<Stolen from Irish Geisha...>

If I could be a scientist...
I would study mental illness. Or the basis of the physical universe as rooted in numbers. Either way, I would fuck something up, cause I don't have the patience ot run experiements right.

If I could be a musician...
Oh, would that I could be a musician.

If I could be a doctor...
Back to mental illness. Or some sort of criminal psychology. Degree optional... Oh, wait!

If I could be a Painter...
Abstract expressionism. Jackson Pollack all the way, baby. I love the Dali surrealism, but I just don't have that thinking mechanism in my head, and I'd end up hacking from others. Much like my writing.

If I could be an Innkeeper...
Can I be the guy who tells Joseph and Mary that there's no room, so the pregnant woman has to go sleep in the filthy barn, endangering her life and that of her unborn baby? I have little patience for the general masses, and I think getting away with that (and even being made famous in the best-selling book ever) would be fun.

Random notes from the edge:

• Why doesn't President Bush give TV important speeches when I don't care about what's on network TV? Is there anything really so important going on that I have to supercede my usual CSI watching to hear about it, instead of ignoring it later on CNN.com?
  
  
• Penn and Teller are back with season three of BULLSHIT. First episode: circumcision. Painfully brilliant.
  
  
• Missed out on the Birmingham Blog dinner get together thing last night. Seems that I missed out on some surly and pentrating wit.
  
  Or discussions of fanfic. Which is not so interesting.
  
  
• I suddenly find myself too conscious of the fact that this blog is being read. By tonight, I plan on getting over this, but I can not stand feeling the need to self-edit. And yet I am. Feeling that need. That is. And. Putting. Shatneresque. Periods in... EVERYWHERE!
  
  
• "Tad, I believe your bag is ringing."
  
  Context.
  
  
• Everyone needs a vestigial organ. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
  
  

DotNetNuke > FAQ ( DNN 2.1.2 ): 2) The 'Samurai Night Fever' Line:

DISCLAIMER: This is the shiznit. It flat-out works. Just about the only folks it won't work for (for reasons that will become obvious momentarily): Men with toupees, comb-overs, dyed/ bleached/ highlighted hair, or non-Dental cosmetic surgery. Men with elevators in their shoes. It WILL work for short bald guys. Like a Goddamned charm. Shave your head and lose the goofy 'hidden platform' loafers. Ya don't need them anymore, My Brother. This is the Ark of the Covenant for consequence-free weekend hook-ups. Indiana Jones took it from the Nazis during the late 30's.

PREPARATION: 1) The two drink minimum rule. Unlike line 1, these drinks could (and, in fact, should) have been bought by other men who've tried and failed to chat her up. 2) Mild to moderate anger (if she doesn't fit into the categories described for pick-up line 1 above, you can pretty much assume this one, though getting auditory and visual confirmation is key to keeping your self-confidence up for the delivery.) 3) Cosmetic enhancement: the only safe choice for this is hair color. I'm a slave to hot redheads, so I'll use it for my example. Slaves to Goth-Girl black or Barbie blondes, you're in luck here, too.

DELIVERY: you're not trying to win her over, so don't even let a MOLECULE of smarm into your voice or demeanor. She's angry, and like the jiu-jitsu used by Japanese warriors, you're going to use the force of her anger against her. You're gonna want to deliver the line like you're talking to someone at work who just jammed up the copier that only you can fix. Again. If you've ever had a relationship with a woman where she annoyed the hell out of you but was so great in the sack that you had weeks or months of hot 'angry' sex with her, then this tone of voice will come VERY naturally to you.

THE LINE: 'Why would a good-looking redhead like you dye her eyebrows dark brown?'

DANGERS: If you've shown fear, she'll flat out fucking kill you. She'll break the stem off her Cosmopolitan glass and drive it right into your temple. Without warning, so at least it's quick. When the line works, she'll either throw her drink on you or slap the shit out of you. Some women punch. Keep your legs together, or you might catch a knee. When she says, "What the fuck did you mean by that?" or "Ha ha, asshole." You're past the violent point and in. Seriously. Any response to her question that isn't a "nice guy" back down will work. "You mean those aren't your eyebrows?" is THE killer follow-up. Why the hell am I sharing this stuff with you? I don't like ANYONE this much. It must be the prescription pain killers I swiped from my Grandma talking.

