Charles + Edith

1  year
365 days
Okay, not going to trickle down the hours and minutes . . .   not really necessary here.  

But it's been a long time since I've posted.  Much like my experiences with Valentine's Day, I've become a bit peeved with my results on this medium.   Which brings me to Charlie Brown.


 I never thought Charlie Brown was all that "funny." Charlie Brown was real. Charlie Brown spoke truth. Charlie Brown was me.

Nary a Valentine had I.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I started blogging, but I guess I hoped for SOME feedback.   I had no little redheaded girl in mind.  But like Charlie Brown, one begins to hope to need a briefcase or three to hold all the 'Valentines' but will settle for one crossed out used Valentine from some guilt laden classmates.  Much like my history with Valentine's Day, I got no comments.  After posting on Facebook, I found "Likes" few and far between.   

"If wishes were horses, Beggars would ride"

Self promotion is not something that comes easily to me.  However apparently that is what 89% of the internet/Facebook, is about.  Deep in my psyche is ingrained the idea that one doesn't make waves.  A lady's name should appear in the paper only at birth, marriage and death.  Not a very convenient mental subtext in this day and age.   However it comes to mind constantly - as a counterpoint, when I see the famous-for-no-reasons (Kardashians, Hilton, etc.) of the world and try to make sense of their so-called "success." 

When posting on Facebook, I am far more likely to post some musing about what happened at the Emmys or something that struck me as funny or nostalgic than any real life event, whether jubilant or traumatic.  Nothing that would strike too close to home.




 It is then, that I find refuge in things like Downton Abbey, where Lady Edith goes out on a limb when she decides to write for a London paper.  Her grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Grantham disapproves of course, but unlike her father, is resigned to how times have changed.  She sighs and changes the subject as any proper lady does. 

There are lots of things that proper ladies do, that I was also taught to do.  My mother tried the best she could, but rarely sighed and changed the subject when disappointed in one of my missteps.   Points on humor was a frequent issue.  Ladies should not respond to coarse or vulgar humor - if told an off-color joke, she is to respond as if she did not understand the joke.  

I never pulled this off very well.  It's hard to make people believe you don't understand a joke if  you are laughing out loud.  It's even worse when you respond with another, worse joke.  The saddest thing is that I knew how bad I was being, but when it came to humor, I was helpless. 

Today, I understand that most of my humor is rooted in my love of language, and visual "puns."   Much like Temple Grandin, I "think in pictures."   I also think in song, and rhyme.  Really, I thought everyone thought like me - why shouldn't I?  I can't look at anything without connecting it to something else.

Hence, my Borderline Comedy Disorder: comedy that just blurts out at odd times (insert here a few bars from, Girl Can't Help It by Little Richard).   

So, I guess I'll take a cue from Lady Edith and Charlie Brown, and go ahead and write - despite the response. 

The Dangers of V.D.

I shouldn't even step into a store after January 1st.  Definitely not drugstores or any store that sells cards, chocolate, candy and the like.

It happens every year.  Stores become infested with V.D.

Insert big Archie Bunker BTHHHHHHHHTTTTHHHT!

Suddenly too cutesy stuffed animals, red mylar balloons with declarations of devotion, ugly wrapped candy and chocolate hearts and flowers and disgusting cards are put at every checkout counter.  And PINK & RED everywhere!  

Oh!  It's V.D.

All the world loves a lover!

GAG ME!

What the hell does all this crap have to do with love anyway?!!

Let's take the heart for instance.

Now, this is a heart.

How did they come up with this as a representation???

And why??

In Greek & Biblical times, it was thought that love and emotion came from the bowels.  Love is not in the heart. It's in the mind.  How about cards that had this on it?:

Standard symbol of love should look more like:

Cards might read "I [brain] You!" or, to be fun, you might play with the word and say things like:
     "You [brain] me together" - (you bring me together)
      "I [brain] you nothing but love, baby!"

But it's not just this stupid symbolism that gets to me. It's the fact of the charade.  I find it hard to believe that people go through this every year - forced "romance."  What's even harder to believe is that, apparently, men somehow tend to forget the holiday.

But I digress.

It's the Happy Happy Joy Joy aspect that really sticks in my craw.

All the world loves a lover.

You're nobody unless somebody loves you.  (click on the video for soundtrack)

Why do I feel myself transported back to high school? It's spring and I still don't have a date for prom!  

Another holiday dedicated  togetherness and love?  What?  We just got through New Years - where really, it's all about having someone to kiss at that magic moment.  Before that was Christmas - family love and together time - what? single? oh.  And lets not forget Thanksgiving, when the family gathers around the table with their loved ones . .  oh yeah, I don't have one.

