Noël Lynne Figart

Stolen “Ideas”

Neil Gaiman talks a lot about ideas in the linked post.

I chuckled a little when I read it.

Back in late 1990, early 1991, I write a story about a dragon that played chess. The “voice” I heard in my head for that dragon was Sean Connery.

In 1996, “Dragonheart” came out with, you guessed it, Connery doing the voice of the dragon.

Do I squawk that my “idea was stolen”.

No. The first reason being that the likelihood that anyone connected with Hollywood in any way read that short story in the appropriate time frame is slim to none. (I don’t know when development on the film started, but I’d bet it was before ‘94 and I didn’t have it on the Internet then).

The second reason is the entire concept of an “idea” being stolen is mostly whiny hogwash. You can plagiarize, but stealing an idea is harder than you think.

I say this as someone who has seen sites put up that follow formats of sites I’ve written. I say this as someone who has seen her own turn of phrase used to convey concepts in alternative lifestyle communities. I could scream “stealing” or “copying”, but that would be dumb. No-one in the world can steal how I write an article without actual plagiarism.

The reality is that writers are unique. It’s not that we’re telling stories, it’s how we tell them. There’s no such thing as a truly original plot. The very best stories are not popular because their plots or their characters are particularly original. It’s that they’re told in an engaging way. It’s that what the author has to say and how she says it strikes a chord.

That Damn Asperger’s Meme

There’s a meme running around about how “neurotypical v. asperger’s syndrome” you might be.

It drives me up a motherfucking wall. I know it looks like I’m holding back and all, but please understand that my sweet smile and gentle speech covers a boiling, seething rage at this one.

Why?

Autism spectrum illnesses are complex, involved, multi-layered and not completely understood. I know a lot of people want to lay a certain level of social cluelessness at the feet of a neurological issue, but it’s a lot more complex than that. A self-diagnosis won’t work.

Autism, while on the rise¹, is rare. It is a spectrum disorder that is amazingly complex and difficult to diagnose except in the most extreme and obvious of cases, but even then, don’t be too sure. There are other issues that you have to rule out, first.

Asperger’s is also a very specific diagnosis within the range of autism spectrum disorders. It is not a synonym for, “Your kid might be a high-functioning autistic.”² If you have a preschool teacher tell you that your kid has Asperger’s, for instance, find an expert in these disorders. I promise you that unless that person did more than take a semester’s worth of abnormal childhood development courses, or has worked for many, many years with a large range of children with these issues, he doesn’t know. A quick way to stop punch that sort of nonsense is to demand that they list the diagnostic criteria for Asperger’s according to the DSM-IV. If they cannot do that, they’re not qualified to give an opinion. Get an expert.

If you suspect you might have Asperger’s, and you think a diagnosis and training in coping would be useful to you, find more than one expert. Explain your problems. Get multiple opinions. Yes, this is difficult and will be insanely expensive. Unless you’re experiencing serious quality of life issues, it might not be profitable to bother. I can’t choose for someone else’s life. Only you can decide that one.

But by whatever you hold holy, don’t judge it from a damn internet meme!

¹It is also on the rise because the diagnostic criteria have changed in the last fifteen years or so!
²For instance, if there is a speech delay issue, and you’re told your kid has Asperger’s, you can chuck that opinion in the trash. One of the hallmarks of Asperger’s and one that makes it tragically difficult to diagnose early, is that the kid is hyperverbal.

Stop Fucking Slouching

I’ve been looking up pictures and articles on kimono, sewing, and costuming just ’cause… Well, dammit, the Internet can be worse than M&Ms!  You know how it is, you go to find one bit of information, and that leads you to another, and before long, while you started out trying to figure out whether or not you wanted a lined kimono, you’re checking out the effects of Asian trade routes on the settlement of the New World.1

Anyway, I wound up checking out a lot of pictures of people modeling their kimono and other sewing projects and I have a request to make, especially the wonderful, creative women who knit and sew and model their creations on the Internet.

Stop fucking slouching!

Yes, I can see you have a flat bust and a big belly.  Slouching won’t hide that.  It just makes you look sloppy.  And you, Madam with the unfashionably large boobs?  Honey, we full figured gals only have one answer to that.  Lift the chest, my dear, otherwise you look dumpy and beaten down.  And you, the chick who is taller than your friends?  Rounding the shoulders like that makes you look ashamed and awkward.  Stoppit!  Stand tall, darlin’.

