I have already complained about my trouble retrieving words, and about my senility, which is currently resulting in the escalating loss of jewelry and household objects. But here’s something new: Along with the loss of my vocabulary, is an increased sensitivity to word usage.

If this sounds contradictory, think again. The loss of my words makes existing words all the more potent. Or maybe it’s just an autistic sensory thing, like reacting to the seams in your socks. I’m trying to read a long essay about friendship in the Atlantic, but each misjudgement in the prose is killing me.

I can say misjudgement not out of pedantry ( is that the correct word??) but simply because my ear knows right from wrong. I can’t help it. It’s not an achievement, it’s just innate, like a sense of smell. It’s sprachgefühl.

I asked my husband, a musician, what it feels like to hear someone play the wrong note, but it turns out there are several kinds of wrong in music. Plus, he doesn’t “feel” things as acutely as I do, according to him. But he agreed that a singer who can’t follow a tune is exasperating.

I might not be able to know a wrong note from a hole in the ground, but I do know this: The following sentence is ruined by one single word.

Most of us have [Problem Friends] though we may wish we could tweeze them from our lives.

Right? The word tweeze right there is so awful. It makes you wince. Clearly the author chose that word deliberately but did she want us to wince? Why not just use expunge or expel? Even “jettison” would be better, although I hate that word and would be glad to forget it. Or if she’s trying to be funny, how about “defenestrate”?  Defenestrate is always funny, even when applied to actual defenestration!

So the essay has become a challenge, since I’m keenly interested in the subject of friendship, but the lapses in judgement are like potholes interrupting my flow. Was potholes good for you? Are you glad I said it was a challenge rather than calling it “problematic?” I could have said, “like nails on a chalkboard” but then I’d feel bad about myself.

You see how troublesome this shit is. Before I forget, I wanted to share a list of words I couldn’t retrieve in the last few weeks. My plan was to keep a comprehensive list and then try to compose haiku with them. But I keep forgetting to write them down, because senility. Here’s my list:

mariachi
linens
Napoleon Dynamite
rapport
attention
shingles
surface
hindrance
concierge
kangaroos
concierge
tsunami.

I wrote concierge twice because I keep forgetting it. I keep wanting to say “Courvoisier” even though I didn’t know what it was before googling it.

Getting back to the Atlantic essay, try this sentence:

But the lacuna in the literature is also a little odd.

God, what the fuck?? Lacuna, for fucksake? Why not just gap? I mean, I see that it’s an alliteration, but when an alliteration interrupts the idea being conveyed because it’s so stupid and uncalled for, why use it? When I used to read books and screenplays for a living, I remember having to read something by Danielle Steele. Her writing is so bad that I started screaming “editor!’ every few minutes. I guess that’s what makes a best seller.

Anyway, I plan to finish reading the essay and see if I can retrieve enough words to write my own essay on friendship, or rather the break-up of friendships, and how painful or liberating it can be. I am getting to be an expert on this. In the time of Covid, I’m finding I have no tolerance of craziness in my relations, despite being desperate for companionship. I use to quip that “I want to be the craziest person in a relationship” and this holds true more than ever. Or, if you prefer, “now more than ever.”

I’ve always had a Thing for crazy twins, so the recent deaths of Igor and Grichka Bogdanoff turned out to be a goldmine (for me if not for them.) The twin brothers, who are famous pop culture figures in France, died withing 6 days of each other after falling ill with Covid in December.

They refused Covid vaccinations but denied being afraid of them, much like they denied having plastic surgery, even though they turned their faces into giant surreal puppet masks. What kills me is that they were originally good looking men who must have lost their minds together in a classic case of folie à deux.

The twins became famous in the late 70s as the presenters of the hit science show “Temps X”(described as a cross between Mystery Science Theater 3000 and Mr. Wizard.) They appeared in wacky silver space suits but this was child’s play, in terms of the antics to come.

Over the years, they received dubious doctoral degrees and published academic papers that explained the state of the universe just before the Big Bang. When their work was derided as gibberish, they sued several scientists and magazines for libel.

You will have to google them to get the full story, but if you don’t love them you have a heart of stone. I wish I could know everything about them. One of them had several children, so we’ll see how that works out.

The Bogdanoff Twins reminded me of my favorite twins of all time, Frida and Greta Chaplin. I used to be obsessed with them and I may just be ready to revisit that obsession.

Frida and Greta became famous in the 80s, when they went on trial for stalking a truck driver. They walked and spoke in unison, dressed alike, and most poignantly, says a neighbor, “They even hoovered together.”

Their story is tragic at first glance, but maybe their companionship was a blessing that most of us will never understand. They dressed by looking at each other instead of a mirror! They died thirteen years apart, which must have been an ordeal for the surviving twin, but they were eventually buried one on top of the other in a double cemetery plot.

