Black Dog Blog

Archive for the ‘personal’ Category

My brother's parents¹ keep a tiny weekend house in the Lake District. We went there with a couple of his other friends overnight yesterday. As it happened, I hadn't been there before (not often invited, usually busy).

During the course of the afternoon I proved myself the most adept fire-builder — which was amusing, since two of them claimed first-hand experience lighting fires, whereas I had to approach the thing completely from theory. Nevertheless, the thing lit up at my hands, and a good job it did, because it was below freezing overnight. I also beat an electric pump at inflating mattresses. Old-fashioned footpower for the win?

Also, we melted the nozzle off one of the air mattresses with a hairdryer. On reflection, when I suggested the idea, I should have specified that the thing be set to cold air.

The sheer number of stars in the night sky, out there as we were among sheep-infested hills six miles from the nearest village, was very nice to see.

We got in a little stroll this morning; just ten or twenty minutes or so, because two of the party were not best suited to the exercise. Yes, turns out some people are unfit even compared to me. n00bs!

I seemed to spend a lot of time teaching people things², ranging from how fire works ("small stuff burns faster and hotter; the big logs are the ones that will last all evening, but they need to be much hotter to catch fire, so we have to start with small…" …at which point I trail off, unable to compete with Nuts Magazine, and just get the damn thing going. Fire. Fiiiiire. Pretty pretty fire) to how sheep work ("why is that one's leg bright orange? Was it born like that?" "At a guess, I'd say it was antibiotic dip." … "You don't actually think sheep speak a language, do you?" "Not a syntactic one, but if you mean can they recognise bleats? Absolutely"). (Yeah, I don't know either.)

So, yes, turns out some people know even less about countryside than I. Pah! n00bs, I say!

Also. In general, much as I like 1960s music and classic rock, I've heard enough Magic-FM, Smooth-Radio, Late-Night-Love-Letters, Stuff-Even-Radio-2-is-Too-Embarrassed-to-Play utter shite over this day and night to last me quite some years.³ I had to sneak some headphones on and blast some DragonForce during the car journey or I would have gone quite, quite mental.

¹ Yes, brothers with different parents. It's an honorary thing. No blood-letting was involved.

² "The only one who could ever reach me was the geek-talkin' sonuva teacher man", etc.

³ "Do you not think it's choonage, Herms? You biiiitch!" Sadly, my tolerance of other people's music is not reciprocated when I should want to put on Symphony X.

I woke up at some time after 11:00 this morning in bed with someone strange wrapped around me.

However, because I don't drink and I spent New Year's Eve with trusted friends at a safe location within walking distance of home: it was my own bed, I had a clear head, the house was secure, nobody had soiled themselves and the strange individual was the family cat¹, who had been at home listening to Jools Holland and Radio 2 for most of the night in order to block out the fireworks.

I don't own a fighter jet yet, but still, I call that a win for New Year. Happy 2010 to you all, my dear sweet little bitches.

¹I have the aforementioned chattel thoroughly alpha'd and well trained, which is why he woke me at 11:00 by snuggling up next to my head and begging wantonly for a tummy tickle, instead of at 05:00 by sitting on my chest and drooling into my eye, which is what he does to his supposed 'owner'.

Brrrr. I'm either ill or just vaguely run down after this week, which has been kind of a doozy. Last night I was completely out of it, and I mean unable to talk, let alone do anything else; symptoms that, when I flipped back through my mental notebook, I found next to a pencilled annotation reading "←Stress?"

I hope taking it sedentary over this weekend will get me back on my feet, but the cold weather isn't helping. I don't want to go for walks or do anything but huddle with hot water bottles. I definitely hope I won't be ill-definedly sickish all this winter, because the novelty there wears off fast, I can tell you from experience.

NaNoWriMo writing has completely stalled. I won't make the 50k, that's a given, but I'll easily get to 30k over the weekend. Heck, just writing up what I've handwritten on my tram journeys should take care of that.

