Wheelchair Joke of the Day

Here is my fabulous video find of the day. It combines four of my favorite things: Republican politicians (I say that completely tongue out-of-cheek since I am a Republican so don't get the wrong idea), old Senators, off-color-but-funny-jokes, and paraplegics. Seriously, what more can you want?

Here's the scoop. Senator Arlen Specter (R-PA) won DC's annual "Funniest Celebrity in Washington" competition the other day. Other blogs were focused on his Viagra jokes, which were undoubtedly funny. When I watched the video for myself, I appreciated his small jabs at former colleagues and friends, laughing politely when it seemed appropriate. Having worked in the Senate before, I still have a strong polite-chuckle impulse. Then, right at the end of the video, he told a hilarious joke--focused on a guy with a disability. I loved it, and had to post it! The joke starts at minute 8:00 (or -2:05) on this video. I don't know about you, but for a Washington celebrity (i.e. politician) I think he is pretty darn funny. Now if we only could get him to do a bit of his standup routine at judicial confirmation hearings...

In Defense of My Vice(s)

I've been known to rave about a fellow wheelchair blogger out there, who I mentioned in some previous posts, Mark Smith. He does make some interesting observations, which I've noted in the past. That being said, his latest I must vehemently disagree with. In "Explosive Combinations," he shakes his head in disapproval at wheelchair-users who smoke, and more astonishingly at those who drink alcohol and caffeine. Sorry Mark (both for my disagreement and the pun that follows), but this time you're off the mark.

Let me start by acknowledging that smoking is bad for you. I am not a smoker, but obviously, smoking has been shown to have devastating health consequences. Even more importantly, very few people are "social smokers." You don't often meet someone who has a cigarette once a week, or month for that matter. In other words, if you are a smoker, you probably smoke a number of cigarettes per day which is what makes the habit dangerous.

On the other hand, I am a passionate coffee-drinker and a committed social drinker. No, I do not hide whiskey under my mattress and slip a swig before heading out to work or class in the morning. "It's Five-O-Clock Somewhere" isn't quite reassuring enough for me to rationalize morning drinking. I usually max out at two coffee cups per day. But I must have my coffee in the morning to get me off to the right start, and I find there is nothing better than a nice glass of wine in the evening--or for that matter, a couple of cocktails with my friends on the weekends. These things make me happy.

I do not think that drinking coffee or alcohol demonstrates, as Mark says, a "my body is already struggling, so what's one more issue matter?” attitude. Nor do I think I am "so wrapped up in self-pity and dysfunction" that I don't care that I'm moving my own neck "closer to the buzz saw with nonsense like unbridled tobacco and alcohol consumption when [I] know darn well that it all dramatically exacerbates [my] condition, literally making [me] more disabled." What?!?!? My love of coffee and wine has nothing to do with my disability. It has to do with the fact that I enjoy coffee and wine, and my life is better with these things than without.

On the other hand, I have known other young people with disabilities whose lives are so regimented that they've never experienced the pure bliss of laughing hysterically with their friends at a bar over a mediocre joke or a cheesy pickup line. They don't ever sit in the sleepy morning with a steamy cup of bitter-smooth roasted coffee, feeling the warmth energize their bodies and minds from the inside out. I guess my question is, unless there is some other unique health risk that these things pose to a person, why not enjoy a little vice once in awhile? Studies have shown that in moderation, coffee can be good for the digestive system and has no measurable health risks. Similarly, the health effects of red wine have been studied for years, and while the conclusions vary, it seems that there may be at least some benefit to moderate drinking.

I'm not trying to sound like a drug pusher here, and as I said, if you simply don't drink alcohol or coffee, I respect that. But please respect my choice to partake in my morning and evening beverages. In my opinion, my french fry vice is much more dangerous than my drink choices. The most dangerous activity that we wheelchair-users--myself heartily included--partake in is probably overeating and inactivity. I feel one million times more guilty and abusive of my body when I eat fatty foods and don't exercise than when I drink coffee or wine.

With that, I hereby proclaim that I will continue to drink alcohol and coffee, and I will not feel guilty for doing so. It's not my fault these vices feel so good.

WUFC: Wheelchair Ultimate Fighting Championship

I've never been terribly interested in sports, and I'm slightly embarrassed to say that 85 percent of all football/basketball/baseball watching in my life has been part of an effort to hang out with, or otherwise fit in with, a guy that I wanted to impress at the time. (Note to any of my guy friends who may be reading this: 15 percent of the time there was really nothing better to do, so no assumptions are warranted about what group you were in.;) I think team sports seemed too inaccessible, too impersonal for my taste. That, plus I've been told that I have the attention span of a gnat.

