The Christmas songs I hate the most:

omg (Dude)
That feed the world one. "There won't be snow in Africa this Christmas." Well no shit, there won't be snow in South Carolina either. Also the "Thank god it's them instead of you." Uh... yeah. That's a real nice thought.

"Baby it's cold outside.. say what's in this drink?" AKA the date rape song.

Little St. Nick. Surf rock should have died in the sixties yet we still play this. Why?

Here we come a-wassailing. We aren't in 1800s England. Nothing is wassailing anywhere anymore. Wassailing is likely a verb that should have never happened anyhow.

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas and All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, both for the same reason - that grating false child voice. And then there's the dumb lyrics. Oh and for that matter - "I saw mommy kissing santa claus" - it's your dad, kid. Or at least the milkman. Get over it.

And the worst of all -- Any country music song involving a dead and/or dying person that someone is buying a present for, especially if they're begging for that present because they're also poor. I think there's like fifty of those at this point, or maybe just two that seem like fifty because they're that bad.

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Far From the Maddening Crowd

JJ piano
There's a fundamental part of human nature, a survival instinct that wants us to form tribes and groups. I'm on team Edward. I'm in the Harry Potter fandom. I'm a gamer. I'm emo. Etc, etc. I have always found a certain revulsion for this concept - partly because I seem to lack the drive to group up with my fellow humans, and partly because groupthink can be so ugly when it gets out of control. Kurt Vonnegut, one of my favorite authors, describes it so well in his book Cat's Cradle-

A Karass is a network or group of people that unknown to them, are somehow affiliated or linked, in the case of the book by a higher power. But they are the individuals who, upon meeting, you feel like you have known forever. Who help you in some tangible meaningful way to fufill your purpose in life, and whom you help do the same. And then there is the Granfalloon - which is a false Karass a group of people who affect a shared identity or purpose, but whose mutual association is actually meaningless. This includes "the Communist Party, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the General Electric Company—and any nation, anytime, anywhere." A proud and meaningless association of human beings.

Perhaps it is partly my aspergers that makes me particularly resistant to the idea of false karass, to granfallooning it up for the sake of feeling connection. I can't feel that connection. I like a movie or show, but I have no desire to be part of a 'fandom'. I play games, but I don't consider myself 'a gamer'. I wonder if it relates to my troubles with executive function - placing things into categories has always been difficult for me. I get words like 'pan' and 'pot' mixed up, for example- and have a hard time understading what defines a cooking container as either. It puzzles me to try and sort the clutter in my living room into meaningful groups. What belongs together? What should reside where?


Yesterday we were at the GameStop, trading in a group of video games that we'd finished playing to get store credit for a game for Aus's birthday. We had a coupon for 50% increase in trade in, which I thought was rather nice, and was pleased with the timing of. The reason for said timing became immediately apparent, as everyone in line before us was using their trade-in to get a new game that had just come out- some version of the Madden football franchise.

The clerk asked if we were trading in for Madden, and of course I blurted the honest truth "No, we have no interest whatsoever in Madden." Collective gasp from the crowd, who suddenly looked at us like we'd grown two heads. Literally every other person was there specifically to trade in to buy this game on its release day. Some had pre-ordered the Super Deluxe version. I asked, knowing Madden to be a long running game series, what made this one so valuable.

The clerk went on about some targeting tackle system, and about how it was likely to be the last one released on the older systems as we move to Ps4 and whatever the newest Xbox is calling itself, etc. So newer, shinier, and so forth. Much better than the older version, really. Totally worth sixty dollars to buy brand new right rightnow. The other clerk, who was wearing an Eagles jersey, chimeed in "I don't even like football but I'm picking it up because I'm going to be bored this weekend with my wife and kids out of town."

Clearly he felt the call of the granfalloon, wanting to be part of the Maddening crowd, rather than be the outsider who was purchasing used games with their credit to get a better deal. We got a lot of looks as we brought up two older ps3 games and a DS game from 2008. Gasp! No Madden! Outsiders, not one of us!