It’s a bit of a peeve, because it seems to me the message is, “I’m trying to hide and diminish myself.” (Barring injury.  I cannot imagine one can stand up straight easily when the back is thrown out, or some such!).

It does bring up an interesting thought, though.  I recall my Nanny2 in her oh-so-gracious way at the beach commenting on a woman walking in front of us who was slouching.  Between puffs of her unfiltered Chesterfields, she a red-laquered fingernail at the woman, scowled, and said, “Goddammit, why don’t people show any pride in themselves?  I look like an old sea witch3, myself, but you’ll never catch me walking along like I’m expecting a kick!”

I do associate slouching with a lack of personal pride.  <grin> So much so, that I don’t permit feeling unconfident to show in my posture.

1 I’ve heard rumors that there are people who actually can restrict a search only to the information for which they were looking. I’ve often wondered if I should start a support organization to help them get over it.

2 Maternal grandmother, not hired caretaker.

3She did, and not in a good way. Smoking and a lifetime of tanning dark doesn’t do much for your looks, and bless her heart, she didn’t have much to work with, anyway.  I loved Nanny for her utter refusal to let the fact that she was not pretty in a culture that valued it stand in the way of her enjoying life.  Much moxie, that lady.

Our Stupid Culture

I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with people over the age of 18 not held as accountable adults.

Do I think that there’s any magic age at which someone is an adult and that 18 is such an age?

No, not at all. As long it is stuck to socially, holding someone accountable as an adult at any age over puberty won’t get any real argument out of me. But this pretend stuff has got to stop. If you’re a kid at 18, then dammit, change the laws!

When I was in my mid-teens, the drinking age in Washington, DC was 18. I lived about 50 miles from there, and it was common among people between the ages of 18 and 21 to go to Georgetown to party.

The law changed around my 18th birthday. No grandfather clause. Like many young adults, I grumbled the famous cliche, “I’m old enough to die for my country, but not old enough to take a drink.”

Some “older and wiser heads”¹ told me that I’d feel differently when I got older.

Well, I think as old as my parents were at the time is “older” enough. I still don’t feel differently about it.

I grumbled once that they oughta just raise the age of majority to 21 and be done with it. pointed out to me that the credit card companies would freak. They make a lot of money out of the 18-21 age demographic. If the age of majority is raised, you won’t be able to extend that age group credit at very high rates and with all those wonderful fees.

Yes, between the credit and drinking bad judgement, you might think I am in favor of an older age of adulthood.

I’m not. I’m in favor of a culture that teaches accountability, that stops calling a 19 year old college student a “kid” (which I do. I’m a product of my culture, but this I intend to try to stop), a culture that could somehow have real opportunities for youngster rather than forcing them to play at life for years and years after they’re biologically adults. It’s the rare teenager who feels of any use at all in society. Sure some do, and that’s awesome. But it’s rare, because for the most part they’re in a holding pattern. That holding pattern is lousy training for adulthood.

¹Not my parents. I’d been allowed to drink on special occasions en famille since strangers started addressing me as “ma’am”. Call it sixteen.

Compulsory Public Service

Someone on my LJ friends list is in favor of having a sort of compulsory public service instituted in the US.

As a rational anarchist¹, I’m against that.

This is not to say I am against public service projects. Not in the least. What I do say is that they should be voluntary.

I challenge anyone in favor of compulsory public service: If you haven’t done so (and perhaps many of you have. Good for you if you do!), pick a public service project and donate ten hours a month of your time to it.

Volunteerism on a regular basis doesn’t happen as often as it could. There are a lot of reasons for this. Housewives used to be the big volunteer base in the US, and between high taxation and a higher perceived “minimum” standard of living², the stay at home mom is a rare bird. (For good or for bad. Me? I prefer to support myself, but that’s a personal taste thing). Government services have increased to the point where we genuinely believe that it is the Government’s job to take care of social needs, and we seem willing to pay for charity to be a highly specialized profession. We have a mental blind spot about it.