All that's still to go on Part Two, after transcribing my own handwriting, is some wrapping up on Taupeshank's side. Taupe needs to realise in what ways pe's been rather silly, while Alluring… well. Let's face it. Alluring Swiper isn't learning any Important Moral Lessons any time soon. Alluring considers nerself far too fabulous for Important Moral Lessons.

Lest anyone accuse me of writing only heroes I agree with 100%, this section features binge drinking, the afore-alluded ass-headedness and a downright fist fight. Part Three features FIRE! Also bribery, but mainly FIRE. (Could fire really be a problem on a planet that's 95% water? You bet.)

Tesla, the Celibate Scientist

So apparently the ladies love celibacy. Hey, ladies! Over here, ladies! White Knight complex at 12 o'clock! I will be oblivious to your advances. I will actually blush and run away if you attempt to tongue-kiss me. SEXY, EH?

Yeeeaaaahhh, they so want me.

In today's "won't you walk into my parlour" news…

Cat Party to recruit mice, Nazi party to admit Jews, Roma, disabled people, and: BNP to consider non-white members.

Vatican to host Galileo exhibit. Sounds fabtastic. I'd like to see it.

Nice try, kid, but no cigar. Of course, he will have learned much from this preliminary attempt.

Israel taking a leaf out of the Bush administration's books. I'll be interested to see if Obama takes action on this kind of thing. America's about the only country to whom they're remotely likely to listen, and at least the "We Take the Book of Revelation Literally, Roll On Battle of Megiddo" loon squad are no longer in power.

Seal pups: look cute, but don't approach or you could cause them to starve.

Beautiful microscopy photos of blood cells and nerves.

Adults with autism 'cast adrift' in England

This, er, wow. So what are Auschwitz's five favourite singers and which Heroes character would Auschwitz be? Now we can find out. Er.

RIVAL CHILD OVERACHIEVER! It is so cute pathetic that at age 27 I still feel threatened by this kind of brat… oh man… issues. ;D

These poor kids, on the other hand, are lucky if they can learn at all.

Finally, I have to post this for you lot for the name alone. North Korea's Hotel of DOOM.

(Not to be confused with Latveria's Doctor of Doom or Disneyland's Tower of Terror, of course.)

"I felt I'd test my hypothesis and I did that by getting my cat certified by a number of the most prominent lay hypnosis organisations in the United States. It was a frighteningly simple process."

Cat registered as hypnotherapist

Look at the picture of the cat, though. That's an intense expression – every bit as convincing as Derren Brown. And less trustworthy.

'Lying down' NHS staff reinstated

Cage fighter punches out stag

Honour killings given Bollywood flavour

Uruguay approves sex change bill, jubilant blogger tries desperately not to type "You mean Uragay lol lol :D"

Cut them off with a rusty butter knife.

Derry City Council's Hallowe'en carnival encourages Satanism and has brought a curse on the city, according to a Methodist minister.

I don't celebrate Hallowe'en, but that Methodist minister has just caused me to drink some water as a proxy libation to Bau and Anubis (which I reasoned ought to count as Satan in his book). Self-important arsenoses like Rev Jonathan Campbell make Satanism look more attractive than do 19-year-old skinhead trick-or-treaters or noisy drunk people having fun.

Abortion bans do not reduce abortion rates. I'm sure pro-life mysogynists will not allow these facts to inconvenience them.

Yes they should – why don't they already?!

Berners-Lee 'sorry' for slashes, fanfiction writers up in arms

New flying reptile fossils found

• #PSA: A4 paper goes in the A4 tray. The A3 tray is for A3 paper. Next week's masterclass: the difference between can & bottle recycle bins. #
• I haz a Graze box, a day late thanks to postal strike, and it looks nummy! An easy way to my heart is to bring seaweed peanuts to my desk.<3 #
• How anyone can conceive of a 'heaven' without animals is utterly beyond me. It'd be…like living without parts of your body. #howenglishami #
• RT @programmingns Absolutely Beautiful Pictures of Weimaraners – http://tinyurl.com/ybxm2a2 #weimaraners #dogs // See also: William Wegman #
• #Bugbears Software that messes with what I've placed on the clipboard. No. You don't decide that once I've pasted it, I don't need it. No. #
• Graze postal strike boxes are great because they're long-life, but it's no good – need fresh fruit. Off to get apple from vending machines. #
• The desk of @metaltax is stacked with enticingly book-shaped parcels. #
• Reread the Deadpool issue where Blind Al explains The Box and "how you build a prison". I loved where they went with Al and I miss Weasel. #

Twitterfiction, aka why do ideas always come in 3½s?

