Blind A Memoir

Lesbian Werewolves

admin — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 05:00:56 +0000

As a fan of Octavia Butler, Mary Shelly, H. G. Wells, Bram Stoker and Ray Bradbury, I sought shelter in science-fiction and gothic novels that made it easier to fantasize outside the hetero world. These authors made it possible for me to write stories that challenged science and society with gay characters. Most of my writings as a teenager were a bit Frankenstein-ish – the story I remembered most is about a guy named R.I.P., made out of the DNA from the three hottest guys at my high school; each letter taken from their first name to make up the gay zombie’s name. Like most of the stories I wrote in adolescence, R.I.P. never made it outside my head.

One of the fun aspects of being a writer is meeting other writers. This past August while at Lambda, I met Allison Moon whose novel Lunatic Fringe about lesbian werewolves is being released today, September 29th 2011. She read excerpts while at Lambda and I have been eager to read the book ever since. Growing up in San Jose, I never imagined I would be attending a release party for a book that combined two of my favorite topics – queer life and werewolves. It is so cool to know the writers behind all the new kinds of literature that is surfacing today.

***Belo Cipriani is a freelance writer, speaker, and the author of Blind: A Memoir. Learn more at www.blindamemoir.com.
NOTE: This article is available for reprint in magazines, periodicals, newsletters, newspapers, eZINEs, on the Internet or on your own website. To obtain permission and details contact info@blindamemoir.com

¡Novelas!

admin — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 05:00:27 +0000

When I became blind one of the groups of people I struggled with the most was not children but the Latino community. They were polite while speaking English at bars, coffee shops, and restaurants, but as soon as I began to speak in Spanish, they would flock to my side to share remedies that could possibly get me my sight back. Some involved prayer while other antidotes were radical dietary regimens such as drinking horse radish tea for one year or eating five carrots everyday.

During a late night phone chat with my friend Flor, we both got on the topic of Latinos and blindness. Equally annoyed with the constant attempts at being “saved” by our people, we both brain stormed possible causes for this behavior. As blind writers, we could not really dive very deep into anthropology, sociology or psychology, but we were able to criticize Spanish novelas.

“It’s those freakin’ novelas!” I told her in an agitated tone. She agreed and began to list various examples of characters in novelas that became blind but mysteriously get their sight back – offering the viewer the unrealistic notion that no one stays blind. We both agreed to do something about it; Flor would start a Spanish blog where she would talk about being Latina, a mom, and blind. My project was to write a Spanish novela that portrays realistic depictions of the blind.

My project which I am currently calling “Lo Que Mira El Amor” is still in its infancy and may take longer than expected to finish.

A few months ago I was asked by PG&E to be their keynote speaker for Hispanic Heritage month. My novella may be months or years away from completion, yet I’m pleased that I don’t have to wait that long to start engaging Latinos in dialogue about disabilities. “Insights: the Differences That Make Us All Similar” is taking place today Wednesday, September 28th 2011 at 5:30pm in the PG&E auditorium 77 Beale Street, San Francisco CA.

Jobs

admin — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 20:31:34 +0000

It was never tough for me to get a job when I was sighted. Even when I got laid-off from a start-up after the Dot Com bust, I was hired as a bartender with no experience at the first club I walked into with my pink slip. As a college student, I worked at a payroll advance company, customer service rep for equestrian products, and even at a pet shop — jobs I had never done before but somehow managed to convince the decision makers to hire me during a recession.

When I decided to become a writer, I figured that my past experience as a recruiter coupled with a big dose of eagerness would make landing my first writing gig not as challenging. Unaware of the obstacles ahead, I retired from an eight year career in staffing and belly flopped into the competitive field of writing.

I’m now a freelance writer and I’m always looking for my next gig. Initially it was frustrating to hear undertones of fear or confusion in the voices of the hiring managers when I revealed my blind side to them over the phone or to get the novelty treatment while interviewing in person which never lead to job offers. My luck began to change thanks to the help of a television commercial. A few years ago, Samsung was running an advertisement that featured a blind woman and her guide dog as she used her phone on the beach. Everyone mentioned the commercial to me and suggested I contact Samsung for a job; I even got the same phone she had as a gift.

Realizing the impact of demonstrating a blind person using a cell phone had on my circle of friends prompted me to carry my adaptive equipment with me to job interviews. I heard sighs of awe and admiration whenever I showed the people interviewing me my laptop and talking dictionary. I began to hear “When can you start?” instead of “We will be in touch.”