I’m not saying this as someone who spends a lot of her time volunteering. Maybe you count Polyfamilies as a community building volunteer type project. If so, I don’t do it any more, and that’s five years out of 37, ya know? And I don’t really count it. I’m neither proud nor ashamed of the fact I haven’t spent much time on community service, but I did want the facts straight.

I do think community service is a good and worthy thing. I just don’t think we should use our young adults as slave labor because we can’t be arsed to get off our butts ourselves! We’d be setting ourselves up for another fiasco like Social Security! I’m all for setting an example. You think community service is important? Go do it! Yes, many readers do. And good for you! Talk it up on your LJs, cause people should see a good example to follow.

¹ “A rational anarchist believes that concepts such as ‘state’ and ‘society’ and ‘government’ have no existence save as physically exemplified in the acts of self-responsible individuals. He believes that it is impossible to shift blame, share blame, distribute blame . . . as blame, guilt, responsibility are matters taking place inside human beings singly and nowhere else. But being rational, he knows that not all individuals hold his evaluations, so he tries to live perfectly in an imperfect world . . . aware that his effort will be less than perfect yet undismayed by self-knowledge of self-failure.” — The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Robert A. Heinlein

² House size has increased threefold since the 1950s. — http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/abs/10.1162/1088198054084680

Proud as Lucifer

I had a glorious swim today. I checked out a whiteboard that had a workout for a swim team on it, and I figured I’d try to do as much of it as I could in 20 minutes.

It felt great, slicing through the water, feeling my limbs extend and pull as I tried strokes I don’t often use, doing the intervals and just having a deliciously wonderful time getting all hot and out of breath.

After he workout, I bounded out of the pool, and pulled off my cap, feeling the hot slap of my wet hair hit my back.¹. I went to get my towel, ID and my workout record sheet.². One of the lifeguards caught my eye and went over to a table to sign off on the sheet.

“Good job,” he said as he took the sheet, and signed it, then said Very Seriously again, “Good job.”

I had been flying up until then. While my mouth smiled, I thanked and I left the pool area normally, I cringed into a little ball inside.

Why?

It embarrassed me that a boy young enough to be my son said such a thing. Now, I have accepted similar compliments from boys that much younger than I am before and wiggled with satisfaction and accomplishment. Granted, they usually wore white pajamas and had black belts around their waists, but they were still that young.

I got to thinking about it as I showered the chlorine out of my hair and tried to pull jeans onto my slightly damp body.

That boy, a lifeguard and I suspect at least a junior swimming coach, did not mean the slightest harm or condescension in what he said. Far from it. For the last eight weeks, he’s seen me several times a week go to the pool. He’s watched my improvements in speed and form in the pool, and while I doubt he’s paid that much attention, my general shape change as well. I would bet a fair amount of money he thinks seeing improvement in anyone jumping in that pool is cool.

I’ve been called “as proud as Lucifer” more than once. I always kinda liked it. Damn’ right I’m proud! I’d think to myself. I did not get that this is not a compliment.

The classic story of Lucifer goes something like this:

Lucifer was the most beautiful of the angels and the closest Being to God, whom he loved with all his heart, soul and angelic might.

He watched with interest and excitement when God made the earth, separated the heavens from the earth, filled the sea with fish, and the land with animals. Then He made a Being in His own image — a being he loved and wanted His angels to love as well.

But then He asked for one thing more.

“I want you angels to bow down to this new Being.”

Lucifer was shocked. He was crushed. He was horrified. “But Lord, you cannot ask me to bow to any but you. I won’t do it!”

God, who could hardly believe anyone, much less His beloved Lucifer would defy Him, cast Lucifer from His sight.

Now…. That’s usually where the story ends.

But there’s more to it.

You see, God repented of His anger³ and reached out his hand to Lucifer, who by this time had decided he needed neither love nor kindness any more, he’d been too hurt and no longer trusted kindness or love. The angel turned his face from from his former Beloved to live in solitude with is own thoughts.⁴

You can draw many conclusions from the story and take many lessons⁵. For me, in this moment, the lesson of the story is not to close myself off from kindness, or be so proud that I’m embarrassed rather than pleased at it.

¹ You can imagine how hard I was going for my hair to be hot in a pool!

²My insurance company will reimburse an amount that actually covers a basic gym membership at the college for employees if you get it documented that you worked out 2 times a week for 12 weeks out of 20. A sweet and easy deal.

