Got another IIDDI,WW story all in the works.
Didn't make enough time to get it all out.
See you in a couple days.
28 October 2007
25 October 2007
Cosmic Irony?
You be the judge.
The below stories are true.
24/October/2007
11:38 pm
I am sitting on a cold metal bench in an abandoned Police Station on the South Side of Chicago. It is the set of Chicago Overcoat. I am decked out in full cop regalia: Badge, nameplate, regulation blue shirt, utility belt, walkie-talkie, and even a replica 9mm pistol. I look good. It is the first film set I've been on all year and it feels like home. A bunch of us actors and extras sit in the "greenroom" area swapping glory stories of near-misses with celebrities and being spotted by random people. Most everyone is just scratching for screen time but I'm one of the very few who's collecting a paycheck. Craft services is overflowing with snacks, food, fruits and veggies, gum, and there's even a fully catered meal. There's no real name actors on set today, but rumors abound of Sopranos regular Frank Vincent and '50s crooner/Jersey Boy Frankie Valli showing interest and even possibly attached to the script. My group shoots two scenes, both involving a fight between two detectives, its climax a beaten-down water cooler splattering everywhere. The other two cops and me all ham it up in costume and the short cute blonde playing the secretary won't leave my side between takes. Cracking jokes with the casting director, the costume ladies, the lighting crew. Share some stories about actual run-ins with cops and how to talk yourself out of a ticket. We were supposed to be done at 3:00 am but we wrap two hours early, meaning I can actually go home and perhaps catch a nap before I open the store.
25/October/2007
1:43 am
I am sitting on a plastic chair in a waiting room of the Des Plaines Police Station. I am waiting for the cop who pulled me over to tell me if I can leave tonight. I took the Kennedy home and got off at River Road, like I usually do. Was driving down River Road in Des Plaines when I pass two cop cars on the left side of the road. I was driving the limit but one of the cars does a U-turn and begins to follow me. I keep myself at the limit but after a good mile the cop flashes his lights and pulls me over. A nice cop, he cites me for a very loud muffler and after tailing me he notices my licence plates are expired.
ASIDE: My car was purchased with an aftermarket muffler so loud I have had the profoundly Deaf ride in my car telling me, "This car's loud!", but I have driven it in the late, late of night and the wee, wee of morning, and this is the first time any cop has pulled me over for noise.
After asking for my licence and insurance he points out that my Driver's Licence is expired and he can't legally let me drive. I follow him to the station where he says with my compliance we can clear everything up for $75. I have $50 cash on me and no ATM card. Since I haven't been arrested ever, he tries see what he can do for me. The waiting room is locked from the outside. It contains a graffiti-scratched metal table, two busted plastic chairs, yellow-stained walls, trilingual metal signs, and a pay phone. Through the thin rectangular window in the door I can see myself hunched over in a chair, slightly rocking, on the Closed-Circuit monitor in the main office. How long will this take? Who can I call for $25 at this time of night? Will I get to work on time? Will I get out of here tonight? After what feels like a week the cop returns with a ticket for expired plates and expired licence. They say they procured an I-Bond for me. I sign a paper, they let me go. Court date's in December. Cop told me already he ain't showing up. He sees my army jacket and asks if I'm military. After I deny he says he could've cut me a better deal. I tell him I'm starting with the Green Berets tomorrow. I get home an hour before I have to leave for work.
SOOOOO relieved he never asked me to open my ashtray...
The below stories are true.
24/October/2007
11:38 pm
I am sitting on a cold metal bench in an abandoned Police Station on the South Side of Chicago. It is the set of Chicago Overcoat. I am decked out in full cop regalia: Badge, nameplate, regulation blue shirt, utility belt, walkie-talkie, and even a replica 9mm pistol. I look good. It is the first film set I've been on all year and it feels like home. A bunch of us actors and extras sit in the "greenroom" area swapping glory stories of near-misses with celebrities and being spotted by random people. Most everyone is just scratching for screen time but I'm one of the very few who's collecting a paycheck. Craft services is overflowing with snacks, food, fruits and veggies, gum, and there's even a fully catered meal. There's no real name actors on set today, but rumors abound of Sopranos regular Frank Vincent and '50s crooner/Jersey Boy Frankie Valli showing interest and even possibly attached to the script. My group shoots two scenes, both involving a fight between two detectives, its climax a beaten-down water cooler splattering everywhere. The other two cops and me all ham it up in costume and the short cute blonde playing the secretary won't leave my side between takes. Cracking jokes with the casting director, the costume ladies, the lighting crew. Share some stories about actual run-ins with cops and how to talk yourself out of a ticket. We were supposed to be done at 3:00 am but we wrap two hours early, meaning I can actually go home and perhaps catch a nap before I open the store.
