Heads Up

Gamers worldwide will instantly recognize Recon Instruments’ newest line of skiing equipment as something straight out of Halo or Gears of War. Finally, this live and highly integrated informational system has made its way into the real world. Game Informer Magazine has recently featured Recon’s new set of goggles, retailing anywhere from $350-$450, tempting gamers to trade in the virtual for the actual with what is fondly known on the TV screen as the heads-up display or HUD. The HUD is a transparent interface between player and the game that gives live information such as character, ally, and enemy position on the game map, health information, available resources, and other, game-specific information. This information is displayed over the screen rather than below (like the dashboard in a car) so it can be seen easily during game play.

Recon Instruments has created something similar called a Micro Optic Display (MOD). With features like temperature, speed, altitude, distance of a jump, hang-time, navigation and buddy tracker, music, video camera, and, of course, smartphone connectivity, this MOD makes all the HUDs jealous. Other Bluetooth enabled accessories made by Recon Instruments turn any place a good place for live, MOD information including the belt, wrist, or head. This ski technology company may have what it takes to get everyone out on the slopes this year.

Probably not me, though. Despite the fact that I always wish it was warmer, so snowboarding and skiing is a "no" by nature, I might be tempted to take my turn downhill if it meant playing with those goggles. Especially if someone else got them for me. Unfortunately, though, my tailbone can still feel last year's attempt to shred or whatever. If I can't even sit on the floor comfortably, I decided there are just some places I don't belong. I'd rather sit and drink in the lodge while trying to justify getting the new MOD goggles for absolutely no reason.

Amazonian Warriors

Sorry for the inundation of information, but without a job, I have nothing else to do than job search and read the news. In conclusion, another opinion:

Amazon online bookseller, turned book buyer, turned book publisher-- there’s a lot wrapped up in this little dot com. Many publishers are less than thrilled with the idea that with a few clicks of the mouse, many of their potential clients are taken away by electronic publishing. True, many battle-worn authors can find refuge with Amazon, but publishers should have little to fear. As of now, Amazon is acting as the Wal-Mart of the book world. Providing a one-stop-shop for its customers, it’s an easy place to get what needs done, done. However, like cashing a check at Wal-Mart, it may be easy, but it isn’t a bank. Wal-Mart doesn’t have everything. I can cash a check, but they can only give me what I’ve been paid, no loans, no trust, no relationships. Amazon appears the same. There isn’t much of a relationship between writer and publisher. They agree to publish your work, and that’s the end until someone clicks Add to Cart, if someone clicks. And! Worst of all, there isn’t the satisfaction of going into a bookstore and seeing blood, sweat, and tears in hardcopy. Amazon might be on to something for now, but, just like electronic books versus print copies, there is simply no competition for the real thing.

Who Said That?

Recently, a video has been posted on ASLized.com, a video informational site dedicated to the education and promotion of Deaf culture and especially Deaf literature; this video (link below) is called Early Intervention: The Missing Link. It emphasizes the negativity that overwhelms new parents who find out their baby has been born deaf. For centuries deafness has been labeled by the medical community and hearing population at large, as a disability, a handicap, and a problem to be fixed. This problem, for many doctors, requires surgery and a cochlear implant along with life-long speech and physical therapy to be overcome, sometimes with great success and, more often than anyone would like, great frustration and failure.

The goal of this particular video, which in turn eagerly speaks for the Deaf community, is to say that disabilities and handicaps are far from the truth. Deafness is instead a culture built of people with similar experiences, traditions, habits, and most importantly, language: American Sign Language. This video urges parents to think of language opportunities rather than limitations. Teach your child ASL, a language that can be as easy and natural as English is to thousands of hearing Americans. This language can open up many doors for a child rather than trying to force them through only doors that require speech and hearing, doors they may never unlock. The maker of this video seems to think that if parents are introduced to ASL as an option and, even better, are introduced to a Deaf adult as a model for what their child can become, they won’t be afraid of deafness and make rash decisions about which linguistic route is best for their child. However, it is this point that should cause some hesitation.

I absolutely and whole-heartedly agree that Deaf people can become successful, intelligent members of society and have a whole list of shining examples, but I’m afraid these people may only be as good as their interpreters. Parents, I’m afraid, may still see Deaf people as somewhat foreign if an interpreter is required to communicate with them. They don’t hear the eloquence of the Deaf adult; they hear a hearing interpreter translating. As a person who has loved learning and using ASL, I could have a one-on-one conversation with a Deaf person and get to know them on a personal level, but not everyone has that luxury. I do know there are plenty of skilled interpreters who could easily make a person’s ASL come to life in English, but I’m afraid the less-experienced and less-qualified interpreters are often the ones being hired by many public establishments because of such limited budgets. Less-qualified means less expensive.

