March 25, 2004
This blog is now located here.
Greener pastures.
OK, I did it. 'twas after hours, I was waiting for sweet Steve to pick me up, and I'd reached briefing overload, so I decided to spend some time playing with TypePad's snazzy system. It took me far too long to figure out how to migrate this site over there, but I've done it! Some tweaking still to come, but you can find me now over here.
It's a lot more fun in the new neighborhood. Come on over and see me some time!
It's a lot more fun in the new neighborhood. Come on over and see me some time!
Help!
Must devote today to briefing, not blogging. But here's a question for my readership (yes, I'm assuming I actually have a "readership"): Do any of you techno-savvy folks know how to migrate a blogger/blogspot blog to typepad? I'm thinking about jumping ship, perhaps over the weekend, but would like to keep everything in one place. Tips, please -- by e-mail or in the comments!
March 24, 2004
Keep on the Sunny Side.
Per my (second) favorite song on the O Brother Where Art Thou disc, I'm filled with newfound resolve to keep on the sunny side of life. Here, then, is my list of the
Top Ten Reasons Why Usher Syndrome Can Be Fun!
10) Sleeping without hearing aids eliminates effects of bed partner's terrible snoring.
9) Enhanced olfactory experience created by sensory over-compensation offers endless entertainment of the "what's that smell?" variety.
8) Liberal guilt is assuaged because pan handlers and sleeping homeless people are outside field of vision.
7) Loss of peripheral vision ensures ability to ignore people to whom you'd rather not speak -- just walk on by and they'll never know if you saw them.
6) Lip-reading reliance coupled with extreme tunnel vision saves many a friend from an embarrassing teeth/lettuce incident.
5) When hearing aids screech with feedback during heavy makeout session, can alleviate awkwardness by informing co-participant, "oh, that's just my parents checking up on me."
4) Loss of night vision provides ready excuse to hold hands while walking with cute new guy.
3) Lenses implanted during cataract surgery reflect light, fascinating babies and drunk guys in bars.
2) Hearing loss plus lack of night vision provide ready excuse to ignore pick-up lines from drunk guys in bars.
And the Number One Reason Why Usher Syndrome Can Be Fun . . . . (drum roll, please):
1) Repeated bruising on hips and shins from walking into furniture dramatically raises pain threshold, making Brazilian bikini wax feel like a gentle massage.
Top Ten Reasons Why Usher Syndrome Can Be Fun!
10) Sleeping without hearing aids eliminates effects of bed partner's terrible snoring.
9) Enhanced olfactory experience created by sensory over-compensation offers endless entertainment of the "what's that smell?" variety.
8) Liberal guilt is assuaged because pan handlers and sleeping homeless people are outside field of vision.
7) Loss of peripheral vision ensures ability to ignore people to whom you'd rather not speak -- just walk on by and they'll never know if you saw them.
6) Lip-reading reliance coupled with extreme tunnel vision saves many a friend from an embarrassing teeth/lettuce incident.
5) When hearing aids screech with feedback during heavy makeout session, can alleviate awkwardness by informing co-participant, "oh, that's just my parents checking up on me."
4) Loss of night vision provides ready excuse to hold hands while walking with cute new guy.
3) Lenses implanted during cataract surgery reflect light, fascinating babies and drunk guys in bars.
2) Hearing loss plus lack of night vision provide ready excuse to ignore pick-up lines from drunk guys in bars.
And the Number One Reason Why Usher Syndrome Can Be Fun . . . . (drum roll, please):
1) Repeated bruising on hips and shins from walking into furniture dramatically raises pain threshold, making Brazilian bikini wax feel like a gentle massage.
March 23, 2004
I see!!
Early this morning, I laced up my running shoes and stepped out into a cool and earth-smelling morning for a little constitutional. A block down Emerson, I realized I'd forgotten to swap my "good" hearing aids for the latex-covered crappy set I wear for sweaty pursuits. Given the present state of my budget, I'm desperately trying to eke another year out of the current "good" set (I characterize them quotationally because they suck battery acid for breakfast and go AWOL in the slightest bit of background noise). So after another block spent smacking myself theoretically upside the head, I decided I couldn't risk sweating all over the "good" aids. Fortunately, I was wearing shorts with a secure pocket, so I pulled the aids off mid-stride, wrapped them in a handy-dandy kleenex, and pocketed them for the duration of my run.
