Dignity Has Never Been So Disposable

San Francisco had recently become the first county in the country to officially give up on the idea of clean, accessible public bathrooms, available to all in need without regard to payment. The unpropertied in SF were just beginning to walk around with bulgy seats now that all General Assistance recipients were issued a box of generic diapers along with directions to the city shelters, a pamphlet explaining abstinence (UCSF had a grant pending to study the effect of Adult Diaper Dispensation (ADD) on homeless people’s adoption of condom use versus abstinence-only), and $6.95 to get them through the month. The Dignity concession was doing a brisk trade at Pier 39 for unprepared tourists on a budget; a one-day Fun-Pak went for 8.99 but did include two Maxi’s, a plastic Dungeness crab key-ring and a coupon for one Buena Vista Irish Coffee. Dignity Has Never Been So Disposable. A virgin diaper was going for five American Spirits on Sixth Street. The Sheriff’s Department had to fight for, but got, toilets in their renovated facility.

Bureaucrats who may or may not have been wearing a small pin on their lapels, a pin in the shape of a diaper, a stars-and-stripes-waving flag-type diaper almost wing-like from a distance, may or may not have attended a conference in the Caymans to sit in the louvered sunlight of a hotel’s banquet room, listening to presentations such as “Contained Defecation for the Economically Disenfranchised: A Cost-Benefit Analysis.” One of them may or may not have been on the board of a small clinic in San Francisco. None of the conference participants gave any thought to the number of cups of coffee s/he consumed. The conference center had plenty of restrooms. No extra charge. All fees underwritten by the Dignity Foundation, a charitable organization dedicated to community development, medical research, and K-12 education. Please take an annual report. Dignity Has Never Been So Within Our Reach. Earnest modern alchemy, how to make the base substance into cold cash. Magicians, start your engines.

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Voters with Disabilities Need Better Access to Polls

For people with disabilities, voting alongside our neighbors should be a right not a privilege. But accessible polls are still considered a luxury that a nation at war cannot afford.

More than one out of five U.S. adults with disabilities have been unable to vote in presidential or congressional elections because of barriers at, or getting to, the polls, according to a September study by the National Organization on Disability. This translates into more than 8 million potential voters.

These are not new problems nor are they unknown to voting officials. A 2001 General Accounting Office study reported that 84 percent of surveyed polling places had a barrier that prevents a person with a disability from voting.

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HOCAS-NOCAS: Making Restaurant Magic Happen — Or Not: San Francisco, 2003

Photo of 2 blue and white dinner plates. Text: I'M NOT FINISHED, a personal encyclopedia gluttonica by Ingrid Tischer talesfromthecrip.org

Image courtesy eBay

Originally published in The Daily Gullet at eGullet.com in 2003

CLASS. SOPHISTICATION. Applied with sincerity to a restaurant that
takes pride in hospitality, these words make service charming rather
than servile.
Dropped like banana peels on the floor of a restaurant that feeds ’em and shoves ’em out the door, they’re ironically hilarious.
Whatever tone they have, though, Class and Sophistication are not about anything as discrete as the cost or scarcity of the ingredients a restaurant uses. Class and Sophistication are all about attitude.
Checking out a restaurant’s attitude starts with two questions: Do they want me to come into their restaurant? If so, what are the signs?

All was well, right? A grown man got a balloon, two people had a
chance encounter just off the highway, and I had a BLT. Well, no.
Don’t ever discount the flying monkeys. They must have made quick work of attractive bus-person because he returned moments later and said he had to repo the balloon. Painfully embarrassed, he apologized for letting “them” know it wasn’t really my friend’s birthday. There was an awkward silence as he untied the disgraced inflatable from my friend’s chair.


A few examples point out how a restaurant can zoom to the Height of
Class and Sophistication (HOCAS), or sink to the Nadir of Class and
Sophistication (NOCAS).
A HOCAS restaurant can be a mom-and-pop that sends out a glass of wine on your birthday, or a mid-price place that always deals graciously with that member of your party who wants everything “on the side” — and gets the order right. A HOCAS does everything within its powers to please. It’s smart to do so because every restaurant makes mistakes.

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The Misanthropist’s Tale — Part 1

“I’ve talked about grief, how we are tempted to minimize, to look on the bright side, to do this thing they call ‘moving on.’ I told you everyone was going to give you conflicting messages, ‘Oh, we know how sad you must be, give yourself time to grieve, blah blah blah, while the next thing out of their mouths is something like, ‘But one of these days you will feel better.’ In other words, your misery is making us uncomfortable so hurry up and get over it.

“You know better. Grief, like any emotion, should never be minimized. It’s like those people who gulp aspirin every time they have a little headache or their temperature goes up. Nature gives us pain for a reason and many a research study that shows that letting a fever run its course is actually healthier than getting rid of it. Though I would never tell you to toss out your pharma-widgets, your anti-depressants and whatnot. I just ask you if you really understand you’re taking them to avoid your unhappiness.

“Let’s go back to some basics.

“One of the primary benefits of Transcendental Misanthropy is empathy expressed as hostility. I just love paradoxes. When you take the time to set events in motion that make others unhappy, you’re helping them understand your pain better. It’s a win-win.

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On Being an Athlete

I had to wrestle a jar of spaghetti sauce open once. Those lids are hard enough for anyone to open but especially impossible for someone with chronic muscle deterioration. I sweated and pounded on the lid with a variety of kitchen implements, like can openers and knives, and then moved on to the real competition of me against machine-sealing technology. When the softening power of hot water failed to separate lid from jar, I realized only my strength could overcome the hunger that was deepening as the moments were passing. Even the wrench I sought to employ failed to get a grip. Things were getting dramatic and intense as I knelt on the floor, my whole body wrapped around this ridiculous jar of Extra Thick and Zesty. This was supposed to be one of those thrown-together meals and there I was, spending 40 minutes wrestling on the floor with a jar of heat-and-eat sauce. But then — when I strained my arm forward, I felt my feet cross the finish line as that little safety pop-top popped. As I sat breathing hard over that pasta I was just about too tired to eat, I thought, That was quite a work-out.

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