It is officially spring now that Dougie has sniffed a bluebonnet. I think this might be the cutest thing that has ever happened. Ever.
Hi all y'all!
Let's jump right on in, shall we?
My older brother is autistic.
His name is Bill.
He’s aphasic, so he doesn’t speak in sentences or all that often…and he’s a charmer, loves to eat sometimes foods all the time and is a master of the barbeque grill (with supervision…lots and lots of supervision).
Growing up with autism in my world has taught me a lot about communication…about the power of sound, the meaning behind high pitched wails or low rumbling laughter.
Autism has taught me the precious value of a hug or a kiss…of eye contact or a quick glance…of a tickle and the giggles it inspires.
I have lived my entire life with autism.
For me and mine, autism is…it just is. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass and sometimes it is the most amazing thing, but autism is a constant thing not limited to months or years or days when walks take place.
Autism Awareness Month often brings with it a lot of stories about autistic children. I understand why, because so much rides on early diagnosis and therapies and education. But my brother is 39 years old…he’ll be 40 this July (Lawd, have mercy!)…and not enough attention is given to autism after a child with autism becomes an adult with autism.
So, be aware…that my brother’s life isn’t wretched or sad. My sister and I work very hard to make sure that it isn’t.
Bill is not a cure that didn’t happen or a diagnosis…he’s a human being, who gets up every day and goes about his bitness.
Some days are good.
Some days are not so good.
I could say the same about my life.
Be aware…that autistic children will become autistic adults. A body doesn’t grow out of autism. That is not an argument against advocacy for autistic children…but rather a challenge to advocates to extend our work beyond programs for children.
Be aware…that there is a strain on loved ones and that not all of us are parents. I am my brother’s co-guardian and, as such, I often find myself wading through the world of programs and funding…of Medicaid and the Department of Mental Health…of wants versus needs. My sister and I balance our role as sisters with our role as guardians…and we are not the only ones doing it. Families need to plan for a life, not just a childhood…they need support and education on how the system works once a child becomes an adult.
Be aware…that our lives are a different kind of normal.
I grew up knowing that eventually my sister and I would have to take on a guardianship of some sort. I confess that I used to fret about it…I watched my mother become consumed by advocacy and the search for a cure and I worried that I’d never be able to be a sister for all the demands of being my brother’s advocate.
But be aware that my different kind of normal is a life full of happiness and bitchitude and laughter and tears. We have challenges and set backs and achievements and victories.
More often than not, we share a meal…catch up on what’s new…and communicate with each other in a way I never dreamed was possible until it simply was.
Not a life of regrets and guilt, but a life where sometimes my brother gets on my last nerve…and that’s okay, because all brothers can work a nerve.
Sometimes I worry about my brother’s future and happiness…and that’s okay, because people who love each other want the best for each other and sometimes fret over shit like that.
April is Autism Awareness Month…a month out of a year in the lives of millions.
Be aware.
Organize.
Share.
Love.
Act.
Live.
This I write for my brother Bill, lover of sometimes foods all the time, who I love beyond measure even when he works my last nerve.
Crossposted from AngryBlackBitch.com!
Last night, Iain and I were having a conversation about 19th century literature (whatever, we're nerds!), which inevitably came around to Charles Dickens, and as we debated the merits of his work (Position Iain: He tends to go on a bit; Position Liss: Much of his work was written as serials for the newspaper, so he's better read a chapter a night before bed than in multiple-hour sessions; Position Iain: Good point!), I noted that one of the things I loved most about Dickens is his playfulness with language.
I have not read Knud Sørensen's Charles Dickens: Linguistic Innovator, but I have always meant to get my hands on a copy of it. Sørensen identified more than a thousand (!) neologisms coined by Dickens.
