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Blind Olympics

Those of us who are blind or have low vision would like a chance to participate, too, which is why I support the Blind Olympics.  Here are a few highlights from the last games of this lesser-known event:

Blind tennis

The highly-anticipated match between the French singles champion and the British underdog drew record crowds, who cheered loudly for the French champion as he came within mere feet of hitting the tennis ball.  His British counterpart fared less well, running into the net while attempting to return a serve and finally getting tangled in the mesh and bringing the entire apparatus crashing down.  Points were awarded, however, for the astounding accuracy shown while he attempted to disentangle himself and, still swinging his racket, scored a direct hit on his opponent’s head.

Blind pole-vaulting

The team from Kenya took the gold with their amazing performance in this event.  As fans of the event know, blind pole-vaulting is scored by averaging how far each vaulter is from the bar at his highest point and awarding the medal to the team that averages the closest to the bar.  Kenya placed first with two vaulters skimming high a few yards to the left of the bar, two flying low and to the right, and one flinging himself right into the bar in what must have been a heart-breaking turn of events for second-place Japan.  Medics at the event pronounced the last vaulter bruised but essentially unharmed, but speculation is that his vision may actually have improved as a result of the impact, leading commentators to wonder if he would be eligible to return for the next Blind Olympics.  His many supporters can only wait and hope for his vision not to return.

Blind soccer

This first attempt at including soccer in the Blind Olympics ended not with a bang, but a whimper as Germany won the toss and took a dominant position early on, until an unfortunate kick sent the ball to a location none of the players could find.  Sighted referees eventually had to locate the ball after every play and stand beside the ball shouting so that the players would know where to go.  Sadly for the referees, the players did not always land their kicks on the ball, and more than one referee ended up limping off the field with a nasty bruise on his shin.  The game ended with no scores on either side when the supply of referees had been exhausted.

Blind shot put

The most highly-anticipated event of the Blind Olympics, blind shot put, drew to a nail-biting conclusion when the Belgian front-runner and his Australian rival each entered the last round having caused 4 concussions and 18 broken bones.  A simple nosebleed could determine who received the gold and who went home with the silver.

The Belgian contender aimed carefully at the noisiest section of the audience, then threw.  The sound of a crack! and a shriek of agony brought loud cheers from the Belgian supporters. The injury was determined to be a broken collarbone, a painful but nonfatal injury earning the Belgian a nearly-unbeatable finish.

The Australian, visibly nervous, was initially unsure where to aim due to the numerous audience members all shouting and screaming, but then settled on a location and made his throw.  Incredibly, the impact was greeted with not one but two screams of pain, determined finally to be a 5th concussion and a shattered kneecap from the ricochet, catapulting the Australian into first place and winning him the gold.

It takes guts to compete in the Blind Olympics.  It takes a high pain tolerance and good health insurance to be in the audience for the Blind Olympics.  It may take clinical insanity to be in the audience during Blind Shot Put.  But you must admit:  it’s anything but boring!

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Even Krakens have housework

This is reposted from my friend’s blog.  It’s less heavy than my last post.

The Kraken comes home after a long day of consuming pirates, looks around at the mess, and sighs.  Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten the last housekeeper:

Kraken Vacuum by C. Cottrell

Check out his blog, and his band, aptly named Kraken Vacuum.  Well worth the time!

Sketch a Day

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Little Blind Red Riding Hood

Public domain image via Project Gutenberg

A tale of a legally blind girl trying to run errands:

Once upon a time, a little blind girl got ready to go to the market.  She put on the gloves her father gave her, the scarf her mother gave her, and the little red coat she wore to make sure people saw her even when she could not see them.  You see, the little blind girl lived in a part of the forest where the carts would go crashing past without looking for pedestrians or obeying the cart traffic signs nailed to the trees along the path.  So the little blind girl stepped out in her red coat with its nice warm hood and went to the market.

