Today is the 40th anniversary of the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance. Happy birthday, NAAFA!

If you have a strong “Yeah, but–” reaction to that, I understand. Read this, and the links here. Fat Acceptance is something that took me a long time to come to–it goes against almost every message we get in our society. Heck, I still haven’t made that final leap of accepting my own imperfect body for what it is. Still working on that one. But this is a movement that makes sense. Deep, deep sense. Check it out.

We’ve been talking a lot the last two weeks about the wrongs of judging people by the color of their skin. Judging them by the shape of it is just as bad.

I’m open to comments on this post, but please don’t hit me with elementary arguments or ask me FA 101 questions, okay? That’s why I put the links up. There are people who write and research and think about this stuff on a much deeper level than I do, so no point re-inventing the wheel here. (I mean, even re-inventing the wheel has already been done–see item #8!)

Those of you who aren’t “Mad Men” fans, or at least fans of the cool sleek lines of early-60s design, are going to have to be a bit patient with me for a while, I’m afraid. I’m fully in the grip of “Mad”ness! I’ll be doing the photo shoot to enter the contest for a walk-on role this weekend. You can only submit one picture, I think, so I’ll post a few up here and ask you to vote.

In the meantime, I went to madmenyourself.com again and did one of Mr. Improbable. Here he is, at his first day at Sterling Cooper. They hired him because they thought his quirky sense of humor might help them land more high-tech accounts … of course it’s ridiculous to think that people will ever have computers in their homes, but the secretaries sure love that new copier, so maybe these “business machines” are the wave of the future.

This is nowhere near as good as the Simpsons version of Mr. Improbable, but it still works. I like how it looks like Mr. Improbable is thinking, “Um, I should have worn a suit? And shaved?” which is an expression I’ve seen on his face all too often.

Everyone else is thinking, “Who hired the Jew?” Except for Joan, who is checking out his butt and thinking that he might clean up nice. Hands off, Ms. Holloway!

Bothered by chatty folks sitting next to you on the plane? PeaceBang, who also writes the blog Beauty Tips for Ministers, has a solution.

According to CNN, “The Boston police officer who sent a mass e-mail referring to Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. as a ‘banana-eating jungle monkey’ has apologized, saying he’s not a racist.”

Of course the poor dear wasn’t being racist, his comments were taken entirely out of context. People who aren’t from around here simply don’t understand. All the officer meant is that, as most Cantabridgians know, academia is a jungle. To be as successful as Skip Gates, one must be nimble and clever as a monkey to climb the ranks of professorship and grab the sweet fruit of tenure. Such work is stressful, of course, so the wise academic will make sure to eat plenty of bananas to protect them from high blood pressure and peptic ulcers. Really. I’ve referred to Steven Pinker and Drew Faust as banana-eating jungle monkeys, oh, I don’t know how many times. And why do you think the Harvard Faculty Club is nicknamed “The Rainforest Cafe”?

Honestly. Some people just want to see racism, they really do.

Hat tip: Kate Harding

Salon’s Andrew O’Hehir has a nice review of a new movie with an Aspie protagonist and the overall portrayal of people with Autism Spectrum Disorders in the movies:

Autistic and Asperger’s characters in movies are only beginning to move beyond the “Sidney Poitier phase,” in which members of previously despised or misunderstood minorities are presented as symbols, saints or seers — whose most important function is to provide other, more relatable and “normal” characters with the opportunity for moral and spiritual growth. African-Americans, gays and American Indians have already enjoyed this dubious cinematic-shaman role, which is undeniably superior to old-fashioned bigotry but a long way short of actual equality.

So, yesterday I found this article on the NYT blogs about how “parents, educators and addiction experts would react” to the multiple scenes of drinking in the new Harry Potter movie. It seemed pretty silly to me yesterday, and after seeing the movie last night, I’m downright flummoxed. Apparently the big fuss is that Harry, Hermione, and Ron go to a pub, have a “butterbeer”* or two, and relax sufficiently that Hermione puts her arm around both boys on the way back to Hogwarts.

Hermione, you drunken slut.

Honestly, what a fuss over nothing! If you’re a serious temperance advocate, go ahead and tell your kid that butterbeer is nonalcoholic, like root beer or ginger beer. Because whether you drink or not, getting away from the daily grind with your friends for a few hours will relax you. At this point in the movie, the trio desperately needs a break from the romantic, scholastic, athletic, and oh-by-the-way-Death-Eaters-are-trying-to-kill-the-world tensions that Hogwarts has come to represent. Of course they’re going to be in a more laid-back mood after a day trip to Hogsmeade. Booze isn’t the point at all.