And Dickens was a master of the eponym. Next time you call someone stingy a scrooge or someone sanctimonious a pecksniff, tip your hat to Mr. Dickens. In fact, next time you chuckle at "Benjamin H. Grumbles" or "Butch Pornstache," consider the source of that humor lies in Dickensian eponyms. (Dickensian eponym—how meta!)
All of which is a very long way of saying I love Dickens because he invented words. When I was a wee thing, writing "books" on scrap paper and stapling them together and selling them to my grandparents for 10¢ apiece, if I couldn't think of a word I liked, I made one up.
(Sometimes I would later learn that I hadn't made up a word, but had merely just used an existent word that was then beyond my child's vocabulary. I was very proud of "grumping" until I discovered it in my dictionary.)
I recall being teased about using a "made-up word" in middle school, and of later learning that Dickens and Shakespeare were linguistic rebels, and of slowly coming to understand that new language and ideas about social justice—especially conveyed via humor or satire—were inextricably linked. I wasn't weird; I was part of a tradition!
When Space Cowboy asked as a Question of the Day what sniglets we've coined, I noted: "Basically, half my vocabulary is comprised of sniglets. Which is only right, given that I'm Shakespeare's Sister, and Shakespeare was the original snigleteer." The Shaxicon (more meta!) is thus full of my silly neologisms (wev, testerical, clusterfucktastrophe, fatsronauts, misogysaur, misogybag, homomentum, fauxgressive, douchehound, Apatowcalypse...), and will no doubt continue to be routinely restocked with all manner of absurd (and occasionally meaningful) eponyms, portmanteaus, and neologisms of various stripes.
Which means it was really only a matter of time before "Poopsburg" ended up in the New York Times.
What a great day for America!
"Authorities are asking for the public's help in identifying a mentally disabled man who was dumped on downtown Los Angeles' Skid Row months ago and doesn't even know his full name. ...[He] has 'Jason' tattooed on his arm. He does not remember his birthday and has no idea where his family might be. When police ran his fingerprints, the name Jason Missel popped up. But, that name doesn't exist under Social Security computer systems. ... Jason says he lived in Las Vegas before he was dropped off in Los Angeles. He's pleading for his family to claim him."
[H/T to Shaker Marste.]
[Trigger warning.]
Just this very morning, I wrote about the Catholic Church's deflection of legitimate criticism by casting critics as wicked scoundrels with an agenda.
And this afternoon, I read: "Pope Benedict XVI's personal preacher on Friday likened accusations against the pope and the Catholic church in the sex abuse scandal to 'collective violence' suffered by the Jews."
OMFG. So…basically anyone who objects to the institutional abetting and concealment of the sexual abuse of children is sorta like a Nazi or something? Sure.
The Rev. Raniero Cantalamessa said in a Good Friday homily with the pope listening in St. Peter's Basilica that a Jewish friend wrote to him to say the accusations remind him of the "more shameful aspects of anti-Semitism."
Said without a trace of fucking irony, despite the fact that the Church's culture of silence is one of critics' main criticisms. ("We talk about it
…"[Jewish people] know from experience what it means to be victims of collective violence and also because of this they are quick to recognize the recurring symptoms," the preacher said.
Quoting from the letter from the friend, who wasn't identified by Cantalamessa, the preacher said that he was following "with indignation the violent and concentric attacks against the church, the pope and all the faithful of the whole world."
"'The use of stereotypes, the passing from personal responsibility and guilt to a collective guilt remind me of the more shameful aspects of anti-Semitism,'" Cantalamessa said his friend wrote him.
In the sermon, he referred to the sexual abuse of children by clergy, saying "unfortunately, not a few elements of the clergy are stained" by the violence. But Cantalamessa said he didn't want to dwell on the abuse of children, saying "there is sufficient talk outside of here."so you don't have to because you don't!") As is the fact that the Church is more concerned about their sex predator priests being "stained" by THE VIOLENCE THEY PERPETRATED than about what their victims have suffered/are suffering.