All of this has changed, as I've found the sport for me. It's exciting, unpredictable, fast moving, and it's something I can see myself doing: Ultimate Fighting Championship! Yes, that's right. I'm developing a taste for mixed marshal arts.

Allow me to explain. Many other sports, even boxing, have a strict set of rules, and a very limited range of actions that each athlete is allowed to take to advance his or her position. In football, players can't let the ball drop, in basketball, you have to dribble, and in boxing, you must use gloves and can only punch your opponent in certain ways. In other words, many sports reward a very specific set of skills, rather than matching a variety of strengths and skills against each other and thus allowing people to improvise around their advantages and limitations. As somebody who has always had to leverage my strengths and abilities against my weaknesses and disabilities, I respect the MMA concept.

In addition, I was fortunate enough to have a brother and sister who never thought of me as different as we were growing up. We fought, even physically, relentlessly. They felt free to throw punches, pull hair, and push me around, and I felt free to do the same, with some clever wheelchair maneuvers to boot (i.e. pinning my brother against the wall, or chasing them around the yard at full speed). Don't get me wrong, nobody ever really got hurt, and we're great friends now. It was typical kid stuff.

So that got me thinking. They have wheelchair basketball leagues, wheelchair tennis, wheelchair racing--why not wheelchair UFC? I'm not certain that I would do it, or even that it is a good idea, but it is intriguing. A sport that allows any method of fighting to be used, has rules to protect the fighters, and rewards leveraging your strengths against your weaknesses, would be perfect for wheelchair users.

For instance, without risking putting all of my cards out there on the table, my boxing game is weak. I don't have a very strong punch. That being said, my legs are pretty strong if I'm in the right position. This means that in a UFC bout, I would be best on the ground, engaging in a combination of dirty boxing and jujitsu. From the ground, I could throw a combination of strategic punches and kicks. With a little training, I might even be able to perfect a couple of submissions, and then watch out! While you're busy trying to box, I'll have you in a rear naked choke in no time.

I heard that Randy Couture recently left the league. The former UFC Heavyweight Champion of the World re-took the championship belt in a higher weight class at the age of 44! This guy is known for strategy and leveraging strengths. Perhaps he would be interested in exploring this new idea with me. Randy, if you read this, shoot me an email. Let's talk!

My New Wheels Do Swang

In the interest of full disclosure, my frustrations of late with wheelchair salesmen/repair shops may have come to fruition when I realized that my tires were falling off of the wheels on my chair. Literally, the tread had worn completely off the center of the tire, and then started spreading apart off the wheel.

Finally, I got the wheelchair repair people to come fix it after two months of unreturned phone calls. Fortunately, the guy did come with a sweet surprise. Apparently my new wheels came with shiny silver rims! I had to show them off, so here are the pictures.

Do I Got A Deal for You?

Wheelchair salesmen are generally a bit sleazy. Think car salesmen, but with less competition and a more desperate customer base. Many motorized wheelchairs cost more than $20K big ones, often paid in full upfront by public or private insurance plans. That's quite a hefty commission for one lucky smooth-talker. And oh, can they be smooth...

When I was in high school, considering buying a new wheelchair, a Permobil dealer happened to be travelling through town. He told us how the Swedish company had created a wheelchair that could elevate you, stand you up, and even transfer you to the ground. All of this was certainly intriguing, but then he put in the video. My entire family sat eagerly on the couch waiting for the revolutionary chair to wow us on the television. The video faded in...

It was a gang of suburban white children/preteens with their hats on sideways, rapping about how cool the Permobil was, while rocking out in their wheelchairs.

"I got my wheels. They Swaang. Like boom shacka boom shacka boom boom. It's not. Over yet. Till the fat. Lady sings, I got my wheels..."

My brother, sister and I were rolling. To this day, we still break out into the Permobil rap on a regular basis. I looked for that video, hoping I could post a copy, but apparently, Permobil has modernized its ad campaigns. Its current promo is actually quite compelling. I almost bought one.


Though I'm quite content with Quickie, I am strongly considering doing yoga and/or going to a beach now.

As slick as they are, it makes sense that the wheelchair salesman does not tell you one important detail. He doesn't tell you that when you commit to buying a chair from a dealer, you are buying not only a wheelchair, but an exclusive contract with that dealer/service provider to use only that company to repair the chair.