On the way there, the little blind girl saw a cart approaching the point where the paths in the wood intersected, just where she was going to cross.  The little blind girl remembered what her mother had told her:  “Beware of strange carts in the wood, my child.  Give them a wide berth, and do not trust them to go straight when they do not signal to turn.”  So she waited patiently for the cart to pass her by.

But the cart did not pass her by.  Instead, it wove back and forth as it approached the point where the paths crossed.  The driver appeared to be distracted by the smoke signals he was issuing as he drove, holding the air bellows between his ear and his chin as he struck the flint.  ‘My, what a large bellows that man is holding,’ thought the little blind girl.  “I’d better get an answer!” yelled the cart driver.  ‘My, what a loud voice that man has,” thought the little blind girl.  “The wind had better hold off.  The smoke signal reception here is terrible!” shouted the cart driver.

“My, how fast you’re going, sir,” said the little blind girl to the cart driver.  “I hope you can see me, in my little red coat.  I wear it so drivers will be able to notice me.”

“All the better to run you down while I turn at this intersection much too fast without signaling my intention!”  screamed the cart driver, maddened by rage and frustrated by the wind disrupting his smoke signalling.  He turned suddenly, heading right toward the little blind girl.  But the little blind girl, who had been well taught by her father and mother, jumped out of the way of the cart.  As the cart passed, she threw the scarf her mother had given her through the spokes of the wheels.

The little blind girl then went to the inn where the King’s soldiers were quartered.  “Good heavens, little blind girl, where are you running to in such a hurry?”  asked the startled sergeant on duty.   “Oh, please, sir, a cart just nearly ran me over,” panted the little blind girl.  “Did he not see your little red coat, which you wear so that drivers will see you even when you cannot see them?” inquired the puzzled sergeant.  “Oh, yes, I am quite sure he did,” responded the little blind girl.

“But how will we find which cart it was that nearly ran you over?” asked the sergeant.  “Though the driver could not know it, you would not be able to read his cart license, and there are so many carts on the paths.”

“I threw the scarf my mother gave me through the spokes of the wheels,” replied the little blind girl.  “Just look for a cart with a little red scarf fluttering behind.”  And so the King’s soldiers found the cart with the angry smoke-signaller, who had not noticed the little red scarf in his wheel, and brought him before the King, who sentenced him to be rolled through the intersection in a barrel filled with spikes for nearly running over the little blind girl in her little red coat.

And the moral of this story is:  use your mother-loving turn signals when you’re driving, will you?  You’re making me crazy!

Audio reading of Little Blind Red Riding Hood:

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O donuts! My donuts!

English: A pink, frosted doughnut bought from ...

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve had an extraordinarily taxing week, and the whole time I’ve been absolutely obsessing over donuts.  Oh, donuts, you luscious, glorious foodstuffs, I love you so.  I love you in all your incarnations.  I love you glazed, with your sweet, sweet skins of sugar, so thin, so easily overcome to reach the fat-laden wonder within.  I love you covered in chocolate, bittersweet cocoa warring with cakey goodness to delight body and soul in equal measure.  I love you lightly dusted with powdered sugar, firm and filling, straightforward as the heart of a good man and so much easier to digest.  Hmm, this is getting a bit weird.  And I’ll tell you, I’m not actually that fond of krullers.

But, yes, Potential Boyfriend notwithstanding, it’s donuts I’m longing for at the moment.  Donuts will never let me down.  Donuts will always think I’m pretty.  If I don’t make it through to the weekend, I want to buried as I’ve strived to live, surrounded by donuts.  I could be like the ancient Egyptians, carrying my treasures with me as I journey into my afterlife.  Right now, my doctor is shaking his head, wondering how I don’t weigh four hundred pounds and have arteries 90 percent blocked. Doctor, I promise, I’ll dutifully cook and eat my green beans, fish, and brown rice, and I’ll drink my lowfat milk, but like a bored trophy wife, I’ll be thinking of donuts the whole time.  Except for the krullers.  And the bearclaws.  They kind of freak me out, and I don’t think they should really count as donuts.  And, frankly, donut holes are just a gyp.  But otherwise–viva la donut!