As previously reported, I've been struggling with my vision in recent days, so I was a tad nervous about the prospect of running aid-less. While I hear pretty well with the aids, I'm almost totally deaf without them, and can hear only very loud noises such as the sound of an anvil hitting the pavement after being dropped from a 50-story building or the sound of a nuclear bomb exploding nearby.
But after a few uneasy minutes, I began to relax. Soon, I began to feel almost liberated, and to revel in the solitude of running in silence. Freed from the noise of passing cars, the wind whistling through my microphones, and even my own breathing, I felt almost disembodied, and began to experience my surroundings with unprecedented clarity. At one point, the smell of just-born cherry blossoms nearly knocked me over with its heady power, and I slowed to look around at the pink and white flowers that seem to have appeared overnight all over the neighborhood.
And by eliminating my hearing from the equation, I became far more aware than usual of seeing.
I can see. I can see houses and trees and streets and people and dogs and grass and flowers and cars and buildings and dirt and bugs and garbage and benches and signs and fences and gardens and colors and potholes and sidewalks.
I think it's time for me to stop whining now.
As previously reported, I've been struggling with my vision in recent days, so I was a tad nervous about the prospect of running aid-less. While I hear pretty well with the aids, I'm almost totally deaf without them, and can hear only very loud noises such as the sound of an anvil hitting the pavement after being dropped from a 50-story building or the sound of a nuclear bomb exploding nearby.
But after a few uneasy minutes, I began to relax. Soon, I began to feel almost liberated, and to revel in the solitude of running in silence. Freed from the noise of passing cars, the wind whistling through my microphones, and even my own breathing, I felt almost disembodied, and began to experience my surroundings with unprecedented clarity. At one point, the smell of just-born cherry blossoms nearly knocked me over with its heady power, and I slowed to look around at the pink and white flowers that seem to have appeared overnight all over the neighborhood.
And by eliminating my hearing from the equation, I became far more aware than usual of seeing.
I can see. I can see houses and trees and streets and people and dogs and grass and flowers and cars and buildings and dirt and bugs and garbage and benches and signs and fences and gardens and colors and potholes and sidewalks.
I think it's time for me to stop whining now.
March 22, 2004
Collision course, the sequel.
I had a most excellent weekend in Crested Butte. The weather was perfect, the snow was slushy enough to overcome its sparseness, the house was beautiful, and the company was great. All in all, it was a blast. Except for the part where this guy from Texas and I collided in the middle of the ski run.
I've been wrestling with myself for the past couple of days, trying to decide whether to blog about this or not. I've finally stopped crying whenever I think about it, and I'd like to keep it that way. Plus, I had this horrible thought that the Texan in question might go googling around for information about me and decide to use these thoughts for his own litigious purposes. But this is my space in which to vent and process, so here it is.
The collision itself was neither high-speed nor particularly damaging to either party. As best I remember, I was skiing in a pretty straight line downhill. I remember thinking to myself, "damn, girl, you're finally getting the hang of this telemark thing." One of my friends was waiting by an orange "SLOW" sign just ahead of me, and I was getting ready to stop next to him. I know there was no one in front of me, or in my immediate fall line, because I do recall looking around to make sure no one was coming my way (those signs are popular stopping points, so I'm always extra careful when approaching them). Then something hit me hard from the left side, and I went flying to my right and landed hard on my right hip. I lay stunned for an indeterminate stretch of time before I realized that I was basically okay and managed to sit up.
By that time, the ski patrollers had arrived and were busy checking both of us over for injuries and had started taking statements from my friends and the other guy's family. According to my friends, the guy's wife raced over screaming "I SAW THE WHOLE THING!! I SAW THE WHOLE THING!!" But she didn't seem to have any better sense of what had happened than the rest of us did, and once she realized her husband was pretty much fine, she calmed down.
After perhaps fifteen minutes, we were both able to ski away from the scene of the accident. I continued skiing (shakily) for a few more runs, but started feeling dizzy and nauseous and decided to go to the clinic to make sure I hadn't sustained a concussion. Fortunately, the nice medical staff determined that I had not suffered any serious injuries other than a crippled psyche. They treated me with ice, oxygen, and Advil and sent me home.
