My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

I love that in just two scant posts my blog has turned X-Rated, but the Internets made me do it!

The profound wrongness of this thread was so astonishing that I had to post the following reply.

It’s amazing to me that some of you seem to know absolute facts about my life. Still, let me just clarify a few things.

First, I’m definitely grateful to my mom and family, of course I am. She’s done lots of work to keep me alive. Yet, I was raised to feel like a pretty “normal” person, with no real difference between me and my younger brother save for the fact that he can walk and I can’t. I was never coddled or sheltered from anything. I was raised to know that I’d never climb trees or drive a car, but so what? There’s an entire world of other things to do, but sometimes I’d have to do them differently. It was never instilled in me that I couldn’t do just about anything. I was raised like a typical son, really. So, I think it’s natural that I want to leave the nest.

Secondly, I can’t imagine wanting to “pull the plug.” I like the plug right where it is, plugged in and with a back-up battery. I like my life, I don’t see it as a bunch of losses. I never walked, so I don’t miss that. Any other “losses” have been so gradual that it’s easy to adapt. Honestly, the only difficult thing about my disability is not being able to talk, because that happened quickly and unexpectedly. Still, I’m adapting to that too.

Next, I’m not trying to live “alone,” I’ll always need assistants. Those assistants just won’t be part of my family.

Lastly, Sara and I are together because we have lots of fun. We go to movies, clubs, restaurants, things any couple does. We flew to Boston last December to see an Aimee Mann concert. We have practically everything in common. I courted her and we fell in love. Oh, if sex is “NOT” a possibility for us, then I have absolutely no idea what we were doing Sunday morning.

I have decided that web sites with embedded audio should be stricken from the internets! They’re not cool, they’re not fun, they’re fucking annoying.  They’re especially bad if your computer is connected to 5.1 surround sound. Thanks to Fandango.com I don’t think my cat will be frequenting my room for some time. Apparently, she doesn’t like pop-up ads to scream at her at dawn, not that I don’t share her sentiment.

At the very least, the coders who invented embedded audio should burn in a car fire, or just have a really really bad headache for several days.

Apparently, my St. Times article and my This American Life episode have caused much debate on the Internets.  Much of the confusion comes from the Times photo.  Basically, to some people I look like some kind of robot or some really fucked up plastic doll.  The second topic is whether or not Sara and I can actually have sex.  So, let’s clarify both.

First, I’m neither a Cylon nor a doll.  Hilariously, the photo is one of the better photos taken of me. Honestly, I do look much better in person.  I’m totally aware that I don’t look like a “normal” fellow at all, but I still don’t get the whole “fake doll” thing. I get it a lot more since I got the tube in my throat. My favorite is, “holy shit, that thing’s real???” I hear that often enough around town. I mean, sure, I’m pretty still and quiet, but why in the fuck would someone push a dummy around a bar in a flat wheelchair and talk to it? If I saw me, my first thought would be “wow, genetics fucked that guy over” and not “holy shit, is that a robot?”  Wait, wait…  What if I am actually the fifth Cylon model?  Could I have gone 27 years without knowing it? Okay, I’ve changed my mind about you robot/doll people.  Pure. Genius.

As for sex, I’m a little old fashioned about getting into details, but this time I will.  Sara and I do have sex, lots and lots of sex. I have more sex than my brother and his friends combined. Actual sex, not some kind of metaphorical pretend sex.  We don’t just share longing glances and write each other erotic angst-filled poetry, we go all the way.  It’s a little on the exotic side, but…  I tell her where to touch her and she puts my hand there.  We kiss, we touch, we do everything, sometimes twice.  I can’t really describe the complete sensuality of our sex life without crossing a line that I don’t want to cross.  I’ll just say that when we’re alone together, we don’t hold anything back.  How’d we get to such a place?  Well, I’m told by many that I’m rather charismatic. Also, the white noise made by my breathing machine puts women into some kind of trance.

So, to some it up: Michael Phillips, not a robot/doll, fucked over by genetics, has lots of sex.