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Guide to Types of Female Hotness

Hanging out with a bunch of guys, I naturally hear a lot of behind-the-scenes guy talk.  At this point, I may be an honorary guy.  Except for my undying love for Johnny Depp.  And my obsession with makeup.  And all the skirts.  And the, you know, reproductive organs…ok, so I’m not a guy.  But I speak fairly fluent guy, and I’m occasionally called upon to interpret for my female friends.  So for the benefit of my female friends and followers, I am posting a Guide to Types of Female Hotness.  I would think this would be fairly easily adapted for male hotness, but there might be physical fights over what category Robert Pattinson goes in (if any), so it might be best to leave it alone.  Anyway, here are the categories:

Sorority Girl Hot


By Absinthe via Wikimedia Commons

This is one of the temporary categories of hotness; some kinds of hotness last longer than others.  It is generally recognized that merely being a sorority girl will convey some kind of hotness on a girl which can overcome the inexplicable tendency of such girls to wear snow- and rain-boots with miniskirts.  This kind of hotness can be recognized by the year-round tan from the tanning booth sessions that Daddy pays for, the inappropriately dark eye makeup and bronzer on almost all occasions, and the inability to make a statement that doesn’t end up sounding like a question.  “So, I was doing my laundry?  And I ran out of quarters? And I had to leave my clothes there while I got some change?”  Celebrity example:  Mischa Barton.

 

Trashy Hot

Image via Wikipedia

This is another major temporary category of hotness.  The window for trashy hotness may be even smaller than that for sorority girl hotness, and is similar but distinguishable in subtle yet distinctive ways.  Trashy hot girls will often have thicker eyeliner than sorority girls, and their hair will generally be more over-processed.  A good rule of thumb is to check the ends of the hair, which will typically be fried to a crisp.  There is also a higher incidence of hairstyles best left in the eighties among the trashy hot.  Perhaps the biggest giveaway is the mother:  while the mother of a hot sorority girl will generally look well-put-together and may be wearing clothing items of camel, taupe, or beige, the mother of a trashy hot girl will often sport even more makeup than her daughter and will almost always be swathed in spandex.  If tempted by the trashy hot girl, taking a look at the mother and realizing how the trashy hot girl is going to look in a few years should do the trick.  Celebrity example:  Britney Spears.

Scary Hot

By chris_nett via Wikimedia Commons

This category is for the girls who, while objectively physically attractive, make guys think they might cannibalize their partners after copulation, a la the praying mantis.  As opposed to the two categories above, girls in this category tend to have extremely pale skin.  They also often, but do not always, have unnaturally dark hair and tattoos.  They rarely smile, instead adopting a nihilistic scowl at a world that is so clearly beneath them and at the little insects that crawl on its surface and call themselves human.  While sorority girls and trashy hot girls will often wear pale or hot pink lipstick, scary hot girls will usually wear dark lipstick in addition to dark eye makeup, and may display various piercings.  They can usually take a man down using the heels on their platform combat boots alone.  Scary hot girls are viewed with trepidation, but also with an undeniable fascination and exude the allure of the forbidden.  Approach with caution.  Celebrity example:  Angelina Jolie, the early years (and, some would say, the later ones as well).

Smoking Hot

By Luke Ford via Wikimedia Commons

Also known as smokin’ hot or, colloquially, bangin’ hot.  Guys, this girl is Too Hot For You and you have no chance with her.  This is the head cheerleader plus the hot babysitter plus that model in the magazine you used to hide from your mom.  This girl walks into a room and the music plays, the fan blows her hair back, and everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at her.  She is hot in a little black dress, jeans and a tee shirt, or the figure-hugging sweats she wears to the gym.  If you are thinking of approaching a Smoking Hot girl, 1)  Don’t.  It’s pointless, and you’ll only embarrass yourself.  2)  Write out what you’re going to say in advance because, if you are able to attract her attention, you will immediately lose the power of coherent thought when her eyes flicker across your face.  3)  Don’t.  It’s a given that she’s already with her male equivalent, a man who could almost certainly put you on the ground in under ten seconds.  But hey, keep hope alive.  Celebrity example:  Megan Fox.