And, hey—speaking of irony! I strongly recommend you add Constantine's Sword on your Netflix queue, Father Cantalamessa!
I look forward to Cantalamessa's next sermon on how irony is just the sort of thing that Nazi-like villains notice.
[The BBC has more. H/Ts to Shakers Lynsey and EastSideKate.]
Shaker NameChanged emails:
I am currently pregnant with my second child. I live in a rural town in Farmington, NM. My daughter was born by C-section after a long labor and an inability to dislodge her from my pelvis. We were treated by midwives before and after the C-section, and my midwife was a proponent of VBAC for any future children. Unfortunately, this was in a larger city in the state, approximately 3 hours away.
The hospital in Farmington has a no VBAC policy, as does the hospital in nearby Durango, CO, although the midwives from Durango have indicated that there is a process to attempt a VBAC, but it requires some convincing.
I am in the process of having my new OB review my files from my first birth to at least determine if I would be a good candidate for VBAC (even if the hospital won't do it). I was wondering if there is more that I should be doing.
Do any Shakers who have experience in this? I am not getting any answers here, because all of the women I know in Farmington were able to deliver naturally for each birth.
I also know that things are different for different hospitals, but any similar situations would be appreciated.
More news of those in government being non-threatened. A group calling itself Guardians of the free Republics has warned U.S. governors to leave office "within three days" or "be removed":
The FBI is warning police across the country that an anti-government group's call to remove governors from office could provoke violence. The group called the Guardians of the free Republics wants to "restore America" by peacefully dismantling parts of the government, according to its Web site. It sent letters to governors demanding they leave office or be removed.So far 30 governors have received letters, and the FBI expects all fifty U.S. governors to receive them in time.
[Trigger warning.]
In Calhoun County, Alabama, around two dozen seniors at Oxford High School "were disciplined for violating the dress code at her school's prom Saturday. The students in violation were allowed to stay at the prom, but the following week, each was given the option of receiving corporal punishment or accepting a three-day suspension from school, Oxford principal Trey Holladay said."
Based on the article, it appears that most (all?) of those disciplined students were girls whose dresses were deemed "too revealing."
Aunt B notes the obvious problem here:
You let grown adults spank young teenager women for being too sexy? I'm going to spare you the feminist parsing of this sexualized violence against these girls (others will get to it I'm sure). Let's just stick to the obvious.Slut-shaming with actual spanking?! Prediction: The marching band fundraiser this year will be for the Oxford High School Legal Defense Fund.
You let grownups touch the asses of girls you've identified as too sexy?
Let me repeat, you have grownups in your school systems who will willingly touch the asses of underage girls as punishment for them being too sexy.
This blogaround brought to you by Shaxco, makers of Melissa McEwan Brand Official Letter-Writing Stationery.
Recommended Reading:
Marcella: Carnival Against Sexual Violence 91
Lorenzo: Why Ricky Matters (to Me...and Maybe a Few Other Boys)
Shannon: Fat Girl on Girl Action
Bilt4cmfrt: The Politics of Food and Fat
Melissa: Interview with Sharon Lawrence, President of Women in Film Foundation
Andy: Congressman Worried About Guam Tipping Over, Capsizing
Leave your links in comments...
There is a lot—a lot—to disdain in this New York Times profile of Norris Church Mailer, Norman Mailer's "last" wife, starting with the fact that, to quote Shaker SamanthaB who sent the link, "I'm happy for her if she's been able to construct a reasonably contented life for herself in any fashion she has chosen, but that doesn't make it acceptable for the Times to shape the most phenomenally retrograde crap out of said life." But perhaps nothing else so much as this:
But one of the oldest stories out there is that beauty is no guarantee of a husband's fidelity. Norris says that in their first eight years together, she believes he remained faithful — more or less. By the time John Buffalo was 14, she discovered that Mailer had been cheating on her with "a small army of women."UGH. Where to begin? The invocation of the Beauty Guarantees Fidelity chestnut. The treatment of fat and beautiful as mutually exclusive concepts. The regard for male insecurity and associated cruelties as pitiable. The idea that a life cannot be lived (or "made") without a partner. The notion that marriage and fatherhood are inextricably linked, but marriage and motherhood are not (that is, you're a father only as long as you're still married to a mother, but a mother is a mother always). It's such a clusterfuck.