25/October/2007
1:43 am
I am sitting on a plastic chair in a waiting room of the Des Plaines Police Station. I am waiting for the cop who pulled me over to tell me if I can leave tonight. I took the Kennedy home and got off at River Road, like I usually do. Was driving down River Road in Des Plaines when I pass two cop cars on the left side of the road. I was driving the limit but one of the cars does a U-turn and begins to follow me. I keep myself at the limit but after a good mile the cop flashes his lights and pulls me over. A nice cop, he cites me for a very loud muffler and after tailing me he notices my licence plates are expired.
ASIDE: My car was purchased with an aftermarket muffler so loud I have had the profoundly Deaf ride in my car telling me, "This car's loud!", but I have driven it in the late, late of night and the wee, wee of morning, and this is the first time any cop has pulled me over for noise.
After asking for my licence and insurance he points out that my Driver's Licence is expired and he can't legally let me drive. I follow him to the station where he says with my compliance we can clear everything up for $75. I have $50 cash on me and no ATM card. Since I haven't been arrested ever, he tries see what he can do for me. The waiting room is locked from the outside. It contains a graffiti-scratched metal table, two busted plastic chairs, yellow-stained walls, trilingual metal signs, and a pay phone. Through the thin rectangular window in the door I can see myself hunched over in a chair, slightly rocking, on the Closed-Circuit monitor in the main office. How long will this take? Who can I call for $25 at this time of night? Will I get to work on time? Will I get out of here tonight? After what feels like a week the cop returns with a ticket for expired plates and expired licence. They say they procured an I-Bond for me. I sign a paper, they let me go. Court date's in December. Cop told me already he ain't showing up. He sees my army jacket and asks if I'm military. After I deny he says he could've cut me a better deal. I tell him I'm starting with the Green Berets tomorrow. I get home an hour before I have to leave for work.
SOOOOO relieved he never asked me to open my ashtray...
23 October 2007
Into the Unknown
It has been six years since I started on my spiritual journey.
Seven chakras, a different chakra each year, in order from root to crown. Mix in gobs of assorted occult apocrypha, a degree in Psychology, a dash of Taoist interest, and a buttercream thick facade of Buddhism.
The What of Kevin.
Some things metamorphed immeasurably. Some not a bit.
Is this better?
I don't honestly know.
My mala broke weeks ago. I have plans for Barkme to reconstruct it, plans that will be ceased indefinitely.
My altar is all packed away. I knew I was right to get a steamer trunk. A hackneyed writing studio sits in its place.
My walk has remained untouched half a month. And so it remains.
My history is steeped in solid Roman Catholicism melted down into a static agnostic murk. Toying with the thought of going back to Church one Sunday.
Poo-tee-weet.
Seven chakras, a different chakra each year, in order from root to crown. Mix in gobs of assorted occult apocrypha, a degree in Psychology, a dash of Taoist interest, and a buttercream thick facade of Buddhism.
The What of Kevin.
Some things metamorphed immeasurably. Some not a bit.
Is this better?
I don't honestly know.
My mala broke weeks ago. I have plans for Barkme to reconstruct it, plans that will be ceased indefinitely.
My altar is all packed away. I knew I was right to get a steamer trunk. A hackneyed writing studio sits in its place.
My walk has remained untouched half a month. And so it remains.
My history is steeped in solid Roman Catholicism melted down into a static agnostic murk. Toying with the thought of going back to Church one Sunday.
Poo-tee-weet.
20 October 2007
"If I don't do it, who will?": Hide-and-Seek
We grew up in Chicago, North Side, Ukranian Village, in the shadow of St. Mary's of Nazareth Hospital Center. A small yellow-brick bungalow, garage off the back alley, postage-stamped sized backyard with a swingset and no central air anywhere, nestled with six others between two shocking canary City signs plainly reading: DEAF.
Brian was bussed to a Catholic grade school with a deaf program, Jennifer went to St. Helen's just a couple blocks away. I didn't get the Parochial treatment 'cause I tested high enough to be sent cross town to a public school with a gifted program which, coincidentially enough, had its own Sign Language Club. Tim was so small during this time. My most vivid memory of him is my Mom giving him a bath in the kitchen sink. I marveled at seeing my brother getting scrubbed in a place usually reserved for dirty dishes, and I couldn't believe a human being could be small enough to even attempt that.