I believe that more employers would hire blind workers if movies, commercials, and print ads showed more blind people doing day to day mundane things. Currently, the media showcases people of all shades of skin and cultures; I look forward to the day more companies use disabled people in their marketing as we also buy their products.

Queer Lyrics

admin — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 05:00:02 +0000

Before Queer as Folk, The L Word, and Will & Grace introduced queer culture to the masses, I would spend hours rewriting songs, movies, and shows; tweaking lyrics from popular titles became a hobby — soon “American Woman” became “American Bottom Boy.” The gender bending eventually lead to a series of short stories about a gay college called Unique University where Lil’ Kim ruled as president, Mario Lopez instructed weight training, and buildings were named after fragrances like Emporio Armani Hall and The Chanel Nº 5 Center. Friends and family loved the vignettes that chronicled the lives of Nina and Nick – a set of queer twins. Compliments were plentiful, yet I was never encouraged to publish my stories. Marcos, a gray haired gay man I often chatted with via Instant Message from Boston suggested I should give up on writing gay fiction because no one would buy it. At seventeen, his comment seemed like the truth. One frosty and quiet evening, a meteor hit and destroyed Unique U.

I abandoned fiction, but was unable to break up with writing. Blogging about current events allowed me to disguise my words for journalism which I noticed everyone in my circle urged me to consider. I majored in Communication and enjoyed the writing process for the media curriculum, yet I still yearned for a creative outlet.

I was finally able to feed my craving in my graduate program. Workshopping felt familiar and I was inspired by all my classmates and teachers. However, the safety umbrella that served as a catalyst for my memoir was no longer there after I completed my masters. Unsure if there was a second book in me, I sought writing conferences and residencies. When I learned I was awarded the Lambda Literary Fellowship for emerging GLBT voices, a tiny heart beat began to ring in my ear. Ellery Washington who will be instructing the non-fiction cohort at the Lambda retreat asked the eight fellows to do some writing before arriving at the UCLA campus. Within a week of his email, I had started the skeleton for my second book

Madge and I will be heading out to the Oakland Airport to meet up with July Westhale, a Lambda Fellow in poetry. I have never been in the presence of so many talented GLBT writers before and for once, I will be a student at Unique U.

***Belo Cipriani is a freelance writer, speaker, and the author of Blind: A Memoir. Learn more at www.blindamemoir.com.

NOTE: This article is available for reprint in magazines, periodicals, newsletters, newspapers, eZINEs, on the Internet or on your own website. To obtain permission and details contact info@blindamemoir.com

Independently

admin — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 05:00:44 +0000

As it has for many, the meaning of the 4^th of July has changed tremendously for me from the time I was a nerdy kid in San Jose to a writer in San Francisco. Images of barbecues and city parks have been replaced by feelings of patriotism when I listen for the mechanical bird to sing at an intersection when crossing a major street. Ironically, the biggest change in the definition of Independence Day occurred when I lost my sight. Within days of going blind, I was contacted by social workers and representatives from city programs and non-profits that were eager to help out. As I assimilated into my world of darkness, the Department of Rehabilitation purchased blind technology that otherwise I would have not been able to afford on my own.

Aside from direct support from state and federal agencies, I feel grateful that there are laws like the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) that make things accessible to me. With it, I am able to go to school, work, and travel independently with my guide dog Madge. For over a century it’s been said by many prominent figures that you can judge a society by how it treats its more vulnerable members. My experience in America was that I felt supported when I became blind, and it was because of the aid I received that I was able to learn to do everything again independently.

Fireworks are still enjoyable to me because of the intense sound each one amplifies in the sky. I envision different shades of lights dancing above – sometimes forming flowers, stars, and even animals; each popping burst making me feel deeply patriotic.

***Belo Cipriani is a freelance writer, speaker, and the author of Blind: A Memoir. Learn more at www.blindamemoir.com.

The Encore

admin — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 05:00:57 +0000

I buckled my seatbelt and reached toward the floor to caress Madge’s velvety ears. The flight attendants began to voice the emergency exits and I could feel the plane slightly glide up and down, reminding me we were actually moving. The ticket agent instantly fell in love with Madge and bumped us up to first class; something I felt a little guilty about accepting, but got over quickly once I rested my tired limbs on the plush seat.Fortunately there was no one sitting next to me and I disengaged myself from all the chatter around me while enjoying a glass of wine. Another perk of first class seating is that the bathrooms are closer. Knowing the bathroom door was just a few steps away, I decided to leave Madge in a stay position. There was no way we could both fit in that tiny room and I decided to use my hands to find the door. Just like the flight attendant had pointed out to me earlier, the bathroom was three steps from my seat and was easy to find.