I am comfortable from my position as observer, and much freer I believe, than if I wanted to be part of the granfalloons that surround me. I have aspergers. You have aspergers. Does that make us a karass? No, nope, not at all. And I say this as a person who is staring a group for folks on the spectrum. If we find connection in that group, that will be great. But must we have connection because we have the same condition? Of course not. If you've met one person on the spectrum, you've met one person on the spectrum . Long live the individual.

Prejudices that Make Sense

another bright idea (fester)
If we're going to have prejudice, why can't we have prejudices that make sense?

What sense is there in being against a fellow human being based on characteristics they have at birth - skin color, country of origin, sexual orientation? That's just ridiculous- that's like saying I'm totally opposed to left handed people, or brunettes, or people who are over 5'6" tall.

And let's face it, there's not much sense in being against someone's beliefs as long as they're not hurting anyone else with them. If you want to believe in God, or Goddess, or the Space Monkey That Shat Out the World - how does it hurt me, or any other human on this planet? That's cool, believe what you're going to believe. I'm alright with that.

And we shouldn't be prejudiced against someone's financial state - the poor certainly didn't wake up in the morning and want to be poor. And there's plenty of folks who are rich who earned their money and worked hard to be where they are.

But I do have prejudices, and it's time I come clean about what I am prejudiced against.

The Willfully Ignorant
I used to think I was prejudiced against stupidity, but then I had to redefine my thoughts. I'm not against people who have lower than average IQs by any means - there are lots of mentally challenged people who are working very hard to use what they've got and overcome their challenges. What I'm against is willful ignorance, the people who aren't using their brains and making informed decisions, who flaunt the fact that they don't give a shit about the world and their fellow human beings and they'd much rather just care about themselves and what feels good. These are people who act out of animal instincts, who let fear and anger and lust control their lives without giving a second thought to how their decisions affect others. Fuck those people, seriously. I'm prejudiced against willful ignorance, and if you life your life that way, I'm really ashamed to have you as a member of the human race.


The Idle Rich
Bill Gates has his foundations, and JK Rowling gave away so much of her money she's no longer a billionaire. Both of them earned their own money by creating wonderful things that advanced society or culture. And then we have... the Kardashians. What have they done for anyone? Why are they famous? What are they doing that benefits anyone but themselves? Yet the willfully ignorant (see above) hold these idle rich empty headed icons up and worship them. How about revering those who advance society - our inventors, our doctors, our teachers, our bringers of culture? Fuck the idle rich. No wait, if you do that, you'll just add to their celebrity. Let's just ignore them and move on.


Those are my two biggest prejudices, but there are others. I'm pretty not down with most politicians - I'm not talking the nice folks on a local level who are actually caring about the area they govern over, but those on a state and national level who have sold their allegiance to corporate sponsors. Who say one thing, and do another. Who pass legislation blocking marriage equality, only to be caught having gay sex on some island somewhere.

And of course, I'm against corporations -- but I refuse to believe that they are people, so they are not included on this list. See Willful Ignorance for what allows those corporations to control our media, our politics, and our lives.

A Lack of Color

fall records
I can remember being very small, and living in a yellow house with a brown roof. The walls of my bedroom too, were bright and sunny. The living room furniture was colonial, the couch velvety and covered in various country scenes. I could stare at it for hours, making up stories to myself about the tiny people in their carriages and barns and houses. I was the significantly younger child in the family, my brothers being some 15 years older than I am. About the time they left home is about the time the colors started to drain from the house.

Let me explain that this is not entirely metaphorical. As a person on the spectrum, I have always felt a great affinity for color and texture. I can remember the texture of that first couch in my life as surely as if i was sitting on it right now, and the color of my first set of 'big girl' sheets (and the wood of my crib before that, for that matter). My bedroom furniture was bright white and kelly green. Before you think my memory phenomenal, I can't recall what I looked like. I can't remember my mother or father's face. People don't stick the way textures and colors do.

Anyhow I was about 6 or 7 when my brothers moved out, and my grandmother moved in. She had dementia, and often looked up at the blue sky and the white clouds and talked to my grandfather who'd gone up to the sky not long ago. Her clothes were mostly dark, but on her head she wore silky scarves that had color. In her hands she held her knitting, white and purple and green, no longer any pattern but down, down, down. She died in the room that had been my brothers. The EMTs brought her out, stiff as a board, her hands clutched over her chest, colorless as the sheet they pulled up over her.

i suppose it took us all a while to get over it, though no one ever talked about it much in front of me as I was a child. And I kept the nightmares to myself, because I wasn't really that great about communicating. Somewhere around here is the time I was put into Children's Hospital a while, for 'tests' was all my mother would tell me. The only memories I have of that are smells, flashes of light, a clear oxygen tent and white, white sheets.

