matching tracksuits

We have a particular friend here in Asheville–a Polish friend we’ll call Franek–who can get caught in the such pessimistic moods about the nature of “the system,” about his own inability change that system, about the amount of suffering in the world–in short, about the “human condition”–that it’s made me say, “Damn, Franek! I thought I was a pessimist!”

And I did, and indeed I was. I was a half-glass-of-bile-a-day guy for a little while, though my episodes usually only lasted, say, the duration of a visit to a museum. In the National Gallery in Berlin, I felt sick to my stomach thinking of the money I’d paid to see idyllic paintings of Tahitians (Yes, it was a Gauguin exhibition.) when the majority of the people in the world had to scrounge for survival.

But I bounced out of it, probably because of my profession. Teaching is, at it’s core, simply the act of helping people understand and practice something–math, a foreign language, cosmetology–better. Right now, working with autistic primary school children, the skills I’m trying to help students master are much more basic than a second language or expository writing. As such, I see daily progress, and I often get my daily dose of hope many times over.

Talking to Franek, I said that I see miracles every day. I’d never thought of teaching like that, but that’s precisely what I mean by getting a daily dose of hope, corny as that sounds. In individual students I’ve seen enough improvements in behavior and impulse regulation, communication, social skills, and a host of other challenges unique to autistic children, that I can easily say to myself, “I have made a difference.” It has certainly been a team effort, and my part might have in fact been minimal. But minimal is better than nothing.

The battle lines are drawn again. South Dakota’s legislature has voted to make abortion illegal in all circumstances. No exceptions.

A direct attack on Roe v. Wade is coming from the South Dakota legislature. The new bill, which outlaws abortion, makes no exceptions, not for a pregnancy caused by incest or rape. It would only be legal — the only exception if it would save the pregnant woman’s life.

Doctors who perform abortions could face up to five years in prison. The bill passed the State Senate 23-12. It’s expected to pass the House again and then go to Governor Mike Rounds’ desk. The bill’s sponsor says he thinks the antiabortion movement has momentum on its side and a — quote — “change in national policy on abortion is going to come in the not-too-distant future.” (MSNBC)

With Alito and Roberts now on the Supreme Court, the intention couldn’t be any clearer: a full-scale assault on Roe v. Wade.

There’s a good piece in the Village Voice about South Dakota’s strategy.

Roe v. Wade was decided in 1973, just after I was born. As an adoptee, I have wondered many times about what would have happened had Roe been a year earlier. Knowing next to nothing about my birth mother, it’s a question that will never have an answer. If I had the opportunity to ask my birth mother, it might still go unanswered. Thirty-three years of introspection would produce a very different response, I’m sure.

This fact alone serves as the foundation for my very mixed feelings about legalized abortion. On the one hand, I walk lock-step with other bleeding-hearts in saying that a woman’s body is just that — not mine, but hers. And yet, thinking about the possible abortion of what became my body, I think, “Hey, wait — I have something to say in this too.”

“What became my body?” What was it before? Abortion opponents have a point that if the fetus is human, there is very little to talk about, and very few instances when abortion can be ethically defensible. Is it human? I don’t know. And the purpose of this post is not to ruminate over the slippery slope of when a fetus becomes a human.

All that being said, I remain pro-choice, but with a lump in my throat. I remain nervously pro-choice. Like many, I would like to live in a world in which abortion is a woman’s legal right, but never, ever necessary. A utopia, in other words.

Anti-abortion activists should be working to make that utopia a reality, but I don’t see much happening in that way. Indeed, this is what bothers me most about the various camps that make up the anti-abortion movement: their unwillingness to help provide a viable alternative, namely adoption. How many children has the average women’s health clinic picketer adopted? How many protest by example? It seems to me that if these individuals feel so strongly about the issue, they would literally put their money where their angry, raised voices are and adopt, adopt, adopt.

I’m not sure what to make of this, except to say that, combined with the David Irving conviction earlier this week, freedom of speech in Europe is not all that it’s made out to be:

German court convicts man for insulting Islam

I wonder if he’d have been convicted — or even prosecuted — if he’d simply stated on a web site that he had made toilet paper with the word “Koran” printed on it, but in fact actually hadn’t.

But can you imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t been convicted?

I’m looking for a second job to get a little extra money in the bank. We want to buy a house, and every little bit helps.

