Whine and Cheese- I can't believe this thing is still around...

I'm taking part in Blogging Against Charity Day, hosted by Kara and Miss Crip Chick. Enjoy!

I remember watching the AMD telethon as a kid. I thought it was cool that kids with disabilities (who I totally identified with) got to hang out with celebrities for hours on end all in the name of a "good cause." The telethon looked like one big party- spoiled only by the pious whining of the host, who posed for pledge spots with children positioned like fashion accessories at his side.

The unease I felt towards Jerry Lewis was similar to the heeby-jeebies I experienced at Christmas in the presence of Mall Santa.

Mall Santa was inauthentic, tatty, an impostor whose job it was to affect paternalistic concern, the careless voyeur to my fledgling consumerism. Mall Santa had freakishly youthful skin and eyes. he said "like" and "cool" a lot. He could have been my older brother pulling a prank.

"So you want a Snacktime Kid? Dude, I heard those things bite kids' fingers off! Better not let it near your hamster, if you know what I mean!"

Mall Santa had surprisingly muscular legs, a high school jock in a fat suit and beard. I was mortified knowing that if I could feel leg muscles through the cheap velour suit, then surely he could feel my bony little butt. I felt dirty, like I'd signed up to make kiddie porn without knowing it.

When I was three, my mom was interviewed for a local fundraiser for the March of Dimes. I watched the show from home with my grandmother, talking to my mom through the television's speaker. For years I thought laugh tracks were the guffaws of people watching the same shows I was in their own homes. I'd laugh extra loud trying to hear my own voice in the chorus of chuckles.

My mom sat on a carpeted stage next to a large mounted television monitor. On the screen was a picture of a young mother pushing a child on a swing in a wooded playground. I don't remember what was said about me during the interview as a second generation disabled person. My mom was wearing a wool plaid skirt, the kind that always makes me think of librarians, and I remember the host asking her about the crutch that lay at her feet, about having polio as a kid and the effects it had on having kids.

My disabilities were too rare and too numerous to warrant a telethon. Nor did my disabilities elicit the classic "aww" factor favored by TV execs. Too many extraneous troubling things going on with my body at any given time to be easily "read" by viewers. Looking back I have to face the fact that I was a punk right out of the gate: too brassy, too bold, too weird to be typecast.

This One's More of a Rambler

Traditional storytelling may not lend itself too readily to the Internet. You'll want to take these tales off line to get the full effect. Below are a couple of resources to help you get started. Where I found my snazzy "haunted grits" t shirt: At the Moonlit Road website you can hunt stories by region and teller, listen to free audio downloads or purchase gifts online. Full texts are also available in this archive.

Check this year's tour dates to hear Utah Phillips' fabulous tales of riding the rails, wry-witted Americana, native folklore and grassroots activism while you still can! Or check out one of his spellbinding collaborations with Ani Difranco on Righteous Babe Records.

Still longing for a form of entertainment that requires a computer screen? Why not indulge in some text-based game nostalgia, circa 1982. Back before the GUI takeover, computer games were played by typing a series of elaborate text commands that generated a scifi adventure narrative also known as Interactive Fiction. Legend has it that you can still find IF enthusiasts roaming the web today. I wonder what Utah would have to say about the role of myth in the digital age.