Jessica Alba

By Miguel from London, United Kingdom via Wikimedia Commons

There is a category so rarified that only one individual fits all criteria.  The epitome of hotness, as I have gleaned from my conversations with guy friends, is Jessica Alba.  She has the ability to be both pregnant and sexy at the same time.  While it is generally agreed that she is hotter as a brunette than as a blonde, she is still the standard by which all hotness is judged no matter what her hair color.  She compounds the offense by actually seeming to be really nice, and once presented at an awards show for scientists and technicians at which no other hot people were present.  She, by herself, will raise the hotness quotient of any room to near-tropical levels.  Celebrity example:  um, Jessica Alba?

So there you have it.  Girls, never say I did nothin’ for ya.  I’m not saying it’s fair, I’m not saying it’s right, I’m saying welcome to life with the guys.  If you are among the unfortunate women who were not born as Jessica Alba, I’m told there’s still hope.  You just may have to bring your own music and fan for when you enter a room.  Good luck, happy hunting, and try not to cannibalize your mates!

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Breaking news

I can’t look at the headlines anymore; they scare me and make me sad.  So I’m making up a news story of my own, front page above the fold:

Adorable Child Plays With Happy Puppies

Image via Wikipedia

In a shocking turn of events, young Abigail I’msocute approached a group of rambunctious puppies and quickly become embroiled in uncontrolled frolicking.  Ms. I’msocute, 2 years old, was unarmed at the time and appeared unsteady on her feet.  The mob of unruly hounds was observed furtively sniffing at her hands and appeared, according to one witness, to be soliciting treats.

The infant’s mother, Mrs. Amelia Lookatme, could only watch the drama unfold as her child romped, giggled, and shrieked in truly blood-curdling fashion,  at times covering her face with her hands, then suddenly pulling her hands away in jerky, agitated movements and yelling to the puppies that she could see them.  It is unknown whether Ms. Imsocute was later able to identify any of the malefactors for the authorities.  Onlookers described them as unusually small, dark, and fuzzy wuzzy.

Lookatme was eventually able to reach I’msocute and separate her from the unrestrained animals.  She later commented to the paper, “Those puppies were so adorable, I just wanted to cry.”  Both Lookatme and I’msocute appeared to be unharmed, but were clearly affected by the experience.  When contacted for a response, the attorney for the puppies declined comment, merely wagging his tail and gazing soulfully at the reporter.  More on this harrowing attack of adorability as details become available.

I expect a call from the Pulitzer committee any day now.

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If I only had a dog

Why a blind skydiving club would be awesome:

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Little blind girl goes to the art gallery

CC Image courtesy of iambents on Flickr

Remember that post where I said that if you’re taking me on a date, don’t take me to an art gallery because I’m legally blind and I won’t be able to see anything?  I take it back.  I went with Potential Boy Friend to a college art exhibit and found that art has changed quite a bit even since the last time I attempted to appreciate it, or at least I think it has:

 

LBG:  I’m really not sure about this.  I can’t see any of the paintings.

PBF:  That’s OK, I’ll describe them to you.  And some of them aren’t paintings.

LBG:  Photographs?

PBF:  Modern art exhibits.  There’s one that’s a collage of old heating bills in the shape of Paris Hilton.  It’s titled, “That’s Hot!”

LBG:  Very funny!  You are kidding, right?

PBF:  All the yellow highlighted bits that say “This bill is overdue” form her hair extensions.  There’s another that’s just an empty frame, entitled “Occupy This Space.”

LBG:  That I might actually believe.

PBF:  It’s listed for $7500.00.

LBG:  Not buying it in so many ways.

PBF:  Over here is a portrait of a young man in cap and gown who appears to be signing a student loan contract, while a man in a business suit stands over him holding a baby.  Let’s see what the title is–

LBG:  This should be good–

PBF:  Ah, Sale of a First-Born Child.  A striking commentary on a post-modern society.