I was looking through the classifieds at Mountain Xpress when I found the perfect job scam. The nature of the company was pretty obvious from the advertisement:

Companies desperately need employees to assemble products at home. No selling; any hours. $500 weekly potential. Information: 1-985-646-1700, Department NC-6529. (Source)

Up to 2k a month, and you don’t even have to leave your house? Sounds too good to be true, so of course it is. But I like playing the sucker from time to time, so I called.

“Are you calling about the ad in the paper?” a woman asked when I called. No greeting, no pleasantries -– straight to the chase.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Is this the first time you’ve called?” my inquisitor asks. If red flags hadn’t been up when I first read the ad, they would be up now.

“Yes,” I respond.

“Are you calling for yourself or for someone else?” Now comes a bit of a puzzle. If this weren’t such an obvious scam, I might in addition to myself be calling for my wife. Two people can put together twice as much cheap plastic crap as one person.

Thinking all this, I hesitate, the reply, “I’m not sure.” I was going to ask for clarification, but the pleasant lady didn’t give me a chance.

“Well, you call back when you are sure.” Click.

Being rude to me on the phone is not a good idea. I like to call back. And so I do. Unfortunately, another woman answers the phone.

I decide to go through the whole monologue.

It turns out there are simply dozens of companies out there who just need my help. “What will you be doing?” the operator asks rhetorically and almost breathlessly. I can put together wooden CD shelves, jewelry boxes, and so on. This fine company will put me in contact with all these other companies who need my help. All for just a small fee of forty-three dollars. “And you don’t even need to worry about that, because we have a money back guarantee, written — on page three of our brochure.” It’s just too bad I don’t have one of these sitting in front of me. Still -talking- reading on the same breath as she started the -conversation- monologue with, the kind lady tells me that I can put this small, insignificant fee on a credit card, or I can send a check–why, I can even do it C.O.D.

“Come to me baby! Come to me C.O.D.” I think. She probably wouldn’t get the allusion. (Do you? Quick, quick — name the song and artist. And no Googling!) Besides, I couldn’t get a word in even if I greased it up really well, so I just smile to myself and continue listening.

Finally, I sense the spiel is winding down, and I get ready to say, “I’m not really interested.” Here it comes… “And so do you have any questions, sir?”

“No, but I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Something-unintelligible-about-four-syllables-long” comes the staccato reply, then click!

I bemoan my poor memory: “Why, oh why can’t I remember this woman’s name?” I have to call back. There’s just no choice.

It’s a moral imperative. (Quick — what movie?)

I get to the “Is this the first time you’ve called” point, and say, “No — actually it’s the third time.”

“Oh?”

“I’m just calling to suggest you hire some operators with better people skills,” I continue.

“I know,” she sympathizes. She confesses that they’ve been getting a lot of complaints. I think, “Sounds like you should be monitoring your calls, with the little announcement at the beginning of the phone call that we’re all so used to hearing now.”

We chat for a couple of minutes. There’s no way for anyone to track down who it was that took my two calls, she explains. All the lines are directed to the one phone number, and there’s just a room full of people answering these phones.

“Well, then I suggest you get better telephone hardware, because tracking who answered a call like that is a pretty basic thing,” I explain. Whoosh — over her head.

Should I ask for a supervisor? She probably wouldn’t know what one is. “We just clock in, start answering the phones — we don’t even know who we’re working for.”

After I hung up, I thought about calling back again, but what for? These jerks have to deal with enough jerks like me, I’m sure.

They’re just tryin’ to make a buck…

One thing that can cause massive amounts of problems for autistic children is lack of consistency. Our classroom is strewn with visual reminders of one sort or another to help the children stay calm by giving them a pattern to their day. At the basic level, it consists of schedules given to each student — rather, placed in “his/her” area — that outline what we’ll be doing the whole day.

Unexpected changes can send more profoundly autistic children into spirals of panic, which manifest themselves usually in a meltdown of screaming and other “typical” autistic behaviors.

Even with this, some children have trouble navigating through the day without having someone assist them exclusively throughout the day. These services are supplied by the Autism Society, which receives a great deal of federal funding.

Well, the Federal funding has been cut, and that means that all services in our area end 17 March. No tapering off; no warning — just BOOM!

“Sorry Joey, but your one-on-one had to leave. You won’t see him again. The entire structure of your school day will now be instantly and violently disrupted. Have fun!”

Thanks, W. Really — No Child (who isn’t autistic, and whose parents are middle or upper class and contribute to my campaign) will be Left Behind.