THE PAYOFF: The same kind of sex listed in pickup line 1 above. She hates you and has something to prove to you about who's real and who isn't. Better than number 1 above, she won't want to have anything to do with you afterwards. She'll probably take you to her place just so she can throw your bum ass out afterwards.

I'd warn you to use this awesome power only for good, but I think I know you better than that.

Call it zonkey or a deebra? - Science - MSNBC.com: "George, however, suffered a long illness, and Allison became friendly with a donkey."

Context is your friend.

Kids, blogs and too much information - Consumer Security - MSNBC.com: "'And their pictures are very provocative,' Marcy said. 'There's shots with their butt in the air, with their thongs sticking out of it. They squeeze their elbows together to make their boobs look bigger.'"

I can pull the ha-ha from even the most straightlaced article. Context, people. CONTEXT.

So this is really not about identity theft (my name is John Smith, SSN 999-13-4582, DOB 6.13.64, if you're bored and need a new life), but safety. And parents, of course, SUCK:

Handy said parents who discover blogs should try not to overreact and immediately shut off Internet access or community sites; there is a safe way to blog, she said.

"That is the first reaction parents have, to cut them off" she said. "But the kids know that, and they don't want to lose the Internet, so they don't tell their parents what they are doing. And you don't want that. You want the lines of communication open."

She said parents need to be much more involved with their kids' computer use than they are. Many just turn on the Internet access and walk away.

"If they are going to have a computer in the house, they need to be trained," she said. "You don't give a kid a car without proper training. This is just hazardous."

And yet, many parents DO give a kid a car without proper training. They also give them guns, money, and access to the liquor cabinet. Whee!

Once again, I'll walk out on the fascist ledge and say that parenting is a responsiblity, not a priviledge. It's a job rather than a hobby. Yes, I'm sure that there are plenty of rewards you can get from having your little human block of clay to mold and shape in your image, passing on your interests and genes and narrow-minded prejudices and religious intolerance. But you know, you can't just put the kid on a shelf and wait for it to grow. You have to take an active role in the upbringing, and do everything you can to teach them what's right and wrong and what's life. Because otherwise, you end up with Columbines and Memphis Threes and Paris Hiltons.

I think there should be a license for parents, and if you have a kid without a license, it gets taken away from you and put into the impound until you produce proof of license.

Hey, it would at least keep population growth under control. And think about how much more fun police auctions would be!

Online gamer killed over cybertheft - Games - MSNBC.com: "A Shanghai online game player stabbed to death a competitor who sold his cyber-sword..."

There's more to the article, but it kind of steals from the ha-ha of the first line.

Seriously. GET A LIFE.

Off to play Tiger Woods Golf...

Exploding toads puzzle German scientists: "...The toads at a pond in the upscale neighborhood of Altona have been blowing up since the beginning of the month, filling up like balloons until their stomachs suddenly burst..."

Except when it doesn't. Isn't that just the way of life?

Just found out a few hours ago that one of my cover ideas will finally be seeing print -- the next issue of mental_floss, I believe. Woot! I didn't actually lay out the art or anything -- just my idea. And hats off to Mangesh and Neely and the other fine folk at MF for actually crediting and compensating creative property; too many people think it's the work that is worth all the money, but the idea behind a lot of things is just as valuable as the creation.

And I feel like some of the fog of the past few weeks is lifting, and perhaps a creative spell of some sort might be coming on. At the very least, I now feel like it's not over for good.

Side note: cats have cold noses.

Not entirely sure where this will lead -- it's more a light ahead than any detail in the surroundings -- but it feels good to feel the pull of creation again.

And utterly unrelated, at that.

On the one hand, I just installed a metric shitload of Firefox extensions. Anyone that still thinks that IE is the browser of choice hasn't looked through the huge list of extensions available for Firefox (which runs beautifully on both PC and Mac, by the way). I stopped using IE because of the constant security patching that was necessary, and while Firefox is not without it's problems (as is true of most computer apps, especially those which allow you to communicate with others), it's far superior to IE (and way way way superior to Netscape -- nuff said there).