They decided they would only need one bedroom now, and they could expand the living room now by knocking my bedroom completely out of existence and moving me into my brother's old room. Wouldn't that be great? they said, in that tone that implied I hadn't much of a choice. The new room was bigger after all, and it had A Closet, which my room lacked. Wouldn't that be great? All I knew was they were going to take away the only room I'd ever had, the space I considered my own safe space, and place me into the area where someone had died.

IN the room I went, with a green carpet to match my furniture's green being installed. Isn't this nice? I saw, or hallucinated I saw in my hysteria, the ghost of my grandmother in that room. I can't as an adult tell you one way or the other, but I know as I child I firmly believed I saw it. There, on the dresser, a transparent lady couldn't they see it? Her smile was kind but I was afraid she'd come to take me up into the sky the moment I fell asleep. My mother (and a visiting brother) told me that there was nothing there, I needed to stop being dramatic and just go to bed. So I lay there in the darkness, too terrified to sleep, the sheets up to my neck (I didn't dare pull them over my head because I had to keep an eye on her).

I never saw anything distinct after that night but I do recall a lot of lights and sounds and shapes in the darkness that disturbed me.

I don't recall how many years later it was, when everything started to turn to brown and gray. Wood paneling was in, and my mother had the most wonderful idea (she said) - we'd cover all the walls in paneling and never have to paint inside again. She chose the darkest paneling she could to hide stains. A deep, dark, fake wood brown. I ran my hands over the texture- it didn't feel a bit like wood, being all laminated and slick. And it was so dark. The walls in kitchen, living room, and dining area were covered in it. The windowsills and frames were painted brown to match. The door became brown, heavy steel. I begged them not to do it to my room, but they insisted it had to be paneled. They at least allowed me to choose a color that wasn't brown- but they wouldn't go for anything wild. Gray, pale gray.

The furniture set to match this was shades of brown, and the carpet was dark (orange, I think?). Dark wood china cabinet. Dark orange counters. Brown table, with brown vinyl seat cushions. The couch felt scratchy and fibrous. The dining room chairs stuck to your skin if you dared sit on them in shorts. For a long while, they even drove a brown car.

I became profoundly, but silently, unhappy. I had no way of expressing the depression I'd been spiraling into - this is also about the time I started playing musical schools. Every time a school tried to diagnose me with something (emotionally disturbed, in need of counseling, etc) - my mother moved me to another school with a caution to act more normal this time, and not tell anyone anything as it was none of their business.

The outside of the house too, had to eventually lose its colors. Gone was the bright yellow wood, replaced by somber beige plastic siding and a brown deck. The only refuge of color could be found in the screened porch around back. You could look up and see yellow paint, the same paint that had been used on the exterior of the house. There was a riotous carpet, orange and red, that was a hand-me-down from my aunt I believe. I spent a lot of time in there.

The orange counter surfaces became colorless ecru. The table became black.

I can't look back on my childhood home with any degree of fondness because the walls soaked up all the unhappiness. The colors bled out like any hope of being a happy functional family bled out over the years.

At the end of the sidewalk, by the mailbox, my tiny feet were pressed in cement shortly after I was born. About a year old, and I got set in gray concrete - my name and the date recorded along with those footprints. When my mother dies, I hope they tear down that place.I can't see it ever bringing anything but misery to anyone. But at the very least, I hope that someone will be kind enough to take a sledge hammer to that slab of stone and finally free me from that awful ground.

The Cat Alarm Owner's Manual

simon's cat
Did you know that most cats come with an alarm function? Of course, this is of dubious use as they will always be set to Cat Time. Cat Time rarely coincides with Human Time.

Katzen, our cat alarm, wakes my hubby every morning at 6:30. His alarm is set for 7:15, but that's human time, which is clearly Wrong. If he'd just get up in Cat Time, he'd have more time for important morning activities - like petting cats, playing with cats, and letting cats out on the balcony - before doing whatever it is that humans do when they disappear all day.

