Tomorrow I start my 24-hour 3-flight journey to Trelew, Argentina. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. It’s a great relief that this time my travelling pal, Mélissa, will be on the same flights as me. I am counting on her to be entertaining enough to compensate for the absence of captioned movies on these flights. I’ve had to endure many entertainment-deprived flights including the 15 and a half-hour haul from Vancouver to Sydney, Australia. Don’t be surprised if, by the time we land in Trelew, Mélissa will have a head full of micro-braids because I’ll need something to do while she watches Super Troopers 2 back to back to back to back…. to back.
Eight years ago, I was stalked very briefly. Considering how quickly my stalker gave up, I’m not sure I can even check this off my anti-bucket list. It also is entirely possible I am still being stalked. (Hi Angela!)
If you follow me on Instagram and follow me closely enough to stay updated on my Stories, you would’ve caught my overview of the shitstorm caused by a popular YouTuber on Sunday.
I’m not going to repeat as much of the details here as I don’t want to direct further attention to this person’s channel.
The story begins with a hearing person with no ties to the deaf community who gained notoriety for her “ASL” videos of songs. The spoken portions of her uploads are often not accompanied by captions thus making them inaccessible to deaf people who rely on them.
That’s not all; she decided to start selling ASL-themed merchandise. At this point, Chrissy Marshall of The Essential Sign and 50+ other members of the Deaf community convened to write an open letter delineating the issues with what this person was doing. The letter was very polite and informative, yet it resulted in posts on Instagram, Twitter and even a new non-captioned video by this person accusing the Deaf community of attacking her.
My employment at the bike shop has ended for the year. Until the end of January, I will be sitting in front of computer answering questions that may or may not be about bicycles. At this time of the year, the bike shop is essentially a ski shop anyway, and I find sitting on my buns answering questions online more pleasant than waxing endless skis. Outside of work, the seasonal changeover means my focus will shift from being a mediocre cyclist for being a mediocre gym climber.
When I went through my photo collection (see the previous post) I shared with my friends some of the embarrassing snapshots I had of them. I’m not going to post these photos on here, because it’s their shame to share. If my friends want to showcase their bygone dorkiness, they can get their own blog.
The other day, while searching for the most dangerous gun I own, a hot glue gun, I found my stash of teenage-year photos. While my childhood photos are pressed onto sticky pages in photo albums on the other side of the country, and my adulthood photos on Flickr, the photos from my pubescence were in my closet sharing a box with the glue gun.
I remember getting rid of most of the photos in which I looked like a zitty goblin, but I still have all my student transit discount IDs featuring my official school portraits.
My ninth grade photo, in particular, has a little backstory: