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AN /J EC D OORE M HEMAR Volume 2009/10 S Volume $4.99 MAGAZINE VOLUME 2009/10 SHEMAR MOORE DEC/JAN THE VOICE OF OVER 50 MILLION AMERICANS 2 ABILITY ABILITY 3 MANAGING EDITOR Gillian Friedman, MD MANAGING HEALTH EDITOR E. Thomas Chappell, MD CONTRIBUTING SENATOR U.S. Sen. Tom Harkin (D-IA) HUMOR WRITERS Jeff Charlebois George Covington, JD Gene Feldman, JD EDITORS Liz Angeles Diane Chappell Dahvi Fischer Renne Gardner Sonnie Gutierrez Quads ride in South Africa p. 38 Josh Pate David Radcliff 6 HUMOR — A Toast to Santa Denise Riccobon, RN Jane Wollman Rusoff Maya Sabatello, PhD, JD 11 ASHLEY’S COLUMN — Abroad with Down Time Romney Snyder HEALTH EDITORS 12 BOOK EXCERPT — Get Off Your Knees Larry Goldstein, MD Natalia Ryndin, MD Extremity Games 16 POWER SOCCER — More Than a Goal Shemar Moore p. 44 CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Gale Kamen, PhD Laurance Johnston, PhD 18 ALIA MALEK — Amreeka the Beautiful Andrea Kardonsky Deborah Max Myles Mellor - Crossword Puzzle 22 BOOK’S COVER — Judging Between the Lines Dana Nelson Paula Pearlman, JD Richard Pimentel 24 HOLLYWOOD FORUM — IAMPWD, Disability and Actors Allen Rucker Kristen McCarthy Thomas Betsy Valnes 28 MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS — MS v SCI David Lander p. 30 Paralympic Games Beijing WEB EDITOR Joy Cortes THE SQUIGMAN — Squeaks by with Craftily Acting Saucy 30 GRAPHIC ART/ ILLUSTRATION LIFE ROLLS ON — More Fun Than a Barrel of Jesse’s Scott Johnson 34 Guy Uesugi PHOTOGRAPHY 38 QUADS 4 QUADS — Riding Four Ways From Sunday Nancy Villere— CrushPhotoStudios.com Actors event p. 24 ABC Studios 40 BAD BOYS — EEOC Tackles Job Discrimination Music Within Michael Darter TRANSCRIPTIONIST 42 DREAM WRITER — How to Write Right in the Light Sandy Grabowski 44 MOORE CARE FOR A CAUSE — Hollywood’s Hunky Helper DIRECTOR OF BUSINESS AFFAIRS John Noble, JD OUSE Building Dreams MARKETING/PROMOTIONS 54 ABILITY H — Liz Angeles Andrew Spielberg 56 INNOVATIONS FOR ACCESSIBILITY — Wired for Better Health Alia Malek p. 18 PUBLIC RELATIONS ABILITY’s Crossword Puzzle ABILITY’s JSPR 61 CROSSWORD PUZZLE — Oops, Last Issue’s Correction NEWSSTAND CIRCULATION CONTENTS John Cappello WWW.ABILITYMAGAZINE.COM EDITORIAL [email protected] ADVERTISING DISTRIBUTION CORPORATE SHIPPING For advertising Warner Publishing Services 8941 Atlanta Ave. NON-PROFITS information e mail A Time-Warner Company Huntington Beach, CA 92627 ABILITY Awareness/Fuller Center [email protected] Faxon - RoweCom Library Tel 949.854.8700 or call Services TTY 949.548.5157 Habitat for Humanity 949.854-8700 ext 306 Ebsco - Library Services Fax 949.548.5966 Ashley Fiolek p. 11 Swets Blackwell PUBLISHER Chet Cooper ABILITY Magazine is published bimonthly by C.R. Cooper, 8941 Atlanta Ave. HB, CA 92646 (ISSN 1062-5321) All Rights Reserved. Subscriptions: $29.70 per 1 year (6 issues). Periodicals postage rates at Irvine, CA and at additional mailing offices. The views expressed in this issue may not be those of ABILITY Magazine POSTMASTER: Send address changes to ABILITY Magazine, Attention Subscriptions Manager, PO Box 10878, Costa Mesa, CA 92627; Volume 2009/10 Shemar Moore Dec/Jan Library of Congress Washington D.C. ISSN 1062-5321 Printed in U.S.A. © Copyright 2009-10 ABILITY Magazine The ABILITY Build program outreaches to volunteers with disabilities to help build accessible homes for low income families. We are currently seeking corpora- tions, organizations and churches to sponsor more homes. This award-winning program builds homes and awareness, changing the lives of everyone involved. abilitybuild.org [email protected] abilityawareness.org a toastto Santa t was colder this year at the North Pole. The summer “Oh, don’t start!” Santa yelled. “Do not start with the had brought about a record snowfall, and the drifts kids! I work my tail off all year for ‘the kids’ and whatta Iwere higher than Robert Downey, Jr. The wind chill I get? Milk and cookies! Go get me a beer.” In a huff, had dipped lower than the OJ Simpson dream team, and Mrs. Claus walked away. apathy had settled in like a flea on the back of a slobber- ing Saint Bernard. Santa had grown old and tired. He was no longer inter- ested in bringing joy to millions of children. He just Santa sat in his Lazy Boy with his pants unsnapped, wanted to retire, sell Toyland, and move to Miami to watching a college football game. Notre Dame was tak- golf and count ballots. He had put in his time: 623 ing on Southern Cal in the Toilet Bowl, and Claus was a years, to be exact. Jolly