Hospitals have little money set aside for interpreters who are called not even once a year. More importantly, they are run by a hearing person who may have never encountered a Deaf person and who may feel translations come a dime-a-dozen-- if you know a few signs, you’re hired. Interpreters play a big role in representing the Deaf community and often don’t live up to the job requirements. Limited knowledge keeps everyone in the dark: the English isn’t right nor is the ASL. Unfortunately, it is usually the Deaf person who must suffer the consequences because they are the minority and must conform. If parents are to be truly informed on the best option-- linguistically, culturally, educationally-- their only real option may be to learn ASL themselves and study the Deaf culture so they understand, at least intellectually, what the options are for both sides.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5ZqKMgXciU

(As a bit of a disclaimer, I don't want to come across as an antagonist of this video in any way, shape, or form, I loved it and thought it to be spot on. However, I know that simply introducing parents to the Deaf world may not be enough to make them choose a non-hearing route if they don't become involved with the Deaf world first.)

Cat-a-strophic

A few more “Moving to Kansas” stories:

Two weeks ago, Aaron and I drove down to Kansas City with more of our belongings, somewhat begrudgingly relocating in hopes of better opportunity in a larger city. I have spent a lot of time down here and a lot of time job hunting, praying that I’ll find something that I can call a career. So far, the prospect has been bleak, so, to insure that at least one of us has a job and, therefore, money to make the car payment, Aaron has decided to transfer his retail position rather than try to find something completely new. Bless his heart. As we sailed through many an amber-wave-of-grain, my check-engine light decides to turn on as the car downshifts to pass the world’s slowest-moving pickup. Naturally, I become scared beyond all reason, and here’s why:

Once upon a time, I decided it was time to grow up and get my own car, so I trade in my nice chocolate brown Chevy Impala for a neighbor’s semi-used Lexus (yeah, I said Lexus) SUV-ish thing. Within a month of driving said luxury vehicle, strange things start happening. First and foremost, all of my money was going into fueling it. Accustomed to the bottomless gas tank of a new, fuel-efficient car, I couldn’t believe I was paying over $60 a week to back in and out of my parking spot. Little did I know, things were to only get worse from there. What I can only imagine was immediately after another expensive re-fueling, I drive headlong into the night for North Liberty with my soon-to-be husband and our friend, Jarren. All Jarren had to say was, “Oh! That was a hard shift,” for everything to fall apart. By the time we returned the Lexus was barely with us. Over the next few days, its ability to change gears lessened and lessened, jerking violently with every attempt. It finally decided to nix the driving habit completely while I was on Interstate 80, headed home. It wouldn’t accelerate or change gears, I was sure it would slow down, but I was on the Interstate and didn’t exactly want to do that. I called my mother to say goodbye and cried hysterically the entire way home. Then I called boyfriend Aaron to come console me and drive me around. This, to the less than car-savvy, is what happens when your transmission dies. A few thousand dollars and months later, the car has a new transmission, and I feel phantom jerkiness and engine problems every time I drive. I quickly traded it in for a Ford 500, swearing that if I ever had car problems again, I’d sell it and walk.

So, after the slight jostle of downshift and the sudden and incessant screaming of the check-engine light, I was sure I was out another transmission and another thousand dollars, which I don’t exactly have considering I just quit my job. I immediately begin cursing like a sailor and hysterics ensue. Aaron, of course, is sure it’s nothing and decides to call our friend, Scott (a really great mechanic) when we park to see what he thinks. I don’t have the heart to tell Aaron that Scott is two states away and cannot possibly help, you stupid, stupid boy! After a hearty meal at the Olive Garden, luckily, I’m much more agreeable. Scott recommends going to an auto-parts store (shop? Place?) to borrow their scanners that hook up under the dash and read the car’s computer. Scan complete, we learn there is low pressure in the gas tank. Most likely cause: loose gas cap. The engine light turned on because of a gas cap. Properly tightened, the light went off as soon as we started the car. I couldn’t believe it. I was angrier that the light went off than I was when it came on. I was using Scott’s name as a curse now, for thinking of something so simple as scan for a gas cap. The light shouldn’t come on for things that aren’t actually problems. Fact.

Secondly, my cat crawled down the heating vent. My new bedroom has been recently painted and the vents taken off for proper paint coverage. The cat, in her infinite curiosity and wisdom, climbed into a hole tinier than she is, fell two stories, and spent the next hour and a half trying to climb back up while my sister, her friend, Tim, and I called, “Here, kitty kitty,” up on the second floor because we were sure the cat couldn’t have gotten very far. We eventually found out she was in the basement, and Tim was in the process of ripping the ducts apart when I sent my sister upstairs on a lead that a certain vent the cat was under might lead to the living room. Right as Tim was making some progress my sister puller her out, the little dust ball that she had become. Currently, there are bags, cans of paint, a mini fridge, and a fan blocking all of the vents (and, so, the heat) so this won’t happen again.

With Zooey’s trauma-induced cuddliness endearing her to me, I decided to drag my air mattress into “their room” and spend the night with the kitties. Every two hours for two hours, I was forced to wake up and rebuild the blanket fortress I had constructed to protect the mattress from kitty-claws or getting run over by crazed cats chasing each other from one end of the room to another. After the allotted two hours, they settle down to sleep, which means I sleep, but then get woken up by cats walking on, kneading, licking, purring near, and violently biting and scratching my head. Shooing them away only made the running start sooner, so I tried to hide under the covers until lack of oxygen made me pass-out and fall asleep.

I can’t seem to catch a break, although, I did get the surround sound set up and I have a space heater that works, but as winter creeps in, I can’t help but wish it was warmer.