Below the fold…
Below the fold…
CN pretty much every kind of bigoted abuse but mostly racist, instructions to suicide, MRAs/libertarians/edgelords being themselves.
As expected, answering 27 Questions has induced a steady influx of anti-humanist nonsense into my comments queue. I’m better prepared than most to receive this onslaught, because I’ve watched this happen to people far more important and interesting than me for a long time, I’ve read what the various subsets of atheist dirtbag are about, and I feel no need to let them get close enough to get under my skin. They have no surprises for me, and nothing to say that far more articulate bigots haven’t said before. They can whine endlessly about how, in this heat, taking away their freeze-peach is a super mean thing to do, the kind of thing only a crate of hippos would dare make standard policy, and I can look at the other things in my spam folder and derive amusement from the idea that they think I’ll ever take them seriously.
Y’all are dangerous, not interesting. Understanding yourselves is a big step toward becoming better people, and I’m glad I could help.
With that in mind, this comment stuck out at me for how impressively it missed all the points.
There is a major historic site in Miami, called the Miami Circle. It is one of the oldest indigenous sites in South Florida, discovered during construction excavations. It is a circle marked with holes that once held 24 poles, suggestive of a clock, and it was found in association with many artifacts attributed to the Tequesta / Tekesta people who once inhabited this region of South Florida. Due to its highly urban location and the controversy surrounding whether it would be preserved as a historic site or built over as part of the property that encompassed it, the circle itself has been left underground and marked with informative placards. I’ve never stood at this site, but I have been on Miami River tours that went past it. Its riverfront location makes it obvious, as the only spot for miles where the buildings don’t edge directly onto the shore, even with the circle itself underground.
I’ve occasionally been challenged to put together a bucket list, but that framing device doesn’t do much for me. My dreams are at once too distant and too quotidian to fit on a “before I die” sort of list. For now, they’re a “when the tide comes in” sort of list: a dream for a future where scrambling for every cent is a distant memory, a plan for when I’m gainfully employed again (for various tiers of “gainfully”), and a promise to my future self.
CN: Police Brutality, Violence against Black and Disabled people,
Yesterday a black man with a cognitive disability was accosted and then violently beaten by cops. These days, it seems like every day brings a new story along these lines, except this time, it happened in Ottawa, Canada.
We unfairly and unjustifiably pride ourselves on being better here in Canada. I’ve even had angry people messaging me telling me I am being unfair and spurious in claiming that racist police violence happens here.
They had 5 cops against 1 man.
He was on the ground when they beat him with their sticks.
They beat him so badly, he may not live.
They beat him despite people in the area telling them he was disabled.
They beat him because they didn’t see him as human.
This happened in my city. This happened in a neighbourhood close enough to mine to be one I pass by regularly.
We need to start paying attention. We need to get off our fucking high horse and stop patting ourselves on the back, because better than the genocide that is going on in the US isn’t good enough. Because ignoring the genocides going on within our own borders because the body count isn’t going up as quickly as it is in the US, ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!
WE NEED TO DO BETTER.
This happens in Canada, and turning away and pretending it isn’t happening is the same as condoning it.
UPDATE: Abdirahaman Abdi, the Somali-Canadian man who was violently beaten by cops in Ottawa has died. His brutal assault is now murder. May he rest in power, and may his family get justice for what was done.
It’s not easy for me to feel good about maternal figures in media. (Gee, I wonder why.) This is something I’m aware of and keep in mind when one of them starts to rub me the wrong way, or otherwise shows their flaws. I can acknowledge Dr. Maheswaran’s harshness and overly protective tendencies, I can see and cathartically process Sadie’s mother’s overweening enthusiasm and difficulty seeing the daughter in front of her, but Rose Quartz creeps me out.
My parents claim they have an honest relationship with me. I hesitate to say they think so because the claim is so bizarrely impossible that them “thinking” their way into it seems like the real stretch.
Do you think I’ve been honest with you about me, Mom and Dad? Do you really think me knowing I was trans for almost two years before I told you is the aberration, the break from our pattern that signaled a loss of trust? I don’t believe that for a second. I think you twisted and turned your way into this narrative because it let you harp on how I handled my disclosures for a while, instead of having only your own bigotry to lean on as a reason why my being Alyssa instead of [deadname] is a crime against family honor. I think you built this skein in your minds because it was important to you to feel a certain way about your children, and that it has less than nothing to do with me.
