exactly what and how much to bring of everything. Those of us on the fringes are responsible for providing our own accommodations, creature comforts and bare necessities, but food, drink, and mess supplies are provided, plentiful and perfectly in order. It still amounts to a pile of gear though, especially now that children have been thrown into the mix. In my previous life as a traveler I often packed light and my general rule of thumb was “one bag,” regardless of the trip duration. Going to be gone more than a week? Depending on the climate of my intended destination I’d pack sufficient underwear and socks, but probably only one or two pairs of pants and only a few shirts of flexible utility. The less that gets packed, the less there is to carry, as well as get checked onto planes, or lost by baggage handlers. Of course this plan wasn’t totally foolproof as I once boarded an eight passenger plane, its flight plan taking me from San Juan, Puerto Rico to St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, landing twenty-five minutes after taking off; only to find after arriving in St. Thomas that my bag—one of ten bags to be loaded on the plane by the ground crew in San Juan—didn’t come through on the conveyor belt where I awaited it at baggage claim. Absurdly, the only time I have ever lost a bag.

In the three years since my injury, my travel exploits basically came to an abrupt halt. Health, money, stamina, issues of personal care and independence were all contributing factors in how far and how long I ventured from home. Gone are the days of packing a bag in an hour, grabbing some CDs, hopping in the car and dropping in on friends ten or twelve hours later in Atlanta, Philadelphia, Minneapolis, or wherever during summer vacation. Traveling wheelchair-bound puts a pretty big crimp in the assault-style method of travel I used to enjoy. There are so many other aspects and complications besides just packing for a two night trip to consider now. My biggest concerns in deciding to return to Big Knob this year were the weather, sleeping comfortably, and my wheelchair in Big Knob’s wheelchair-hostile terrain.

The weather at Big Knob is highly unpredictable from year-to-year and the best bet is to prepare for the worst and then hopefully be pleasantly surprised. I prepared for cold, which for me anticipating being outside all day, was basically anything less than 60°. I have poor circulation and terrible body temperature regulation so it doesn’t take much for me to catch a chill. In anticipation of nighttime temperatures forecasted to drop into the 40 degree realm I brought thermal undershirts, a hooded sweatshirt, a fleece jacket, a knit hat and mittens. When I arrived Saturday evening it had been sunny and 70° during the day, but as I got help unloading my gear the clouds had rolled in and rain drops began sprinkling down. From about 8pm Saturday night and onward a steady, light rain fell. I slept that night wearing everything I wore during the day, save for my shoes and the fleece jacket I put on upon arriving. The rain abated early Sunday morning and the day was cool, but dry. From the get-go on Sunday I layered in two undershirts, the hooded sweatshirt, fleece and knit hat. Staying warmer during the day and having the good fortune of being dry, I went to bed feeling much warmer than the previous night. True to form, Monday being the day in which we all had to pack up and leave, featured the best weather of the weekend: sunny and warm. Aside from Saturday night, I managed to stay fairly comfortable temperature-wise and with the ferocity of the mosquitoes this year I was glad I had plenty of long sleeves and a hat to stave off their ravenous swarms.