The other objection is that teachers are seen drinking, apparently. Not so’s you’d notice, or at least not so’s I noticed, but some folks did, and they’re not happy about it. I hope they realize that if they do not want their children to be aware that professors drink, they had better avoid exposing them to any British or American literature published after World War II. They might also want to avoid exposing their children to higher education itself.

But here’s the kicker–for all the tempest in a butterbeer stein about booze, why hasn’t anyone pointed out that the entire first half of the movie is about drugs? It’s sort of unavoidable when your new main character is a Potions Master. Harry psychs Ron up for the big Quidditch match by making him believe that he’s been dosed with magic steroids, and then takes the drug–oh, sorry, “potion”–himself later in the movie. Love potions are all over the place. And the new Potions Master is not only found sneaking around the school’s “herb garden,” he knows the precise street value of certain highly valuable leaves!

If you’re going to get upset about anything, get upset about that. Because the movie doesn’t portray alcohol as doing anything other than relaxing you for an hour or so. Booze doesn’t work in the Harry Potter universe. Drugs, however, do. If the movie does have a message about substance use, it’s rather clear: Boozers are losers. What you want to do is learn how to grow and mix your own.

Now, honestly, I don’t care about any of this. I’m not a puritan about drug and alcohol use, and I’m certainly not a subscriber to the notion that all children’s entertainment must be scrubbed squeaky clean lest the child Get Ideas. (If I were taking a kid of my own to the movie, a little Miss Conduct Jr., I’d be doing a debriefing afterward, for sure. Not about the chemical substances, but about why it’s really not a good idea to fall in love with a lazy, cowardly, self-centered fellow who can’t succeed in anything without your help and then resents you for helping him. If it were a little Mr. Improbable Jr., he’d be getting the lecture on why men with quiet courage, little ego, and no fear of looking nerdy–you know, like his father, or Neville Longbottom–are the real men to be looked up to and emulated.) But if you’re going to make a big fuss about nothing, at least make a big fuss about the right nothing, eh?

*A “butterbeer,” Muggles, is a mildly alcoholic beverage, kind of like what we Kansans call “3-2 beer.” I’m sure this is what magic folk would call it, too, if they weren’t too stupid to do math. The only creatures ever known to get actually drunk from butterbeer are house elves, who are approximately a third the size of humans and have severely compromised free will to begin with.

The first half of July was so action-packed I’m going to be spooling out the adventures until mid-August, I’m afraid. One thing I did was pick myself up a couple of quality-paperback treats at the Logan bookstore before I left: Curtis Sittenfeld’s American Wife and Tana French’s The Likeness.

American Wife was quite good–if you somehow don’t know, it’s a novel based on the life of Laura Bush. Political novels are always so risky; will anyone still give a damn once the characters they’re based on are out of history’s spotlight? I won’t speculate as to whether Ms. Sittenfeld has written a book that will last or not. But at this moment in history, it’s an entertaining, thought-provoking, page-turning read. I suspect if you don’t like Laura Bush, reading about “Alice Blackwell” may make you more sympathetic, and that if you are a fan of the former First Lady, it will make you a little less so.

But The Likeness is the one that really had me going. It starts off a bit slow, so be patient–it takes a while for the characters to get established. But the opening situation is such a grabber that I was willing to plod for a bit, and once the plot really took off, well, that was that.

We start off meeting Cassie Maddox, an Irish detective in the domestic-violence squad. Cassie’s got a past in undercover that didn’t end too well. One morning, her boyfriend Sam, himself a homicide detective, calls her out to a crime scene. Was it a spousal killing? No. The victim is Cassie’s body double … and the contents of her wallet identify her as “Lexie Madison,” the same name Cassie used as an undercover agent.

Granted, the entire thing is built on a coincidence of Dickensian clunkiness, but once you get through that, it’s a brilliant read, a detective story that is also a deep examination of identity, friendship, family, and loyalty. The plot is nicely twisty and turny and the language literary without causing eye-rolls (and these here eyes do roll at the whiff of anything resembling a precious “prose style”).

What good novels have you read this summer, or hope to read? (We’ll do nonfiction later, so let’s stick to fiction for now.)