We'd play a lot of games together outside. Tag, water fights, Mother-May-I, Jennifer and I usually signing instructions for Brian because he was such an athletic and valuable player. We three had our own version of The Wizard of Oz we'd act out on the front sidewalk, all of us covering multiple parts but it usually ended up with Jennifer as Dorothy, me as the Tin Man, and Brian as the Cowardly Lion.
When it got dark or the weather was bad we were forced to play inside. Not many games we could all decide on for inside but Hide-and-Seek was always popular. When you're that small there are just endless amounts of nooks and crannies you can search out to get lost. No one would ever venture into the hall closets, which is where I'd usually be found 'cause I just got so damn predictable. Brian was always happy to play, but Jennifer and I had such an ulterior motive for always pushing for Hide-and -Seek.
The trick was to get Brian to be the Seeker early in the game. Then we'd all be holding glue, tell him to count, and we'd run off while he closed his eyes and did his thing. While Brian was out seeking, Jennifer and I would yell out our relative positions.
“Kev! Where are you?”
“I'm in the bathroom!”
“Why?”
“I thought I had to pee!”
“Need a book to read?”
“No! Thank you!”
“Where's Brian?
“He's looking underneath his bed!”
“Okay! I'm going downstairs to Mom and Dad's room!”
“'Kay! I'm gonna hide in your closet!”
We could keep this going on for a good half-hour. We could, if Brian weren't so quick and had such damn good eyesight. Actually, even with Jennifer and me playing off Brian's deficit, he was still a fearsome opponent. Throughout most of his life Brian was in competitive sports. He played hockey on multiple teams for decades. He was a four-letter Varsity athlete in high school. My Dad nicknamed him “Ox” because of his immense power and tireless drive. So, it wasn't even like cheating. If it were a level playing field Brian would have creamed our butts every time we played anything.
We had the last laugh, though. When Brian wasn't seeking it was always an option to stop playing and never let him know. Let him sit and stew in his cramped hiding space for who-knows-how-long. But we never did that.
Not often, at least.
That would be cruel.
12 October 2007
"If I don't do it, who will?": FAQ
Here's answers to some questions before you even ask them. Anything I miss? Let me know. I'll answer it.
Is this story for real?
Absolutely. This is a picture of my siblings and me back in 1986.
Jennifer's on the left, Brian's on top and Timothy's on the bottom. If you can zoom in on Tim's face you'd be able to see he's wearing earpieces and a body aid, which was a much more common hearing aid style in the less-technology advanced '80s. If you've seen Mr. Holland's Opus, it's the same hearing aid Cole wears as a child, with a small box held in a pouch on a harness worn on the torso. Brian isn't wearing his because his hearing loss is so severe that a hearing aid makes little difference for him. This is something that has affected my life since I was born.
So what is the story you tell people when they ask?
It goes a little something like this:
“Both of my brothers are Deaf. My older brother and younger brother were both born Deaf. My sister and I are hearing, as are my parents, and all of us know sign language. They are the only Deaf people in my whole extended family.”
Okay, it's not quite two minutes long, but at this point people are generally engrossed and skip to their patented response anyway.
I can, indeed, relay this story in French and ASL as well.
How were your brothers born Deaf?
Strictly through genetics. Both my parents have a chromosome that carries the recessive Deaf gene and passed it on unknowingly. How it skipped over my older sister and me is purely through chance and circumstance. I have a large extended family and Brian and Tim are the only members who are Deaf. This whole situation is miraculous unto itself. All 6 of us participated in a study through Gallaudet University to see how the gene traveled. After a simple blood test it has been identified in both my sister and me, giving our potential offspring a 50% chance of being born Deaf. There are many congenital conditions that cause Deafness but the one most likely affecting Brian and Tim is a poor connection between the cochlea of the ear, which translates sounds into electrical impulses the brain can read, and the Auditory Nerve. Between the two of them, Brian and Tim have roughly 20% the hearing of an average person (Tim 15%, Brian 5%).
Can they hear anything?
Yes, but only very loud and very low frequencies. During their adolescence both Brian and Tim experimented with rap music with its booming bass lines. There's a famous family story where Brian and Tim took the family van to drive a few errands and Jennifer was out on the front lawn when they were driving back to the house. Jennifer could see both their heads bobbing rhythmically to some deliberate beat, looking at each other in silent recognition, heads nodding at exactly the same time. They parked the van and went inside the house. Jennifer just had to know what they were listening to so she went into the house to get the van keys and turned on the radio. The only thing that came out the speakers was static, loud hissing static. It's a great little story and I couldn't tell you what quotient of it is absolutely true, but it's a nice illustration of what kind of trials and tribulations Brian and Tim have had in the Hearing World.