LBG:  It speaks to me.

PBF:  And here we have a sculpture of a woman in a pose of agony, clutching a large group of children to her while staring at an envelope.

LBG:  Let me guess:  “Final Welfare Check”?

PBF:  Close:  “Niobe’s Child Care Bill Arrives.”

LBG:  I like mine better.  (Peers more closely at card with title of work)  Oh, my God!

PBF:  You totally thought I was making that up.

LBG:  Oh, my God.

PBF:  And I haven’t even told you about the woman sitting in a harness hanging from the ceiling.

LBG:  Don’t tell me.

PBF:  Her harness rises and falls with the current level of the stock market.

LBG:  Oh, my God, get me out of here!

And thus ends the latest installment in the adventures of the Little Blind Girl.  Stay tuned for the next exciting episode, Little Blind Girl goes to the Firing Range!

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Mountain Dew, you’ve let me down

CC Image courtesy of Ed Yourdon on Flickr

I stepped out of my apartment today to run across the street and buy a soda at the convenience store.  I’d been doing housework, so I was in jeans and a sweatshirt, no makeup, hair not done at all.  On the way to the store, about a two minute walk, I got no fewer than two wolf whistles, a car horn honk with a remark I’m not going to repeat, and a “Hey, shortie!”  I was thinking, man, these must be some good jeans!

So I bought the soda and walked back toward my apartment–and nothing.  It was like the soda made me drop 20 hotness points.  What is it, guys?  Does a Mountain Dew make you think I’m too high-maintenance?  Did you take it as a sign of unhealthy eating and eventual obesity?  Or did I just walk out after all the traffic cleared up?  A friend of mine used to jog alongside a major road, and she would always get comments and whistles.  One day she didn’t, and she sulked until the next time someone yelled something lewd out of a car.  Man, the pitfalls of being a girl.

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The cat vs. the Hair

CC Image by red.dalia on Flickr

A friend of mine, who is beautiful and awesome and brilliant and all sorts of good things, is also the proud possessor of a head of very, very curly hair.  It’s the kind of hair that has so much body that you sort of suspect it of also having an independent mind–you know, working in tandem with the brain under her scalp, but occasionally going off and doing its own thing on, for example, rainy days.  Another couple of friends of mine are the proud owners of two cats with very defined personalities and certain ideas about the hierarchy in the household.  Our theory is that they’re only putting up with us until they figure out how to work the can opener.  In the meantime, though, they like to make sure they can jump on everything in the household in some sort of bizarre, repetitive exhibition of feline dominance.  I’ve given you all the pieces; can you figure out where this is going?

My Curly-Haired Friend was at the cat-owned apartment hanging out one night.  We were just kicking back, practicing Latin (no, seriously, that’s what we were doing.  That’s not at all code for something else).  Curly-Haired Friend was sitting on the floor, yelling Latin declensions; cats were prowling the furniture.  I looked away for a second and then I heard this almighty yowling, and then an extremely Anglo-Saxon shriek.  I looked back, and one of the cats had jumped onto my friend’s head and was attacking her hair!  Just jumped from whatever piece of furniture and seemed to be fighting the hair from six different angles at once.  I think he saw it as an enemy and was trying to subdue it.  My friends and I could have told him that was a hopeless battle, having watched our Curly-Haired Friend fight with her hair for years, but the cats never consult us when they make their plans.

Now, this is not just any hair.  This is Hair with experience, possibly with combat training. The Hair started fighting back.  Poor Curly-Haired Friend was letting out ungodly shrieks from underneath while the cat and the Hair battled it out on her head.  Eventually, the Hair forced the cat to jump off onto the floor, partly assisted by the mere mortals who were weakened by uncontrollable laughter, but mostly it was the Hair.  The cat immediately scooted off to some dark recess of the kind where cats go and licked his wounds, and I swear, I swear, the Hair started purring.  Neither of the cats has ever challenged the Hair’s dominance again.  We had to finish the Latin another night, though.  The Hair told us to.  And you do not mess with the Hair.

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