It’s been a while since I’ve posted any recipes, hasn’t it? Here’s one that Mr. Improbable and I have been more or less living on this summer. If you, too, find it hard to eat in hot weather, this is a good one for you. As usual, all amounts are subjective:

1 cup plain yogurt (we prefer Fage’s full-fat)
1/2 cucumber
1 pressed garlic clove or about 1/2 tsp juice from a jar of minced garlic if you’re lazy like me
1 t olive oil
1 t lemon juice

Grate the cucumber into a bowl using a cheese grater (the finer the grater, the better). You can peel it or not; I usually get one of those long European cucumbers that come in their own special condoms (what is up with that?) and don’t peel it. If you get one that’s all waxed and all, peel it. (Okay, why are cucumbers either in a condom or waxed? I don’t even want to think about this.)

Squeeze excess cucumber juice out of shredded cucumber.

Mix all ingredients together. You can also add dill and black pepper if you like that.

This is great plain, with rice or potatoes, as a topping for salmon or a dip for vegetables.

“Mad Men” is ramping up publicity before season 3 debuts on August 13, and I’m loving it. I definitely plan to enter their contest for a walk-on role, and I will let you know when pictures of me are up on the site! (I hope to do the photo shoot this weekend with the assistance of History Girl–who better to bring out my inner Rachel Mencken than a theater-loving history teacher turned vintage boutique owner turned history teacher again?)

If you’re not interested in the contest, but still like to envision yourself rocking that great early-60s style, check out their terrific “Mad Men Yourself” site, where you can choose the physical features and clothing to make a Mad Men-ized version of yourself. Here’s me (you’ll notice I chose a backdrop to go with the cover of my book):

Not bad, eh? Although the coffee should be iced.

Yesterday’s column is online here. Last week‘s dealt with cell-phone rudeness and when to celebrate birthdays. One reader shared her thoughts on both:

Cell phones:
When eating out with friends, I said, “I am turning my cell phone off. I
find it so disconcerting when cell phones interrupt my time with friends.”
Then when a cell phone at the table rang, I said, “Oh dear – did you forget to turn yours off?” It worked!

Birthdays:
I have always claimed a “birthday month”, doing my best to celebrate as
long as I can. Many of my friends have adopted this as well. For one dear friend whose birthday falls on the 31st, I buy a “Happy Birthday Month” token gift and leave it at her front door. Then she gets her real gift on her birthday. She outdid me one year – she had a canvas tote embroidered with my initials. It contained 31 gifts – one to open every day!

Charming! She sounds like a fun friend.

My birthday was last Tuesday, and I celebrated, if that’s the word, by going on the “Today Show”! This past weekend, though, Mr. Improbable took me to Montpelier for the much-needed weekend getaway that was my real birthday celebration.

This is probably the most personal blog post I’ve written yet. It didn’t even start out to be a blog post, so much … I just wrote it because I had to. Then I decided to share. This was originally written two weeks ago (damn, tempus fugit!) when I was returning from my trip to Missouri.

What an adventure-filled week! I left last Saturday morning for Springfield, Missouri, home of the ConductMom and a few of the ConductCousins. A bunch more CC’s came in from DC and Texas, and the night of the Fourth was a country idyll of grilled meats, kids running around with sparklers, and homemade country and gospel music, which sounded a lot better after I added a few surreptitious shots of Jack Daniels to my sweet tea. (I stopped doing that when I realized I’d had enough to actually think it might be a good idea for me to join in on “Ring of Fire.”)

The next day, I learned to fire a gun! I have never so much as touched a gun in my life, so I asked my cousins, who grew up shootin’, to larn me, and so they did. I believe it might be an acquired taste. I didn’t care for it much while I was doing it, but more than once subsequently has the thought crossed my mind that firing off a few rounds at a range might not be a bad way to work off the stresses of the day. I still have no sense of how good a markswoman I might be; we just fired into trees, which were all still standing at the end of the day.

I certainly look good holding a gun, just like everyone does. Guns and cigarettes are deadly and horrible inventions; why must they be such terribly appealing props? It’s not the phallic aspect; no one looks terribly sexy wielding a zucchini. I wish I could have used this photo for my book jacket. If anything says “This isn’t your grandmother’s etiquette book”:

(photo credit: Doug Gallo)

Heh.

The ConductMom and I then drove to Kansas City on Monday. KC was the home of my 20s, my theater years, my wild “Shiksa in the City” single days, and I hadn’t been back for 10 years or so, not since my own parents moved south. I reunited with several dear friends whom I hadn’t seen since high school or college, appeared on a couple of the same shows that I used to book actors on when I was a theater publicist, and gave a reading at the bookstore I spent my Saturday afternoons at as a teenager, to an audience that included my high-school librarian, the mother of a toddler I used to babysit (now a fifth-grade teacher going for a master’s, with two children of her own), my boss from my first real job, and Kansas City’s version of J.J. Hunsecker, who knows all my most scandalous secrets.

