Mafiaoza’s is Icky, and it’s Not the Pizza

I enjoy being nice, and I generally think people are wonderful. Not being a mean, angry person works out well for me, and I have few complaints. However, once in a while there comes a behavior so appallingly insensitive, so overwhelmingly jerky, that I am forced to reconsider my decision.

Earlier this week, I went with a friend to a beloved Nashville pizzeria [I don’t want to embarrass anyone, so let’s just call it Mafioza’s] for their lauded 2-for-1 beer and slice night. For those of you who have never been, it is as magical as it sounds: a fairy wonderland of pizza mountains, irrigated by rivers of beer. I look forward to going any chance I get, and as part of this week of Paschal celebrations, this time was no exceptions

By their front door, they have one of these. I stress one, because it is, in fact, the only space like it in the entire restaurant lot, including the back:

Generally, a wheelchair being painted on a parking spot calls to mind people with disabilities, who are allowed to park in said spots, due to the fact that the spots are wider and have more space to load and unload mobility equipment. The spaces are also designed and placed in such a way as to allow an unobstructed, close access to the ramp or front door.

We had already parked elsewhere and were waiting on our laser-table-buzzer thing to go off when a black SUV pulled into the reserved space. [I happened to be right next to the driver's-side door]. The driver hopped out and sauntered through the front door [after giving a warm greeting to each police officer posted there to check IDs]. I didn’t see a hang tag on the dashboard. There was no wheelchair symbol on the license plate. The police offers said nothing else. I was miffed, to say the least.

I went over to the police officer nearest me and said, “Excuse me, but did you see that? He parked there illegally.”

“Yeah,” said the officer, a bit defeated, “He does it all the time.”

“Oh. Well, can you not ticket him for that?” I asked.

“We can’t do anything about it.,” I could tell he was ashamed, “He’s the owner.”

My jaw hung open as the officer explained to me that since the restaurant was private property, a sign should be posted denoting any penalty for parking there [in addition to the space being painted; he had not posted a sign]. Beyond that, the decision is made to ticket or not ticket the person who parks there illegally; that decision is the prerogative of–wait for it–the owner.

Just so it sinks in for the folks at home: the owner of the restaurant routinely parks in the only space marked for use by people with disabilities on the entire property, knowing he can do so without any consequences, by virtue of his ownership. Not only does his nonchalance irk me in the first place, the real kicker is he has no qualms about doing this RIGHT IN FRONT OF A PERSON WHO USES A WHEELCHAIR.

Days later, I am still baffled by his behavior. Even after taking time to cool off [of which I needed a lot], I still feel slighted, disrespected, ignored, and discounted as a patron of the business. To keep people out by virtue of limiting or obstructing their access is to discriminate, exclude, and ignore them.

The Founding Fathers talked about our unalienable rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I am no political science scholar, but I am fairly certain that infringing upon someone’s access to pizza and beer is to seriously tamper with her pursuit of happiness.

To the owner of Mafioza’s: if you want a spot by the door, paint the word “Owner” in a parking space. Don’t steal what could be someone else’s only safe way to enter your restaurant. You’re hurting your reputation, your business, and your chance to get to know your neighbors. Your food is cool. Your beer selection is cool. But you regularly park in a space marked for people with disabilities because you’re the owner and you can; and that’s not cool.

To other Nashville businesses: inclusion is hip, equality is sexy.

Be hip and sexy. Don’t let me down.

Look At Me: Why Looking Past Disability is Toxic for Relationships

If there’s one thing people love to do, it’s dream of their perfect mate. We might not all admit to it, but we’ve all done it, repeatedly. I’ve passed many an hour at a slumber party (and, in more recent years, over a cup of coffee) doing just that.  And it’s good to dream. Dreaming gives us faith and hope for things to get better. It helps us set our expectations higher than we might have otherwise. But for people with disabilities, there is one area, when it comes to dreaming, where we need to raise the bar.

Invariably, when I’m at a Girls’ Night with friends, the Perfect Mate topic comes up, followed by the list of ideal qualities: poet, rock star, Democrat, Republican, Anarchist, PhD, MD, and so on. I remember once, when it was my turn. I gazed wistfully into space and said, “And I just know that he’ll be someone who can look past my disability.” Everyone murmured and sighed in agreement, and I was immensely proud of myself for being so profound.

