Dear Universe...

Hi. It's me. Your punching bag. Quit it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I have the health, shelter, food, employment and family stuff covered. I'm painfully aware of how petty my complaints are, by and large. But I still got 'em.

I'm not saying I want sunshine, puppies and rainbows 24/7... but could you maybe just space things out a little bit? Maybe let me recover just a touch before you continue the next assault?

Seriously, you're ruining my Hallowe'en. I LOVE Hallowe'en, and I've been dealing with such a freakin' shitstorm I can't enjoy it anymore. So stop already.

Thanks.

PS 3WA Secret Pal person? I don't mean you. You are AWESOME. With ham and jam and Spam on it.

Y'say you want to overdose on the cute?

I'm here to help.  (Disclaimer:  I'm not a cat person.  However, these are KILLING me.)

Take THAT:



and THAT!

Goan yersel', lads... hee.

Travesty, not tragedy

Item the first: A rantlet.

Why did "Int0 the Wild" need to be made into a film? What's filmworthy or profound about 'Alex@nder Supertramp' (forgive me as I roll my eyes) dying of... well, stupidity?

I'll admit I've enjoyed what I've heard of the soundtrack, but would someone please tell me what's fascinating about being so wilfully ignorant, so bullheadedly stubborn that you wind up starving yourself to death?

Marching out into the Alaskan sticks with nothing more than a gun, bag of rice and book on edible plants isn't heroic - it's STUPID. (Hell, I've been stupid. Make a movie about me.)

While I do feel profoundly for the McCandless family and those who knew and loved him... this isn't tragedy. This is Darwin Awards material.

Item the Second: Formatting issues.
Could someone point me towards a quick-and-dirty tutorial on how I can put the lovely Shelfari and DDN ticker into a sidebar? I'm inept. (I can has codemonkey? Plzthxbye.)

Item the Third: Comment?
If you're actually reading this, would you let me know by dropping a comment? I haven't exactly gone capital-p Public, so I'm just curious if anyone but the StaceCadet's actually reading this.

Speaking of books...

here's a bit of the 'canon per me'.

Guilty, Mr. Mencken...

"There are people who read too much: the bibliobibuli. I know some who are constantly drunk on books, as other men are drunk on whiskey or religion. They wander through this most diverting and stimulating of worlds in a haze, seeing nothing and hearing nothing."

Well, maybe not quite the seeing and hearing NOTHING part... but...

(That reminds me, I need to get on reading some Mencken.)

I am... a reader. I read. A lot. And quickly (unless it's Dickens or Shakespeare, something that requires some 'deep' attention). I read over breakfast, on the bus (unless I get carsick), at lunch, and sometimes a chapter or two after dinner if there's nothing good on telly. I average anywhere between two to five books a week (unless it's Dickens or Shakespeare or something along those lines). I love the library, because it means I can read everything I want and not have to reinforce my floors.

I work around medical folks, who (as a rule) are no slouches when it comes to the gray matter. You'd figure that the sight of the written word wouldn't inspire much comment. You'd be wrong. "... is that ANOTHER book?" "Weren't you reading something different yesterday?" "You sure read a lot."

Sometimes I'm made to feel like there should be a 12-step program for me. But the first step is admitting you have a problem. I don't. I'm perfectly content in my freakishness, my bibliobibuli-osity. I'd carry a membership card if they were issued.

I AM a book junkie. "Hell is other people"? Screw that -- hell is other people and nothing to read. I'll read the nutritional information on a cereal box if there isn't anything else around. I don't remember when the black squiggly things below the pictures became words, but they've changed my life. I love being taken away to other places, meeting new people (interesting, not interesting, and downright irritating), experiencing things I never could (or would never care to)... without even leaving the house. Those black squiggly things have become a huge part of who I am, and I will not apologize.

I... READ! (cue fanfare)

1 in 166... or "quirky"

According to an ad I saw last night, the odds of a kid being diagnosed as autistic (I'm assuming that includes the entire spectrum from Aspberger's to the full monty)... and then I skimmed some interesting articles in Newsweek about 'quirky' kids. Which got me to thinking... I know the number of children diagnosed with autism has gone up because of our increased awareness, but how much of that increased number is because we've become anxious to come up with a label or diagnosis if a child doesn't "fit in"?
As the article states, there's a difference between a kid who doesn't interact 'normally' because he's not interested in the same stuff, and a kid who doesn't interact 'normally' because they, well, really can't. I wonder how many kids are currently stigmatized by something a school counselor scribbled on a form when they were in elementary school.
I am by no means dismissing legitimate parental concern, nor the challenges of having/dealing with/being an individual with autism. However, I think the first article has a point -- I think people seem mighty quick to judge, test or diagnose. We humans lurve our labels and positively live to categorize, but we might be doing a real disservice to these kids by slapping a label on them.
I was quite the quirky little number back in the day. I remember reading novels under the desk in reading group while other kids struggled with Dick and Jane... spending recess by myself reading or shooting the breeze with the playground aide instead of the typical kid stuff... yeah, I definitely had my glitches. With today's apparent mindset, I often wonder what I would've tested as, in my 'weird little kid' phase.  (Who am I trying to kid - like I grew out of it. Heh.)

"I don't know what's wrong with you, kid, but I bet it's hard to pronounce."