I got a past, okay? We all do. And mine’s been a little more complicated and contradictory than most people’s, I suspect, and I encountered a whole lot of it all at once this weekend.

I feel as though I should have some profound thoughts about this, but I don’t. Except that, somehow–it was all okay. I don’t mean not awkward, I mean deeply, existentially, transcendentally okay.

“Shalom” means “peace,” as most folks know, but it also means “wholeness.” Because peace can only come when all the parts come together. This was a week of deep shalom for me.

A week of shalom in the summer of Spock! Because that Hadassah lady was more right than she knew. I don’t just look like Spock. Like that pointy-eared halfbreed, I’ve had a long, hard road to shalom, to wholeness. I was born with a passionate heart and an overcharged brain. I was raised with some painfully conflicting values. Some of the chapters of my life don’t read like they’re from the same book as others do.

But somehow, that week, all those disparate elements of my life came together, and damn if it didn’t just work, just like the Golden Rod Rainbow Stripe Shawl Sweater Shrug Cardigan does. You wouldn’t think all those colors would swirl around and play instead of clashing, but they do.

They did.

And I am stopped dead in my tracks with gratitude and wonder and love every time I think of it.

And the reason I’m wrote this–well, I wrote most of it on the plane on the way back to Boston, because it was in me and had to come out. The reason I’m posting it, the reason I want to share it with you, is because I know I have readers in high school, in college, in their early 20s. And if you’re struggling with how to put the different parts of your life together–people from your past and present, family and friends, what you were taught and what you’ve decided for yourself, goals and dreams that don’t seem that they could be part of the same person’s life–I want you to know it can work out. It’s supposed to take a while, I think, so be patient. But it can happen.

From the British Psychological Society’s blog, I found this study on Asperger’s Syndrome. I can’t urge you enough to go read it, especially if you have a child, or spouse, or friend, or co-worker, who might be on the spectrum.

It’s a sociological paper, and it can get a bit dense with Giddens and Goffman and Mead, but don’t let that dissuade you if you’re not the scholarly type. The study was based on interviews with people who have Asperger’s, and it’s the deep attention to and sympathy with their experiences that really makes this special.

In particular, the paper is about the extent to which AS folks never get to the point at which social interaction can be done without a huge investment of thought and effort:

… what are commonly perceived to be small, mundane social norms can present as massively significant and difficult to overcome for people with AS [Asperger's Syndrome]. It is as though there are two, incommensurable universes where something mundane, small and taken for granted in mainstream life is an alien, challenging and uncomfortable act for people with AS. The problem is that for people with AS this tension represents the overwhelming majority of their interactions and experiences because they live in a neuro-typical world.

Participants suggest that typical others found it hard to understand how they felt or to make sense of their emotional detachment and yet participants felt enormous pressure to try to reduce such differences, make sense of the social world and try to fit in.
…
Furthermore, the inability to reach the stage of taken for grantedness meant that interactions remained conscious activity – ‘conscious work’ as Richard called it – a process that had limitations and was tiring, draining and constant.

“You do learn strategies from an early age I think and the problem is with people probably on the spectrum is that you have got a lot of information that you need to store away because you have to remember the strategies for those situations [um] because it doesn’t come naturally so you have to pull that out of your little film cabinet that you have got in your head and play it quite quickly so you know what to do. It is not inherent really.” (Tim, aged 44)

I’ve read a ton of psychological research and theorizing about Asperger’s, and I’ve read plenty of Temple Grandin and The Curious Incident and all that, and yet somehow I feel this article is the first time I’ve actually grasped how frustrating and exhausting and just plain old unfair life as an Aspie must feel sometimes.

I often get questions from neurotypical people who are trying to cope with behavior from folks who have Aspie traits,* like this one. I was proud of my advice on that letter, particularly this: “I have talked to a lot of people like this, both in my ordinary life and through my column, and the last thing they want is subtle hints and good-natured ribbing. They don’t understand such modes of communication: That’s part of the problem. What they want are clear, highly specific behavioral guidelines and respect for their own sometimes-idiosyncratic needs.”

That was good, but of course the whole “Mind over Manners” credo is that highly specific behavioral guidelines are not enough for the modern world, that we have to be able to develop the competencies of improvisation, regaining our footing, negotiating, picking up on cues and adapting in the moment. That’s why it’s called mind over manners. It’s a fundamentally anti-Asperger’s orientation. And I don’t really know where to go with that, because I deeply believe that these are the skills we need in a complex social world. So where does that leave those who can’t learn them? What can etiquette do for them, and what etiquette do neurotypicals like me owe to those who can’t live life like an improv game?