In winter of 2006 Tim underwent surgery and received two Cochlear Implants which changed his and our whole perception of his Deafness. This is a very hot topic in the Deaf World which will be dealt with in detail later.
How did you learn how to sign?
I am a native signer. I have not had a conscious day of my life when I didn't know sign language. When Brian was born and was diagnosed as Deaf, my parents took it upon themselves to learn the language and everything else they could to understand Brian. You'd be surprised at how much of a rarity it is for families to do this nowadays. So, when Jennifer was born she was taught to sign and took to it so easily she began signing before she was speaking, leading some to think she was Deaf as well. When I was growing up I remember we had a collection of Signed English Fairy Tale books. Stories like “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “Little Red Riding Hood” were printed with large pictures, very simple sentences, and illustrations of a person showing the sign for each word in Signed English. Every day, at every meal, every TV show, every public outing, every Sunday at Church, we were signing something. When I was in college I had completed my Language Requirement early and had some room for electives. University of Iowa is well-known in the country for a strong ASL Language program, so I decided to take classes there to brush up on my signing. Say this with me: ASL and Signed English are not the same language. Three semesters of ASL classes and two years working as a Teacher's Aide for mentally ill Deaf children helped boost my signing to very skilled proportions.
Jennifer, however, has had no formal training and her signing kicks my erudite ass. You think I'm good? She'll make you weep, she's so incredible.
Have you ever interpreted? Are you an interpreter?
Yes, I have interpreted countless times, some for pay but mostly not, however I am not a Certified ASL Interpreter.
Why not?
Stupid, isn't it? A natural talent in something so missing from our culture, yet I have not gone and exploited this resource. I've tried. I looked into Interpreter courses and researched the Testing Battery for certification. Even with my already-present ability, it would take a good 1-1/2 to 2 years of classes and preparation and three expensive tests before I receive a document telling me that the State recognizes that I can speak to/for the Deaf. For what I want to do with my life this hasn't appeared as a viable option. Without any hesitation I will sign for anyone Deaf at any time in any situation, and I use my signing most every day. I don't feel any need to wait for any Government to give me clearance to do that.
You sound bitter. Do you have any issues with this whole Deaf thing?
For the record, I am a deeply sarcastic person. A lot of my humor comes with my being inappropriate for the moment. This makes it difficult for many people to know when I'm being on the level with them. However, yes, there is a bit of bitterness written into that story. After talking with thousands of people and sharing stories about childhood, I've realized that my time growing up was uniquely different from just about everyone I knew. They look at me and consider me well-adjusted and compassionate. I look at them and consider them normal. And many times in my life I wished I was just normal.
I have lots of issues with the whole Deaf thing, all of which I want to confront and clear up in the process of writing this.
Why did you take offense at people calling you “cool” for knowing sign language?
Take a look at it from my point of view: If I didn't know this language, this whole lifestyle, I wouldn't be able to speak to or understand 1/3 of my family. I didn't choose this, it became me. Yes, it's cool to flaunt at the beginning but after a couple years you begin to wonder why people look upon this with such novelty. Is it cool to learn how to share, so much so that you'll stop and stare every time someone splits a sandwich with a friend? How excited do you get when you observe an immigrant testing their strained English on someone? Besides that, none of this has been easy. I make it look easy because it's natural to me, but nothing about this has been a cakewalk. The years of ostracism, the steady piercing stares, the lifelong guilt, the constant conscienciousness of the situation; all of this and then some reduced to someone calling you “cool”. I don't do this to be cool. I do this because there's no other way for it to be done.
I'm not nearly as bitter about this anymore, but I retain some skepticism. I'm much more open to the idea that any kind of awareness, even wide-eyed shock and awe, is still awareness and it's a good thing I can deliver it. But I'm always curious about why some people get involved in Deaf Culture when they don't have as direct a link as mine. “What made you want to interpret?” “Why are you teaching the Deaf?” Why do you bear the weight of this voluntarily when I was born with the responsibility? Shit like that fascinates me.
Do you ever wish your brothers could hear?
Yes. I used to, often, but not really much anymore. Above all else, it would make life so much easier. Basic daily communication aside, it would have really helped with searches for schools, trying to find a job, overall social skills. I don't wish for them to be hearing now. The shock of suddenly being able to hear everything would boomerang them backwards into silence. Even Tim turns off his Cochlear Implants because the sounds give him a headache.
On the flip side, Brian has told us all that he wishes we were all Deaf.
Will you teach me some signs?