I shouldn’t have been. The truth is, hoping to find a mate who will “look past” my disability was (and is) the wrong approach to finding the right person. It sounds noble, but what are the real implications?

In my experience, disability doesn’t tend to disappear overnight. For myself, and many, it is permanent. If we want someone to look past that, we are asking, expecting, and hoping for him or her to avoid and ignore a big part of our reality. How can we talk about our lives, our challenges, and our experiences apart from our disability? And how can our partner truly share any of that with us, if he or she looks past it?

While not defining me, per se, my disability is a part of my identity. It has colored my perspective, shaped my career path, and helped form my peer groups. Do I want someone to look past such a fundamental part of my life? Of course I don’t. He would be left with an incomplete picture of who I am. And being with someone who doesn’t really know who you are: it strains the relationship; it fosters a sense of dishonesty. And it’s just awkward and weird.

I’m not immune to any of these pitfalls, by the way. . .I wouldn’t be equipped to write this if I wasn’t guilty of talking about “looking past” disability for the better part of my life. We live in a world so focused on physical ideals, it’s hard not to do it. But every time I’ve done that, I’ve been settling. I’ve really been saying to myself, “There isn’t a person who will accept and love you for who you are. He won’t be able to truly find all of you attractive.” Not only is that a lie, it is a lowered expectation that no one deserves to have for themselves, their partner, or their relationship.

It’s time for a change. Next time we’re at a Girls’ night (or Guys’ night, for that matter), and discussion turns back to that Perfect Mate, let’s drop the lackluster expectations. No matter if it’s a disability, or some other difference, we have to talk (and think) of who we are honestly:

Looking past me isn’t good enough anymore. It’s time to look at me. This, everything you see, and everything you don’t, is part of who I am. The perfect person for me is someone who loves and accepts all parts of me: typical and different.

Let’s not settle for relationships where someone looks past, ignores, or avoids any part of who we are. Let’s start to dream of someone who looks at us intently, and loves what they see.

the update boogie: getting down to where i’ve been

Blogging every week was going great for a while. Until I stopped about 6 weeks ago and remembered I have a job, up to 2 hours of commuting a day, a Church, a relationship, an apartment to maintain, and a social life. Yikes, Universe. What’s going on here? Who am I, and where did that little kid with no responsibilities and a Barbie Corvette Powerwheels go? [Yes, I really had one of those, and yes, I always drove it at the highest possible speed. Also: it was hot pink. Mindfreak.]

I have decided that I am going to blog when I can, not only because I enjoy keeping you all in the loop, but because I have new motivation to do so. I have been invited to be a regular contributor at OurAbility, an internet community for people with disabilities and their loved ones. I befriended their founder at a conference I attended recently. When he found out I am a blogger, he quickly suggested I contribute. I will be writing about whatever I want, but with a unique focus that will foster dialogue about disabilities and within the disability community.

I am thrilled about this opportunity as a writer and as a human being: to find common ground with someone, and then to be able to edify one another, that is a great responsibility with a great reward.

There is another thing keeping my attention, and I am growing more and more excited about it by the day. In May, I am taking a certification course to become an English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher. I had never considered a career change, much less to a career in teaching a subject I had no idea about, prior to a few months ago. But my personal and professional lives have aligned themselves in such a way that I realize: I need to do something new, and, in this case, it needs to be big. Not only will having the certification open me up to employment opportunities in a variety of places both here and [ahem] abroad, it will give me the chance to look the people I am helping in the eye, to learn from them and get to know them. . . which is something I have missed acutely since my joyous summers at camp.

And the rest of the time, when I haven’t been working, growing up, praying, apartment cleaning, or planning a major life change, I’ve been Skyping. Being with someone an ocean away is not always a stroll down the thoroughfare, so to speak [do people actually say that?!] But I continue to be amazed at the grace, mercy, patience, and peace that follow us throughout our days. It is teaching me something I have always needed to learn: how to live in the present, enjoying the moments as they come, and how to dwell every little moment of blessing you can find. As he shows me every day, if you look for them, they are innumerable.

And more to come.

From the Desk of Kid President: a Personal Pep Talk

Yesterday, I wrote this blog, telling you about Robby, a third-grader with a giant, vibrant heart for humanity. He and his brother-in-law, Brad, make a series of Pep Talk videos for the Whole World. Robby [Kid President] is fond of calling people to be their awesome-est. And dancing like a crazy man.