Tent camping doesn’t lend itself to the most comfortable sleeping arrangements. Roughing it in Alaska, where my friends and I were setting up camp with what we were able to carry on our backs, finding a completely flat place to set up a tent was pretty much pointless. Traveling light we didn’t have extras of blankets, sleeping bags, or fluffy pillows with which to cushion our sleeping space and so most nights we made due with trying to be as comfortable as possible on the uneven ground. Even at Big Knob I think the best I’ve previously done in terms of cushioning between my body and the ground was a second sleeping bag underneath the one in which I slept. As the Big Knob experience has expanded and people have gotten smart about what to bring, I’m pretty sure that this year everyone slept on some sort of air mattress. For me from the perspective of dealing with paralysis, the issue of what to sleep on had less to due directly with comfort as it had to do with preventing sores from sleeping in one position all night long on hard ground. My sleeping arrangements at home I have tailored in such a way that I am able to get in bed and move about at night without having to worry about sleeping in one position too long and risking a sore. Tent camping eliminates all of that convenience. Not only did I have to rely on my friends to get me out of my chair and into my tent, but they also had to get me in my sleeping bag, and then set up the implements I needed at night for being able to go to the bathroom. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to turn and reposition at night because I didn’t have anything to pull against, so before embarking on the trip I made a stop at my local camping store and purchased a self-inflating ground roll. At full capacity it expanded to 2½ inches and kept me off of the cold, hard ground. I made sure and bought the six-foot long pad so that my feet wouldn’t be resting on the ground either. On top of the ground roll I brought a thick blanket and a second sleeping bag to give me additional, softer layers to lie on top of in my down sleeping bag. Lying still on my back all night long wasn’t the greatest, but it was comfortable enough that once I warmed up inside my sleeping bag, I slept soundly. The ground roll and extra sleeping ended up being sufficient padding as I made it through the weekend without any bruising or skin breakdown. Aside from reconciling those comfort-related issues I brought with me a small, battery powered, reading light that I set by my head so that if I needed to see in the tent at night I had a light source available. I also made sure to attach a leather loop to the zipper of my sleeping bag before I left so I would be able to work the zipper when I needed to open up the bag at night to go to the bathroom. To top it all off, my friends brought an extra sleeping bag that they draped over top of me and that provided an extra layer of warmth that was especially welcomed on the first night. In the end though I think two nights of that was enough as I awoke on Monday morning feeling quite stiff.

The final piece of the puzzle was figuring what I was going to do with my wheelchair. I use a manual chair that has power-assist wheels. The wheels are powered by batteries that need to recharge after every day’s use. At home I accomplish by plugging into the charger at night while I sleep. Big Knob campground doesn’t have electrical hook-ups and so bringing my charger would be useless. The problem of my batteries running out of juice meant that once they were kaput I would need someone to push me around everywhere. Without the power assist function working the wheels, because of their design, become 50 pounds of dead weight. I packed my backup set of regular manual wheels thinking that once my power assist wheels quit we could switch to the manual wheels and, at the very least, my friends would be able to push me around in a much lighter chair. Then a couple days before I left I had the idea to charge up the second set of batteries I own for my power assist wheels and see how long they hold a charge without being used. Upon discovering that they still held a full charge overnight I decided to bring the second set of batteries along as well. Driving up on Saturday the power assist wheels on my chair sat turned off for six hours and so when I went to bed Saturday night the first set of batteries still held a decent partial charge. After I got into my tent, I had my chair stowed inside my van overnight. In the morning we swapped out the first set of batteries and I used the fully-charged second set during the day Sunday, thus after they crapped out Sunday evening I still had the first set holding a partial charge to use on the way home Monday. In the end I never used the manual wheels I brought, but they wouldn’t have done me much good anyway as the tires on those wheels are only a half an inch in width and would’ve sunk right down in the sandy soil of the campground. As it stood, even in my power assist wheels, which are pretty good at powering through grass and uneven terrain, the ground in certain spots around our campsites was so soft that the front casters on my wheelchair dug in and I needed to be pushed around anyway. I spent a great deal of time perched near the fire pit and occasionally got help to move to more desirable vantage points or to be closer to the thick of the action.

So, despite my initial concerns camping in Big Knob came off with few hiccups. Considering what I felt were going to be the biggest obstacles and the fact that the weather was less than stellar, I can only assume that future return trips will only get easier. That being said, I'm probably not going to throw camping into my regular rotation of weekend activities. Big Knob was successful for me because of the people that were there with me. Basically I have my friends to thank who catered to my every whim and fancy over the weekend. From pushing me around the campsite, fetching me food and drink, helping me dress, unpacking and then repacking my gear—none of it would have come off without their help. All I really did was show up.

Round trip mileage: 699

Cumulative week's mileage: 1139

(does not include routine trips to Livonia on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday)