Sure, I could. I'm usually not in the mindspace to do so, but if you catch me with some idle time I'd be happy to show you some conversational signs, mostly pertaining to what you like and what you do. I don't give formalized lessons, though, so it's up to you to remind me. If you take the time to think about it, you'll realize sign language is really a more focused form of pantomime. If you can act it out and express your emotions freely, you can say it to a Deaf person. Start with sports. I'll bet you'll come up with the natural signs for “baseball”, “bowling”, and “fishing” without thinking twice.
If you're really serious about pursing this as more than a novelty, I can direct you to a number of resources much more knowledgeable and less restrictive than me. Some of then are even free.
If you just want to know the dirty words, don't worry. We'll cover all that soon.
Is this story for real?
Absolutely. This is a picture of my siblings and me back in 1986.
Jennifer's on the left, Brian's on top and Timothy's on the bottom. If you can zoom in on Tim's face you'd be able to see he's wearing earpieces and a body aid, which was a much more common hearing aid style in the less-technology advanced '80s. If you've seen Mr. Holland's Opus, it's the same hearing aid Cole wears as a child, with a small box held in a pouch on a harness worn on the torso. Brian isn't wearing his because his hearing loss is so severe that a hearing aid makes little difference for him. This is something that has affected my life since I was born.
So what is the story you tell people when they ask?
It goes a little something like this:
“Both of my brothers are Deaf. My older brother and younger brother were both born Deaf. My sister and I are hearing, as are my parents, and all of us know sign language. They are the only Deaf people in my whole extended family.”
Okay, it's not quite two minutes long, but at this point people are generally engrossed and skip to their patented response anyway.
I can, indeed, relay this story in French and ASL as well.
How were your brothers born Deaf?
Strictly through genetics. Both my parents have a chromosome that carries the recessive Deaf gene and passed it on unknowingly. How it skipped over my older sister and me is purely through chance and circumstance. I have a large extended family and Brian and Tim are the only members who are Deaf. This whole situation is miraculous unto itself. All 6 of us participated in a study through Gallaudet University to see how the gene traveled. After a simple blood test it has been identified in both my sister and me, giving our potential offspring a 50% chance of being born Deaf. There are many congenital conditions that cause Deafness but the one most likely affecting Brian and Tim is a poor connection between the cochlea of the ear, which translates sounds into electrical impulses the brain can read, and the Auditory Nerve. Between the two of them, Brian and Tim have roughly 20% the hearing of an average person (Tim 15%, Brian 5%).
Can they hear anything?
Yes, but only very loud and very low frequencies. During their adolescence both Brian and Tim experimented with rap music with its booming bass lines. There's a famous family story where Brian and Tim took the family van to drive a few errands and Jennifer was out on the front lawn when they were driving back to the house. Jennifer could see both their heads bobbing rhythmically to some deliberate beat, looking at each other in silent recognition, heads nodding at exactly the same time. They parked the van and went inside the house. Jennifer just had to know what they were listening to so she went into the house to get the van keys and turned on the radio. The only thing that came out the speakers was static, loud hissing static. It's a great little story and I couldn't tell you what quotient of it is absolutely true, but it's a nice illustration of what kind of trials and tribulations Brian and Tim have had in the Hearing World.
In winter of 2006 Tim underwent surgery and received two Cochlear Implants which changed his and our whole perception of his Deafness. This is a very hot topic in the Deaf World which will be dealt with in detail later.
How did you learn how to sign?
I am a native signer. I have not had a conscious day of my life when I didn't know sign language. When Brian was born and was diagnosed as Deaf, my parents took it upon themselves to learn the language and everything else they could to understand Brian. You'd be surprised at how much of a rarity it is for families to do this nowadays. So, when Jennifer was born she was taught to sign and took to it so easily she began signing before she was speaking, leading some to think she was Deaf as well. When I was growing up I remember we had a collection of Signed English Fairy Tale books. Stories like “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “Little Red Riding Hood” were printed with large pictures, very simple sentences, and illustrations of a person showing the sign for each word in Signed English. Every day, at every meal, every TV show, every public outing, every Sunday at Church, we were signing something. When I was in college I had completed my Language Requirement early and had some room for electives. University of Iowa is well-known in the country for a strong ASL Language program, so I decided to take classes there to brush up on my signing. Say this with me: ASL and Signed English are not the same language. Three semesters of ASL classes and two years working as a Teacher's Aide for mentally ill Deaf children helped boost my signing to very skilled proportions.
Jennifer, however, has had no formal training and her signing kicks my erudite ass. You think I'm good? She'll make you weep, she's so incredible.
Have you ever interpreted? Are you an interpreter?
Yes, I have interpreted countless times, some for pay but mostly not, however I am not a Certified ASL Interpreter.
Why not?