She knows I don't go to that 'Work' place that Aus goes to, so my cat alarm is set for 9:30. Never mind that I am not a morning person, and I would prefer to wake up about 11 or later. 9:30 is the time the human should get up and by golly the cat alarm is going to do its job and get that human up.

Cat alarms come pre-loaded with the following functions:

The Mew - This is the most basic setting. The mew is a polite reminder that your wake-up call is approaching. If you miss the first mew or two, don't worry- it will repeat itself 1000x times.

The Nudge - For humans that somehow manage to ignore the mew, there is the next level of cat alarm - the Nudge. This is where your cat alarm will helpfully headbutt you, repeatedly, until you get up. Note that you can sometimes activate the snooze function by petting the cat alarm until it settles briefly down. Don't worry though, the cycle will soon restart.

The Sniff - In case you have expired during the night, as evidenced by your ignoring the first two alarm calls, the cat alarm will helpfully sniff your face - eyes, nose, and mouth - to make sure you're still among the living.

The Paw - This is getting to be serious business. The human is not getting up! The cat alarm must resort to its most drastic measures. The Paw starts out much like the nudge, a gentle prod. But it is soon given a bit of claw, to get even the most reluctant humans out of bed and down to the important business of feeding the cat.

The Pounce - Y U NO LISTEN TO CAT ALARM?! The alarm is angry now. It will leap on your chest or belly with full cat alarm weight. We have a 16+ pound model, so you can imagine how uncomfortable this can get.

The cat alarm never fails, and gets quite indignant when it is placed in another room where it can't perform its wake up function. You never know when your kitty will come equipped with a cat alarm, so just consider it a 'bonus' of cat ownership when you find one.

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Self-Calming after PTSD dreams

omg (Dude)
PTSD dreams are very different than normal dreams. You feel as though you are really experiencing the events - you not only see and hear, but you have the sensation of touch, pain, smell, taste. This dream involved, as many of them do, my abusive ex-husband. Sometimes they are recreations of the actual past traumas - sometimes they have pieces of that, with other components. This one involved me being on a bus with the ex, and him starting to beat a fellow passenger. I tried to stop it, but I wasn't strong enough to pull him off of the guy. So I alerted the bus driver hey, this is happening, you need to call the police, this guy is a dangerous criminal and he's hurting people.

The driver pulls over and the police are there, and we're somehow in the town my ex grew up in, in the mountains of Pennsylvania. The cops there recognize him, and are telling him they remember all the bad things he did in their town so they aren't surprised he's come to this. The ex takes me hostage,and tells me how this is all my fault - he has schizophrenia and he can't help what he does and don't I have any sympathy for him? He produces a small pocket knife saying he will make me see, and begins to carve up my eye. I can feel the knife slip in, the sharp stabbing pain, smell the blood running down my face and taste it as it drips into my mouth.

And then I wake up, and I'm unsure for a bit where I am and what is going on. My body is shaking, my heart is racing, I'm in a cold sweat. There is residual pain in my eye , and I feel it to make sure it is still there. No blood, no blood on my face or in my mouth. A concerned cat is sniffing me. I'm at home, I'm safe here. I start to do the breathing exercises and tapping I've learned in EMDR to calm down enough to go back to sleep.

When I wake up again, I think of what might have caused the PTSD to rear its ugly head. When I'd gone to bed the night before, I was agitated. I'd spent some time in the evening at the library, working on my genealogy research. I was surrounded on all sides at the computers by a family - four children and a mother. The children seemed genetically incapable of sitting still, and the mother was more interested in checking her facebook and messaging friends than disciplining them. So much unpredictable movement,and so much noise surrounding me on all sides wasn't going to end well. But I was making progress on my research and really wanted to continue. I tried to ride it out, figuring the mother would eventually do something or the family would leave. But the children just got more squirmy and loud the more that they saw they were getting away with it and finally I had to give up in disgust.