The Week of 1000 Miles: Part Two

Tuesday, May 22nd: to Cleveland

I like all kinds of music. Some music I like enough to go see performed live; given the price, the night, and the proximity of the venue are right. Then there are certain bands I like enough to see regardless of the night and to some extent the price, and will see them as long as they wander into my region of the country. For a long time this category was a class of one, in the form of Pearl Jam. They last brought a tour to the Detroit area in May of last year and although the concert was great, I took away from that experience (my first concert since my accident) that choice of venue was now going to be a major deciding factor in my selection of concerts to attend; even if that concert is another Pearl Jam show. Pearl Jam played the Palace of Auburn Hills, home of the Detroit Pistons, an arena that seats 18,000+, hosts hundreds of events a year and—unbeknownst to me until that night—features shitty accessible seating options. The floor seats I bought in anticipation of Pearl Jam rocking my proverbial socks off were switched to the back of the house, concrete bunker on the concourse level that serves as the accessible seating area. Thanks for the accommodation. I wasn’t anticipating Row 1, center stage, and I understand the limits placed on seating availability based on architectural design quirks, but the Palace isn’t even a twenty year-old venue, in my mind if a stage can be erected on the floor of an arena then there’s a way to get my wheelchair in the same area code as my purchased tickets. Had I known I was going to be viewing the concert from a pill box I would’ve bought nose bleed seats and considered the move to the concourse level an upgrade. I bet that when Bill Davidson’s crotchety ass is finally stuck wheelchair at the very least an attempt will be made to get him to his courtside seats. So, the Palace is off the list of places I will go to see a concert at from now on; which is fine because it sucks to have to drive out to Auburn Hills anyway. But, what do Pearl Jam and the Palace have to do with last Tuesday and Cleveland? As much as it pains me, Pearl Jam at the Palace is the bad taste in my mouth I will remember when considering all future concerts I want to attend and the venues at which the band or bands I’m interested in are going to play.

Back in April a young band of brothers named Kings of Leon released their third album. Kings of Leon have been on my radar for a while now as I thoroughly enjoyed their two previous album releases. I’m not in the music review business, but hailing from Tennessee, Kings of Leon write up-tempo rock songs about no-good girls and the lead singer mumbles about 80% of the lyrics; it’s a recipe that puts a smile on my face. A recipe, coupled with a great appreciation of their new record that made me decide I wanted to see them in concert on their current tour. When I checked their tour dates I was disheartened to see that the closest the Kings would be to the Detroit area was either Chicago or Cleveland. Well, shit.

So, I thought about it and I thought about the fact that I’ve only been to one concert in the last three years and that shouldn’t be the case. I also thought about the fact that it’s summertime now and it’s time to do summertime things. Summer is a time for carefree, impulse-based decision making—which I haven’t done enough of in the last three years—and so I bought two tickets to the Kings of Leon show at the House of Blues in Cleveland. I convinced my buddy Jak to come with me despite his protesting of being too poor to go to a concert. Jak, you see, is an aspiring screenwriter, aka part-time bartender, aka part-time student, aka currently unemployed, thus the perfect candidate to ride along to a rock show in Cleveland, on a Tuesday night. It’s not like he had to get up for work in the morning or anything (actually, he did have to meet with someone but not until after 11am).

We left town around 4:30 in the afternoon, high-tailing it towards Toledo, the afternoon sun chasing us across the sky. The drive to Cleveland requires a trip eastward on the Ohio Turnpike, a pay road of limited access, and I have wondered for some time now how much difficulty I’d experience getting on to the turnpike. In my recollection of past eastbound trips on the turnpike the toll tickets were dispensed from automatic ticket booths. Parking structures in Ann Arbor all utilize these machines and as I cannot grip the ticket to pull it from the machine, I always need to call for assistance from one of the cashiers. Having Jak with me meant I wouldn’t have to worry about this problem as he was able to jump out of the passenger door, grab the ticket and jump back in as the toll gate swung open; a Chinese fire drill without all the switching of seats. For future reference though, even thought the toll tickets are dispensed automatically, I saw at least one attendant on duty at the toll station and a honk of the horn should bring that person out in case anyone needs assistance.

We pulled into downtown Cleveland in a just over 2½ hours. The House of Blues is situated in close proximity to both Jacobs’ Field and Quicken Loans Arena and the area seems like it could be pretty fun to hang out in with the right activities going on. After parking my van in a structure across the street from the concert hall we made our way over to pick up our tickets. I have to say that all the event staff at the House of Blues were incredibly accommodating and helpful. The tickets I purchased were General Admission and I was anticipating finding accessible seating at the back of the house on the first level as that is what was diagrammed on the House of Blues website. When we picked up the tickets the person at the box office window suggested that we sit up in the second level reserved seating because we would have a better view of the stage from that vantage point. Acting on his tip, we found ourselves about fifteen rows from the railing, with a bird’s eye view of the stage. The House of Blues only seats 1200 people to begin with and the close quarters of the second balcony, put us right on top of the action with a sweet view. Plus, behind the seating in the second level are two bars with waitress service to all of the patrons with tickets up there. It ended up being a perfect set-up, better than I was anticipating, and just the right size club to see a young, energetic band like Kings of Leon rocking out 1200 of their closest friends.