Stupid, isn't it? A natural talent in something so missing from our culture, yet I have not gone and exploited this resource. I've tried. I looked into Interpreter courses and researched the Testing Battery for certification. Even with my already-present ability, it would take a good 1-1/2 to 2 years of classes and preparation and three expensive tests before I receive a document telling me that the State recognizes that I can speak to/for the Deaf. For what I want to do with my life this hasn't appeared as a viable option. Without any hesitation I will sign for anyone Deaf at any time in any situation, and I use my signing most every day. I don't feel any need to wait for any Government to give me clearance to do that.
You sound bitter. Do you have any issues with this whole Deaf thing?
For the record, I am a deeply sarcastic person. A lot of my humor comes with my being inappropriate for the moment. This makes it difficult for many people to know when I'm being on the level with them. However, yes, there is a bit of bitterness written into that story. After talking with thousands of people and sharing stories about childhood, I've realized that my time growing up was uniquely different from just about everyone I knew. They look at me and consider me well-adjusted and compassionate. I look at them and consider them normal. And many times in my life I wished I was just normal.
I have lots of issues with the whole Deaf thing, all of which I want to confront and clear up in the process of writing this.
Why did you take offense at people calling you “cool” for knowing sign language?
Take a look at it from my point of view: If I didn't know this language, this whole lifestyle, I wouldn't be able to speak to or understand 1/3 of my family. I didn't choose this, it became me. Yes, it's cool to flaunt at the beginning but after a couple years you begin to wonder why people look upon this with such novelty. Is it cool to learn how to share, so much so that you'll stop and stare every time someone splits a sandwich with a friend? How excited do you get when you observe an immigrant testing their strained English on someone? Besides that, none of this has been easy. I make it look easy because it's natural to me, but nothing about this has been a cakewalk. The years of ostracism, the steady piercing stares, the lifelong guilt, the constant conscienciousness of the situation; all of this and then some reduced to someone calling you “cool”. I don't do this to be cool. I do this because there's no other way for it to be done.
I'm not nearly as bitter about this anymore, but I retain some skepticism. I'm much more open to the idea that any kind of awareness, even wide-eyed shock and awe, is still awareness and it's a good thing I can deliver it. But I'm always curious about why some people get involved in Deaf Culture when they don't have as direct a link as mine. “What made you want to interpret?” “Why are you teaching the Deaf?” Why do you bear the weight of this voluntarily when I was born with the responsibility? Shit like that fascinates me.
Do you ever wish your brothers could hear?
Yes. I used to, often, but not really much anymore. Above all else, it would make life so much easier. Basic daily communication aside, it would have really helped with searches for schools, trying to find a job, overall social skills. I don't wish for them to be hearing now. The shock of suddenly being able to hear everything would boomerang them backwards into silence. Even Tim turns off his Cochlear Implants because the sounds give him a headache.
On the flip side, Brian has told us all that he wishes we were all Deaf.
Will you teach me some signs?
Sure, I could. I'm usually not in the mindspace to do so, but if you catch me with some idle time I'd be happy to show you some conversational signs, mostly pertaining to what you like and what you do. I don't give formalized lessons, though, so it's up to you to remind me. If you take the time to think about it, you'll realize sign language is really a more focused form of pantomime. If you can act it out and express your emotions freely, you can say it to a Deaf person. Start with sports. I'll bet you'll come up with the natural signs for “baseball”, “bowling”, and “fishing” without thinking twice.
If you're really serious about pursing this as more than a novelty, I can direct you to a number of resources much more knowledgeable and less restrictive than me. Some of then are even free.
If you just want to know the dirty words, don't worry. We'll cover all that soon.
10 October 2007
New Moon
Every week I get a horoscope e-mail from Rob Breszny (www.FreeWillAstrology.com). I've read his column since college. If you check him out you can see where I get some of my lofty-headed storytelling. He preaches the case for pronoia (the belief that the world is conspiring to shower you in happiness, i.e., the opposite of paranoia) and uses devices like Pyrrhic victories and name-drops koyaanisqatsi to get his point across. The e-mail usually makes its way into my Inbox every Wednesday, but Mr. Breszny was a bit precocious and too eager to share his news so I got it yesterday. This is what he has to say this week to us Libras:
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): "The future is already here," says science
fiction writer William Gibson. "It's just not very evenly distributed." Your
job in the coming weeks, Libra, is to locate hotbeds where the future is
concentrated, and put yourself in the midst of them. It's time, in other
words, for you to escape from the wan, sludgy places where the past is
masquerading as the present. You're ready to thrive on the delightful
shocks of the new.
fiction writer William Gibson. "It's just not very evenly distributed." Your
job in the coming weeks, Libra, is to locate hotbeds where the future is
concentrated, and put yourself in the midst of them. It's time, in other
words, for you to escape from the wan, sludgy places where the past is
masquerading as the present. You're ready to thrive on the delightful
shocks of the new.