Following my blog post, I wrote KP an email.

This afternoon, I received a reply from Brad, the brother-in-law of Kid President.  Brad makes the remarkable video series. Here’s an excerpt from the message he wrote:

Hey, Beth! Thank you so much for your message. Looked at your blog. Love what you are up to. Beautiful story you have . . .[and thanks] for sending KP and I some encouragement. I’ll share it with him! . . . The fact that you took time to write us tells me that you are a kind, compassionate and creative person. These are the exact qualities of every person who has ever made a positive dent on the world. You were made to be awesome. I’m excited to hear about what you’ll create and do to make the world dance. . . It means so much to both of us that you believe in what we’re doing. Keep dancing. Lots of love to you [from us]! – Brad [the guy who makes the videos]

Wow! My very own Pep Talk. Thanks, Brad and KP [And what do you know? We're all Tennesseans! Rock n' Roll, dance champs!]

I will keep you guys in the loop, and I promise I will work all the harder to be a party and make the world awesome!

Want to know more about KP? Keep up here on his website.

the best ten minutes of your day is in this blog.

I felt kind of horrendous for bits of last week. Studies show that feeling horrible isn’t good. 100% of the time, feeling horrible is unpleasant. I know how it feels when work gets you down, or when you feel lonesome, or when you remember with a few minutes to spare that your big paper is due tomorrow and not the day after tomorrow. It’s the worst. And sometimes you just have to admit that to God and the Internet and everybody.

But sometimes, life throws you a bone. Sometimes, there is a glimmer of hope in an otherwise Gloom-and-doom Sadfest.

Like today, someone called me back at work. Not to tell me about another problem, but to thank me for helping them. To let me know that everything was going to work out, and that they appreciated me walking them through it.

Excuse me, I thought, are you sure you have the right number?

But in that kind of situation, you don’t ask questions.

So.  just in case you’re having a rough week, or day, or whatever, I bring you two videos that I can solemnly-courtroom-style swear will comprise the Best Ten Minutes of Your Day. Go ahead. Bookmark it. You’ll be back.

First, this delightful animated short, Paperman, which is nominated for an Academy Award:

Let me guess, did it get the nomination for THE MOST ADORABLE THING I HAVE EVER SEEN?!

Go ahead. Watch it again. No one will judge you.

As if that isn’t wonderful enough, Soulpancake has put this kid on the map. He’s Kid President. And he has a Pep Talk. For you.

Best part? Not cool, Robert Frost!

What I love most about this video is the underlying assumption that everyone is awesome, and therefore, can be awesome and do things that are awesome. That includes you, you know.

Since it’s obvious that Kid President and I have a lot in common, it shouldn’t surprise you that I want to participate in making this an Awesome Year for Other People [and not just by dancing]. So I’m going to write up an email to the President himself, asking him to give an interview for this very blog. I’ll let you know what he says.

I hope it’s yes.

And I hope that if you were having a bad week, it just got better.

If not, let me know what else I can do.

that’s what i’m Tolkien about: 3 lessons from Lord of the Rings

When it comes to an epic series of novels, you have several choices. If you dig septets, you have two main contenders. You could opt for Narnia [Aslan owns every other talking animal, let's not kid ourselves]. Or, if you’re like me and possess your own custom-made magic wand [true story, and no, you can't have it], you may have read Harry Potter once or twice.

But, if you would rather submerge yourself in an entire universe of fantasy races, languages, histories, and subcultures, [complete with its own supplemental volumes, footnotes, and more hours of commentary than you could shake an impressively knotty staff at] you could read Tolkien.

Seriously, J. R. R.?

Way to explode everyone’s minds for generations.

I now have an avid Tolkien fan in my life, so I have committed to reading the series this year. That said, there are a few things I already know about the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit

[Not to brag, but I can sit still during multiple 3-hour movies and remember the most basic plot points].

3 Things I learned from Lord of the Rings:

If you have to get somewhere, you’d better hustle.

It’s blurry because they’re running so fast.

One of the first things I noticed about the film series [which the books may or may not betray as easily] is that Middle Earthlings are fit. They have to be. And I’m not just making that assumption based on all the battle-fighting and armor-bearing that goes on there.

They run everywhere: up and down mountains, through meadows, through the Shire, in and out of valleys. Practically every single scene involves moving along at a pace or two beyond a brisk walk.