³Don’t get shocked at the idea of God repenting of anger or judgment. God repents of many things in the Bible. Look it up!

⁴YOU HAVE PERHAPS HEARD THE PHRASE THAT HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE?
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Death nodded. IN TIME, he said, YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT IS WRONG.
– (Terry Pratchett, Small Gods)

⁵You could actually make a pretty good case for the fact that the One True Love idea is a serious sin.

Pink Collar

If you’re reading this, you’re online. Go your favorite search engine and enter “pink collar”. You’ll get a definition along the lines of “Pertaining to the type of jobs, such as telephone operator or secretary, traditionally held by women.”

The expression is supposed to be analogous to “white collar” or “blue collar” jobs – designating a certain level of social status.

If you look a little further, you’ll get a plethora of articles and books with really positive titles like Beyond the Pink Collar. Now, I recognize that if I do a search on titles such as “administrative assistant” or “secretary”, I’ll get something a little more respectful.

But there is this general attitude that it’s somehow “unworthy” work to be a secretary, and if you’re intelligent, you should be moving up and on to other things more worthy of your time. Frankly, it’s started to get under my fingernails, which I do not file at my desk, thank you very much.

I’m the most fortunate of Administrative Assistants, and I know it. I have a pleasant environment in which to work, 95% of the time I am respected and appreciated, I can wear whatever the hell I want and I am paid well for my position. I know quite well that I’m lucky. I’ve worked other jobs where the attitude to me was horrid. That other 5% of the time reminds me of the general world attitude, and I don’t really get it from my co-workers but people outside my department.

You know what? It’s the feminists that make it worst. You see, the two jobs I like best and am most suited for, apart from writing, are secretary (or administrative assistant or whatever you want to call it), and homemaker. I have a managing temperament, I like to make things work smoothly, and I really do like being helpful. Yes, yes, yes, my IQ is as high or higher than my co-workers – people who have advanced degrees. (I work in a college). Yes, I am well-read and there’s not much they talk about that is over my head. (I confess to a complete ignorance of and lack of interest in French Surrealism). Other than for chasing money – something I only have limited interest in once bills are paid, I have no real reason to want to climb the career ladder. I like where I am. I hate the assumption that I have any need or desire to fight for social status or money, and I resent the idea that I am somehow “settling” or “letting the side down” if I make “traditionally female” choices.

What it really boils down to, I think, is a certain cultural attitude that one should want to climb the socio-economic ladder and if you do not, there is something wrong with you. I’ve lived all my life with people who have made career their focus. I can think of two for whom it is a joyful passion, and yes, they are both tops in their fields. They get respected. The thing is, I also like what I do, though maybe not with the intensity of the aforementioned gentlemen. But I do like my job far better than most of my co-workers. It would take a lot of money to move my ass from the chair I am in, and even then, I would approach the move with some trepidation. I can think of moves up that would be more or less what I am doing now, sure. After all, the old saw about executives doing more or less the same work as the average secretary has a lot of truth in it. And if offered such a job, I would take it and enjoy it.

But if the executive is respected for doing a job, then shouldn’t the poor little pink collar lady be respected for doing similar work? And shouldn’t the feminists writing those books like Beyond the Pink Collar be respectful, too? Don’t they realize that an admin did a lot of work to get the thing out?

Moving Tips

I do not consider myself an expert mover.  I did not grow up with a parent in the military, nor was I in the military myself.  However, I’ve moved six times now since I was 21 under a variety of conditions — having a leisurely month to pack, finding out a house has been sold out from underneath us and we had to move immediately, combining a three person household into a six person household, having to move 8 months pregnant, finding the right house on a whim and having to move in two weeks, moving 500 miles, moving seven blocks….

I find these damned moving advice sites to be worse than useless.  I have not once used professional movers, and have bought at the most six specialty boxes for odd items.  I do not buy enough boxes to move.  I cannot think of a more useless expense except under the most unique of circumstances.

While I do not color code boxes, yes, the advice on making it very clear what box goes where is only smart.  However, that seems a little obvious to me.  If you’ve enlisted some husky friends, and are feeding them beer as a bribe, ya need to make things short and obvious.