This is how I want to be buried with my husband! I think I got him to agree to this although we haven’t discussed who goes on top.

Finally, there are Flo and Kay, who I wrote about in 2009 and ended that post by calling Dick Clark a cunt, a statement I stand by today. Flo and Kay are autistic savants, and it may sound condescendingly ableist to call them special but they really are amazing. Enjoy this documentary about them! You’ll be happy to know that they are still with us and doing well. If anything bad ever happens to them, I hope they are together until the last moment…like me and my husband, in our double plot, with me on top, because I weigh less.

Love on the Spectrum is an Australian TV series about single young people on the autistic spectrum, learning to date and looking for love. I don’t know what I expected but I’ve been overwhelmed by how sweet and compassionate it turned out to be.

The series follows several characters, through interviews and during their dates, but it feels less voyeuristic than other reality shows in its gentle and informative perspective. If you’ve had no experience with people on the spectrum, you will see how varied its impact is on their personalities. As the saying goes, if you’ve met one person on the spectrum, you’ve met one person on the spectrum.

Me, I’ve had experience, and I can spot as Aspie from 100 yards, but I’m still learning. I’m increasingly convinced of my own autistic traits, which present in females much differently than in males and are more likely to go undetected even into adulthood.

There are only 5 episodes and I’m putting off seeing the last one because I don’t want to say goodby to its cast. I’ve tried to put a finger on what makes them so endearing, and I believe it’s their sincerity. In an age of studied authenticity, true sincerity is like a beacon of light. When they talk about their hopes of finding a partner, their unvarnished yearning and their simple requirements are almost unbearably poignant.

My inexpressive husband murmured emotionally during one segment, “So heartbreaking.” A guy named Mark was talking about his “disability” and how much he had to offer in spite of it. We love Mark! He is upbeat and positive throughout, although who knows what he’s like off camera. His parents discuss how far he’s come from being a non-verbal and aggressive child. How far we’ve all come from being awful children, but for most of us it hasn’t been such a persistent struggle.

The girls, Chloe and Olivia and Maddie, seem more self-aware and more inclined to joke about their habits. They seem less locked into gender performativity than the guys, who seem keenly aware of what men should act like.

This amorphous gender presentation reminds me of the years I would only wear men’s clothes…until my father threw them away. Even now I feel like a transvestite when I wear a dress and heels. I know I’m female but I feel deeply uncomfortable when someone calls me a “woman”. I’m okay feeling like a gay man in a female body, even though my husband isn’t crazy about this description.

Is it part of my autism? Or just a random trait? As a kid I felt baffled by other kids, who seemed to all know something I didn’t. I love to mimic people and I’m good at it. Females on the spectrum use this skill to blend in, often into adulthood. They are also prone to obsessions with people, who they stalk with unusual vigor. CHECK! Instead of acting out with tantrums like boys on the spectrum, girls are more likely to be afflicted with depression and eating disorders. CHECK! An alarming percentage of girls on the spectrum have been “sexually exploited.” CHECK! Because they don’t know how to say No, and don’t know how to recognize dangerous situations.

My husband and I also love Michael, a 25 year old who lives with his parents and only wants to be a husband. He is so earnest and guileless, it just kills us. What a lovely soul. I think he would make a great husband. Then there is Kelvin, who reacts with horror when a date tells him she isn’t interested in him. “You mean you don’t want to love me?” he screams, as you clutch your heart in agony.

I don’t want to sentimentalize the cast, or to imply that everyone on the spectrum is a saint. I’ve met several who are complete assholes, just like neurotypical people.

But more often, I’ve observed a sincerity that moves me deeply. Defined as “honesty of mind or intention; freedom from simulation, hypocrisy, disguise, or false pretense,” sincerity is a pretty rare commodity. After intelligence, it’s probably what I look for most in a friend. Along with the ability to accept my mimicking, obsessions, and the gay man in a female body thing.

Go watch this show on Netflix and tell me what you think.

The maker of a YouTube video suggesting that Barron Trump is autistic has taken the video down and replaced it with a grovelling apology.

The apology is in response to a threat from Melania Trump’s lawyer, who goes around intimidating journalists and bloggers who have incurred the nude model’s wrath.

I watched the video last week, curious about its premise that ten year old Barron is on the autistic spectrum. Clip after clip showed Barron seeming to have difficulty with social cues.

When Mike Pence tries to shake Barron’s hand, the boy keeps his arms rigidly by his side. In other situations, Barron does some mild hand-flapping and makes some weird facial expressions. Most of the time, Barron’s face shows little affect. He is blank but angelic, a description that will strike a chord with most moms of kids on the spectrum.

The video went viral and the Trumps went ballistic, presumably because the mere suggestion that their kid isn’t “perfect” is grounds for a lawsuit. Or maybe because they’re ashamed of having an autistic kid. Maybe they view autism as a defect they need to hide, like John Travolta and his son Jett.