A few minutes later, I stepped out and made my way back to Madge. As soon as I touched the headrest with my hand, the cabin erupted in applause. I heard a woman shout from a distance, “You’re amazing!” A man chimed in with, “Wow, look at you being so independent.” A woman sitting the next seat over added, “That’s really cool!”

Annoyed, I wanted to tell them that taking a few steps in the dark was something I am sure they have all done at some point in their lives. However, I remembered that blind people are less than one percent of the population in the U.S. and I could possibly be the first blind person they see traveling on a plane. Nevertheless, I did not feel like being inspirational. Instead, I resorted to humor because blind individuals are people and are entitled to mood swings. I flashed a smile and said, “I know! I’ve been walking since I was one.”

***Belo Cipriani is a freelance writer, speaker, and the author of Blind: A Memoir. Learn more at www.blindamemoir.com.

The Rescue

admin — Thu, 05 May 2011 01:38:26 +0000

I decided to visit an old friend Facebook reminded me I knew who lives in the small town of San Carlos California. My friend was to pick me up at the bus depot after his kick boxing class, but because I arrived an hour early, I decided to take my guide dog Madge on a quick walk around the quaint neighborhood. I was enjoying the sun on my bare arms when I heard sirens and a male voice over an intercom demand, “Please halt your service dog.” Confused, Madge and I stood still as a pair of fast moving feet approached us. Although the officer was standing next to me, he began to shout as if I was a block away, “Are you lost? Can I help you?” My hair now slicked back as a result of the man’s loud voice. “Yes, you can help me by not yelling at my face,” I smirked.

Unphased by my annoyed tone, the officer started to tell me he received a call from a concerned neighbor that worried I was lost and would get hurt. I began to think about this “so concerned” neighbor and asked in an agitated tone, “Am I trespassing?” The officer explained that the neighbor just wanted to help, but that she was afraid of scaring me and so called for help.

People tend to want to treat the blind like porcelain dolls, something that really makes my blood boil when it occurs to me. Biting my lower lip I imagined an older woman who looked like Ethel from the “I Love Lucy Show” clutching a cordless phone in one hand and a newspaper in the other. I rolled my eyes as I envisioned her telling everyone in her world how she saved a blind guy from great danger.

I told the officer I was fine and continued to walk up and down the block with Madge a few times. I did not know if the concerned woman was still watching or if I had gained additional audience members. What I did know was that I did not need rescuing.

***Belo Cipriani is a freelance writer, speaker, and the author of Blind: A Memoir. Learn more at www.blindamemoir.com
NOTE: This article is available for reprint in magazines, periodicals, newsletters, newspapers, eZINEs, on the Internet or on your own website. To obtain permission and details contact info@blindamemoir.com

Super Madge

admin — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 01:34:52 +0000

I had been walking for about five minutes up and down the numerous hallways when I heard a man offer me help. I told him where I needed to be and he asked, “No problem! Should I write the directions down for your dog?” A loud laugh tumbled out of my mouth and I realized the stranger was not kidding when he began to talk to Madge, “Ok puppy, just go down this hallway and make a left at the elevator.” The man had clearly kneeled down as his voice sounded at Madge’s head level. Interrupting the energetic voice, I pulled Madge closer to me and explained to the man that Madge and I were a team. “I give the directions and she guides me as safely as possible,” I told the stranger. A big sigh came from the man who mentioned he was also heading toward the same direction and asked if he could walk with us. He continued to praise Madge for guiding me around some boxes, dodging a “Wet Floor” sign, and steering me away from a low hanging branch from an indoor plant.

Madge and I have been a team since 2009 and because I do not always catch every single small step or maneuver that she does in my favor, I realized I had taken some of her guide work for granted. We arrived at my dentist’s office and I verbally thanked the stranger for walking with us and also mentally thanked him for narrating the obstacles Madge dodged to keep me harm free. The man asked, “So, what is the hero’s name?” Smiling and rubbing her velvety ears I cheered, “Her name is Super Madge!”