When I got home I tried to calm myself and play some games, but I was still really irritable and overstimulated. Hyperaware of every sound and movement. These are all warning signs that I am approaching either a sensory meltdown (thanks Asperger's) or ptsd incident (flashback, dream, anxiety attack). I had a bit of a hard time falling asleep, and then I had the dreams. Now today I am doing what I can to return my nervous system to normal. First step is to confront the dreams head on instead of repressing them. When I am fully aware, I go over what happened in them. Which things really happened (taking a trip with my ex to his hometown really happened, though the point at which he held me against my will was much later, and we didn't find out he had schizophrenia until many,many years later) and which things did not really happen (the bus incident, eyeball carving). As I review, I pay attention to my body's signals- when I start to tense up, I stop and relax my muscles. When I am breathing rapid and shallow, I do mindful breathing. I type out what happened, and read through it, this time tapping my arms and keeping my breathing steady.

I read through until it doesn't bother me to read about it, then feeling I have successfully processed the incident, move on to do other things - something calm and pleasant. When I am finished with this post, for example, I will find my tv remote and turn on a nice nature documentary and play a game on my kindle while I watch it.

Secular Humanism

hellz no indy
More often than not, when asked to explain my views on God(s), I will tell people I am an atheist. It is a clean simple answer, if one that makes a few jaws drop. "Aren't you at least agnostic?" - I've heard that one before. To track the history - I was born Catholic, became agnostic when I had reached an age of maturity (High school - they even let me not attend services toward end, which was terribly nice of them considering it was a Catholic school) - tried several Christian denominations to see if I could feel that whole higher power thing others were always talking about, tried Buddhism, read up on everything from Santeria to Judaism -- and felt nothing. No evidence of anything other than a group of humans getting together and doing their thing. Sometimes good things came of that association, but that was about it. A lot of God talk that was meaningless to me, that sometimes led to people being good to each other- and more often it was like an exclusive club. We'll be good to you, if you belong. And I never was good at belonging.

Though Atheist is a simple label to use to save time and end discussions, when it comes down to it I can also further define myself as a secular humanist. I am all for treating human beings kindly, justly, and with care - simply because we are human. Being good to each other because it is the human thing to do. We all share this human condition. I believe that human beings should have the right to little things like clean water, food, shelter, medical care, and a political system in which they can do things like vote, marry, own property, and make a difference. A lot of countries, my own included, lack in some of those areas. Maybe we we spent more time worrying about higher powers and started using our own human power for good purposes instead of doing things like waging war, we'd be in a much better place as a species.

I can't change the world, though. I can only change my section of it. I try to be kind to others when I can be. I educate myself about the issues, and act when there is a positive action I can take. I don't believe I will be rewarded for this in some 'next life', or that it will necessarily bring me any reward in this. The reward is all internal - I feel like a decent human being when I am able to help others. I feel like a decent human being when I learn more about our world, when I learn more about what it means to be human.

And that is reward enough.

Family Tree

L orange
My genealogy notes so far- figured I should organize these to make my search easier.

Father - Francis Robert Bates Born June 1st 1929
Died March 13 2001
Birthplace - Cleveland Ohio
Occupation - Welder
Served in Navy during WWII and Korea
Naval records - (Need to re-find these)

1940 Census lists him as living with --
Steven George - his stepfather
Sylvia N George - his mother
Edith Bates - older sister age 13
Francis Bates - himself, age 11

Sylvia - (aunt Sally) younger half-sister, age 4

Sylvia Nora Orr and David Bates - Paternal Grandparents (My dad's parents)
Sylvia born 1905 married at 21 years old when married
David born 1901 married at age 26
Married in Releyville, VA
David's Occupation - Chauffeur
Sylvia's Occupation - Bookbinder

Divorced date ?? (less than four years married)

David Bates - born 1901
Father born in Wales
Mother born in Virginia

1930 census lists him as a divorced truck driver living at 1643 E. 73rd Street Cleveland
1935 same residence

1940 census - David is remarried to Ruth (last name?)
Rented home
highest education - 7th grade
Income 900
Hours worked week previous 24
Occupation - Truck driver
Wife's occupation - machine operator

Paternal Great-Grandparents:
Sylvia Orr's parents -
Archie Orr and Nora Donahue
Cleveland city directory 1922 lists Archie Orr - m auto mech h10419 Sommerset
Archie = Archibald?
Nora- no info so far.