Now I just have to relearn my toolbar.

What I find myself having to learn less and less is computer programming languages. All that C++ is finally falling into place, and it's mostly because of the near constant PHP practice I'm getting over the past months. And while I've known that languages are, by and large, languages, and all you need to do is master the syntax and semantics (after that, it's easy enough to use online manuals to tweak the language-specific terms and functions and structures), I'm finally feeling it all click into place.

Yay.

I mean, YAY! Now I can write more Java, and Perl, and whatever else they throw at me.

Or ...

Maybe I'll jsut stick to installing extensions.

CNN.com - Girls are abusing steroids, too - Apr 25, 2005: "An alarming number of American girls, some as young as 9, are using bodybuilding steroids -- not necessarily to get an edge on the playing field, but to get the toned, sculpted look of models and movie stars, experts say."

Ah, America... Land of the free, home of the ludicrously narcissistic.

Me, I love my Buddha belly. And for the record, in my eyes, a woman without curves is either too young or a fracture waiting to happen.

Or both.

Isn't it funny that when you quit, they throw you a party and buy you a cake, but when you are let go (not fired or let go for cause, but are -- oh, say, written out of the budget), there's little or no hoopla as you take your final steps out of the door?

The world is backwards, and no one notices.

Once when I was young
I used to dream for hours and hours
I'd dream a world that wasn't small...

And I'd travel to a valley where
Under trees and earth
I'd set my girl...

And I knelt down by her head
And lay roses in her hair and I
Kissed her gently then...

So is this what you are?
As the sun sets in my eyes
I know...

And I know this one's alive
And the worm inside of me
Is the oldest wound that I've nursed along
So don't try to get inside
These things inside are wrong
Things beyond things

It's sick now
It's rotten to the core
Its eyes bulge and gaze at me (lovingly)

And I remember this smell
From my dreams except it was
Sweeter then...

And even in this room
Where I used to lock my secrets
It's starting to smell just like my friend

And I told you not to breathe
So now I sit and watch the rain
I know

And I know this one's the dark
And the woman inside of me,
is the oldest fear that I've nursed along...
So don't try to get inside
These things inside are all just things

-Devin Townsend, Things Beyond Things

Regarding online vigilantes (see MSNBC.com):

I was sort of with this guy for the first page of the article. Not that I advocate removing someone's words that you find offensive, but maybe there's enough White American with a Christian upbringing in me to feel a little patriotic when you mention the word "jihad." Or maybe I just haven't woken up completely yet...

But then I read the last sentence of the article, a quote from the head vigilante. And suddenly, I have huge issues with this case specifically, and remember why I'm so very pro-freedom of speech:

"I understand enough of what they say to know they are my enemy, and that's all I need to know," Weisburd said.

Holy shit. Hey, chief, you realize that you're the enemy of Muslims, far-right Christians, white supremists, and a number of other groups, just by virtue of your Jewish heritage?

Not really strong validation for vigilantism.

I suppose that you'll bitch and moan like no one's business when someone hacks your site or has your hosting contract cancelled.

In the future, every man will be a self-appointed God, and it'll all still feel exactly like this.

Spent too much of the weekend watching my growing collection of HOUSE episodes, and it's got me thinking about mysteries. And redefining problems as mysteries... It makes it easier to think about obstacles as questions, looking for answers instead of fixes.

Though maybe that's not the right way to approach this...

There are connections, I think, that I am seeing the components to. I just can't be sure that -- a.) there's a real connection or b.) what that conenction is. Not to mention that I have to "unconsider" previous theories about the root or meaning of some of the components.

And maybe there's no relevant connection. But I have to keep thinking about this, trying different approaches, seeing what falls into place. This could be the path that I've been seeking recently.

Change? Control? A level of new?

i just realized that i have done exactly what [he] always told me to do... to just decide to be happy. there comes a point when one has to make that decision, i think. i understand now. i was waiting around for happiness to find me, when it was all here already.