James Hunter, the video’s creator,  said in an interview:

I’m honestly kinda scared right now. The only reason I made the video is because I saw how much social media was bullying Barron Trump, and I wanted it to stop. I was just sending it privately to people who were bullying him to explain to them that Barron might be autistic, and that’s it isn’t okay to bully him for it, because I know what it’s like to be bullied for being autistic.

That was before he heard this from the lawyer:

A video was posted at YouTube recently speculating that Barron might be autistic. He is not. The video includes the hashtag ‘StopTheBullying’ but yet the video itself is bullying by making false statements and speculation about a 10-year old boy for the purpose of harassing him and his parents. The online bullying of children, including Barron Trump, should end now.

It’s just a video, for fuck sake, hardly harassment or libel.  And the narrative is plainly compassionate, not snide or cruel in any way.

In the US, 1 out of 42 boys is diagnosed with autism. Older fathers are a common characteristic, and Trump was 60 when Barron was born. Many famous fathers of autistic sons are open about the diagnosis, taking pride in their sons’ capabilities and strengths.

But not Donald, and not Melania. No sir.

Personally, I know tons of kids and adults on the spectrum and it’s no big deal. It’s like saying you know people who love to talk or who avoid crowds. It’s like having quirks that most people notice and either enjoy or ignore.

The Trumps want to turn it into a horrifying malady because they’re a couple of cunts. Their reaction and the apology they demanded are insulting and likely to increase uninformed stigma.

Luckily for Barron, his private school offers a special program that offers –

one­on­one support to students with learning challenges. Intensive long–term support and remediation is available to a limited number of students in grades K­12 for an additional fee.

Maybe that’s why Melania resists taking Barron out of school to move to the White House.

Poor Barron will have to overcome many obstacles as the son of a greedy narcissistic father who has forced him into the public spotlight. It would be nice if he’s allowed to be himself, whoever that turns out to be.

It’s taken me a long time to gather my courage to address the Tavi Problem.   As her celebrity increases, I keep wondering why nobody brings up the subject of autism.

Aspergers Syndrome is a condition on the autistic spectrum, often characterized by a high IQ and an intense preoccupation with a specialized field of interest. In children, Aspergers can be especially endearing. A young person animated by a passion for learning, even if it’s about vacuum cleaners, is a pleasure to be around. As the mom of a kid who attends a special needs school, I’ve come to recognize signs of Aspergers from a mile off, and I’ve come to appreciate the quirky brainy kids that my son hangs out with.

Tavi strikes me as a kid with Aspergers whose obsession dovetails perfectly with the zeitgeist, i.e. the burgeoning influence of bloggers and the fashion industry’s desperation to appear ‘fresh’ and appeal to new markets.   Her extraordinary knowledge of fashion is mind boggling and she clearly has a prodigious memory for details. Gregory Evans has a similar understanding of vacuum cleaners, a gift that has earned him some notoriety but unfortunately not the same outpouring of love that Tavi has received.

Here is what Rodarte sister Kate Mulleavy says of Tavi: “When spending time with Tavi, I am always astonished by her observations. Tavi is a writer in every sense. Her way of interacting with the world comes from a sensitivity and madness that belongs to poets and bank robbers.”

My goodness! Poets and bank robbers?! I worry that Tavi is the Flavor of the Month, and that when the fashion world grows tired of her it will be a difficult transition. I hope her parents know what they’re doing.

My purpose in this discussion is not to diminish Tavi’s achievement but to suggest that using the term Aspergers Syndrome or even autism would help to dispel the notion that those on the spectrum are retarded or stupid. It would encourage other gifted kids to pursue their interests, full steam ahead.

I’m prepared to be scolded for daring to label everyone’s little darling, who is only thirteen. But it’s a label I use with affection and admiration. I’d like to see more kids and adults identify themselves as being on the spectrum. I’d like to see the end of the stigma that persists. As for the Rodarte sisters, I’m pretty sure they have Aspergers too.

But I am nothing if not a mom.

I was too depressed to write a Mother’s Day thing.   I was planning to link back to Mothers Who Kill, to get a discussion going.   Then I considered posting a photo of my mom, back when she looked young and beautiful and full of hope.   In the end, I went to bed ignoring the subject and feeling sorry for myself. An obscure self-pity. You know the kind, if you’re a mom with teenagers or grown-up children.

I am writing a book in my head about motherhood, and the first chapter will be titled “Relax: Whatever You Do Will Be Wrong!”

The last chapter will describe The Samurai Mom .   But first I need to bestow the Sister Wolf Samurai Award upon my friend Hammie.   She represents the essence of what being a Samurai Mom  is all about.

Hammie rides into battle every single day. She will stay on that horse no matter what. She will battle for her children whenever necessary, fearlessly and often thanklessly.   She will battle with her children, too, since raising them involves standing up to them when it would be easier to give in or just hide under the bed.

