out of all that, this would be the bit that I'd focus on:
[Mullens] owns 10 different sets of prosthetic legs, from her titanium sprinting legs ("my brother calls them my 'robo-cop legs,'" she laughs) to the intricately carved ashwood museum pieces she once modeled in a fashion show for designer Alexander McQueen. At a recent media event, she sported fashionable white skinny jeans, gold sandals and a dark pink pedicure. "
and lament, does it -have- to be PINK?
" It almost makes it sound like these (pictured) legs are her “real” ones and she keeps a fashion array of other prostheses to keep her hotness factor up in social situations! eesh. (ooh, the novelty of seeing a disabled person displaying traditional sexuality! tittilating!!) sigh. "
(h/t Kim, and trin; there's no way I'm linking or going over to the source, but you can guess).
Yes, fuck YES. Christina Jesus forbid that a PWD might keep a "fashion array" of prostheses, display "traditional sexuality," or (this is my favorite) make it look like the legs that have BEEN her real legs since she was frigging one year old, if you read the fucking article, are her LEGITIMATE, -real- legs.
I mean, we all know how fucking -important- it is to remember and -keep- the bodies God/Mother Nature gave us, riiiiight?
So many ways to not be "real."
Well, you know what, fuck "real."
THIS is the part that interests me:
First she was a world-class athlete, having run track at Georgetown and holding records in sprints and the long jump. In January she was voted President of the Women's Sports Foundation by the likes of Danica Patrick and Maria Sharapova. Her accomplishments are each impressive enough on their own, but when you take into account that she's done it all on silicone and titanium legs, she's just making the rest of us look bad.
Competitive, you see. Or, as she puts it,
Her athletic background and competitive drive are what propel Mullins through every new experience and challenge. "In athletics, the idea of possibility is presumed," she says. "It's not 'if,' it's 'how.' And that is how artists, and fashion designers, and musicians see the world. It's not possibility, it's potential.
Yeah, it's the kind of story we Americans love: beat the odds, made it to the top, a winner, inspiring. Feel-good. Forget all the other people who -don't- succeed; it makes us/them "look bad."
Well, fuck me, sometimes, you know what, it's OKAY to feel good, vicariously even. Sometimes, it's OKAY to admire the hell out of a remarkable person without butbutbut. And, hello, can we focus on this bit just for a second:
It's not 'if,' it's 'how.' ...It's not possibility, it's potential.
It's the American Dream writ large--the best side of it. Funnily enough, it's the same message I took away from "Sicko," and yes, I'm still planning to do a full post on that.
But yeah, that optimism, the "can-do" thing. I think, you know, sometimes, on the loosely defined (American) left, we can throw that baby out with the bathwater of "o but look, the System, the System, the System is broken. Irreparably flawed. -No-, it isn't enough to say, "here's how we can make things -better-," partially, for now.
It's not good enough. Nothing's good enough. I Blame I Blame I Blame.
Which is really convenient, you know, especially when we're talking about people who may just be more in need of immediate relief than we are.
Or when we want to cover up our savoring of the delicious bitter-bitterness of our own hearts in the safe language of "systemic" blaming.
And you know something else: that is also a titanium-toed kick in the ass for me as well (personal shit, not getting into it right now).
Sometimes, you know what, you got to just go and -do.-
And forgive yourself-and others-for not being fucking perfect the first time, or ever.