Exiting the House of Blues into the warm night air I felt thoroughly satisfied with the entire experience and then slowly, as the jubilation and the crowd dispersed, there was the realization of the impending drive home. Any ride home from a concert can be a bit of a chore, let alone one that is over 2½ hours long. Dawdling would only further delay the inevitable. We ended up pulling into Ann Arbor after 3am and my head hit the pillow sometime after 4. My alarm going off a scant 4 hours later was less than pleasant, as was the prospect of facing a full day of physical therapy and other assorted appointments later that afternoon. The staff at my PT clinic was amazed at my previous night’s itinerary, and it’s always hilarious to recount such tales to those who would never think of doing such a thing, but such is the price we pay in the name of Rock.

Round trip mileage: 342

Cumulative mileage: 440

Mail Bag!

Long time reader Joe D. questioned the necessity of a temperpedic mattress in space. To see his query and my response check the comments on the last post. But in my quest to make sure I got the right info for him, I stumbled across some entertaining tidbits about space and sleep and this gem:

The astronaut Wakeup Call playlist. Nothing says, "Up and at 'em," like Kenny Loggins "Danger Zone"

The Future of Sleep Is Now!

Apparently, she doesn't come with the bed

I am now the proud owner of a Tempur-Pedic® Swedish Sleep System™. Well, exactly how proud I am of this new development I will find out, as I have not yet slept on my new mattress, but it is here in my possession. Before the Future arrived at my doorstep today, like many of you short-sighted Cro-Magnons, I too slept on a pathetic innerspring mattress. In the fall of 2001 when I moved out of the tiny, two bedroom apartment situated in the student ghetto, near the campus of the University of Michigan, with its landlord-furnished twin bed, and into the palatial accommodations of my new housemate Doug’s 1100 square-foot ranch home in Ann Arbor’s bustling Urban West Side neighborhood, I needed to buy a new mattress. So, I ventured over to the local Art Van furniture store and lay down $500—of the first paycheck I had yet to earn from my new teaching position—on a full size mattress and box spring. Why the upgrade from twin to full size? A kid has to grow up sometime, I guess. Plus, I had a lady-friend; I needed the extra space.

That mattress served me well (and the ladies better), but as with seemingly every other aspect of my life my accident in January 2004 altered my bedroom landscape. In the hospitals and medical care facilities I found myself convalescing in throughout the first nine months of 2004, I slept on a variety of mattresses and beds designed to maximize the administration of my necessary medical care. These beds featured numerous adjustability functions to assist the various attendant staff that got me dressed or undressed, in and out of bed, to and from my wheelchair, with a practical level of ease. When the time came for me to finally move on into my own apartment there was a question of what I was going to do about my sleeping accommodations. I was still in need of assistance with dressing and undressing care as well as the need for a nearly equal height differential between my wheelchair and whatever other surface I wanted to transfer on to. Furthermore, there was a concern over the type of surface I would be sleeping on in regards to how I was going to deal with proper pressure relief. I was warned on many occasions about the dangers of sleeping in one position all night long and how if I was unable to move around at night, I would be highly susceptible to pressure sores; which if I got one, I would almost certainly end back up in managed care.

I spent many therapy sessions developing the skills and techniques associated with being able to change body position at night, and with the right combination of bed mobility equipment—hand rails and the like—I was confident I would be able to manage my own nightly pressure relief. My other goal was to not have to purchase a hospital-style bed for my new apartment as I had grown rather fond of my old full size bed. Although an adjustable hospital bed would allow me to set the perfect height for my transfers, elevate my head if needed and adjust to give my aides better positioning to help me dress, I wanted to limit the amount of medical equipment set up through my apartment and bedroom. I wanted as close a return to the normalcy I knew before my accident as possible. Besides, although it was irrelevant at that point in time, maybe in the future I’d have another lady-friend; a twin-sized hospital bed just doesn’t readily suggest “bacchanalian pleasure den.”