Another thing on the blisteringly obvious list — loading the truck so that things that need to be unpacked right away are the first things to leave the truck.  Oh and that thing about not loading a box to weigh more than fifty pounds?  Again this falls into the “no shit” category.  A big, strong guy can lift fifty pounds and carry it (hell, so can I), but if you’ve got a copier paper box, don’t load it up heavier than the eight reams of copy paper that is supposed to go into it.  The box is only designed to take that much weight.  Filling a banana box full of textbooks is mean to the people helping with your moving, even if they can lift it.

The thing about having services switched on before you get there?  Again, DUH!  I don’t know about you, but I do not want to live out of a cooler for longer than I have to and battery powered lamps just ain’t gonna cut it for light when you’re unpacking after dinner.  (If you’re moving a fridge, you might have to for a day or two.  You do want to make sure the confounded thing is clean before you move it).

It’s the esoteric stuff that’s more useful.  Things like –

• Dust the damned bookshelves and other display cases  before you move ‘em.
• If you’re moving an item with drawers, tape or tie the drawers shut or remove them entirely.
• For a short distance move, it is perfectly okay to move clothing in the drawers.
• If there’s something you haven’t touched since you moved moved to your new place and you’ve been there more than three years, just get rid of it. That goes double for anything still in a sealed  moving box from the last move.
• Don’t move any clothing that doesn’t fit.  It ain’t worth it.
• Those ugly afghans and ratty towels you’ve got stuffed into the back of your linen closet make great packing material for things like glass fronted picture frames.
• Paper plates, napkins and plastic cutlery can be your friend. You can make perfectly healthy quick meals of subs and sandwiches loaded with veggies.
• If you clean your trashcans, you can use them as moving containers for things that are not easily breakable.
• Have your toolbox be one of the things you pack last and unload first, you’re going to need it.
• Hiring someone to move just your piano is probably a good idea
• Clean out deep storage, and cabinets first. It will give you a clearer idea of how much there is to move, and will ease making a packing timetable.
• Do make a packing timetable. If you don’t pace yourself, you’re going to make yourself sick.
• Take breaks.  If you have to, use a timer.  Work for 45 minutes, and then take a fifteen minute break.  Drink a big glass of water.  (Yes, FlyLady is right about this, and trust me, you’ll be able to get stuff done faster than if you drive yourself nuts with no break and working until one in the morning).
• Get as much sleep as you can.  If you have down time where you’re gonna be waiting, a nap is not a bad thing.  It doesn’t make you a slacker.  It makes you more efficient.  Power naps really do help.
• If you have any sort of reaction to dust, make sure you have a non-drowsy antihistamine on hand.
• Be meticulous about taking your vitamins. Same goes for your meds.
• Check expiration dates on boxed and canned food. Don’t move anything that’s expired.
• Spices don’t have a shelf life of more than a couple of years (less if you’re a foodie). Toss, toss, toss.
• Things that might leak can be contained in ziplock bags. Make doubly sure that they are sealed well.
• For your tupperware, no liddie, no movie. Toss ‘em. Do the same with those fifty margarine and cool whip containers.
• FlyLady’s concept of an office inna bag is a good one when you’re moving and might lose needed paperwork.  (I have a zippered notebook with some plastic folders inside and pockets for pens and stuff).
• When I am doing tedious, repetitive work, I like to listen to music or audiobooks.  It makes the time go faster, and I am less likely to procrastinate on what needs to be done. (Harry Potter books have been my friend lately).
• Force yourself to have a time to stop work in the evening and do something that will relax you.  You do need your sleep and if you go hammer and tongs at this, you’re going to be too spun up to sleep well.  Did I mention you will need your sleep?
• Accept offers of help.

This is the kind of thing I find more useful than color coded boxes!

D’Une Certaine Age

I’m 36 and am rapidly approaching that stage in life where I can be une femme d’une certaine age. I’m looking forward to it.

Oh sure, we live in a culture that worships youth –and young was good. I liked the fact my breasts didn’t sag, that I had that smooth, soft skin. I liked the energy of youth and the lack of stretch marks on my belly. The wide open possibilities were fun and exciting. The lack of responsibilities that made it easier to concentrate on my obsessions. It was good. I won’t claim that I did not enjoy those advantages. I mourn them some.

But only some.

