Wow

My mother’s friend sent me this first thing this morning. The subject of the email was “it does work.” By the way, the guy who wrote this also wrote an entire book on how marrying Filipina women for their subservience is a great thing to do.

The Most Beautiful Scam

Yesterday morning, my mother’s boyfriend forwarded me a link to a video. This is not at all unusual, and I tend to view things he sends begrudgingly because I know that he’ll ask me what I thought the next time I see him. They’re ususally of a dog, or a baby, or someone falling flat on his face. Sometimes they’re accompanied by a totally outrageous description that is obviously a total fabrication.

Yesterday morning’s video was of quite a different nature. It was an Internet Phenomenon video. I loathe phenomemon videos, particularly inspirational ones.

The video he sent was of Susan Boyle, singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserables on the television show Britain’s Got Talent. This frumpy little woman (who looked far older than her professed age of 47), surprised the judges and the audience (and me) with her stunning performance.

I have to admit, (and I am fairly mortified in doing so) this Internet Phenomenon video is one that caused me to tear up.

I’ve seen American Idol and scores of other pop idol sorts of shows, and I’ve hated them all. I hate the way they exploit failure, the way that they make it so utterly easy to predict who will be laughably horrific and who will come out with a belting moutful of R & B runs. It’s so predictable that even those people who are supposed to surprise and amaze you never do. I hate that it supports and promotes the absolute worst kind of music: those simpering, sappy, manufactured tunes, made especially to cram down the public’s throat so that they may regurgitate ratings and product sales.

I was, however, surprised by Susan Boyle’s performance. Surprised and moved. I know that is the intended reaction, but I just couldn’t help myself.

[I wrote more, but wordpress lost it somehow. Too lazy to reconsider it or rewrite it.]

What do you think? Was she a plant? Or was she a frumpy and talented older woman who genuinely surprised the judges?

Chronic Diseases Suck

I’ve always tried to maintain a positive attitude about having multiple sclerosis. After all, it could be vastly worse. I could have any number of more serious neurological conditions. Hell, even my particular case of MS could be worse. It isn’t life threatening (in the sense that it won’t kill you, though it has been known to suck the fun out of things), I haven’t lost any motor or cognitive function (at least, I hope that’s the case), and I lead something that resembles a normal life.

Lately, though, I’ve been having some rather excruciating muscle spasms in my back. They always occur in the same place, and they are exclusively nocturnal. I haven’t had a back injury, nor do I suspect any outside agent of causing them. Sometimes they merely wake me up in the middle of the night, keeping me awake and annoyed for several hours. Sometimes the pain is so horrible that I consider going to the emergency room. No over-the-counter drug even make a dent in the pain, and massages only exacerbate it.

By morning (say, 6 am) the spasms are gone, but I’m usually very, very sore. I am spasm free for the rest of the day but, by 8 or so at night, they begin again.

It was almost exactly a year ago that I was numb in my left side from the waist down. That was scary, but this is painful. And frankly, my good attitude is wearing a little thin. I’m tired, I’m in pain, I’m missing classes, and I’m just a bit fed up.

I try not to complain too much, for all of the reasons I mentioned above, but also because it’s really not very exciting to listen (or read about) people’s medical woes, and it also tends to depress people. When I went to the hospital for steroid treatments a few years ago, the nurses always shook their head with sadness that “someone so young” had to put up with the problems that accompany multiple sclerosis.

The fact is, the younger you are when you have your first attack (within the parameters of adulthood) the more smoothly your disease is predicted to progress. You’ll very likely have a mild-ish, relapsing-remitting form of the disease. I for one am thankful to have had my first attack at 18 (although I wasn’t even on medication until 20, and wasn’t officially diagnosed until 23). Still, it’s frustrating to experience medical issues that shouldn’t befall you for at least another 40 years.

Anyway, I’ve often been tight lipped about this condition. To be frank, I don’t like to think about the fact that I have it. I’m at a peak of frustration right now, and it’s hard to remain silent, or keep a good attitude.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to all those people who have lost motor function, or who experience symptoms worse than mine. I know, for your sake, that I should be thankful for what I have. And I am. But I’m also tired, in pain, and sick of this damn disease.

Annoying

As I mentioned in a previous entry, I’ve been taking this “Psychology of Diversity” class, and I sort of feel two ways about it. On the one hand, diversity is a cool quality for a population to have, and it should be recognized as such. On the other, I’m pretty sure blatant indoctrination, particularly at the college level, is wrong. Bad for our brains. Bad for society. Bad for, dare I say it, diversity.

I’m not sure if our elders have noticed, but 18-30 year-olds in this country have launched a rather ingenius counter-attack against the politically correct lessons with which we’ve been repeatedly bludgeoned over the head. We watch South Park and Family Guy so much that we’re able to quote memorably offensive lines from nearly any episode. Often, we view such things on The Internet rather than on television so that was can avoid the minutes upon minutes of advertising that, for years, we have consumed in copious amounts and without question.

We author revolting web comics, we propagate memes, we hurl insults at each other anonymously, we blog our feelings, we twitter the abridged version of our feelings, we make jokes in quiet and hushed tones to one another, and we cringe with glee immediately afterwards.

If these things make us insensitive, it is the fault of our teachers, and anyone who, beginning at a ripe and tender age, began to censor us. Those who told us that there was such a thing as forbidden speech, things that should never been uttered, thought, or said in jest.

I firmly believe that racism still exists. It exists in white privilege, in our institutions, and in class structure. It does not, however, exist in the 16-year-old boy who quietly whispers a racist joke amongst his friends, just to see if God will suddenly smite him with a politically correct wrath. Racism, sexism et al. may exist in all of us, but our speech is often not a symptom.

It is my hope that humor will help put us on the path to a better world. If we can joke about the things that bother us, perhaps we can come together, like old friends, to laugh at the idiots who still harbor hate in their hearts.