• #vss We're listening to The Buzzcocks, feet up. She pokes me. "Ever not fallen in love with someone you should have fallen in love with?" #
• #vss His heart and soul were on that departing starship. He watched the ion trail disperse and fade. Well, at least new souls came cheap. #
• #vss I spotted the three bounty hunters before I reached my front door, and calculated where the fourth must be before I opened it. #

I tweeted a documentary for fun, since all the cool kids seem to do it.

• Listening to http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 – Adults with Autism. Very good on sensory differences. #autism #aspie #sensoryfail #
• "Autistic traits may run through the population"? Um no, autistic traits are totally inhuman and come from space DUH. http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 #
• "Autism may be partly a manifestation of an extremely male brain" (re: hormones in utero) http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 Oh stop flattering me. #
• "Autism is very highly heritable" http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 Ah, so you've met my dad. #
• [after adult diagnosis] "I have to look back at everything… Like I might have been colourblind and not known it." http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 #
• Now covering sexuality. Gross. (OK, I'm a textbook aspie.) "I couldn't handle the enormity of intimacy & closeness." http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 #
• "Lot of people with Asperger syndrome try so hard to be part of the human race… often seen as not human, no souls, no feelings." As me. ;) #
• The moral of the story seems to be that we have "potential" that employers ought to "harness". http://bit.ly/b00mwms8 #
• Getting a job – a quiet, sedentary office one – has been very good for me psychologically. I've learned so much about looking human. #autism #

I found a really interesting article on 'camp' (as an adjective) linked in the comments of someone else's journal. I finally put some time aside to read it:

Susan Sonntag: Notes on Camp

My reactions follow, all jotted as I read. You should read the article and form your own opinions first.

Now, I don't care for 'camp' as a whole, so don't expect any coherent thoughts and opinions from me here. I probably would fit in in some ways with a 'queer' (hate that word) way of looking at things, though, so I'm definitely interested to read on…

"The more we study Art, the less we care for Nature."
- The Decay of Lying

An offhand quote that caught my eye. It could be in a nutshell why I don't like art (or, rather, why I think of myself as someone who doesn't like art. The other reason being school art lessons), and why I am less and less likely to like any individual artwork the more it deviates from the strictly realistic, or at least the methodically representational.

(Yes, even if it portrays something that doesn't exist, it could have the courtesy to look right.)

As a taste in persons, Camp responds particularly to the markedly attenuated and to the strongly exaggerated. The androgyne is certainly one of the great images of Camp sensibility. [...]

Allied to the Camp taste for the androgynous is something that seems quite different but isn't: a relish for the exaggeration of sexual characteristics and personality mannerisms.

Read the rest of this entry »

What occasioned this post was a request made to me by a writing partner a long time ago. I declined the request. You'll see why. "Ten years later" is pushing the definition of a snappy comeback, but this post is really aimed at other guys who might have this idea.

John Boy, as we'll call him, had a male character. His Vision™ for his character, he'd decided one day, included two children whom the character would raise. His request: "Mutt, will you write a female character who'll have these children for him and then hand them over?"

As it happens, the idea of writing female pregnancy gets into some deep problems for me, and I never intend to do it. I don't recall that I'd mentioned this to John Boy in the past, so he gets a free pass in this instance on the insensitivity front.

However, when I told him I would never be comfortable writing a pregnant woman, his suggestion? "Maybe she's from a species where she has to breed in order to become a neuter." OK, so… forcing a transgendered character to breed in order to line des gender up with des sex? That was insensitive. Chaps, we're all pretty smart here. Let's all agree never to suggest this to a transgendered person, OK?