Physically, I really was okay. And while I don't remember much of what happened, judging from what my friends told me later and from the location of my assorted bumps and bruises, it probably was not my "fault." Apparently, the Texan was taking huge, wide turns, and my friends think he was paying attention to his daughter skiing below him rather than to his surroundings. But all day Saturday (and even now) I kept replaying the scene over and over in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility. More than that, I couldn't rid myself of the frightening thought that I may be endangering myself and others by continuing to ski. Giving up driving was terribly hard, but giving up skiing (or climbing, or cycling, or running) would mean foregoing one of my great pleasures in life, and one of the things that helps me feel free and independent even as my vision shrinks.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling a bit brighter about the whole thing, albeit rather sore. Screwing up my courage, I decided to spend the morning skiing, figuring I needed to get back on the horse before it kicked me again. I'm glad I did. I was pretty nervous at first. I tried to pick a line close to the trees wherever possible, and slowed to a near stop whenever we encountered congestion. But it was a glorious day, with a perfect Colorado sky, warm sunshine, and almost no crowds. In less than three hours of slope time, we got in at least ten runs, and I felt like my tele turns were finally coming easy. Most important, I realized that my coping mechanisms do work, that I can see what I need to for skiing, and that what happened on Saturday was just one of those things that happen sometimes on crowded ski runs. True, someone with "normal" eyes might well have seen the Texan coming. Then again, folks who can see tend to ski a lot faster and more aggressively in a crowd than I ever do.
I'm still upset about this incident, and have some residual feelings I need to process. But I'm not quite ready to hang up my skis.
I've been wrestling with myself for the past couple of days, trying to decide whether to blog about this or not. I've finally stopped crying whenever I think about it, and I'd like to keep it that way. Plus, I had this horrible thought that the Texan in question might go googling around for information about me and decide to use these thoughts for his own litigious purposes. But this is my space in which to vent and process, so here it is.
The collision itself was neither high-speed nor particularly damaging to either party. As best I remember, I was skiing in a pretty straight line downhill. I remember thinking to myself, "damn, girl, you're finally getting the hang of this telemark thing." One of my friends was waiting by an orange "SLOW" sign just ahead of me, and I was getting ready to stop next to him. I know there was no one in front of me, or in my immediate fall line, because I do recall looking around to make sure no one was coming my way (those signs are popular stopping points, so I'm always extra careful when approaching them). Then something hit me hard from the left side, and I went flying to my right and landed hard on my right hip. I lay stunned for an indeterminate stretch of time before I realized that I was basically okay and managed to sit up.
By that time, the ski patrollers had arrived and were busy checking both of us over for injuries and had started taking statements from my friends and the other guy's family. According to my friends, the guy's wife raced over screaming "I SAW THE WHOLE THING!! I SAW THE WHOLE THING!!" But she didn't seem to have any better sense of what had happened than the rest of us did, and once she realized her husband was pretty much fine, she calmed down.
After perhaps fifteen minutes, we were both able to ski away from the scene of the accident. I continued skiing (shakily) for a few more runs, but started feeling dizzy and nauseous and decided to go to the clinic to make sure I hadn't sustained a concussion. Fortunately, the nice medical staff determined that I had not suffered any serious injuries other than a crippled psyche. They treated me with ice, oxygen, and Advil and sent me home.
Physically, I really was okay. And while I don't remember much of what happened, judging from what my friends told me later and from the location of my assorted bumps and bruises, it probably was not my "fault." Apparently, the Texan was taking huge, wide turns, and my friends think he was paying attention to his daughter skiing below him rather than to his surroundings. But all day Saturday (and even now) I kept replaying the scene over and over in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility. More than that, I couldn't rid myself of the frightening thought that I may be endangering myself and others by continuing to ski. Giving up driving was terribly hard, but giving up skiing (or climbing, or cycling, or running) would mean foregoing one of my great pleasures in life, and one of the things that helps me feel free and independent even as my vision shrinks.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling a bit brighter about the whole thing, albeit rather sore. Screwing up my courage, I decided to spend the morning skiing, figuring I needed to get back on the horse before it kicked me again. I'm glad I did. I was pretty nervous at first. I tried to pick a line close to the trees wherever possible, and slowed to a near stop whenever we encountered congestion. But it was a glorious day, with a perfect Colorado sky, warm sunshine, and almost no crowds. In less than three hours of slope time, we got in at least ten runs, and I felt like my tele turns were finally coming easy. Most important, I realized that my coping mechanisms do work, that I can see what I need to for skiing, and that what happened on Saturday was just one of those things that happen sometimes on crowded ski runs. True, someone with "normal" eyes might well have seen the Texan coming. Then again, folks who can see tend to ski a lot faster and more aggressively in a crowd than I ever do.
I'm still upset about this incident, and have some residual feelings I need to process. But I'm not quite ready to hang up my skis.
March 19, 2004
Friday Fun! Take the Blind Chick Arena Navigation Challenge!