So, with a little ingenuity and a couple of two-by-fours my dad was able to construct a bed frame at the approximate height as to where I could keep my old mattress and would be able to transfer in and out of bed without too much trepidation…Ladies? Yet, as seen here, my limited mobility and the need to sit up in bed as I dress and undress put excessive strain of the innerspring coils in the left-center portion of my mattress, and even with numerous rotations and flips from one side to the other, a significant, uncomfortable dent developed. I also think with my old mattress was contributing to some chronic soreness I began experiencing in my shoulders and neck. With the comfort limitations and degenerating condition of my old mattress in mind, I set out looking to find a suitable mattress solution.

Thus, I’m banking my sweet dreams on the belief that the Swedish and NASA have come up with that solution in the form of a Tempur-Pedic® Swedish Sleep System™. That’s right, Bitches, you read that right—the Swedish. The inventors, in no particular order, of ball bearings, zippers, leggy blondes and turbo! And NASA: the North American Aeronautics and Space Administration; the people that brought you Velcro, faking moon landings on sound stages, and Tang. Believe you me; I can’t wait to wake up to some sweet Tang after an awesome night of astronaut-worthy of sleep (this whole post may have been an elaborate excuse to make an astronaut-Tang joke, of which I am extremely proud). But if those two sets of credentials aren’t good enough for you, let me allow Tempur-Pedic, Inc. to explain their own brilliance; from their press kit:

This breakthrough in sleep technology is viscoelastic, breathable and temperature sensitive. It self-adjusts to body size, using weight and heat to distribute pressure over its entire surface. This amazing material remains firm where needed and soft where desired–creating a custom fit for each individual body.

The original formula, developed for NASA, was not suited for introduction to the consumer market. After nearly a decade and millions of research dollars, Tempur-Pedic’s Swedish scientists introduced the perfected version of the material.

The vision of NASA scientists – a material that would provide pressure-relieving support to astronauts as they explored the universe – is now revolutionizing the future of comfort on earth. Tempur-Pedic’s dedication to producing the next “giant leap for mankind” is truly Changing the way the world sleeps!™

I’m going to sleep this shit out of this thing.

Laundry Episode Two: Quarters

There was an act of filming footage (is it still technically "filming footage" if the visuals are digitally encoded on a plastic disc?) of me loading the clothes into the dryer and then later removing the clothes from the dryer, but a technical error (perhaps operator error; it's debatable) prevented those scenes from being entered into posterity. Thus the trilogy, as I envisioned it, did not come to pass. Spoiler alert: the clothes dry. Maybe twenty years from now, if there is still a demand for it, I'll go back and do the third part over again. Then again I probably shouldn't, because if Lucas taught us anything, it just won't be as good.

More Q and A

Last year when I participated at Novi Disability Awareness Day we waxed all philosophical and shit. This year I was at a different school with new students so I was interested to see how this year’s event was going to compare to last year, and for the most part, the program went much the same. It seems that this is an event that has been well thought out and that the kids really enjoy. The most notable difference for me this year as opposed to last year was speaking to two different groups instead of the one large group.

The fourth graders I talked to this year had many of the same questions as the kids from last year, questions about wheelchairs, procedural “how do you do ‘this’ and ‘that’?” types of questions, but this year there were a few new questions that stuck out in my mind. First, the question I was expecting last year, but didn’t get until this year, the always snicker-inducing, “How do you go to the bathroom?” My response, after their teacher pounced on the spreading titter, with the pronouncement to the group at large, “It’s ok, someone always asks that question,” was simply, “I’m sitting down here and the toilet is there; so…very carefully.” That got some laughs. The second group of kids I spoke to was big into my personal life and there was a whole sequence of questions inquiring into my favorites; when the first couple questions popped up—my favorite movie, my favorite book—I couldn’t think of anything that, they as fourth graders, might be able to identify with off the top of my head. I tried the cop out answer, “Oh, I have a lot of favorite movies, I wouldn’t be able to pick just one” and I felt kind of bad of not being able to think of a favorite book, reading being fundamental and all, but those answers weren’t going to suffice with this group. Too their credit, they pressed the issued and not thirty seconds after my noncommittal favorite movie answer, another kid asked that same question again; to which I wanted to reply, “Um, dude, I don’t know alright. Lay off!” So, I thought for a second and I told them that if I really had to pick one favorite movie it would be Raiders of the Lost Ark. To my surprise, Indiana Jones apparently transcends generations, as a few kids acted like they agreed that was a good choice. Then, that question led to, “What’s your favorite TV show?” and my reply of The Office elicited several, “Yeahs!,” and one kid in the middle of the crowd to pipe up, “My mom watches that show!” After we covered that territory then one of the girls asked me if I had a girlfriend at the time I was injured. “No,” I said. Did I have a girlfriend now? “No.” The amusing part about that exchange was that after the kids left, the parent coordinator, who was the mother of one of the students, said to me, “I can’t believe you don’t have a girlfriend. I mean, you look good. No seriously, you look great.” I thanked her for the compliment with my usual humility, but honestly relax, lady. Been there; done that.