What I’m saying is, Peter Jackson could have held open calls for his extras at a city-wide track meet. I know that directors with bajillions of dollars in the operating budget are allowed a few creative liberties now and then. But I’m confident that the whole running thing fits in with Tolkien’s vision.

After all, one does not simply walk into Mordor.

Cool People Have Facial Hair.

This is not news to me. But Tolkien’s literary chops lend credence to this valuable relationship between being cool and keeping your face warm. The dwarves [sample from the Hobbit shown above] all have facial hair in Middle Earth (even the women).

Not only that, but Aragorn– the crazy-awesome, impossible-not-to-be-interpreted-allegorically, redeemed hero-human of Middle Earth–is never one to be spotted with a clean shave.

Based on the relationship in Tolkien’s work between beard and greatness, you never know what awesome thing might be just around the corner for good ole Strider.

But no one in the series proves that Tolkien thought  facial hair was cool more than the Grey/White wizard. Gandalf: bearer of the million-mile beard, automatically makes every scene he is in Your Favorite Scene.

And yes: the staff, the unconditional love of his friends, the firework shows, the smoke rings, and the pointy hat are all amazing. But without the beard? Gandalf the Grey would just be Gandalf the Okay.

Girls Rule.

Tolkien completed and published Lord of the Rings in 1954, but gender stereotypes were apparently “not his thing”. Some of the most powerful characters in the saga, with the most pivotal roles in the action, are women:

Arwen inspires and revives Aragorn, eventually sharing rule of his kingdom with him.

Galadriel protects the hobbits and their  companions throughout their journey to destroy the Ring of Power; she was a light to them in dark places.

And Eowyn? Well, she STABS THE WITCH KING IN THE FACE WITH A GIANT SWORD, and essentially saves everyone.

Thanks to Tolkien’s precedent, you can forget the image of a forlorn, sad-sack, wilting lily of a girl being trapped in a tower, waiting for some horseman to come rescue her. Because women are vital, women are strong, women are indispensable.

According to Tolkien, I can go forth and conquer.

And conquer I shall. Starting with his books, at least.

the (block) party is over.

My friend Kimmie is awesome. She blogs, too. And she does it so well that she has fans other than her own mother [No offense, mom, I love you!] that send her goodies in the mail. She is becoming a bloglebrity. I am really proud of her.

I have been complaining to Kimmie for years about this and that. Today’s topic of discussion was a common one for me: what the flip do I blog about? Ever since starting this blog about 5 years ago [that seems long enough ago for me to have been writing about my favorite member of *Nsync, but I digress], I have struggled with content.

I went through a short story phase, a poetry phase, an interview phase, and an album review phase. But the story ran out of steam, the poetry was too sad, I couldn’t find enough of the right people to interview, and I had the opposite problem for album reviews [it proves a daunting task in Nashville where you are surrounded by both aspiring and actual talent].

My creativity is not neatly compartmentalized. My ideas are in piles. The exciting part is also the harrowing part: when it comes to rummaging through my own mind for ideas, I never know what I might find.

The other problem(s) I run into have to do with  complications resulting from utter lack of pop culture knowledge. You are looking at someone with no cable, who doesn’t listen to the radio, and whose most recent Netflix views include Matilda and Shaun the Sheep. Where do I turn for fodder when I run out of sociopolitical or theological observations? Who in the world can I relate to besides Kermit the Frog or Wallace and Gromit?

To go all Jane Austen on you, the whole thing vexes me greatly.

But the fact of the matter is, if I’m not writing, nobody’s reading. If I’m not committed to creating, no one else can be inspired to create through my art. If I’m not unpacking my emotional baggage in front of God and the Internet and everybody, someone else might not have the strength to let go and be themselves.

So I owe it to you all and to myself, and to cyberspace to set a goal.

My motto for 2013: i will KEEP WRITING.

My resolution: i will WRITE REGULARLY.

My goal: i will write a minimum of ONE BLOG A WEEK.

Yes, I’m type-shouting. Yes, it’s that important.

Because our Art is who we are: it’s the lifeline to all of our sparkly, wonderful greatness not only for ourselves, but for others. Making art makes us happy, sharing our art makes others happy.

So I might not have any idea where I’ll end up in the end, but I can tell you this much.

This year, I will write.