Anyhow, those are my personal issues and we'll lay them aside. Now here's the response I wish I'd given all those years ago, to help John Boy understand why asking any writer to make up a woman character, in order to give your man character instant children, is somewhat on the odd side.

Actually, John Boy, my personal horror at writing pregnancy is not my only problem with this suggestion. The main issue is that you want a female character whose entire purpose in life, at least from your point of view and your plot's, is to have children.

John Boy, your offer is rejected firmly and without prejudice, and I hope if you think about what I've said you'll realise why. My advice to you is to write a frog woman and have them spawn in a pond, or, preferably, rethink the plot idea that requires a woman to bear your character two children and then disappear.

We'll leave our imaginary ten-years-younger John Boy alone now. We just gave him a lot to think about. We're older and wiser, though, so here's another point for you to ponder…

Do you know what pregnancy does to a woman's body and hormones? I don't have much idea, for the obvious reason, but I know it's huge. To take one example that might cause a particular problem with this 'plot' idea, women don't always want to give up their children.

Sound obvious? But really, they don't always, even if they were OK with the idea beforehand. This is not because women are nuts. Your mother was a woman. Everyone's mother was a woman. And that's rather the point. We humans evolved to what we are because mothers have a strong bond with their weak, helpless spawn, who remain helpless for about 6 years and weak for at least 8 more. You don't put up with a burden like that unless you love it, and this is where your hormones, leaving nothing to chance, make sure you do. Sometimes they'll go wrong or a woman will feel able to overcome the effect, but that isn't predictable.

This is why you will read in magazines about women acting as surrogate mothers, who find themselves unable to give up children they've carried for another couple. Repeat, this is not because the woman is nuts, or a liar. Chances are she had every intention beforehand of carrying through with the agreement. I doubt she really wants to bring up, on her own, the child of a man who's in a relationship with someone else. Not even for the child support payments (seriously, no woman who is in touch with reality ever gets pregnant because she thinks it'll make her rich). But you can't always help whom you fall in love with.

Conclusion: women don't always oblige by breeding and then handing over their children, even if that's what your script says.

This post only is:
licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution to Herm Baskerville with an optional link back to this page. (The author would prefer that you link to this post, in case de edits or improves it.)

One side effect of my recent inability to wake up in the mornings, even with Rock Radio Manchester blaring at me from the radio alarm, is some really weird half-waking dreams. Let's see, last night/this morning:

Main feature was that my brother had been kidnapped (and you should choose death rather than mess with my brother, because it'll be a lot less pleasant than the wrath I'll visit upon you. Just, y'know, FYI). I was heading out to sort this out.

This is Filibuster. The neighbours think they named him Fergus, but they are wrong.

In the front hall I passed one of my mother's work cases, which had developed a hole. Soil was pouring out of it with a dry wiffle noise. It later started spilling white powder instead. I wondered vaguely if this was a bomb chemical. (No more CSI for you.)

Otherwise the main event was to do with ladders. I declared that the flimsy rope ladder held up by safety pins, for dogssakes, would obviously not support my body weight. My companion, who was much lighter and possibly a cat, climbed up it to demonstrate, but then the tightrope unravelled under its feet and it was forced to conclude that I was right. We spent some time looking for a more stable way to climb to the upper platform. The purpose of this was never explained.

(Have just had to pause typing while I was summoned to come and see the neighbours' cat, whom I have named Filibuster, and who has shown up in our house this morning and begun falling over on everything hoping for tummy tickles. He is usually not disappointed.)

By now I've forgotten all the lesser dreams, but they were weird too. The other 'main' dream involved my somehow stumbling into a web forum frequented or run by Jack, my internets ex.

Jack was a writing partner and, well, I see no need to tell the whole story because the upset and hurt at our eventual split has faded to the point that I barely remember his existence, and indeed am surprised that my dreaming module does at all.

(Have just been summoned AGAIN to see the aforementioned cat trying to cram himself into a box half the size of a shoebox.)

Jack was present, along with his right-hand person who never showed up except when he was there (to the point that I used to wonder if they were the same person and Jack had invented them as a sock puppet to agree with everything he said! This was later disproved to my satisfaction), and some others I didn't know.