Hammie’s two kids are autistic, which means she must be their advocate and attorney as well as their mom. She isn’t daunted by the A word, and has made it her business to uncover and celebrate the ‘other side’ of austism, i.e. the gift of the unusual mind.

She is a noble Samurai who constantly finds new ways to help her children blossom, and to cherish their successes. She finds strategies instead of complaining or seeing problems as either/or situations.   She reaches out to parents and kids who seek her wisdom or friendship.

I wish I’d had a mom like Hammie! I wish I could be a mom like Hammie. In difficult situations, mom’s could do a lot worse than ask themselves, “What would Hammie do?”

You can even go to her blog and ask her. She will not only answer, she might just send you a box of chocolate Tim Tams.

So Susan Boyle has not only groomed her eyebrows, but get this: SHE BOUGHT A NEW LIPSTICK!

I’m trying not to read any more stories or opinions about Susan Boyle, but I slipped up today. The Daily Mail is making a big deal about the lipstick, but I didn’t sense any criticism.   Other recent reports have seemed deeply resentful of Susan’s steps toward a mainstream look.

How dare she become self-conscious all of a sudden?!   We’ve been baited and switched! We were promised a geeky old spinster, like Bette Davis in “Now Voyager,” but instead we’ve got a woman wearing lipstick who looks ALMOST NORMAL! I think this is the essence of what is supposed to be The Susan Boyle Backlash.

Here is the unearthed tape of Susan Boyle auditioning for a TV show 15 years ago. This may add to the backlash, because it proves that she didn’t just crawl out of a hole at 48 and decide to sing. She’s always wanted to sing, and has made several attempts to have a career at it.   In this audition, she manages to play along as some fucking cunt  clowns around, apparently ridiculing her performance.

I haven’t stopped loving her, and I’m happy if she’s happy with her new look. What I see in her also is a person who has been to some degree “off” her whole life: Slightly weird, slightly different. It’s obvious, right? Maybe she’s even a bit autistic. I know she left school early because of “learning difficulties.” It’s a quality that I’m always drawn to.

I hope she has enough support to cope with the attention, judgements, and the inevitable fall from grace when the public and the media grow tired of her and move on.

Flo and Kay are autistic twins who are also savants: They can calculate calendar dates and they remember everything. They enjoy music and they worship Dick Clark like a deity, literally. They are sometimes called “The Rainman Twins,” which is unfortunate, since they are not movie characters. Their lives have been fraught with tragedy, but they are unusually happy and resilient.

Watching the documentary about Flo and Kay, I fell in love with them. I can’t even imagine anyone feeling differently.

My response at the end of the documentary was, Why doesn’t Dick Clark hook them up with some money, so they can afford better care? He has met the twins, and knows that they consider him their personal Savior. What’s a million dollars to Dick Clark?!?

What a fucking cunt.

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a long time, but I guess I wasn’t mad enough.

John Travolta should have been outed, and not for being gay. His insistence that his son Jett, now dead at 16, wasn’t autistic has bothered me for years. Travolta has denied all talk of autism, even refusing to attend the premiere of his brother Joey’s film about autism.

Scientology does not accept autism as a legitimate condition. Instead, Travolta and his wife Kelly have militantly insisted that their son was afflicted with Kawasaki disease, a rare illness that usually lasts a few days and can be treated quite easily once it is diagnosed. It is rarely fatal and is not associated with any developmental disorder.

John Travolta has kept his son hidden from the public as best as he could, but his lovely and healthy daughter Ella has been photographed often, even at red-carpet events. When rumors of Jett’s autism hit the internet, Travolta’s wife arranged with a national magazine to have photos of her and Jett frolicking together at a beach. A nice PR move that only made it more obvious to people familiar with   autism that the kid was autistic. See a recent video here, until it is mysteriously removed from the internet.

Why does this matter? Here’s why:

1. Jett Travolta was not allowed any services or intervention that could have made his life better. At 16, he remained non-verbal and was isolated from his peers. Neighbors of the Travoltas reported that Jett was left to watch videos all day and was not allowed to join the rest of the family at meals. He could barely hold a crayon.

2. Jett Travolta apparently had seizures, which can afflict up to 50% of autistic children. He should not have been left alone to take a bath. He had two caretakers with him in the Bahamas, and yet he died in a bathtub. At first, the police reported that Jett had last been seen the night before he was discovered dead at 10: AM. The story has since changed.

The real story of Jett Travolta will be covered up. Scientology is a force stronger than most investigative reporters. I am heartbroken for the loss of this boy, but his life for the last 16 years should have been better, and we don’t need an autopsy to know his death could have been prevented with more diligent attention from his caretakers.

Read a frighteningly prophetic mention of Jett Travolta here.