Temple Grandin

If you haven't yet seen the HBO biopic on Temple Grandin, you should set aside some time to see it on demand. I was waiting for it to be smooshy and schmaltzy and one-dimensional, but no, it was quite good.

If you don't know who Temple Grandin is, Oliver Sacks wrote about her in An Anthropologist on Mars, and she has eloquently written about herself and her work in a number of books. Here's HBO's trailer which summarizes who she is and what she's done.

Trailer

I think her book, Thinking in Pictures, does a better job of really delving into the way she thinks and why her slaughterhouse designs are so revolutionary, but in lieu of a book, there's always movies. Thing is, I come away from the movie being both moved and conflicted.

I can't quite get into words what it is about watching the movie that disturbed me, but I think it was something about the way the mother was handled which set me off. Possibly because I identify so much with her. The Me/Not Me thing kept getting in the way.

She's upset when the doctor diagnoses Temple with infantile schizophrenia, describing it as being caused by a mother's unnatural coldness towards the child. Clearly, any mother in that situation would be horrified. There's a scene of Temple's mother desperately trying to communicate with her daughter, and another where she cries at the idea that Temple will be teased at boarding school. And then, somehow, every other time she's on screen, Temple's mother DOES seem frozen and aloof. Although the audience KNOWS the doctor is wrong, somehow the movie subtly projects that the mother is distant? Or that she's projecting her own wishes onto Temple, who is not capable of living up to her mother's expectations? I dunno. It just felt off somehow.

Partially it's because of my own (dare I use the word?) trauma surrounding my son. Yes, at one point we thought he had some sort of mild Asperger's, but that diagnosis has fallen away the older he gets. It's definitely anxiety plus bipolar or unipolar depression. Nonetheless, he's an explosive and rigid child, so it sort of fits to say he's "Asperger's-like" since most lay people don't know what depression looks like in an young child.

Mostly, it's been awful, with a few rays of light peeking through. Three years of fighting and cajoling have paid off. He's in a fantastic program right now, with an excellent therapist and great staff. Judging from our last IEP, he'll be staying there for a few more years until he's ready to enter High School. He's bright, had some friends in the neighborhood (!), is fascinated with MythBusters and Trek and old NES game reviews on Youtube, and is sleeping and eating well. So we're on the easy upswing now where we're getting results and professionals are listening to us.

But the black past still sits there coloring most of my perceptions of parenthood now. I'm a very different person than I was a few years ago. I can't cope with conversations about parenting anymore, which makes me a not-very-satisfying friend to other mothers in my life. The girls like to complain about how hard it is to get everyone to soccer practice and I just want to spit bile all over their new frocks. People compliment me on my parenting skills and how far we've all walked and I want to say, "I feel as if you're telling someone who came through the Bataan Death March, 'Excellent constitutional, Chap.'" I don't really *care* that I've learned these skills, to tell the truth. I'd rather not have bothered.

Which gets me back to blogging, I guess. And autism. And how we see the world. And friends.

I'm trying to see where I fit. Somewhat like Temple Grandin, I suppose.

A Connection

Family dinners make my son nuts.

Come. Sit. Be Good. Sit Down. Sit. Eat This. Eat More. Stay and Tell the Adults About Yourself. Sit.

I guess they make all kids anxious, but I remember liking the Big Family dinners when I was a kid, because my seat was always right next to my Grandmother's, even when there was a Kid's Table. She always kept my plate full of black olives and celery sticks. Made me feel special.

Anyway, we knew that Seder with fifteen people was not going to be any fun for my son, and I didn't want to have to answer the same question four hundred times ("Isn't Saul going to sit with us?"), so I decided early on that he and I would go to the movies.

We saw "Meet the Robinsons", which was pleasant enough, but not GREAT, and not terrible.

I'm giving away the plot here to get to my son's comment at the end, so if you want to maintain your suspenseful enjoyment of an animated Disney film, read no further.

The movie's about a young bright kid, Lewis, who's been abandoned at an orphanage. He's so bright that he doesn't fit in well, and keeps not being adopted. He's visited by a kid from the future, who takes him forward to meet a collection of screwy folks who have all come together as a family called The Robinsons. At the end of the movie it is revealed that Lewis is the time traveler's father, a successful and famous inventor, and adult Lewis and child Lewis have a heart to heart about how to get over adversity. Basically don't let the bad stuff derail you and "keep moving forward" with a positive attitude. Very Disney.

The lights come up in the theater and my son says to me, eyes fixed on the screen, "I can't WAIT for this to come out on DVD!"

"Really? You liked it?"

"That kid's just like me. I think I'm going to be a great person one day. I know it."

"Yes, kid. You are."

"And Mom, I know how to get over stuff, I do. I just forget a lot."

"I know. But you know, the moment you figure out what your Thing is, whether it's inventing, or whatever, you are going to make your mark on the world."

