I hate stairs   In case of a fire, use the elevator. Quickly.

This is a film that my brother and I made a few weeks back. It’s a documentary-styled film, with fictional versions (well, partially fictional versions) of ourselves. So I guess, in a way, you could say it is based on a true story.

Brothers from Blake Watson on Vimeo.

Some of the most interesting social behaviors occur on public sidewalks. Lately, my wheelchair has spooked pedestrians into reacting with the oddest of behaviors: a move I will call “The Fake Detour.”

The Fake Detour goes a little something like this. I’m traveling down the sidewalk at a normal speed (maybe fast walking) when I begin to close in on a pedestrian in front of me. I slow down enough to maintain a comfortable distance, usually about 5 to 10 feet behind the person in front of me. The pedestrian in question then commences The Fake Detour by straying from the sidewalk and stopping, as if to observe a sign or something on the ground or as if to stop to think. Once I pass by the person, he or she will continue back on the sidewalk, now safely behind me.

I hypothesize that the subject (1) is aware that I can travel at a faster speed than him or her, (2) perceives that I desire to travel at a speed faster than him or her, and (3) is compelled by feelings of empathy and or insecurity to remove him or herself temporarily from the sidewalk, leaving my path unimpeded.

I further hypothesize that the majority of subjects commit The Fake Detour out of feelings of insecurity rather than those of empathy. It is as if they think I am a stalker on wheels, determined to catch them in a secluded area where I will undoubtedly inflict irreparable damages to their toes and shins. To date, I have only defended myself from this deceptive maneuver by increasing the distance between me and the pedestrian in front of me. But my defense is no longer enough. I am now considering a counteroffensive measure. It’s simple. I will counter The Fake Detour with The Fake Detour, engaging unsuspecting pedestrians in psychological warfare.

To those who will say, “But what about the ones who move out of empathy for you?”, this is my reply. There will be some unavoidable casualties.

Freedom isn’t free.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the 49th Disability Blog Carnival. Please, do not worry. There is plenty of accessible seating to go around.

Today’s carnival is special to me because it is the first one I have ever hosted. Since beginning this blog in June, I have learned much from the disability blogosphere: one, that it existed; two, that there is a lot of people who are like me and can relate to my experiences. And yes, that was a list—the theme of this week’s carnival. I chose “Lists” as the theme because they are so flexible. You really can have a list about anything! In fact, I even made a list of links that are featured in this edition of the DBC. It is available at:

delicious.com/royblakewatson/dbc-49/.

Let’s start this thing off with an oldie. I’m not talking about Stephen Deal, but rather his humorous “You’re Not Taking Your Disability Seriously If…” list. And while we’re being funny, we might as well have a look at Astrid’s “Cynical List of Things I Learned in a Year in the Psychiatric Hospital.” “If life sucks for you, don’t say it out loud, because it can always suck more,” she warns.

And sometimes, it’s other people making life more difficult. Andrea is sick of all the crap excuses that lifeless, bureaucratic pawns can come up with to suppress self-advocating disabled people and their requests of fairness. Unfortunately, these self-advocates are sterotyped as whiners. And speaking of stereotypes, here’s some “Autism Ain’ts” from Joel at NTs Are Weird, and a protest against a book from aspierhetor.com.

Of similar topic, Ettina from Abnormaldiversity shares with us a list of “major components of how the ‘experts’ create panic and sell their therapies.” It seems they use scare tactics and “rosy promises” (like politicians?) to compel parents to agree to their various treatments.

Laura from Touched By an Alien provides a list of what she thinks are “The essential components” for individuals with Asperger Syndrome. Frida writes a list of clues for able people.

Shiva from Biodiverse Resistance begins a series calles Neurodiversity in Literature that focuses “on characters in novels who are really obviously (what would now be recognised as) autistic or otherwise neurodiverse.” The first looks at Noah Joad from “The Grapes of Wrath.”

Several bloggers have given us lists of tips. Greg from Pitt Rehab gives us a list of useful Web sites. Kara offers a list of charitable causes worth your donations. Dean gives us some tips about helping back pain. And Grace from Disabled 2 Abled has some great tips for “Computer Comfort,” which are relevant to us bloggers.

Rickismom from Beneath the Wings writes about all the lists connected to her daughter, Ricki. She admits that some of her lists—like the “list of skills needed to learn to reach independence”—may be a little “tyrannical.” Erin from School Psychologist Blog Files writes about “The Benefits of an Inclusion Classroom.”

Emma gives us a list of things she intended to do and things she did instead. She also has a cool 101 in 1001 to-do list. And Suzanne from disabilitiyjourney.com writes about the satisfaction of checking off items from a to-do list.

And now you can check off that you’ve read through the 49th Disability Blog Carnival. Thank you for visiting. And thanks to all those who submitted entries. We couldn’t do it without us!

Cheers.

EDIT: Here’s a list (why not?) of submissions I missed.

• Cheryl lists the reasons she why she hasn’t been blogging as much. I would say that number 3, concentration, is a big one for me.

Some of the people that have, through the years, been charged with the task of being my care-giver, have not understood the underlying principle of how I work: my body is a complex system of weights and counterweights.

It is frustrating because I must always be in a position of balance to perform tasks (e.g., eating) independently. I have an unnofficial list of positions that I use. Eating fingerfoods requires a position I call “The Praying Mantis.” I stand my arms on the table with my hands propped against each other. It resembles a praying position. I have another position for eating more complicated foods that require a spoon or a fork. I have another for using my computer, playing video games, sleeping, using the restroom, driving my chair, riding in my van, and a host of other situations.

Now I know it’s probably picky to expect someone to have every position memorized, but I think some people I have worked with lacked an understanding of simple physics. The same people usually have trouble following short, specific commands (e.g., slide both elbows toward each other). Some parts of my body are “dead weight,” if you will. So if I’m wanting to stand my arms up in The Praying Mantis position, but my assistant doesn’t prop my arms against each other, they will fall. It takes the weight of each arm pushing against each other to hold them up.

Some of my balancing acts (e.g., eating chips with a fork) are so unusual that one of my friends has dubbed me the MacGyver of eating. I must admit, I’m proud of my enginuity. Sometimes, I wish I could spend a week in an occupational therapist’s office with someone who thinks like me. I might be able to figure out how to play the piano. I’ve written some music, but I haven’t been able to hear it played on a real piano.

To my attendants’ defense, most of them have been good. I know it must be difficult for someone with full use of their muscles to think the way I do. In that context, I suppose I have had some great attendants. But when someone can’t seem to use his or her common sense when helping me, it rubs me the wrong way.

Self-centered? Maybe. Wrong? I don’t think so.