…When Norris discovered the scope of Mailer's infidelities, she was struck by how many of the women were either his age — he was near 70 then — or significantly overweight. "He made the remark, 'Sometimes I want to be the attractive one.' I think he felt if it wasn't somebody young and beautiful, he wasn't betraying me as much. He just couldn't resist someone who told him what a great man he was and what a great writer he was. Every time he fell for it. After I found out, I kept saying to him, 'Why didn't I know?' And he said, 'It's not hard to fool somebody who loves you and trusts you.' "
That's rather devastating. She nodded. "You don't ever love and trust them the same way again. But by that time, I had been around town long enough to know the guys who were available, and I thought: Is there somebody else I want to make a life with? Is there someone else I want to be the father of my children? I couldn't think of one single person. If I had, maybe I would have taken that step."
Dear Sir or Madam Raccoon, as the case may be,
Last evening, when you climbed up onto my second-story deck and rapped imperiously at the door, what did you hope to achieve? Did you think that I would come out and present you with a Hot Brown and a mint julep on a silver tray? I understand that you are quite fastidious about washing your food; perhaps I could interest you in this crystal finger bowl—look, it has a gardenia floating in it.
Maybe some drunken undergraduates have thrown you scraps in the past so they could watch you use your tiny hands just like a little person. But you'll get no Bugles, Funions, or Ring Dings here, Sir or Madam!
Please understand that I have nothing against your species. You are undeniably wicked cool. I mean, you're like a cross between a dog and a monkey, and in masquerade to boot! Still, I've seen the scratches you left on my door frame, and I also suspect that you have fleas. Furthermore, I did not fail to notice the enormous deuce that you dropped on the icy deck right outside my door after the last snow for me to shovel up.
So I must ask you to move along, and take those squirrels with you!
Good day, Sir or Madam. I said Good Day!
Not yours to order about,
S.
"Sigh. Jamie Oliver. I love Jamie Oliver. I love his food, I love his books, I love his app, I love the mission he is on. Jamie Oliver is trying to change the way we eat, and by doing so, he plans to deal a massive blow to the likes of obesity, heart disease and type 2 diabetes. He is trying to encourage us to get back into the kitchen and cook for ourselves and our families, thereby cutting out the fast and overly processed foods that are making us sick. And fat. And depressed."—Gwyneth Paltrow, in her latest "GOOP" newsletter, a revoltingly indulgent project she uses in order to explain to the average peasant how very easy it is to live a cultured and healthy life if you're privileged to begin with.
[Related Reading: Save Me from Myself, Skinny Jesus Chef!]
A Shaker who wants to remain anonymous emails:
I want to ask Shakesville its opinion on something that's just happened to me: I need a reality check, please and thank you. I'm job hunting. I got an email yesterday while I was out at a networking event asking for a phone interview. I responded this morning saying that I'd be happy to chat and asking about scheduling. The contact replied with how about now and I said that today's not good how about Tuesday. The contact then came back with something along the lines of "No, you're not going to go about your work with a sense of urgency so I withdraw the request for an interview." Am I right that I've totally just dodged a bullet?My thought: Absolutely so. That is the response of someone who doesn't know how to communicate at all, and good communication, which includes listening, is a requisite quality in someone with whom you want to work on a project as important as finding a job. Assuming that you've got no sense of urgency, as opposed to a scheduling conflict due to job hunting (e.g. an interview) or as opposed to a family emergency or as opposed to a medical issue or any one of a million other possibilities, is evidence of someone who won't listen to you or your needs.
