Funny

Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve posted.

Wanna make something of it?

You know, the funny thing is that when I started this blog, I named it because I knew I had a “problem” with comedy. I had a tendency to blurt things out at inappropriate times. Jokes (word associations mainly) would come to my head, and I would share them with the people around me. Too often, this would end in disappointment -- people just weren’t getting my jokes.

Sometimes they would.

I lived for those moments - and tried to forget the others.

I also knew that I had a tendency to call things as I saw them - political correctness be damned! It would irritate me how often logic falls away in the face of a little emotional arm twisting.

Borderline Comedy Disorder – that seemed to sum it up. A sort of a quirky personality disorder of my own devise (not listed in the DSM!).

Funny.

Even funnier – a lot of these quirks are found under another disorder, with a funny name.

Asperger Syndrome. [pronounced ass-burger]

This one IS found in the DSM-IV

I'm not going to bore anyone here with a description, but if you want more info I really like this site and NIH gives a pretty decent description. 

Funny.

What's really funny is that – apparently, a diagnosis of Aspergers automatically makes you “unfunny” in the eyes of comedy writers.  Example A: Sheldon, of The Big Bang Theory . . . most certainly an Aspie if ever there was one . . . will not be labeled as such by the writers or creators . . no, no, NO!!! They might be accused of mocking a disability!

Funny.

I normally agree with those who say that no subject is off-limits to comedy, even while I wince at jokes that I feel aimed at me (namely fat jokes, but there are others). Yes, I've been personally annoyed/hurt/bothered, but I dismiss those feelings for they are only feelings. Yeah, call me Spock.
Humor is cruel.

Yes, humor in it's most basic form is cruel. Think “America's Funniest Home Videos” and you'll see the source of all humor: people laughing at other people getting hurt/surprised/splattered/dunked/yougetmydrift. This extends to animals as well.

The Germans call it Schadenfreude. Some could say we laugh because we each see in the “stooge” ourselves and take some humor in the situations that they get into – but if one looks at what and how very young children get their kicks (so to speak) you must understand that they have little pretense to introspection. They just like seeing “oopsies!”

Ahhhhh, but we have come further then The Three Stooges, haven't we? Has not humor evolved beyond slapstick and farce to humor of wit, satire and manners?? Farley Brothers films and pretty much anything on basic cable aside. . . Humor is complicated.

Sooooo, does this mean that I can't make fun of myself? No. I remember well working with a girl who often made jokes at her own expense, and when a guy in the group took a good (and funny) shot at her, she sniped back, “the key word in 'self deprecating humor' is the word SELF!”

The recent Glee episode caused quite a stir when it actually went out on that limb and put the AS label on a new character – or more precisely:

Sugar Motta: “I have self-diagnosed Asperger’s so I can pretty much say whatever I want…I’m pretty much like a diplomat’s daughter.”

Ironically, the same people who are making the stink are the people who asked for an Asperger character on a show that is full of stereotypical characters (gay, black, blonde, gym teacher, etc) and now they are complaining because the Asperger characters was stereotyped.

Funny.

Well, thankfully I have this blog and I will continue to make fun of not only myself but whatever I see fit. I don't see myself as a diplomat’s daughter, I just call things as I see them. I had a Borderline Comedy Disorder long before I had any other diagnostic label. 

My recent personal revelation (perhaps self-diagnosed, but professionally confirmed) is leading me to take a 2nd look at many things. For this reason (and the fact that I am obsessed with starting new blogs) I have started a couple of new blogs focusing on Aspergers. Please visit Aspergal (gad! something else to read!! ughh!).





~Kiss-My-Assperger!

A Real Pain in the Ass

Ahhh Carly, sing it girl!

All those crazy nights when I cried myself to sleep

Now melodrama never makes me weep anymore

'cause I haven't got time for the pain

I haven't got room for the pain

I haven't the need for the pain

Not since I've known you

Pain is a funny thing.  Ok, not funny-Ha-Ha, at least not when it's happening to you.  Although apparently millions of people still find other people's pain funny enough to keep watching shows like America's Funniest Home Videos, or any one of the millions of videos that have been uploaded online to YouTube, etc.

But, back to the main subject - pain, notably my experience with pain. 

Pain as a reminder of our mortality becomes so much more acute as we age.  I remember being asked "how does that feel on a scale of 1 to 10? with 10 being the most painful." and thinking -- well, I can only answer from my own experience, which at that point was limited.  I would tend to be cautious when answering such questions, as I assumed I've never really felt a 10. 

I think it was Carol Burnett who once described childbirth thusly: “Take your bottom lip and pull it over your head.”   Never having experienced childbirth, nor being able to fathom the pain of pulling my lip over my head -- I couldn't get it to touch my nose . . I had to assume childbirth would have to rate at least a "8" or "9" for surely there must be worse pains then childbirth, i.e. having your arm sawed off without anesthesia, being drawn and quartered, or perhaps being burnt to death would qualify as a "10."  A paper cut or stubbed toe must be a "1."   Maybe just a ".5".  

Point being:  How much could I really complain?