The best question though, this year’s thinker, was “Who do you admire?” Who do I admire? Hmm. That’s a tough one. Here he is expecting me to name drop some person as a shiny beacon of how I think they should pattern their lives after. Oh man, I’ve done enough crushing of spirits lately. I can’t just say, “no one.” Is it possible I don’t admire anyone? Let’s see, can I have the definition please?
ad-mire (transitive verb)
1. be pleased by
to regard somebody or something with a feeling of pleasure, approval, and often wonder
2. respect
to have a high opinion of somebody or something, for example, a quality or attribute

Thesaurus? Synonyms?
have a high regard for (v.) esteem, think highly of, be in awe of, appreciate, marvel at

Thanks, Microsoft Word Language Tool.

Well, let’s run down the list of typical types of people the public admires. Celebrities: No. I could care less actually. Athletes: I enjoy their ability to procure victories for the teams I root for, but being around athletes at Michigan, I’ve met enough to know that they’re not all that special. Politicians: Yeah, right (and yes, Dad, I considered the Democrats too). The Pope: Not catholic. Important people from history: Well yeah, maybe, but they’re dead. As far as I know Thomas Jefferson was pretty amazing, but I can’t really justify exalting a person of whom I don’t have firsthand knowledge or an opinion. Plus, no matter how great someone like Martin Luther King may be, his greatness isn’t going to resonate with a bunch of fourth graders. There are definitely plenty of people—both famous and otherwise—that I respect in terms of their abilities, intelligence, convictions, etc., but in regards to being in awe of, marveling at, or holding up on a pedestal…I can’t really think of any.

Maybe I’m too cynical. Maybe I’m reading into the literal interpretation of the definition too much. Maybe, as an adult, it’s too hard to place people who are basically my contemporaries above me. Maybe the problem is that I’m just too kick-ass to be in awe of anyone else. I guess that’s an explanation I can live with. But not wanting to leave any questions unanswered I just told them, “Tom Brady.” He’s a fellow Michigan grad. Took what many believed to be marginal talent and turned himself into one of best of his chosen profession. He seems to be a decent person and if their reactions are any indication, the fourth graders liked him as a choice worth admiring. I stopped short of proclaiming that I think it’s awesome that Brady’s greatest achievement might very well be trading up from this to this. I’ll save that snippet if I’m ever asked to address sixth graders. They’ll understand better.

You're Welcome

My latest venture into public speaking was met with much appreciation if the Thank You notes I received from the students I spoke to are any indication. Here are some of the more entertaining compliments. On a side note, try to guess the vocabulary word of the day.

Denny has a positive outlook:
Chris C. was able to work two good vocabulary words into his letter:
Emmy R. enjoyed our in-depth conversation about long-term disability benefits. She also had a little extra time on her hands:
Megan H. came away from our talk with several more questions. Pay attention next time, Megan, I covered all of these topics already. She also was able to work the word of the day in her letter:
Michela B. is fond of hearts. She also coined a new phrase for tomfoolery amongst friends:
Noah C., like his brother, also has a large vocabulary. Just wait until I incorporate pyrotechnics into my presentation, Noah. Then it will really “dazzle”:
Troy E. still has a little trouble with double negatives:
Toraki is not impressed with my vocabulary, but I still think he did an excellent job capturing my likeness:

Well kids, it was my pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed having me at your school.

Oh, Those Crazy Canucks

Here's a story aboot a quadriplegic guy from Vancouver who climbed a mountain on Sunday.

Click here to view his full website.

And here's a story about a quadriplegic from Japan who's buddy carried him up a mountain with the help of a robotic exoskeleton.