You see, at a certain age, your directness stops being offensive and personal power is accepted. You stop being a domineering bitch, and become a force to be respected. The elegant manicure stops looking vain and and the good jewelry no longer seems pretentious – like a girl playing dress-up. An understated style stops looking plain and starts looking elegant. A lifted eyebrow and smile can speak volumes that are actually listened to.

Those possibilities of youth become more real. You have the resources to accomplish them. You have more shading to your life, perspective and a latticework of structure from which to view and create your world. Life has almost certainly knocked you to the ground at least once, and you know in your bones that it doesn’t matter, because you know you can get back up every time. “Ma’am” becomes a badge of honor rather than a jab that tells you that you’re getting old.

You’re less patient with nonsense, more compassionate with real trouble. You have the wisdom to know the difference. You’re not so easily suckered by a sob story and you have the resources to help out when you really can make a difference.

There’s a balance that you get when you’re of a certain age, and it’s fun. You understand the ebb and flow of life better and don’t take everything so damned seriously. You understand that the cup of coffee after the hard labor is important – that the job is not really done until you’ve relaxed and enjoyed yourself after the labors. You understand that the silk scarf is just as important as the good kitchen knife, that life is too short for bad chocolate and that the youthful energy out there with the youngsters playing in the grass is as much for you to savor as for them.

Coping with Adult ADD

Dealing With ADD You’ve got a friend or a co-worker. Sometimes this person amazes you with the concentration he pours into his work, producing prodigious amounts of material with seeming ease and fluency.

But…

He might be late a lot.

He nearly always forgets details. If you ask him to bring wine, salad dressing and croûtons to a gathering, chances are good that you’re going to be croutonless that evening – though the wine will probably be of some special vintage and he’ll entertain you with a story about it.

If he has a task to do – like mailing checks… Don’t count on him to do it. He might get them out on time, but if you’re out of stamps, he’ll know he cannot do the task until he gets stamps. He’ll either forget the stamps or forget to mail the checks AFTER he gets the stamps.

When you talk to him, chances are good that he’s jiggling his leg or playing with the change in his pocket or doodling. You wish he’d stop that crap and just PAY ATTENTION. Screw what’s on the damned radio, and LISTEN TO ME! You might often want to shout.

If you are dealing with someone with Attention Deficit Disorder, chances are good you are going to want to choke that person. It’s a pain in the butt to deal with, no question.

The thing is, it’s not hopeless. Really, it isn’t. It’s just that the person with ADD needs to be able to cope. Here’s some things to keep in mind:

1. Ohhhhhh SHINY!The person who has ADD can make his natural tendencies work FOR him. I use a PDA with an audible beep to remind me when I need to do things. I make extensive use of color coding to get things done at work, as well. Make the “oooh! SHINY!” response work for you. You can only blow off a reminder if you’re giving first aid! You’re allowed to reschedule, if you absolutely cannot do something at that moment, but do not refrain from taking action on your reminder.
2. Eliminate clutter as best you can.ADDers are not known for being very orderly. Don’t beat yourself up about it, but on the other hand, do eliminate clutter. The very last thing you want are distractions from what you are supposed to be doing.
3. Timers are Your FriendHonest to goodness, no kidding, I schedule my day in 15 minute blocks. I do not even TRY to work on a project for more than 15 minutes at a time without taking a break. Because of my hyperfocus abilities, I can get a LOT done in those 15 minutes, so I make the most of them. By then, my brain does need a context switch, but that’s okay.
4. LJ, Email and Chat Notifcations are Spawns of the Devil Don’t leave them running when you are trying to concentrate. Turn them off during scheduled task periods.
5. Schedule playtime. Allow yourself time for breaks, where you can have unrestricted fun with ferret shock. Your brain actually needs it. You can run your email and chat notifications then. Enjoy!
6. Screw verbal instructionsADDers suck at verbal instructions. I mean, REALLY suck. Badly. If you have to give them, let the ADDer take notes. If you can, give written ones. My own family indulges me by sending me emails about things and lets me copy them into my PDA. This really works wonders.

   I work in a fairly laid back office as a secretary, where email is the backbone of communication. I discovered that the people who sent me emails for task requests where the ones who got the most attention. I finally had to break down and explain to people who made requests of me verbally that I was not being inattentive by taking notes, but was actually doing my best to be as attentive and cooperative as possible.