My most recent journey into pain began 2 years ago. It started with a ache in the shoulder that very soon moved down the arm.  Tingling, shooting, making me want to cut my arm off, it wasn't long before I resembled a pretzel - with my left arm in a sling and stitches on my leg from when I dropped a casserole dish on the ground due to my weakened right arm.

After being misdiagnosed as bursitis of the shoulder, given X-rays and MRIs, cortisone shots and a number of pain medications - it was finally diagnosed as a pinched nerve.  Chiropractic therapy, traction, exercise and drugs all helped and eventually I the pain eased and left my shoulder, neck and arm . . .   only to travel down my spine and land on my ASS!!!

Arrrrrrrrrghhhhhh!!!!!

I can't win. 

Sciatica -- or as I was to learn "psudo-sciatic pain" since it didn't originate in the spine -- but it went down the leg just the same.  Pain in my muscles and lower back, hips, legs.  Ahhhhh, just sitting down - something that should, in and of itself be a restful pastime, became exhausting.  Just sitting at a computer became a chore - the continual hum of pain made anything beyond the most basic work impossible. 

Yes, this is why I haven't written in the past few months - it just got to be too much bother.

What wasn't too much bother was ruminating on what the heck was wrong with me.  Watching Mystery Diagnosis and Dr. G: Medical Examiner doesn't help.  All I wanted to know was why my body suddenly decided to go all wacky.  Google is great help with this. 

Google is also it's own pain in the ass, because it can be so difficult weeding out the good information from the bad.   With a little help from my chiropractor and a pain MD, (oh, and my doctor dad)  I was finally diagnosed with myofascial pain syndrome.  Myofacial pain syndrome is kissing cousins to the "F" word . . . you know, Fibromyalgia. 

I'm working my ass off now to work-out this pain.  Progress is being made, and I am getting used to working through this.  I am even now, returning to work - writing.  Setting up a way for me to write and not be on my ass so much - and can be an ASS in my writing once again!!!

See No Gay, Speak No Gay, Admit No Gay

All this talk about Don't Ask, Don't Tell   That sooo many serve in the military -- silently, but dutifully is nothing new.   One can only wonder at the number of gays who have died in our wars thus far -- especially in times when it was far more taboo then it is today.  

I don't imagine many men who were out of the closet during the Great War or WWII.  One of the primary reasons given for not admitting homosexuals was the belief that they would be easily compromised since they were living a shadow life  and that they could be easy targets for espionage and other hi-jinks. Fear of blackmail, exposure, community ostracizing.  In the past, the life of a homosexual was perilous at best in the civilian world.

But the time of calling gays in the military a "dangerous social experiment" is past.  Other countries have successfully integrated their military.   22 out of 26 NATO countries have military's that allow gays to serve.  In those other countries, homosexuality is generally illegal. 

This all makes me wonder how good old Abe L. might have handled this if he were around today.

The Gaysburg Address

Eleven score and fourteen years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Today we are engaged in the Great War on Terror, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met here on a battleground of that war - the homefront. We have come to determine who will be able to continue to give their lives that that this nation might live. It is altogether tacky and inappropriate that we should do this.

But in a larger sense we can not determine - we can not judge - we can not make this decision. The brave men and women, gay and straight, who have struggled for our freedom, today and in the past, have decided it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but can never forget what they have already done.

It is for us, we who are living free because of their sacrifices, rather to be dedicated and thankful for the work which they have, thus far, so nobly carried on in silence. It is rather for us to be, from this point forward, now dedicated to the great task remaining before us - respecting the lives of these honored men and women, and take increased devotion to that cause for which they are willing to give their last full measure of devotion.   That today,  we here highly resolve that these soldiers shall not have served in vain; that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom; and that this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

I Wanna New Drug

Psychoactive Stimulant Drug.

That's how Wikipedia -- purvayor or all knowledge -- defines CAFFEINE. 

Over the past year or so I have been weaning myself off this drug, a drug which I have been addicted to since childhood.  Yes, childhood..   However, this drug is so pervasive in our diet, I doubt I will ever be entirely rid of it. 

To be rid of it, would mean that I'd have to give up chocolate! 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But, Ahhh, I do remember the heady days of my youth when I'd suck down a 2L of Diet Coke and was ready to take on the world.   That was before I became a believer. Before, Amen!

Dr. Amen.  Yeah, my dad has been telling me for years but, he's just my dad (and a doctor).  Dr. Amen is on TV and has a couple of books.

Caffeine also makes me more hungry.  Sure, I'm more *engergetic* but my stomach tells me I need much more to eat then I actually need.  Kind of like pregnant women who tell themselves that they are "eating for two."

Fat chance. . . .   60% with a likelihood of sleep loss at night.

Yes, I know it's not all bad.  I know that there are even some Docs who will tout coffee as a health food (the wizard of Oz is among them, but he's a little trippy dippy at times.)  For me, it's the caffeine->energy->hunger equation that keeps me away.  It makes me have the munchies like Harold and Kumar.  My butt just can't afford that many trips to White Castle!!

All the same.  I do miss that psychoactive stimulant. 

However, I got a caffeine monkey on my back and one day if I fall off the wagon, things could get ugly. 