Jack had just posted a message (or written a note; for some reason handwriting was also involved) saying he'd seen I'd dropped by and everyone, this is Mutt [my handle, or one of them] and omg <3 and wasn't it nice of me. I cannot imagine Jack being like this.¹

(All RIGHT, mother, no need to come in and tell me the cat is now sitting in the bath asking for a drink.)

I needed to reply, which for some reason involved instructing them not to use the wrong pronoun for me(!) and some other administrative issues. I was debating whether to tell them I'd been the one who saved their website from going offline by picking up the domain and hosting costs. (Honestly, reptile brain, web doesn't work that way.)

Judging by the overall tone, this dream was an indication that I'm empowered and free from all that past negativity and all that hippie stuff. All very fine and Oprah. I just wonder why I'm dreaming about him at all. I feel nothing towards him now. Encountering him again would be like getting to know someone new, not having someone grateful and pleased to see me like he was in the dream.¹

The whole web-hosting stuff may have come from my re-registering a dropped IRC channel last night, mind you… and I do still keep our old domain name active, in case any old friends should look for us there. Oh well.

¹ This would have been more believable.

He wasn't that bad, most of the time, but he had a passive-aggressive, attention-seeking side and he expected to be taken as terribly seriously as he took everything else. Don't worry, I was a severely depressed teen when I knew him, so I was probably nearly as bad in my own way.

Anyway, basically, this isn't a portion of my life I'd decide to revisit out of the blue.

As I've posted elsewhere:

People often seem to think I'm horribly nervous, either because of some postulated eccentricity in my expression and mien or because I have a tremor in my hands. I'm sure I could exploit this more, but it generally just annoys me when people mistake "deep in eager thought" for "depressed"/"dear frightened lambikin"/[whatever it is real people think], bug out and put on kid gloves.

Personally, I think it's an encoding issue.

I feel a little sorry for real people, faced with someone who claims one thing but seems to be feeling the opposite. Hollywood and soaps teach us that when this happens, it's what the individual says that's incorrect. In other words, the individual is lying, putting on a brave front (this is lying for positive reasons and seen as misguided instead of bad) or in denial. The crucial point, always taken for granted, is that the others have interpreted the individual's body language and expression correctly in order to make their diagnosis. When that's not true – when they can no longer rely on their instincts – then the problem starts.

When'll they introduce 8-bit Unencoded Translation of Feelings for wetware? </geek joke>

Because, well, yes, I think it's an encoding issue – a matter of broadcasting mixed or incorrect signals. However, thinking more, I think a common cause of anxiety among real people may also be to do with withdrawal: not withdrawal symptoms, but the act of withdrawing (either physically or 'mentally', so to speak – retreating into one's own head).

In humans and other familiar social animals, moving away from others or losing interest in their surroundings is a bad sign; an indication that something's wrong. (All right, then, a 'symptom'. Ha.)

If you're wondering, I have concluded the previous from the following observations: these are signs that humans report in their pets that mean the pet is probably ill or in pain, and they are also signs that seem to upset humans when seen in another person – for example, me. I think I've also seen other animals (again, other social animals) respond to similar signs in a similar way, either getting upset (hisses or shifting feet) or trying to investigate or comfort (wag wag, plonk chin on lap).

But, that's in real people. For the autistic and aspie contingent, withdrawal is not necessarily a sign of stress. It's a natural state. I live in my head most of the time. It isn't that I retreat here; I come outside to talk to real people, and then I come back inside to rest. It may be because I'm stressed, or it may be because I want a breather. (I've learned to self-regulate to avoid getting badly stressed.)

Similarly, my natural state with regard to proximity to humans is a comfortable distance away. A comfortable distance is three or so body lengths, so I come outside my comfort zone to hang around nearish to you. Be happy! I choose to do it. I could always be housebound instead, or wear a hard-shell EVA suit. Imagine sitting behind me in the cinema THEN.

If you're wondering, my referral to people not far along the autistic spectrum (so-called 'neurotypical' folks) as "real people" is done in the spirit of dark, unsettling humour. My use of the word "human" is merely literal; human, as opposed to another animal.