When you take painkillers for five straight days, you do some serious damage to your guts. Maybe not long term damage, maybe not even anything serious.... but on day two of detox, you can feel your stomach and bowels complain.

And it's not a one-time only complaint, either.

In fact, it's about every five minutes. Which makes productivity non-existent.

I should just set up an office in the bathroom. Wireless, remote keyboard... it's not impossible to imagine, actually. Even if it is bothersome and wrong.

Stupid things have invaded my house. I must be some sort of bug magnet -- first it was fleas, then ladybugs, now moths.

My Indian totem is a big fucking BUG.

An additional thought to add to my earlier mention: at least I'm not one of those people whose dreams have died and they run and try to escape from themselves. Drinking themselves to death. Spending all their time and money chasing down pills or weed or the next big score. Waking up and wondering who has their fix today.

Not that I have anything against drinking or drugs or any form of escapism. On some levels, I'm as guilty as anyone of that -- comics, movies, etc. But it doesn't rule my life. And it's not the whole point of my life.

And neither is the point that it's too bad I don't have the balls to just kill myself. I wonder if the drinking and such is a sign that there's hope behind the glassy eyes, that one day, somewhere down the road, everything might get better... or if it's just cowardice. Or even an utter lack of awareness of how much you hate living.

I wonder where insanity comes from. Not the causes, not the root of the symptoms, but the thoughts themselves.

Are there crazy babies?

It hit me tonight: at this moment in time, I've become that thing that I hate and fear. I'm a person with little ambition and no real dreams of which to speak.

I'm not sure how it happened (though I know when, roughly), but I suddenly find that I'm not chasing anything at the moment. And it's not that I've finally gotten all of my heart's desires; I just don't really desire anything anymore. It's almost like I've given up on the inside, but not nearly so traumatically as that phrase would suggest.

Of course, I'm tired beyond description right now, having pushed myself too hard the past few weeks and having dealt with a lot of stress (money, dentist, new job, etcblah). So take all this with a grain of salt; I am.

But still, one pervasive thought stays with me: is this what separates adults from kids?

I still wanna be a Toys'R'Us kid.

I've got a million of 'em, folks.

Should you ever hear that root canals are painful, call the speaker a puss. Or tell him to go see my dentist, Dr. Edwin Smith -- the man ROCKS, folks. I've never had a less painful dental procedure. And I know it's only part I of three or four (still have to have the tooth filled, then fitted for a crown, then crowned), but damn, that was not bad at all. I honestly could have fallen asleep during the procedure had I tried.

Now, that extraction I've got coming up, on the other hand...

Anyone who has The Incredibles on DVD needs to watch the special features. There's a guy in there -- one of the animation team, I think -- who is a first for Pixar. I swear to you, he's not real -- he's a CGI creation. It's astonishing how realistic he is.

No, seriously. Long black hair, rail thin, glasses... You'll know exactly who I'm talking about.

Creepy. But very impressive, how far technology has come.

Baby's First Root Canal was my alternate choice. Which is worse?

At least there's some warning in my primary choice.

Oh, yeah, and there's an extraction in a month, too.

Party in my mouth! Who wants to come?

I was asked not too long ago if I enjoyed being sad.

It's a question that I've had posed more than a few times in my life. And the answer, generally speaking, is no, not particularly. I'm sure that there is some part of me that finds being engulfed in sorrow quite comforting; but that's a world away from being happy when I'm sad. For the most part, I really dislike feeling down/sad/miserable... give it a name. I am sad a lot, but it doesn't mean that I enjoy it; sometimes, though, when you suffer from depression, it's just easier and almost cozy to just let yourself be sad.

Today, though...

It's been a crazy day, mostly toothache related. Lots of pain, even through the medication. And due to a lack of sleep related to waking up every half-hour or so, my reactions to a lot of things in the office were a little overboard -- not outwardly, but on the interior.

But the last part of the day was spent catching up with an old friend and fellow "freak among corporations," (though I'm fairly certain she wouldn't appreciate the title, it works) and knowing that I've got a good shot at making things work there. Money should be coming my way shortly. I've got a dentist appointment tomorrow to take care of this damnable shooting pain. Wednesday night I pick up Kevin and Liesl's sectional sofa, which I've envied for a while. Life feels pretty good.

