From the “now I’ve heard everything” category, a while ago there was a piece on Marketplace about the Slow Media Movement.

Like Slow Food, but with real mail and landlines. Of course, as the story admitted, the movement’s being promoted on Facebook. Ridiculous. 

But I will say that while I’ve become a texting/googling/emailing/multi-tasking fool, I do still enjoy the pleasures of snail mail.

Particularly at this time of year. Last week, someone who shall remain nameless (okay, it was my mother) sent me an e-card (to be fair, she’s also working on her real holiday cards) that I have to admit I still haven’t opened. I’m not down with evites, either, though I don’t mind if you are.

I lose my mind a little, around the holidays, and that includes sending out a lot of mail. I just finished up at the post office this morning, a very satisying feeling.

I’ll share a spoiler of sorts. Here’s the front of our holiday card. I broke the homemade rule and hired someone on etsy to design my holiday cards, after a fiasco involving the invitations to our annual cookie party.

I won’t recommend Vista Printing, though the price is right. (Quality not so high.) But I can’t say enough good things about Erica, the kind proprietor of the etsy shop sweetprints. I love what she did and her price was also very reasonable. Unfortunately, I just checked, and she’s closed her shop for the rest of the year, to spend time with her family.

But how about some real Valentines? Order soon and perhaps you can have them delivered by horse. Now, that would be slow media.

For a nerd, anyway. As previously revealed on this blog, yes, I was a member of my high school’s Speech and Debate team. (I believe I’ve already admitted I went to a debate tournament the night of my senior prom.) I’m old enough to remember the world pre-Internet, and even pre-personal computer. I actually enjoy going to the library to do research — not that I do much of that anymore, I’m as lazy as the rest of the world. I google. Sometimes I even use Wikipedia.

Back in the day, it would have taken days or weeks or at least a phone call to answer the question, “Does Dopey have Down syndrome?”

These days, it takes a google search. When I didn’t hear back from the fairy tale scholars I emailed the other day, I had an epiphany: The Dopey thing must have been a Disney creation. One of the smart copy editors I work with confirmed that was the first time the dwarfs had names, so a few minutes ago, I googled “Dopey” and “Disney” and hit the motherlode.

I’d like to think that perhaps this information is false, that someone involved with one of the original fairy tales that eventually became Disney’s Snow White had a relative with Down syndrome or some other exposure to it, or maybe that someone at Disney did, and that the coincidental features on Dopey really aren’t coincidental. But the explanation on the Disney archives makes some sense — though I’ll offer the caveat that it is awfully politically correct.

Anyhow, here it is, from http://disney.go.com/vault/archives/characters/sevendwarfs/sevendwarfs.html:

Dubbed “Dopey” by his brothers, this loose-limbed dwarf has never spoken a word; as Happy explains to Snow White, “He never tried.” But Dopey isn’t really dopey, he’s just childlike. Is it dopey to try and steal a second and third kiss from Snow White on your way to work, or to make yourself tall enough to dance with her by climbing on Sneezy’s shoulders? Not at all. Dopey’s a genius at fun and games (and a whiz at the drums to boot). He just doesn’t mind looking silly along the way. So what if he wiggles his ears and shuffles his feet to his own skippity-skip beat? He’s simply being himself, and that’s pretty smart.

In the early development process on the film, Dopey was the “leftover” dwarf with no particular personality. Then one day animator Ward Kimball discovered vaudevillian actor Eddie Collins at a Los Angeles burlesque house. Kimball invited the baby-faced Mr. Collins to the studio to perform and improvise pantomimes of Dopey’s reactions on film. Thanks much to Collins’ innovative acting, Dopey assumed a very definite personality and soon became one of the animators’ favorite dwarfs. Collins’ pantomime turned out to be one of the first times live-action reference footage was shot for an animated film. The technique proved so successful that it’s still used today. The inspiring Mr. Collins went on to perform live-action reference for Gideon in “Pinocchio” (1940).

So then I googled “Eddie Collins” and “Dopey”, and do you know what I got? A Facebook page for “Eddie Collins Dopey,” complete with an illustration from the Disney cartoon.

That just made me think about how much I hate the Facebook redesign. Really, WTF? Facebook is the one place I can go (well, could go before today) and not have to think. Now I can’t figure anything out.

And I’m still not entirely convinced about Dopey.

Please, web gods, just don’t let them redesign google.

I reconnected this week with a lovely woman in town whose daughter is just about Sophie’s age, and also has Down syndrome. We wrote on each other’s “walls” on Facebook (if someone can explain that whole Wall thing versus the Email thing versus Status Comments, please do, and while you’re at it, what the hell does it mean when someone Pokes you?) and swapped quick kindergarten tales.

I’ll cut to the chase. Her kid — who goes to a public school in a neighboring district — gets a personal aide in the classroom 18 hours a week! That’s huge! Sophie doesn’t get someone to walk her from the cafeteria to the playground.

Something’s wrong with this picture, and if it was in reverse, I know this lovely woman would be kicking my butt toward an advocate or a law office. I need to do something. As Sophie’s physical therapist said this morning, it’s about her safety. I don’t want to rock the boat. But how can I help it?

Damn the economic crisis — we couldn’t sell our house and move to that better district even if we wanted to. And open enrollment is not an option for special needs kids; they’re too expensive.

At least Fall Break starts tomorrow, so I can indulge in one of my favorite pasttimes: procrastination.