Yesterday I was also delivered some news which made made Mr.
Brezsny incredibly poignant and eerily spot on: I am being
transferred. Starting next week I no longer work at the store
where I got my start and stayed on-and-off for the past three
years. Most of my good friends are there. A lot of customers I
built great relationships with, including my own Deaf contingent,
will remain there. People who are dear to me and much better
staff than me are being left behind. It sucks, but at the same time,
it's great. I'm working up the Corporate Ladder there, and this
move shows their trust in me to take on the next challenge. It's a
new store with new staff and new customers, so I can start over
completely fresh and new. All of my old jokes are relevant and
usable once again.
I'm being given a golden ticket yet again this year. Why must it
always be a difficult gift to receive?
Brezsny incredibly poignant and eerily spot on: I am being
transferred. Starting next week I no longer work at the store
where I got my start and stayed on-and-off for the past three
years. Most of my good friends are there. A lot of customers I
built great relationships with, including my own Deaf contingent,
will remain there. People who are dear to me and much better
staff than me are being left behind. It sucks, but at the same time,
it's great. I'm working up the Corporate Ladder there, and this
move shows their trust in me to take on the next challenge. It's a
new store with new staff and new customers, so I can start over
completely fresh and new. All of my old jokes are relevant and
usable once again.
I'm being given a golden ticket yet again this year. Why must it
always be a difficult gift to receive?
04 October 2007
"If I don't do it, who will?": Introduction
I went through a period as an incoming college freshman when I didn't want to let anyone know that I knew sign language. It's one of the ultimate trump cards. When you're talking about yourself nothing less than astrophysics or brain surgery can really compete, but sign language's easier to travel with. Proving the mass of the Milky Way or repairing Broca's area requires a lot of materials, extensive jargon, can get a bit messy, and tends to lose most everyone to boredom or sleep, but most people will stop what they're doing and stare when I drop what's in my hands to interpret a conversation. It looks so simple. A couple of hand movements, some weird facial expressions, and the world falls silent at your behest. When I engage in conversation with a Deaf person a line of spectators gather and watch as if it were the Wimbleton Title Match and they don't know a thing about tennis. Spellbound yet dumbstruck.
I didn't want that. Too easy, too confining. At worst you get permanently labeled as "That Guy Who Knows Sign Language". At best, everyone will be telling you how cool it is that you know that.
Everyone.
Without fail.
100% expectency.
This is the flow of the most frequent stock response:
"You know Sign Language? That's so cool! I've always wanted to learn how to do that!
The next sentence will include one, a combination of, or all of the following:
1. I have a (friend/cousin/friend of a cousin) [who knows a (friend/cousin/friend of a cousin)] who's deaf!
2. I learned the ABC's (in school/at camp/a long time ago)! (This is usually accompanied by a demonstration of said ABCs)
3. It's one of my ultimate life dreams to learn that!
"How do you know signing?"
At this point I relay a story about my family and childhood, by rote, tight and 2 minutes long. Well-practiced. I can deliver it in three languages. This is the trump card being played.
"Wow! So your brothers are deaf! That's so cool! I mean, not that your brothers are deaf, but that's so cool! It's really cool that you know sign language."
Sheepishly, I give my thanks.
It's all putty in my hands. It happens pretty much this way, most every time. If I'm talking to a guy, he'll fire a barrage of questions getting deeper into the situation. If a girl, she'll ask me to teach her some signs or even ask me to tutor. Either way, I've caught attention. I got nowhere to go now. Five minutes into meeting someone new and I've given up the coolest thing about me. How do I compete with myself? And why is it so cool that I know sign language? That never connected with me. In fact, I was offended for a long time by that answer. I still haven't completely accepted it. Whatever. It all gets very tedious and unspectacular. Downright idiotic. I wouldn't want to use that opening for anything in the world. So I won't. Ever again. I'm gonna stop talking about it right now.
And I can't stop talking about it. 'Cause when I get pissed off or deeply emotional or just don't want to talk, my hands start to move. Everything I don't want to say my hands do. They know exactly where to go, how fast to go there, what shape to make. I break down my thought processes, trying to make phrases out of ideas, and they manifest themselves into pidgin ASL flow. This kind of thing has happened everywhere: Public, privacy, arguments, with headphones on, after months of never seeing a Deaf person. I have spontaneously signed peoples' conversations for the hell of it. I have translated unsubtitled signing I've seen on sitcoms and network television for anyone listening. I could never not do any of these things. I could never not sign to anyone Deaf. I could never not be conscious of how to translate any thing anyone is saying. I could never just stop and deny what I've been taught as a baby to be normal and essential to everything.