Old Saint Nick had become bit- big USC fan. (Whenever the announcer would mention ter and antsy. To stifle the lingering discontent, he had “Trojans” it always made Santa giggle.) started drinking, gambling, smoking cigars, and eating Prozac like it was gingerbread. He had gained 265 “Throw the damn ball! You run like a snowman in a tar pounds and was constantly wheezing. His ear and nose pit!” Santa yelled. Mrs. Claus entered the room, carry- hairs were almost as long as his yellow, tainted beard. ing a plate of sugar cookies. As if that weren’t enough, his fingernails were the length of candy canes, and he refused to leave the house “Santa, it’s just a game,” she said as she sat the snacks for fear of germs. on his beefy lap. The toy factory, too, was in disarray. The elves were no “I’ve got 500 beans riding on this, and I’m giving away longer being drug-tested. They were sleeping in after seven and a half points,” Santa snapped. all-night parties, and sexual harassment complaints were on the rise. The reindeer farm was in shambles. The “You promised you weren’t going to gamble anymore barn was in dire need of four walls and a roof. Piles of after the bookie took the sled,” said Mrs. Claus. dung littered the snow, resembling a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream. The animals hadn’t “ESPN said it was a lock. Rip up Berman’s list. He gets eaten for weeks and were almost as thin as Calista coal this year,” Santa grumbled. Flockhart. The only way they could fly was on a 767. “Well, it doesn’t look like anyone’s getting anything this To her credit, Mrs. Claus had tried her best to motivate year. I’m sure the kids—” her husband. She made his favorite dishes, massaged his 6 ABILITY flabby love handles, and even dressed up in a tight East- asked. The man shrugged and grumbled, “Who knew?” er Bunny outfit to see if that would get his eggnog pumping. But it was to no avail. The jolly man wasn’t In his previous life, the Ghost of Christmas Past had looking for jollies anymore. His life had lost its zest— been a Catskill’s comic known for his reliance on one- and we’re not talking soap. Meaning had hopped a bus liner jokes. His material was so bad that audiences to Chicago. Purpose had taken a train to Denver. Ambi- would bombard him with whatever food they had in tion? Well, let’s just say that was on a slow boat to front of them. One night, during the second set, an China, looking to link up with a fluffy, unattached under-ripe squash made contact with his skull. It put the Panda Bear named Ding-a-ling. hack in a coma from which he never recovered. Ironi- cally, the vegetable had rendered the man a vegetable. Christmas was just around the corner and down 34th But just before the comedian had died, the hospital nurse Street. Things did not look good. Santa was now up to swears she heard him mumble, “Take my life... please.” three fifths of Smirnoff a day and his nose was so red that if he did venture out on Christmas Eve, he could likely The ghostly, funny man took a long puff of his cigar and guide his own sleigh. The alcohol had made him irritable. then exhaled a roomful of smoke. When the second- At the drop of a mistletoe leaf, he would fly into a rage. hand smog had cleared, Santa and the comic found Elves would tease him by sticking “kick me” signs on his themselves standing at the foot of a rickety bed. A frail, back, putting mascara on his face when he passed out, dying woman resembling a young Phyllis Diller lay and hiding wet, sticky gumdrops in his beard. The rein- covered by a green and red Afghan. Her wrinkly head deer had all kept their distance ever since the night that was propped upon a goose-feather pillow, and a small Santa, in a drunken stupor, had staggered into the barn boy stood next to her, feeding the withering hag some and jumped on Blitzen’s back, yelling, “Yee haw! Get cocktail peanuts. along little dogie!” When the frightened animal tried to buck the heavy oaf off, the intoxicated slob vomited on “Great balls of popcorn! That’s my, my mother!” Santa its head and fell to the ground laughing. The members of exclaimed. “Momma, Momma! It’s me, Nicholas!” the traumatized sled team all huddled in a corner, quiver- Santa called out. ing and fighting to hide behind one another. “Hey, no heckling. She can’t hear you,” the ghost said. One snowy night, Santa passed out on the floor near the couch. (One drink fewer and there’s a good possibility “Who’s that small boy?” asked Santa he may have made it to the sofa, but that’s pure specula- tion.) Next to him, a roaring fire crackled.