And I get home, and find the UNFAITHFUL soundtrack in my mailbox. It's a wonderful gift, a thoughtful reminder of what was and what could have been. And I'm a little saddened by it.

But it's a good sad, if anyone can relate. And I'm enjoying it, sitting on my roof, listening to the music, watching the world keep on keeping on, and feeling sad.

Thanks, darlin'. You know who you are.

Sometimes, I find myself wanting a couple of do-overs. I'm sure that I would have blown my life's allotment way too early, especially given my mindset in my twenties, but damn it, it would be nice to have a little reset button right now.

To all the people I've ever hurt, I apologize. And I promise, I'm trying to learn from my life, and fix the things that need to be fixed. Small consolation now, I'm sure, but still...

This toothache is the result of a collective karmic payback, isn't it?

I really like the idea of the TV miniseries. It allows for the telling of a story beyond the maximum 2 hour length that most people will sit through -- the adaptations of King's work like his new SHINING and THE STAND are both great examples. They needed longer to fully develop the stories than a commercially released film would allow; the eventual DVD releases of movies like that and ANGELS IN AMERICA allows for the viewer to digest the story in whatever bites they can handle.

Cable outlets like HBO and Showtime -- and even FX, to a lesser extent -- are probably the best, allowing for more realistic content (language, violence, whatever). ANGELS IN AMERICA is a great example -- even some of those themes wouldn't have been allowed on network TV, but the story demands their inclusion.

Which brings to mind episodic TV like X-FILES and LOST. Both of which almost seem to demand miniseries formatting, with a definite beginning (which both had) and a definite end (which X-FILES lacked and LOST probably will). X-FILES jumped the shark big time -- as most long running shows will -- and I imagine that LOST could easily suffer the same fate (worse: LOST gets cancelled and en ending will have to be rushed).

Rare is the show that starts and ends satisfactorily. BUFFY and ANGEL both did really nice jobs, even if certain seasons could have been better. Give credit to Joss Whedon and his staff on those... But imagine if creators were allowed to pitch shows as three season runs, no more, no less; then you know full-well that you have time to finish your full stories, and you don't have to worry about stretching the run past it's natural life expectancy.

In the comic book realm, Warren Ellis is doing a smart thing like this with PLANETARY. No worries about having to see the characters and storylines suffer. Story begins and ends, and if there is the occasional one-shot story that needs to be told -- not necessarily part of the overall arc, but belonging to the cast and atmosphere -- it can be put down with no worries.

Rambling thoughts... One day, hopefully to be put to use. The short stories I tell are what come naturally, but I can see a 400 page screenplay in my head, perhaps.

Why doesn't this guy who writes for a living know how to spell?

I've just reread some of my old posts, and two things occur to me:

1.) I type too fast and make too many typos.

2.) I'm too lazy to edit my old posts, or even to read my new posts before I hit the publish button.

So there. Now you'll never know which words are misspelled and which ones are just errors of my fingers.

The Dead Kenny Gs.

I know nothing about them, and honestly don't want to, for fear of ruining the excellent mental image I have.

Still, not quite as good as Daniel and Jonathan's Catheter Hepburn (album title: Shoes to Match the Bag), or Eric's desire to start a band called the Barry White Stripes (I liked Frank Black Sabbath myself, but so it goes).

Yup. Just spent Friday night:

1. Watching TV on my computer.
   
2. Watching NUMB3RS, and understanding the math.
   
3. Changing my blog template.
   

It could be worse. I could have shaved my head again...

"Freedom is a challenge. You decide who you are by what you do. It's like a question, like a fork in the road. An ongoing question you have to answer correctly. There's a touch of the high-wire to it. I've never been able to walk high-wires, but I get the feeling."

-Hunter S. Thompson, excerpted from the May, 2005 Playboy feature, "Postcards From the Proud Highway"

So, the week went from suck to whatever here is in an awful hurry.