For example, let's say--hypothetically of course--that I bought a new wheelchair from a salesman who worked at a wheelchair dealership. I may have been somewhat skeptical about the company's practices as a whole, but I knew that the machine they were selling me was what I wanted and the manufacturer was well respected, so I went ahead and bought it. Over the next five to seven years, I could expect to have various problems and to need various routine repairs. Still being somewhat unimpressed by the dealer's business practices, I then decide to look for another repair shop. Guess what I would find.

The vast majority of wheelchair repair shops only repair chairs that they've sold. I've called every wheelchair company in the DC metro area to no avail. I've even moved across the country, needed wheelchair repairs, and been told that nobody would service my chair unless they had sold it to me. I called every wheelchair dealership in the New York City area to find a repair shop and was turned down by every single company because they did not sell me the chair. Even after I explained that I bought the chair in another state hundreds of miles away, nobody would help me.

As far as I can gather, this has nothing to do with insurance, payment, or warranty issues. My insurance works with many of the companies that I called, and my warranties are all expired. Apparently, industry practice is simply not to repair wheelchairs that a company did not sell. The only plausible explanation that I've heard is that companies lose money on repairs, so they try to limit the repair/servicing portion of their businesses.

Finally, after a great deal of strife and frustration, I now understand. I've learned my lesson the hard way. When buying a new wheelchair and choosing a wheelchair dealership, you MUST choose the company that you buy from based on the quality of their servicing department and their repair policies.

All the shiny videos and smooth-talking in the world won't get you new tires, replace that broken switch, or save you when you're stranded at the office with a bum motor. Service is everything.

Better Not Quit My Day Job

Last night, I happened to watch Pursuit of Happyness on HBO. Damn. I hate to say it, but I think Chris Gardner has me, and probably 70 percent of all of us "aspiring or practicing inspirational figures," beat.

I've done the math. His life was probably approximately fifteen times harder than mine (taking into account his financial, racial, and family barriers as opposed to my purely physical barriers), so that means that in order to warrant as much of a right to inspiration-dom as he has, I would need to become fifteen times more successful than him. Assuming that now he probably makes at least ten million per year (I am purely guessing, so please don't laugh at my numbers), I would need to make 10X15 million dollars per year in the next twenty-five years. Taking into account inflation, my salary would therefore have to be somewhere in the range of one gazillion dollars per year. Plus, I would need to have thirty kids (he has two), and win fifteen "Mother of the Year" awards.

I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with my blog as my medium. And if I ever do get a movie deal, I'll probably have to settle for a Melissa Joan Hart-caliber actress rather than Will Smith.

I'd Rather Get Hit By a Car Than Wear A Wheelchair Flag.

Another Mark Smith blog entry, "Dude, Get a Flag," rang true to me today.

I grew up in a smallish town of about 10,000 people. There were no city buses or subways, and unfortunately, my parents had to give up our full-time driver after the recession in the 80s. This meant that for kids, getting around town meant biking, walking, or if one was lucky enough to have older siblings, begging for a ride. I never figured out how to make a bike work for me, and I am blessed to be the oldest in my family, so that left walking. Luckily, "downtown," which consisted of my three favorite destinations, Albertson's grocery store, King's Corner (the dollar store), and my school (I was such a nerd), was a mere twenty-minute stroll away from my house, and most of my friends also lived within that vicinity.

So many summer days and holidays when my parents were at work and I wanted to go somewhere, I could be seen riding down the street. Many of the sidewalks did not have curb cuts, but I knew my routes, and when necessary, I would ride certain stretches on the side of the street.

I am by no means a daredevil. When I see or hear a car, I graciously get the heck out of the way. I make eye contact before crossing in front of a car. I am cautious. Nonetheless, one day, my mom told me something that made me reconsider the value of my life.

"Nora, the Sheriff called me today, and he said he saw you riding down the street this afternoon," she said. Not to worry, in our small town, the Sheriff might call just to wish you a happy birthday. So far, no big deal. "He said that it was difficult to see you, and if you are going to be riding around in town, we need to get a flag for your chair."

"You mean like one of those big orange flags that stick up off the top of those old people's scooters? No way! I'm not putting that on my chair!"

"Well, we'll see. The Sheriff said you had to if you're going to ride your chair in town," she insisted.

I spent the next two weeks planning out what I would do if the Sheriff showed up and forced a flag upon me. I would refuse! I thought. If he tacked it onto my chair, I would wait til he left, then rip it off and throw it in an unmarked dumpster--or I'd make my little brother do that for me.