"Just like Lewis."

"Yup."

"I love this movie."

So that was all sappy, I know. But it was still really great to hear that my son still has a positive outlook on his life. It made for a beter seder than sitting around and eating horseradish. At least for me.

Superman

I saw Superman last night in IMAX 3-D. The ultimate viewing experience.

I didn't hate it.

But I was not swept away.

I just don't know what to say about it.

Except to say that Cyclops really needs his own girl, in his own movie.

And Brandon Routh even sounds like Christopher Reeve. Weird. Kind of off-putting too.

It either needed More romance/realtionship stuff or More action, but somehow I walked away thinking that neither element really carried the movie.

I hate the kid. I hope he grows up to be a villain and makes Lois and Clark hate themselves for forgetting the condom. All mopey and sad and pouty with his uncombed hair drooping greasily over his pale face. Blegh.

I liked the costume (Dear Butcher hates it.)

I liked Lex.

I'm sure I'll watch the inevitable sequel.

I just feel as if I should have a stronger response, good or bad, to the movie.



When we came home last night after hours of movies and a dinner that was WAY too late and even more driving, Dear Butcher discovered that I had left the dog in the back yard. Ohhh. I'm sorry. (He's following us everywhere today, making us trip on him.)

And then, just because, and maybe this is gross, but it made me laugh. And laugh. And made Dear Butcher laugh until his deep throaty guffaws turned into tinny squeaks from the back of his nose. I'm not convinced that it's all that funny on the retelling, but jeez, I think he, at least, hurt himself there.

Late last night Dear Butcher and I fooled around in the reclining chair a little. Afterwards, we're getting into bed and I say in a congratulatory manner, "Damn, man. You gave me the hiccups."

Quickly he replies, "Well, you should have swallowed."


OK, in retrospect, I'm not even sure why that was so funny, but good lord, it killed us last night.

The Compass Controversy is Settled

OK, maybe not a controversy.

But in recent discussions (see the voluminous comments) about Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, there has been some conversation about to WHOM the compass points when Elizabeth holds it in her hands.

Don't worry, this ain't a spoiler. It's in the hot dog aisle, for goodness sake.




According to the back of my daughter's Oscar Meyer Lunchable, Ham and American Cheese Stackables edition, once you fill in dots on the puzzle, the compass points to Will. (There are no dangly bits, so I'm assuming it's Will. My daughter won't let me open the box to read the answer for myself.)

Obviously, Oscar Meyer is never wrong. But, because I am Just That Contrary, I still insist on seeing a triangle. Or an Attraction, or a Plot Device.

Side Note---my scanner will NOT COOPERATE! Humph. I'll post a picture later. Fat lot of good it'll do me. Mummble, grumble, mmutter, mmph. I fought heroically with the scanner until it conceded the match. Results above.

Second side note--I'm aware that in paragraph one, the correct adjective would be numerous, not voluminous. However, I prefer the sound of vol-OOO-min-us, so I'm keeping it. Poetic expression, so sue me.

I have seen it!

Last night Dear Butcher took me out for a fancy dinner and then we (YES!) saw Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. What a nice anniversary!

I'm not sure of everything which happened on screen, because we were sitting two rows from the front, in what seemed to be the Middle School section of the theatre. But I know I enjoyed it. Arrr!

It's definitely the second in a trilogy--lots of sequel building and foreshadowing--and I thought (gasp) it was a little long. (Again, this may be because I'm old. The movie got out at 1:00am. I started fading about midnight.)

Jack was as deliciously piratical as one would expect. He and Elizabeth have a few little 'shippy conversations which are yummy. Will furrows his brows a lot and yells orders at greasy shipmates. And the Davy Jones special effects are fantastic!

Here's how I know I liked the movie--I'm still thinking about the love triangle after I left the movie. (And I'd like to go back and see it when I don't have to lie on my back to see the top of the screen.) But I'm a little troubled by Will Turner. Which makes me think that I may not like POTCIII.

At the end of POTCI, it looked as if Will, wearing his dashing hat and cape, and Elizabeth, lover of all thing piratical, would sail off into the sea together. Which would be nice.

For the second movie, they set up a love triangle, which is cool because Jack is just so fun to watch, especially when he's courting. Loved this bit, but my problem is now with Will. Is it possible to have a pirate who never commands his own ship? Is there any way to butch up Orlando Bloom? Will he ever do anything except moon after Elizabeth? How can Elizabeth end up with a partner who's done nothing but silently adore her since she was ten? Will is set up as being entirely honorable; he may break the law in the process of fulfilling some vow, but he's not sneaky or eager to plunder and profit. So how can he end up as a pirate?

OK, I'll think more on that later.

But for now, I'm turning on the TV and crawling back into bed. Late nights, no matter how enjoyable, are no fun the next morning.