David Bates parents-
Vannie (Vambeline? Vanbeline?) Varner and Herbert Bates
Vannie born in Virgina (mom virgina born, dad england?), Herbert born in Wales

Herbert arrived in USA 1 July 1882 - age 22 (birthdate 1860?)
Event Type: Birth Registration
Registration Quarter: Oct-Nov-Dec
Registration Year: 1860
Registration District: Merthyr Tydfil
County: Glamorganshire
Event Place: Merthyr Tydfil, Glamorganshire, Wales
Volume: 11A
Page: 284
Line Number: 93 ( "England and Wales, Birth Registration Index, 1837-1920", index, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/2NC5-GV3 : accessed 01 Jul 2014), Herbert Bates, 1860. )
(Herbert's birth cert - get it from here? http://www.gro.gov.uk/gro/content/ )

Married in Chicago 21 February 1895
Vannie Varner (38) and Herbert Bates (34)
Herbert's occupation - cook


1910 census - (Vannie's correct age, Herbert's really 49 or so?)
Herbert 43
Vannie 54
Martha 13
David 9 (my grandfather)

1920 census -
Herbert 60
Vannie 65
Cleveland ward C2,
Herbert's occupation - steward on boat

1930 census -
Herbert 69
Vannie 74
Herbert's occupation - proprietor used furniture store

(1940 census? Death dates?)

===================================================================================
Mother -
Angelina DiGregorio

born June 5th, 1929

1930 Census-
Joseph - 48 (my grandfather)
Maria 32 (my grandmother)
Anthony J 13 (uncle Tony)
Louis D 11 (uncle Louie)
Joseph 3 4/12 (uncle Joe)
Angeline 9/12 (mom)
Joseph's occupation - hat maker in hat factory

Maternal Grandparents-
Joseph DiGregorio and Mary Dagostino
Joseph immigration year - 1903 / Naturalization 29 June 1915
Marry immigration year - 1910?

Joseph (Guiseppe) DiGregorio born Spet 17, 1881 Italy (montinero...something)

emigrated from Naples, Italy on a ship called the Campromau?(sp?) arrived in Boston Oct 31, 1903

First wife Donata (grandma's sister) - married ?
1915 naturalization papers list Donata as spouse, no children yet.
Donata - born 1892, died 19 March 1922 30 years old of pneumonia in Philly
Donata's last name is given as DeGregorio on death cert (de vs di)

Mary (Maria/Madiuch) Dagostino
born ? died 1975?76?
(DEGREGORIO, MARIA was born 04 June 1897, received Social Security number 161-50-3938 (indicating Pennsylvania) and, Death Master File says, died August 1975 2,111,211 ) -is this her? Again with the de/di? did she die in 1975 or 1976?

Parents -
Father Luigi Dagostino
Mother Bernadina Santaro

--
Check into http://ssdmf.info/ and http://sortedbyname.com/

For Herbert

never say goodbye Miguel and Tulio
132 years exactly
separate us on this day.
You, 21, freshly arrived
in the country where
I will in 88 years be born.

I wonder if your eyes
that scan the horizon
are hazel eyes--
my father's inheritances
two generations later?

If your body bears
the fat genes that will
engulf me and if hope is genetic--
if that survives long enough
to be my legacy as well?


I wonder what you would think
of your life, in slips of paper
birth and death bookending
marriage and censuses?
Of this paper no longer pulp
but light and dark
electronically delivered
at a search, at a click?

No picture of you survives. No memory in the mind
of anyone living can say if on that first
of July the wind blew through your
brown / blonde / black hair. If you stood
tall, or slumped, if you carried a valise
lifted with ease over a strong back
or a bundle, carried weary.

Is your face my face?
Would we recognize each other,
blood call to blood?

As you stand there
and I sit here
can you imagine
as I imagine
time stretching
both forward
and back

Can we know each other, in passing?
Can you love that you have never seen
as your bone, your blood, your future/past
Can you be immortal, if only in retrospect
in the whisper trail of clues
you and I will both leave behind?

Has anyone before
wrote you a poem? Will they write one
for me, when I am like you--
memory, paper, and dust.

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me with gloves
charisma
L(aura) Cushing
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