Some of the online atheosphere’s most noisome abattoir drippings all got together to lay out some questions they want “SJWs” to answer. (Some other folks addressing their foolishness here and here provide that context without giving them pageviews). Giving serious answers to unserious questions is a hobby of mine, so here are some interesting thoughts for uninteresting drivel.
One of the best things about becoming a blogger has been meeting amazing people who have rapidly become my family. We’re all united by similar struggles – poverty, disability, abusive pasts or histories, – and some struggles unique to specific individuals – racism, parenting. We try and help each other out as much as we can: with information, ideas, fundraising when applicable, and occasionally, like with other family members, by showing up and lending a hand when things get tough.
I have one such friend in the New York area. This person is really an inspiration to me. With everything she’s been through she has done a magnificent job raising her daughter to be a confident kid who loves the things about herself that the world tells her she should hate: her skin colour, her Neurodivergence, her gender. This friend has been here for me and Alyssa when times were hard: staying up late with me when I was struggling with crohn’s and couldn’t sleep. Being there for Alyssa as a representative of the same heritage when it seemed like her own family might reject her.
We’ve been there for each other when discussing disability, and we’ve shared tips on working with difficult doctors. But like with most of us struggling with disability, things have gotten a little more complicated lately. Doctors are ignoring a serious symptom, and trying to get them to pay attention to it is exhausting. To add injury to injury, a misstep on the train has left my friend with an injured leg that slows her down.
Those familiar with New York know that if the things you need to do are spread across the city, getting anything done can take several hours. Add an injury and a young child, and it gets a whole lot worse.
New York is fairly close to where I live. Close enough to drive to in one day. Those who have been following our story though, also know that Alyssa and I are currently in a marginally more difficult situation. Since her graduation, Alyssa is no longer getting paid. She’s been diligently looking for a job: everything from the work she is qualified for –scientist for the federal government, assistant professor, teaching work, positions at universities, labs, anything – to part time work to help pay the bills at stores, pet shops, groceries, admin assistant, anything and everyone who might hire her.
In the midst of all this, we are also working on figuring out exactly what needs to be done to allow her to change her name and information, while fighting the clock on her immigration application this summer.
Have we mentioned it has been a busy summer?
I have the time and the inclination to go to New York. Not for long, just long enough to help out for a week or so. Help take care of my friend and her daughter, chauffer them around for a little bit so they can run their errands without having to spend multiple hours in the baking sun, make some ready meals for them so that she doesn’t have to worry about getting dinner ready in the middle of her exhaustion, and maybe, just maybe, knock a few doctor’s skulls around to help get them to take things seriously.
I have a place to stay, and my hope was to be able to take advantage of my Costco membership to get groceries for her that I could also live on while I was there! I’m asking for help with gas and cost of food and potential incidentals (parking?). Any donation would be greatly appreciated. I will also do what I can to promote Young, Sick, and Invisible while there, and maybe just maybe take advantage of the post office to finish sending out the books for the IndieGoGo (between the money needed for shipping and the [totally justified] post office strike it’s been rough getting all the packages sent).
Please help if you can and are willing. If you want to help, but can’t donate, please share this fundraiser and post in the hopes that someone else might be able to.
Thank you everyone.
The following is a guest post request from a mother who wants to play Pokemon Go with her child, but can’t because of some of the many ways it is inaccessible to people with disabilities. Her identity will be kept anonymous for reasons of safety and consideration. The following is an open letter to Nintendo.
Hey Nintendo, some people have disabled children who would like to play Pokemon Go.
Even though the premise of your game is awesome, it could be improved upon with more accessibility.
As the parent of an autistic child (who is intentionally keeping things vague for the sake of this post because I’d rather my son disclose information about himself publicly whenever he personally feels it is appropriate to do so and can consent to it) who enjoys playing Pokemon with his mother, and as a mother who grew up playing Pokemon games of her own, the Pokemon franchise has always been one that has allowed us to bond and spend quality time together. I man the controls, and when my son indicates a preference in one or more Pokemon, I try to incorporate those into our team. (Once we attempted to bring the three legendary birds to the Elite Four in LeafGreen because he liked them a lot. That might have been when type disadvantage was best illustrated, bringing three Flying when the first Trainer specializes in Ice. Moving along…) Based on what I’d read about Go, I thought it would be one of the most awesome games ever to play with him when it came out.
And then it came out.