Downward Facing Dog

admin — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 01:31:34 +0000

I arrived at the Yoga studio where I was welcomed by serene music, possibly Enya, and asked the room, “Where do I sign up?” A calm voice answered, “Hi there, I’m so happy you’re here. Will your dog be showing you the movements?” Assuming the woman was joking, I replied, “Absolutely! Her favorite pose is the downward facing dog.” I chuckled and was startled when I heard the same woman cry, “Wow, that is great that she can do that for you.” Before I could think of anything to say I heard the woman shout, “Tammy, come see this guide dog do Yoga.” I announced to the room I was joking, but felt awkward when no one acknowledged my words; letting me know the woman had walked away, and left me alone. .

Occasionally, I run into people who take anything I say too seriously. I think that it is hard for some to picture the blind being comical, sexy, or fun. Madge and I left the Yoga studio and walked down the street. I told Madge, “There is another yoga place down the street; hopefully, they are a bunch of sillies – just like us.”

The Giant

admin — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 19:22:10 +0000

Madge and I walked through the automatic doors and were greeted by an air conditioned gust of wind. Like most blind people, I depend on store clerks to help me with my shopping. Some clerks really get into the “helping mood” and even suggest deals and products, while other clerks channel their first school dance experience, making us both feel like a pair of seventh graders. I called out, “Can I get some help please?” and Madge lay down on the floor, almost as if she knew the service was going to be slow. A few more seconds went by and I called for help again. It was my first time visiting this particular pharmacy near school, and I began to grow restless.

I was startled out of my haze of frustration by a rumbling deep voice. I looked up toward the ceiling and the man repeated himself, “Need a hand?” The man’s voice seemed to be coming from past the florescent light bulbs and roof and straight out of the clouds. “Wow, you are really tall!” I huffed. The stranger chuckled and offered his arm; his massive structure was confirmed when I grabbed his elbow and realized it was at my shoulder level. Although 5’8” is not tall, I was not used to feeling this short and my first instinct was to start skipping like a kindergartener. I attempted to push my awkwardness away, yet it still surfaced in the form of a giggle.

The giant, Madge and I began to make our way through the store, slowly crossing items off my shopping list. When we got to the final item, I sensed my face get warm as the giant said, “Condoms are over this way.” I could not figure out why this man made me feel so weird and self-conscious, but not wanting to act immature I started to ask him questions, “So, what kind do they have here?” He began to elaborate on the various styles, flavors and even colors of condoms the store was displaying. We spent a good five minutes discussing jimmies until I made a decision.

I made my purchases and Madge guided me out of the store. I heard the giant behind me ask, “Need a ride too?” Surprised he had also stepped out the drug store with me, I shyly retorted, “Are you on your break or something?” The man laughed and said, “Nope, I don’t work here.” I awkwardly said, “No, thanks,” And Madge and I sped back to campus.

There are people in this world who bring out the adolescent in all of us. Maybe I bring out that adolescent behavior for people who are not used to being around the blind. The giant reminded me that reactions are not always personal, but a lack of exposure.

Belo Cipriani is a freelance writer, speaker, and the author of Blind: A Memoir. Learn more at www.blindamemoir.com
NOTE: This article is available for reprint in magazines, periodicals, newsletters, newspapers, eZINEs, on the Internet or on your own website. To obtain permission and details contact info@blindamemoir.com

Carried Away

admin — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 15:25:59 +0000

I hate my white cane and although I had given it a name to help me bond with it, Raising Cane was getting on my nerves. He refused to walk a straight line and insisted on greeting all the cracks and bumps along 14th Street. However, I reminded myself about how much my beloved guide dog Madge deserved the monthly visit to the doggie spa to reward her hard work. I squeezed the rubber grip on the white stick and mentally told Raising Cane that in a few hours, he would go back in the closet. A place I was unfamiliar with, but heard really sucked.

I was preparing to cross the street and paused to listen to the traffic for a few minutes. I was about to take a step forward when I heard a man shout, “Wait! I gotcha!” I smelled citrus cologne and was stunned to feel a pair of very strong arms lift and throw me over a muscular shoulder. I moved my lips but my words were playing hooky and I remained mute. I could now smell the fragrance which I now recognized as Aqua di Gio. I could also feel his toned stomach with my left hand and was now hoping he would take me home. I sensed him take a step up onto the curb and I knew my ride was about to end. The buff guy placed me on the sidewalk and scolded me, “You shouldn’t be crossing by yourself.” Still mesmerized by the stranger’s physique, I ignored his naïve yet cute comment. I checked the time on my cell and asked, “Will you be here in about a month at the same time?” Although I love being independent, I have definitely learned when to enjoy being helped.