As for withdrawing emotionally, perhaps that depends on the individual. I give a lot of my surface feelings away, the vast majority of it liable to misinterpretation because of the corrupted signals I broadcast. I don't think anyone can fathom my thought processes, but that's not a big problem, because that's one of the things I like to talk about and compare with real people. When there's no time for mutually assured comprehension, though, or bad communication gets in the way of important work on a deadline, then it can become a problem.

In which case, the only advice I can give you is: believe what I say, not what I emote. Because, unlike most real people who claim they always speak their minds, I do speak my mind. Oh boy, do I.

(At any rate, I believe people should be allowed to experience the consequences of their choices wherever practical. Whether you refuse morphine or another piece of carrot cake, I'll take you at your word.)

I think a good Holistic Grail for a high-functioning aspie would be to be seen as "that socially awkward, technically proficient one who is uncomfortably honest", and not 'disabled'.

An informative diagram. Go look.

SO WHO ARE THE REAL ALIENS HERE, EH???

(*title puns)

Removing my cap
the passing of the cortège
sham solemnity

(Not based on an actual event, but could be.)

edit: Also, as I remarked to SongdogMI on Twitter,

Algorithm 5
cryptographically digests
into sixteen bytes

I have been jumped upon by a Staffie on the tram. The Staffie should not, strictly speaking, have been on the tram in the first place, but I wasn't complaining. Any contact with dogs fairly sets me up for the day. I miss them a lot. Besides, he is a friendly Staffie and my trousers are now patched with dog slime. Good Dog. Annoying owners, though.

I think I eye people's dogs in a way that confuses the owners. They jerk the dog away or step off the pavement as if thinking I'm afraid of it, when in fact I'm conducting a leisurely exchange of looks with the dog oblivious to its walking assistant. Guess I should smile too, or say something to the owner. I'm not all that good at smiling to order, though; people occasionally seem to interpret them as angry grimaces or nervousness. And I'm worried people might realisesomehow think I want to kidnap their dog. Honestly, relax, we don't have room at home!

Walking among real people reminds me of being a GCSE French student in France, where attempts to speak the language can be met a little rudely and you occasionally get the feeling they'd rather you didn't bother trying. Yaknow, at least in Germany I was generally spoken to politely and slowly, as if they were pleased I'd made the effort.

Therefore, I present to you Hellmutt's Eurospecies Law:

Humans are from France; dogs are from Germany.

Bill Bailey last night was awesome. Highly recommended. I particularly like his musical skits.

We ate at the Eighth Day before the show. I've been in there several times to buy stuff, but never gone to their restaurant. It's a simple and cheerful canteen-style affair, and they get mega points from me for… their toilets! It's something as simple as putting "Unisex" instead of "Disabled" on the third door, but it made me feel so welcome.

Possibly playing Arkham Horror round at someone's house tonight if we can work out how to get there. Hastur la vista, baby!

(edit: I've been #followfridayed on Twitter. Give me a moment to pick up my jaw off the floor.)

Herm: In vain my lap you knead (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
Your prayers I do not heed (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
'Tis true I smile, but don't suppose
A curling lip forbearance shows.
Oh no.
I'm very cross indeed – yes, very cross. (Piper: prrrrrr)
Don't purr.

Herm: Your disrespectful cheek (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
Provokes my dogly pique (Piper: prrrrrr) – Don't purr.
You break my Law. You are my foe.
I smile because I hate you so.
You know.
You very portly freak. You portly freak. (Piper: prrrrrr)
Don't purr.

Piper: My disrespectful cheek (Herm: Don't speak!) – rub rub -
Prrovokes your dogly pique (Herm: Eek!) – rub rub -
If that's your frank critique -

Herm: Don't purr.

Piper: Purr purr.

Herm: Uurgh.

Well, it's official, I never ever want to grow a heart…

…But one situation right now is awfully cute, and I'm happy for those involved.

(Enigmatic post, because it's none of our business really.)

"…send me the power to bring them to their knees."

Is it more expected for females to use their sexuality to succeed, than it is for males to do the same?

Is it more acceptable?