Mitch Albom has my back.

MITCH ALBOM: Bush's stem cell veto: Whom does it save?BY MITCH ALBOMFREE PRESS COLUMNIST

July 23, 2006
Consider this scenario: Many years from now, some great-granddaughter of President George W. Bush is crippled in a car accident. There are treatments available that will heal her wounded spinal cord. But the doctor shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, your great-grandfather didn't support our research, so we're not going to help you."

That would be cruel, right? Turning your back on someone in need?

No crueler than what Bush did last week.

There are people dying in this country from conditions that might be cured through embryonic stem cell research. Their children may be prone to similar afflictions.

Yet with a staged backdrop that was as hypocritical as it was arrogant, Bush used the first veto of his presidency to put a kibosh on funding more stem cell research. This, despite 63 yes votes in the Senate and 70% of Americans being in favor of it.

In a presidency already peppered with questionable decisions, this may go down as the most stubborn and selfish of them all.

Now, put down your pens if you're going to write me about abortion, because you'll be falling into the very trap that the president and his handlers set for you: to make you believe this is all about that issue. It is not.

Keep one thing in mind as we discuss this -- the embryos in question here are being thrown away. Disposed of. Tossed out. And thanks to this veto, they will continue to be. Bush never mentioned this once in his well-orchestrated event. But it's true.

Bill carefully constructed
The bill that Bush vetoed was painfully constructed to avoid abuse. It insisted that only extra, discarded embryos from fertility clinics -- and only when the donor of those embryos gave written approval and was not paid for them -- could be used for research.

Yet Bush made it seem as if scientists would be grabbing babies from mothers' wombs.
"This bill would support the taking of innocent human life ..." he said. "Each of these human embryos is a unique human life with inherent dignity and matchless value."

OK. If Bush's believes that, why isn't he closing down every fertility clinic in America right now? Almost any woman who goes in for fertility treatments ends up producing more embryos than are implanted. According to Dr. Sue O'Shea, the director of the Michigan Center for Human Embryonic Stem Cell Research, "per treatment, approximately 20 to 30 individual embryos get thrown away."

That's per woman, per treatment. If, as Bush insists, these embryos are little people, that's 20-30 murders per patient, right?

Where is the outrage?

Thousands of embryos available
Instead, with babies crying behind him, Bush ignored that question and proudly noted that embryos could be adopted, as some mothers in the room had done. So? How would this bill have stopped that? According to Sen. Arlen Specter and others, there have only been around 128 adoptions of such embryos in the last nine years. And since there are currently around 400,000 frozen embryos, clearly anyone who wants to adopt one can do so. That still leaves the unused ones to be thrown out.

And if you do that, you are surely showing them less respect than using them for potential cures for Alzheimer's, diabetes or ALS.

"Crossing this line would be a mistake," Bush said. But those are code words for what this is all about: making it look, sound and feel like the abortion debate. Yet, much as this pains people to hear, abortion is legal in America. So fetuses can be aborted but tiny cells about to be thrown out can't be used for research? We don't see the hypocrisy in that?

We're heard all the tired objections: We have enough stem cells. You can get them elsewhere. Scientists have negated these arguments. Even usual Bush-supporters such as Nancy Reagan and Bill Frist supported this bill. The research will go on -- despite Bush -- through private funding and in foreign countries. But it will be slower, and future patients who might be saved will die.

You wonder if one of those future patients will be one of Bush's great-grandchildren. If so, I hope that person is given help. It would be a kinder fate than what great-granddaddy just delivered to others.

Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or malbom@freepress.com.
Copyright © 2006 Detroit Free Press Inc.

I'm in the wrong business

It's nice to know that in these financially unstable times the UMHS is still finding ways to pay the bills.

Yes, I realize doctors are very busy. Yes, they have mountains of paperwork to complete on all their patients and there are plenty of better things for them to be doing, but $35? It was only a two page form for christsakes. The ultimate irony is that the form in question was a form my insurance company requested in regards to assess the continuance of my disability payments. Somewhere, in some boardroom with a really great view, a bunch of old men in expensive suits are lighting cigars with burning hundred dollar bills and high-fiving.

I couldn't find my pen filled with blood, sweat, and tears, so I wrote, "what a racket" on the memo line of my check.