Nevermind those holidays. Nah – back to the holiday about christian martyrs symbolized by naked babies shooting arrows at people and the mutual exchange of depictions of body parts. Yeah, that holiday.

I love Halloween.

Oh, there I go again off-topic.

I recently saw one of the funniest (read: real) depictions of this holiday on the TV show Grey's Anatomy.

Young Dr.: So, anybody got any good Valentines Day plans?

Dr. Teddy Altman: My husband died in this O.R. a month ago. Dr. Yang performed the surgery I was in a seven hour surgery and didn't know that he died. Dr. Hunt kept that a secret. So I don't speak to him.  
He wants a baby, Dr. Yang doesn't. So, they don't speak to each other. Even though they're married.
So. No.
How about you?

Young Dr.: My girlfriend and I . . . ugh. Nothing. Nothing.

This is what makes Valentines Day so infuriating. The stupidity of the celebrants. Young Dr., after listening to everything that Dr. Altman said, was about to launch into his plans and stopped after getting nasty looks (and perhaps a kick under the table).   People in love can be so utterly callous about those who aren't. All that talk about emotions and empathy seems to be chucked at the door while they rub our noses in their roses.

Love makes people stupid.

I don't suffer fools gladly.

Can one become immune to love-sickness?

Dear OCCUPY WALL STREET et al:

What if you ABANDONED WALL STREET?

Face it. This ain't working. You're just feeding "the man" at this point;

1. The media has descended upon you and is making more money off of covering you.
2. You have become your own future Superfund ecological hazardous waste site !
3. You have no more cohesive voice then the multiple talking heads on the networks.
4. Even though you count yourselves as THE NINETY NINE PERCENT, come on! We can count!!! Your numbers don't show it!
5. You're so Chock full o'Nuts the other 98.98%  of us don't want anything to do with you (but we love watching you in between episodes of the Jersey Shore and Real Housewives!) .

So, here's a plan for you. ABANDON WALL STREET! Remember that old Anti-war slogan "WHAT IF THEY GAVE A WAR AND NOBODY CAME?"? 

Put your bongo drums down and think about it.  Everyone goes home, but still carry on the fight.

Here's how:

PROTEST WITH YOUR POCKETBOOK! This doesn't just mean banking locally (so your money gets invested locally) but buying locally as well. Yeah, we all embrace the World Wide Web, and love shopping on Amazon and eBay -- then we wonder where our local stores have gone with their local jobs!!!! Your local tax base wonders what happened as well!

One young man has an idea that will also hit the big guys:

*Note: the wood shims he mentions just get broken in the mail and then don't get sent (therefore aren't paid for). The bonus of doing this is that it peripherally supports the U.S. Post Office and the people who have those jobs.

If there is a message behind the movement (no clear answers, just a message apparently) it's that you're mad and you're not going to take it anymore. There are other ways to get that message across without disrupting the economies of other working people - i.e. the businesses in the area where you are currently making it very difficult to conduct any real business.

Much like Return-to-Sender Mail boy, you can also:

• Call your bank and do all you can to speak to a person. This normally involves going through the hassle of the phone-system [hitting "0" often does the trick to reach an operator]
• Ask questions about your account balance, etc.
• Make small talk - remember - they're paying for that time.
• When the conversation is about ended, and they ask if there is anything else they can help you with, tell them what you really want -- an end to banking fees, the CEO in jail, and someone to come over and cut your lawn.
• Keep a bank account and make withdrawals & deposits in person (they love it when you come in!)
• Bring in your loose change.
• Ask to speak to a manager.
• See above - remember to go when they're really busy!  Great if you're unemployed and have time on your hands!
• If it looks like they don't have enough tellers on the floor - ask if they're hiring!
• The key here is to BE POLITE. Getting yourself thrown out for being rude doesn't win any points. (Make sure to drink plenty of chamomile tea before going in, you want to remain calm!).
• Even better! - buy stock in a bank then show up at stockholder meetings (as the 99%, surely there's the numbers to buy up some stock!) 
• Complain that you think the bank is making too much profit.
• Move to make board elections American Idol style.
• Nominate your high school algebra teacher to be on the board (apparently they are having problems with some basic math).
• Demand that if they are going to foreclose on widows and orphans, that they must send a guy with a handlebar moustache and a top hat to set the scene properly. 

As you can see, there are many ways to rage against the machine other than crapping up our public places.  Maybe, the "Arab Spring" movement had a nice ring to it, but an "American Fall" really, really doesn't sound too good now, does it?

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?