Boy, did I have a blast last night. Five hours spent six rows from the floor, right behind the Princeton band, watching hoops that ranged from brilliant to embarrassing but were always full of grit and heart, cheering my brains out for the underdogs. Who lost. Both games. But not without a fight. I love this tournament!
During the two halftimes and the break between Texas/Princeton and UNC/Air Force, my work buddy and I made a lap around the Pepsi Center concourse to stretch our legs. This proved rather daunting for Ms. Blind Chick. If you'd like to experience this endeavor through my eyes, try the following exercise:
1) Put on blinders that completely eliminate all peripheral vision beyond a 12 degree radius. Cardboard and duck-tape should serve this purpose effectively.
2) Drape a piece of very thin cheesecloth over your eyes to create a slightly out-of-focus, smoky haze. Saran wrap will do in a pinch, but I am not responsible for any accidental suffocation this may cause.
3) Stuff just enough cotton in your ears that you can still hear the roar of background noise, but can't actually understand any of it.
4) Proceed to the nearest extremely crowded public place populated primarily by extremely large and extremely wasted frat boys. You might try Times Square on New Year's Eve, Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, The Pearl Street Mall on Halloween in 1985, any pub in Boston on St. Patrick's Day, or your local shopping mall on the day after Thanksgiving (that last one will have more Play-Station-crazed moms than drunken college boys, but this is an acceptable substitute).
5) Attempt to walk in a straight line through your location while following a very fast-walking (but fortunately, also very tall) man.
6) For added thrills, repeat steps 1 through 5 while carrying a full beer and a plate of nachos.
Fun times indeed. But I survived (all three times) and managed not to spill beer all over myself.
Now I'm attempting to bang out the third brief of the week and wishing I was already en route to Crested Butte. Happily, briefs one and two this week turned out quite well, and I think I've finally figured out what to do with Justice Scalia's brilliant opinion in Crawford v. Washington. Or at least, I've finally managed to write the phrase "Justice Scalia's brilliant opinion in . . . " without having to triple-check the byline on the decision for the bazillionth time. It is, indeed, a strange, strange world in which we live.
During the two halftimes and the break between Texas/Princeton and UNC/Air Force, my work buddy and I made a lap around the Pepsi Center concourse to stretch our legs. This proved rather daunting for Ms. Blind Chick. If you'd like to experience this endeavor through my eyes, try the following exercise:
1) Put on blinders that completely eliminate all peripheral vision beyond a 12 degree radius. Cardboard and duck-tape should serve this purpose effectively.
2) Drape a piece of very thin cheesecloth over your eyes to create a slightly out-of-focus, smoky haze. Saran wrap will do in a pinch, but I am not responsible for any accidental suffocation this may cause.
3) Stuff just enough cotton in your ears that you can still hear the roar of background noise, but can't actually understand any of it.
4) Proceed to the nearest extremely crowded public place populated primarily by extremely large and extremely wasted frat boys. You might try Times Square on New Year's Eve, Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, The Pearl Street Mall on Halloween in 1985, any pub in Boston on St. Patrick's Day, or your local shopping mall on the day after Thanksgiving (that last one will have more Play-Station-crazed moms than drunken college boys, but this is an acceptable substitute).
5) Attempt to walk in a straight line through your location while following a very fast-walking (but fortunately, also very tall) man.
6) For added thrills, repeat steps 1 through 5 while carrying a full beer and a plate of nachos.
Fun times indeed. But I survived (all three times) and managed not to spill beer all over myself.
Now I'm attempting to bang out the third brief of the week and wishing I was already en route to Crested Butte. Happily, briefs one and two this week turned out quite well, and I think I've finally figured out what to do with Justice Scalia's brilliant opinion in Crawford v. Washington. Or at least, I've finally managed to write the phrase "Justice Scalia's brilliant opinion in . . . " without having to triple-check the byline on the decision for the bazillionth time. It is, indeed, a strange, strange world in which we live.
March 18, 2004
Mad's Marchness.
At last, at last, it's March Mayhem time again! Which brings me to a very important question: What in the name of Dick Vitale are you doing reading my blog right now, when you should be over here watching the snazzy little scoreboard update itself every 2.3 seconds or so. I shouldn't even be here myself right now, because for the past 11 months I have been the proud owner of an almost-courtside seat to the first two rounds of the tournament, now underway over at the Pepsi Center. But I've got all this pesky work to do (and I spontaneously decided to go play in Crested Butte this weekend) so I sold off my tickets for most of the games to the highest bidder (actually, I just sold them to the billing manager and one of the secretaries for face value, but "highest bidder" sounded cooler). I will bear witness this evening, however, when Princeton hopefully beats the hide off the Longhorns and Air Force dive bombs UNC (or, beats the tar out of the Heels, whichever sportswriterism you prefer). I'm so excited!