Signed,
"That Guy Who Knows Sign Language."
I didn't want that. Too easy, too confining. At worst you get permanently labeled as "That Guy Who Knows Sign Language". At best, everyone will be telling you how cool it is that you know that.
Everyone.
Without fail.
100% expectency.
This is the flow of the most frequent stock response:
"You know Sign Language? That's so cool! I've always wanted to learn how to do that!
The next sentence will include one, a combination of, or all of the following:
1. I have a (friend/cousin/friend of a cousin) [who knows a (friend/cousin/friend of a cousin)] who's deaf!
2. I learned the ABC's (in school/at camp/a long time ago)! (This is usually accompanied by a demonstration of said ABCs)
3. It's one of my ultimate life dreams to learn that!
"How do you know signing?"
At this point I relay a story about my family and childhood, by rote, tight and 2 minutes long. Well-practiced. I can deliver it in three languages. This is the trump card being played.
"Wow! So your brothers are deaf! That's so cool! I mean, not that your brothers are deaf, but that's so cool! It's really cool that you know sign language."
Sheepishly, I give my thanks.
It's all putty in my hands. It happens pretty much this way, most every time. If I'm talking to a guy, he'll fire a barrage of questions getting deeper into the situation. If a girl, she'll ask me to teach her some signs or even ask me to tutor. Either way, I've caught attention. I got nowhere to go now. Five minutes into meeting someone new and I've given up the coolest thing about me. How do I compete with myself? And why is it so cool that I know sign language? That never connected with me. In fact, I was offended for a long time by that answer. I still haven't completely accepted it. Whatever. It all gets very tedious and unspectacular. Downright idiotic. I wouldn't want to use that opening for anything in the world. So I won't. Ever again. I'm gonna stop talking about it right now.
And I can't stop talking about it. 'Cause when I get pissed off or deeply emotional or just don't want to talk, my hands start to move. Everything I don't want to say my hands do. They know exactly where to go, how fast to go there, what shape to make. I break down my thought processes, trying to make phrases out of ideas, and they manifest themselves into pidgin ASL flow. This kind of thing has happened everywhere: Public, privacy, arguments, with headphones on, after months of never seeing a Deaf person. I have spontaneously signed peoples' conversations for the hell of it. I have translated unsubtitled signing I've seen on sitcoms and network television for anyone listening. I could never not do any of these things. I could never not sign to anyone Deaf. I could never not be conscious of how to translate any thing anyone is saying. I could never just stop and deny what I've been taught as a baby to be normal and essential to everything.
Signed,
"That Guy Who Knows Sign Language."
No Such Thing as a Coincidence
So more stuff sprinkled into the wind this past week...
Y'all know I ain't been auditioning much this year.
And the Bars thing came out of the blue.
Between talking to people there and I-don't-know-what-else, I've been offered a part in a movie starring Armand Assante, am being sent a stage script for callbacks, and talked to two directors about participating in/starring in Children of a Lesser God.
And my agent called me today. Haven't paid them dues for months. Called about a beer commercial.
All of these gigs pay.
Something else I'm not supposed to know: One of my stories got read by someone at Simon & Schuster.
Don't know what this means.
Happy Birthday to me.
Y'all know I ain't been auditioning much this year.
And the Bars thing came out of the blue.
Between talking to people there and I-don't-know-what-else, I've been offered a part in a movie starring Armand Assante, am being sent a stage script for callbacks, and talked to two directors about participating in/starring in Children of a Lesser God.
And my agent called me today. Haven't paid them dues for months. Called about a beer commercial.
All of these gigs pay.
Something else I'm not supposed to know: One of my stories got read by someone at Simon & Schuster.
Don't know what this means.
Happy Birthday to me.
**NEW STORY COMING SOON**
01 October 2007
Birthday Wishes
I wish life becomes more like the movies.
I wish to know what triggers people and how to wield that trigger properly.
I wish to spend quality time and attention to my body.
I wish to become closer to my meditation.
I wish to continue making smart decisions.
I wish to leave with less baggage and a sparkling memory.
I wish to know what triggers people and how to wield that trigger properly.
I wish to spend quality time and attention to my body.
I wish to become closer to my meditation.
I wish to continue making smart decisions.
I wish to leave with less baggage and a sparkling memory.
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