I doubt I'd go back to the Diet Coke, which I've lost my taste for.  I'd go right for the hard stuff. 

Yes. They'll find me wandering the streets one night, leaving a trail of Red Bull, and expressos. Doubtless I'll be on a carb binge as well, so look for me at the nearest IHOP or Village Inn.

Does Dr. Drew have a detox program for caff & carbs?

My Jack Benny Year Begins

This is it.  39. 


THIRTY NINE. 


XXXIX

And, even when I say it, many will assume I'm lying.  So, why not go big? 

In this age of drive-thru cosmetic surgery; Botox, lipposuction, and laser resurfacing, traditional lines of aging have been blurred (nay, laser blasted away).   How the heck are you supposed to know who is what age anyway?   So, where is there advantage in saying you are young, much less - younger then you actually are??  

Say whaaaaat??!!?? 

The common denominator for aging has been sooo pushed back, it just doesn't pay to dumb down your age these days.  If little girls are going in for bikini waxes, boob and nose jobs, and kids - yes KIDS in their 20s are getting BOTOX, it's just not safe for those of us untouched by a scalpel to go about stating our real ages.  Yeah, right.  Who's to believe us anyway? 

So, from now on - I'm taking an entirely new tack.  I'm taking my cues from Molly Shannon,  you remember Sally O'Mally from Saturday Night Live.

I'm FIFTY .  . . . . FIFTY YEARS OLD!

"Yeah, I've had some work done.  No, sorry I can't give out the name of my surgeon, he's not taking any more new patients." 

This should be in the realm of believability,  +11 years.    Hmmmm?    

How about - 11??? 

No, nevermind. 

~Daria Gray :-)~




Ringing in the sheeves and gathering up the cheese.

Ahhh, the great songs of the 60s, 70s, and 80s . . . when songs were songs with lyrics that you can really get your teeth into. . .and singers sang with cotton in their mouths.  

So, on this late summer day I'm humming along to one oldie but goodie. 

Your everlasting summer you can see it fading fast,
So you grab a piece of something that you think is gonna last.
Well, you wouldn't know a diamond if you held it in your hand,
The things you think are precious, I can't understand.

Then comes the chorus:

Are you eeling in the eaves?
Sowing way the time
Are you gathering up the cheese
Have you had enough of mine?
(and again!)

What is the name of this song?? It's in that chorus, isn't it?? What was that?  And what were these guys thinking? no. not thinking. . . nevermind, it was the 70s . . .  Were they singing after dental surgery or something?

You've been tellin' me you're a genius since you were seventeen,
In all the time I've known you I still don't know what you mean,
The weekend at the college didn't turn out like you planned,
The things that pass for knowledge, I can't understand.

Can't understand?? Can't understand? Maybe that's what this song should be called!  No, it's something in this chorus. 

Are you ringing in the sheeves?
Stowin' way the rhyme
Are you gatherin up the tease
Have you had enough of mine?

Eves? Sheeves? Cheese?  Tease?  Really. Well, apparently one guy in the band is able to talk. You hear him, his voice sings out rather clearly.

I spend a lot of money and I spend a lot of time,
The trip we made in Hollywood is etched upon my mind.
After all the things we've done and seen, you find another man,
The things you think are useless, I can't understand.

There's that problem understanding problem again!!! Is that it??? That's why she left him!!! If they're useless, why bother understanding them???

Are you steeling way the cheese?
Stowin' way the rhind
Are you gatherin up the wheel
Have you had enough of mine?



Cheese, I just love Cheese!  Realllly I do!

That's An Awfully Nice Mosque, You've Got There...

I've been thinking, why doesn't New York handle this Mosque thing in good old New York fashion?

Donald Trump seems to have the idea.   Buy them out!      Oh noooo!   That was an insult!! 

Now,  it appears that these guys wouldn't know a good deal if William Shatner came up and smacked them in the head. 

============================================

Dear Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf:

What are you thinking????  

Alright, go ahead, build your mosque!  I'm sure you'll have a grand old time getting change permits done in NYC.   Hope you have some deep pockets, because dealing with building anything in NY means you're going to have to grease a lot of palms. 

Those same angry people, the ones you are ignoring right now . . .  Those are the same ones who you are going to be dealing with later.  You know,  when you go down to get the various permits you will need to complete your building, including your fire permits!   

Don't forget the Unions.  You think that the Unions are going to work well with you??  Have you watched the Sopranos??  Really, you shouldn't take it too personally, but yes, this time you can. 

I remember all the talk of rebuilding at ground zero, and thinking.  Ohhhhh boy, this is never going to get done -- building by committee in NEW YORK!!    But, what you have is a committee committed to you not building.  And these people are NEW YORKERS!!! 

Don't bet on being around to see it  finished.

Yeah, go ahead.  Have fun with your new building.  Much like I felt with  Preacher Joe Blow and his pile of Korans, I felt he had every right to do what he proposed to do, but really?!?

As many of my friends can attest to - I can never be accused of not loving muslims!  But, I'm an ecumenical gal -  I embrace men of all faiths.  However, in this instance, I must stand with the survivors, as I kneel with everyone else in rememberance.