Things in the social arena went south, to be euphumistic and strangely accurate. Howward Jones lyrics are dashing through my head -- which is better than Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home", thank you, Eric McGinty. The universe unfolds as it will, but sometimes I can't help but question why it does so in the manner it does...

And so this weird numbness sets in, like being under emotional anasthetia. I sat in my bedroom last night, window open to a cool breeze, and smelled autumn. So I took advantage of the moment as best as possible: turned out the lights, burned a little Ocean Breeze­­® incense, and cranked up Harold Budd's ROOM disc (I can not remember the actual name of the disc, ever, but I've taken to referring to it as such ever since Daniel introduced me to it years back). I sat and listened to Southside at night, cars passing, neighbors talking over their beers, damnable dogs barking at everything that came within 50 yards. It was really nice, a little November in April.

And then I returned today to the corporate world, ending my first week back Working For The Man after eight months. It's not as bad as I had expected -- things might even be much better than I would have hoped. The people that I report to directly are really good folk, intelligent and hard working and -- most important to me -- two of the few guys at UAB that I ever had any respect for. There's a lot of work to be done, so I don't have to dick around waiting for something to do, and it's actual productive work, not some busy task handed to me for political appearances.

See, that's one thing that I hate about the corporate world. Maybe I should amend that: that's one thing I hate about the world in general. Too often, people get so caught up playing to the vanity of those around and "above" them (which is to say, those who have something or control over something they want) that they start looking for the same in those around them. And so the PC/playing the game virus spreads, until it's less important what kind of work quality you produce than how much you agree with them and torture yourself to make their life easy.

I just can't bring myself to do that. And I'm sure that, career-wise, I'll suffer long and greatly for it. But at least I'll have my dignity and my sad, sad, idealism...

At any rate, fortunately, the people around me now are, for the most part, not the type that I just described. I thought that before, when I worked in a parallel department, and even in this first week, they've given me more applicable evidence of the same.

And it appears that I'll have plenty of chances to impress in the coming months, as the other person in my department announced a resignation mere days after I started. I was warned -- suspicions were confirmed, I should say -- that there are people in parallel departments that are waiting for me to misstep, to pounce and scream for my head. But that's fine, because I'm in a different headset than I was a year ago, a better fitting job, and in the mood to disappoint my detractors.

Three's a lot of change, all at once, and I can only hope that maybe this is my life jumping back onto the track that it's supposed to be on. It's worth the stress and the work and the adjustments to think that I'm headed in the right direction, wherever that may be leading me.

And then, of course, there's the fucking tooth in my head that has decided, after months of semi-soreness and aggravation, to really cut loose and have an all-night kegger in my head. OHMYGODTHISREALLYFUCKINGHURTS. A few of my friends were kind enough to give me some industrial strength ibuprofin, but even that isn't helping. Heat doesn't work. Orajel is useless (except on my tongue, thanks). I don't think I'm dealing with an abscess, as there's no swelling, no bitter taste, no oozing pus (just to make sure you're still awake and paying attention)... My best guess is that something in the air has triggered my sinusitis on a minor level -- minor enough that I don't feel the extra pressure in my head, but enough that the swelling is compounding the dental nightmare I'm having.

Ladies, if you're looking for a man to pass strong teeth to your spawn through the miracle of genetics, then look elsewhere. For any number of reasons.

But if you want a man with more artifice than nature attached to the peridontal ligament (as well as someone who refuses to play nice with the English language): I'm your guy.

PHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

I feel better now, thank you.

Everyone, please move along. Nothing to see here.

Asperger Syndrome or (Asperger's Disorder) is a neurobiological disorder named for a Viennese physician, Hans Asperger, who in 1944 published a paper which described a pattern of behaviors in several young boys who had normal intelligence and language development, but who also exhibited autistic-like behaviors and marked deficiencies in social and communication skills. In spite of the publication of his paper in the 1940's, it wasn't until 1994 that Asperger Syndrome was added to the DSM IV and only in the past few years has AS been recognized by professionals and parents.