Fortunately, the town police must have gotten busy with other matters--perhaps a cat got stuck in a tree--because nobody ever further pursued my safety wheelchair flag.

In all honesty, can you imagine being asked to wear a tall orange flag outside? How undignified! It's like, let's think of a way to make wheelchair users look as foolish as possible..hmmm...we could make them sport five-foot tall orange flags. Then nobody would take them seriously!

As a full-time pedestrian, knowing that I am far less visible than most, I take extra care when crossing the street. I make sure that I see the whites of the drivers' eyes before I cross in front of them.

If that's not enough, I'm fairly certain I'd rather get hit by a car than wear a flag. I know it sounds harsh but think about it. What would you choose?

Great Blog Find: Mark Smith's Life at Large

In reading my blog, one might assume that I am obsessed with wheelchairs, disabilities, inspirational speakers and elevator/bathroom stories. My records show that your assumption, based on my blog posts, would be a logical one. Nonetheless, in reality, my two main obsessions are burritos and the internet. In my other free time, I am known to frequent bars, watch detective shows, and otherwise procrastinate from my duties as a full-time part-time last-semester law student/pre-employed minion at a law firm. Indeed, I have never before systematically pondered and written about my disability and what it means in my life.

In starting Wheel World, I decided to explore and discuss some of those funny and interesting aspects of my life that relate to my disability and my wheelchair. In doing so, I've come across a variety of fascinating people on the web who are doing something similar. Sure, part of me was a bit disappointed to learn that I was not the only funny, clever, insightful, well-spoken, active wheelchair-user out there, but now that the raging jealousy has subsided, I'm quite enjoying seeing what others have to say.

One of my discoveries is Mark Smith's blog on New Mobility called "Life at Large." Mark's blog strikes me as the perfect mix of explaining the challenges, stereotypes and other amusements/annoyances that people with disabilities may face while still retaining a "c'est la vie/life goes on/get over it" attitude. I also love his writing style. He's hilarious, confident, and is someone who I am glad to have representing people with disabilities. I loved his post on "Whiners, Kinfolk, and Crazies" where he talks about the fact that strangers often feel compelled to approach him in to tell him about their minor ailments and how much they'd love to have his wheelchair. Of course, this conjured up a memory of my own, which I commented on on his blog as part of my newest endeavor to truly engage in the blogosphere.

The story goes like this:

When I was five or six, and a seasoned expert in driving my tiny little power chair, a woman came up to me in the grocery store.

"Wow, Sweetie! That is a nifty machine! I wish I had one of those!"

I looked at her straight in the eye and deadpanned, "I wish I had your legs."

She was speechless. My mom was mortified. I, on the other hand, was pretty proud of and amused by my clever response.

I'll continue to search for good blogs that inspire me and make me laugh, and I'll share my findings and thoughts with you. Mark, if you ever go blog-slumming and happenstance on my little old site, I want to tell you, great job! You make disability look cool.

Is this the Bar Exam, or a Top Secret Government Mission?

I must apologize to my fan(s) for my recent hiatus from Wheel World. Life with a two-day work week has become very strenuous recently, particularly since I just learned that the Bar Exam is going to require a full background check, polygraph, and timed obstacle course (including a blindfolded wheel barrow race) in order to "document my disability."

I am not whining. I understand that standardized tests must make sure that people are not taking advantage of the system by feigning disabilities. But seriously, the name, phone number, and address of my original diagnos-er? My doctor from birth who diagnosed me was easily in his late sixties when I was born, which means that he is 80-90 years old now. I guess the scary thing is how much I hate wading through red tape when I have just dedicated my last four years and $100K+ becoming qualified to make a career of it.

My question is, why don't I feel more qualified, after nearly completing law school, to follow strict, exacting regulations? I mean, if they asked me to write a memo explaining the test for "disability," the factors needed to meet that test, and why I meet it, I could do it in a heartbeat. If they asked me to present an argument in a hazy case for why someone has a disability, I'm your (wo)man. But filing forms, getting people to "document" things for me, and generally wading through a forty-page handbook makes me queasy.

To make matters worse, the type of law I will be practicing entails just this: figuring our arcane and tedious rules for rich companies.

I think doing it for someone else always makes it easier. Or at least I hope! Otherwise, I am in for a real treat -- career-wise.

That said, I am almost done crossing my T's, so please, readers-who-may-or-may-not-be-related-to-me-or-otherwise-financially-interested-in-my-future-employment, not to worry.