You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2007.
I can’t agree with the conclusion of this article on the functionality of deception in autistic versus neurotypical brains, but the points the author makes about the presence or absence of the ability to deceive in (a)typical brain types are well worth considering. Which makes me think, in turn, about the miniessay Dawn posted a while back examining the ability of a child to deceive her parents as a measure of the child’s social development.
Sandy Szwarc analyzes a study examining some of the flaws in the use of BMI as a measure of almost anything.
Swistle has posted a great list of Things Not to Say to Anybody, Ever. One thing I’ve had said to me that would fit perfectly on this list was said by Mr. X, back when Acorn was a teeny baby:
“I don’t get to take a nap. I have to work during the day!”
For context, my night before had involved a migraine, a baby who was both sick and teething, and multiple hours in a rocking chair. I think you can guess the amount of assistance (or sleep) I had actually had.
Having written this, though, I feel petty sharing a story about something I’m clearly still angry about a few years on. So please, share. Tell me something someone’s said to you that should not be said to anyone, by anyone. If I get enough comments, I’ll share the full list here on a future post.
Update! In a bit of serendipitous timing, I just found Bridget’s list of Things Not to Say When Someone Tells You They Have Breast Cancer. (Via Twisty, via LesbianDad.)
I was cleaning out this blog’s spam filter a little while ago, and happened across this gem:
There was once a short story written by an author named Shirley Jackson called the lottery. In most of our lives lotteries are wonderful things that can make us filthy rich with the investment of a couple of dollars and some luck. Even when we don’t win there is the fun of imagining what to do if fortune smiles on us and suddenly we find ourselves in a situation where investment bankers are sending us muffin baskets and kissing our pinky rings. In the world of Ms. Jackson, lotteries are a far less enjoyable experience that can result in a large number of heavy rocks being chucked at the person who has the winning ticket. I don’t know exactly where Shirley was buying her lottery tickets, but a more reasonable person would do their shopping elsewhere.
Followed, of course, by a link to some kind of lottery site. It reads like something you might expect to read from a poorly-educated seventh grader, but there’s a part of me that wants to give the spammer some credit for effort. At least this caught my attention, unlike the endless porn, DVD, and sex-enhancing drug spam comments that I normally have to sift through.
Three hours of driving later, I rang the doorbell. “Who’s there?” I could hear my former father-in-law asking, in that tone adults reserve for asking a child questions they know the answers to.
“My Mama!” I heard Acorn respond. He fumbled at the door briefly, then flew into my arms. “Mama! I miss you!”
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” I said.
“Dis my Mama!” he announced to his grandfather. I set him down, and he led me into the house.
“Dis is my Mama!” he told his grandmother. “Daddy! Dis my Mama!”
He did that for the rest of the day, introducing me to store clerks, my brother, random strangers, and eventually my own parents. “Gran-Gran! Dis is my Mama!”