Individuals with AS can exhibit a variety of characteristics and the disorder can range from mild to severe. Persons with AS show marked deficiencies in social skills, have difficulties with transitions or changes and prefer sameness. They often have obsessive routines and may be preoccupied with a particular subject of interest. They have a great deal of difficulty reading nonverbal cues (body language) and very often the individual with AS has difficulty determining proper body space. Often overly sensitive to sounds, tastes, smells, and sights, the person with AS may prefer soft clothing, certain foods, and be bothered by sounds or lights no one else seems to hear or see. It's important to remember that the person with AS perceives the world very differently. Therefore, many behaviors that seem odd or unusual are due to those neurological differences and not the result of intentional rudeness or bad behavior, and most certainly not the result of "improper parenting".

By definition, those with AS have a normal IQ and many individuals (although not all), exhibit exceptional skill or talent in a specific area. Because of their high degree of functionality and their naiveté, those with AS are often viewed as eccentric or odd and can easily become victims of teasing and bullying. While language development seems, on the surface, normal, individuals with AS often have deficits in pragmatics and prosody. Vocabularies may be extraordinarily rich and some children sound like "little professors." However, persons with AS can be extremely literal and have difficulty using language in a social context.


Barbara L Kirby, found here

I wish I could remember what my mom said the other day about me and autism in the same sentence -- something about early signs, or genetics, or something.

My behavior when in a depression phase tends to highlight my less social side (no terrible surprise to anyone with depression). It's not so much that I don't want to or can't be social; rather, I have a real issue with eye contact (which is a day-to-day thing for me anyway, I've come to realize recently), I stop reading body language as well as normal, and I really don't want to be touched.

None of this is odd, or ever struck me as so, until my mom mentioned something about autism and me the other day. I've also been doing too much reading about the condition recently for a screenplay I'm writing; anyone that thinks med students won't become self-diagnosing while they're in school (and slightly paranoid, at that) just needs to watch one.

Can't wait until my brother goes through graduate school for his PsyD.

Up at 6:30.

Wearing slacks and a damn belt.

This is not me. This is not me. This is not me.

You try really hard to convince yourself that it's all okay, but underneath it all, you know it's not. What is right for 95% of the rest of the world is not what I'm supposed to be doing. For better or for worse, it's just not the way I'm built, and I have the hardest time accepting that. Part of me knows this, part of me just wants to have all the things that my other friends have or want.

It feels like I've jumped the track again, riding parallel to where I should be. Or maybe I just never got back to the right track, ever since 1998.

Those of you that have to be around me today: I apologize in advance.

Even one as blackened and crispy as mine.

Just finished a redesign of the AIDS Alabama website. Everyone go look and see. More blog-like than ever before....

Sexy, no? Not like Bettie Page sexy -- more like a clean and refined thing.

Speaking of which, they finally fixed my shower. Looks like I'll be needing a new tub; the plumber whistled when he accessed the pipes. I think he said something about having never seen so much lead.... But that would explain the lovely Hi-Pro glow that's been missing from my hair since I started showering at my girlfriend's....

Woof.

By which I mean, of course, NOT the MTV show. No, rather -- not Dan, but the adverbial conjunction (yes, I made that up) -- the working world of grown-ups and responsible people. And back at UAB, no less, under the working title of Web Designer.

So all you people who didn't use me these past eight months, see: I have credentials.

And a salary and benefits, too.

So, Kenn, how do you feel about this?

Well, me, I haven't entirely decided yet. Still sorting my thoughts on it, but my initial reaction is very Peter Pan, Toys'R'Us kid. I don't want to grow up anymore, and I've really enjoyed the past few months of succeeding (albeit just barely) on my own merits.

But on the flip, I can't wait to have a steady income again. So there's that. And maybe returning to the 8-5 world will reinstill some of my hunger for success outside of it; it has crossed my mind -- just today, in fact -- that perhaps I was growing a little complacent in the face of self-employment.

But either way, at the end of the day, I've still got me. And my X-Box. So all will be well, one way or another.

And at least I'll have more money to spend on X-Box games. And drinking, for when I become a miserable and discontent alcoholic, bitter at a world that beat me down.

Heh.

"I haven't slept for ten days, because that would be too long."
- Mitch Hedberg