So far, my brackets are holding up, despite heart-thumping scares from Wake Forest, Maryland, and Syracuse. And my Cardinal is making short work of UT-San Antonio (school motto: All you have to do to graduate is remember the Alamo!) even as I write. I'll be holding a grudge against Florida for years to come, however. I'm kicking myself for not following my gut-level antipathy towards all things SEC and picking the damn Gators to exit early.
As is my habit, I have two brackets in this year's office pool. The first reflects my earnest dream of a Tournament in which all that is good and right reaps its just reward (in other words, Stanford wins). The other represents the Bizarro Big Dance Universe in which all four #1 seeds fall by the Round of Eight and UConn (why? Because my daddy went there) beats Pitt for the NCAA crown.
Steve and I have also formed a Tourney Pool of Two, which our relationship hopefully will survive. As the rules stand now (under a point system arbitrarily devised by Mr. Badger Fan himself), the loser will have to cook the winner a gourmet dinner, complete with wine and dessert. I've added to these stakes the requirement that the loser pony up a full-body massage for the winner's enjoyment. Further side bets may be added upon the agreement of all participants, but probably will not be suitable for sharing with the blogging public.
Let the Madness continue. Oh, baby!
So far, my brackets are holding up, despite heart-thumping scares from Wake Forest, Maryland, and Syracuse. And my Cardinal is making short work of UT-San Antonio (school motto: All you have to do to graduate is remember the Alamo!) even as I write. I'll be holding a grudge against Florida for years to come, however. I'm kicking myself for not following my gut-level antipathy towards all things SEC and picking the damn Gators to exit early.
As is my habit, I have two brackets in this year's office pool. The first reflects my earnest dream of a Tournament in which all that is good and right reaps its just reward (in other words, Stanford wins). The other represents the Bizarro Big Dance Universe in which all four #1 seeds fall by the Round of Eight and UConn (why? Because my daddy went there) beats Pitt for the NCAA crown.
Steve and I have also formed a Tourney Pool of Two, which our relationship hopefully will survive. As the rules stand now (under a point system arbitrarily devised by Mr. Badger Fan himself), the loser will have to cook the winner a gourmet dinner, complete with wine and dessert. I've added to these stakes the requirement that the loser pony up a full-body massage for the winner's enjoyment. Further side bets may be added upon the agreement of all participants, but probably will not be suitable for sharing with the blogging public.
Let the Madness continue. Oh, baby!
March 17, 2004
I see?
For the past several weeks, I've been fighting the realization that I'm not seeing so well these days. I've tried to brush it off as the result of eye fatigue from staring at the computer screen so much, but I'm only lying to myself. Today, when I came in from a beautiful morning run, my upstairs hallway seemed almost smoky as my eyes struggled to adjust to the light shift from outside to in. And the past several ski days have brought much frustration, as I struggle to identify terrain features in the flat light and grow increasingly terrified of being killed by a snowboarder (or inadvertently flattening a small child myself).
Even climbing, which has always made me feel confident, successful, and strong, lately has underscored my vision loss. At least this is so in the rock gym, where the lines of tape marking each route seem to wiggle away from my sight-line like brightly colored, mischievous caterpillars. Climbing outside on Sunday was almost a relief, since on real rock I can feel my way around for holds rather than searching for a designated chunk of plastic.
There is nothing to be done about this, of course. And so I laugh it off and continue in my persistent efforts to make going blind simply another vehicle for self-mockery and the amusement of the masses. Because when I acknowledge that perhaps I've lost another measurable increment of sight, it's not so funny anymore.
Even climbing, which has always made me feel confident, successful, and strong, lately has underscored my vision loss. At least this is so in the rock gym, where the lines of tape marking each route seem to wiggle away from my sight-line like brightly colored, mischievous caterpillars. Climbing outside on Sunday was almost a relief, since on real rock I can feel my way around for holds rather than searching for a designated chunk of plastic.
There is nothing to be done about this, of course. And so I laugh it off and continue in my persistent efforts to make going blind simply another vehicle for self-mockery and the amusement of the masses. Because when I acknowledge that perhaps I've lost another measurable increment of sight, it's not so funny anymore.