Certainly, after reading this, I believe I will be much more patient with people who exhibit Aspie traits. To be honest, I’ve had my difficulties with such people in the past. From some folks–not all, but many–I’ve gotten a vibe of contempt for social norms and niceties: “Your pathetic social rituals are meaningless to me, puny human.” And, you know, I tend not to respond too well to that. But I wonder if maybe some people are, in fact, trying harder than I’ve given them credit for. I was moved to the point of being shaken at how hard some of the people quoted in this paper are trying.

And for those who really are treating social norms and the people who follow them with contempt? Well, if almost everyone in the world were going around insisting that something I couldn’t perceive is terribly terribly important, and I’m defective for missing it … I might start to have contempt for whatever it is they’re making such a big deal of, too. As a way of making myself feel better, and as a way of letting go and getting on with my life. In fact, knowing me, there’s about a thousand-percent chance that that’s exactly how I’d react.

So I’m sorry, folks-on-the-spectrum. I’ve given my fellow neurotypicals good advice about you, I think, but I’m not sure I give a lot of advice you can use. And maybe I haven’t always given you as fair a shake as I should have in my personal life.

If you have Asperger’s, or are close to someone who does, I’d be very interested to hear from you. Has learning the cut-and-dried rules of etiquette–manners over mind, as it were–helped you? Are you trying harder than people give you credit for? Would you prefer neurotypicals make more of an effort to see the world from your point of view, or would you rather, frankly, have us leave you in peace and stop trying to understand? Neurotypicals, what have you found to be helpful in your relationship with your AS child, or friend, or spouse?

*Invariably, when I run these questions, I’ll then get letters from readers saying “That person sounds like they have Asperger’s Syndrome! Why didn’t you think of that?” Chances are, I did. But I wouldn’t diagnose someone in a newspaper column based on nothing more than the description of a third party even if I were a clinical psychologist instead of a research one.

Before yesterday’s appearance, I wrote up some notes about dealing with difficult people–both in general, and a few specific varieties. Here’s the 411, since I didn’t get to deliver it all on the TEEvee:

Some general advice for dealing with difficult people:

1. Dilute them! If you are obliged to entertain someone you don’t much care for, invite them to group events–or activities with the emphasis on activity.
2. Reinforce the behaviors you want and ignore the ones you don’t. Giving in to whining, flattery, bullying, etc. is tempting, but makes it more likely that the person will continue in their bad behavior.
3. If you decide to confront someone, present the situation as a problem for both of you to solve together, and be willing to make compromises in your own behavior.
4. Pick your battles. Not everyone is going to be pleasing to you in all ways at all times. Learn to not be easily annoyed.
5. Getting along well with difficult people is a marketable skill. Developing a reputation as someone who can handle tricky, temperamental people can be a great help in your career.

Some particular types …

The socially overbearing spouse/significant other of a good friend. Don’t try to socialize as couples if you can’t stand a friend’s worse half. Instead, get together in large groups–or else get together with your friend sans spouses. When entertaining Beauty and the Beast is unavoidable, let it enhance your appreciation of your own marriage.

The know-it-all new co-worker. You could let the obnoxious new kid fall on their face–and maybe they’ll need to once or twice before they listen to you. Rather than hazing a workplace newcomer, even–or especially–if they’re getting off on the wrong foot, become their mentor. Help them navigate your workplace culture, and translate their ideas and perspectives.

The overly helpful neighbor. Some people just can’t help themselves–they want to bring a casserole to your carefully planned sushi brunch, tell you about the new supplement that’s supposed to be so good for people with that medical condition you wish you hadn’t told them you had, help you plant tulip bulbs whether you like tulips or not. These folks only want to be helpful, and you can’t block their energy–but you can redirect it. Ask them specifically for the kind of help or advice you do want–and if you truly don’t want anything at all, then ask them for the favor of a listening, nonjudgmental ear.

The nosy in-law. The only way to put off a barrage of nosy questions is with good-natured, laughing stubbornness and a refusal to give in, ever. When are you going to have children? They’ll be among the first to know! How much rent are you paying? Enough but not too much, thanks! Make sure your spouse is on the same page with this tactic. (“Why do you want to know?” is usually a good response to a nosy question, but you can’t use it with family, because they will TELL YOU.)

The one-upper. You went to Cape Cod; SHE went to Paris. You are thinking of getting a Prius; SHE is moving to a yurt in Montana. You can’t beat the one-upper at her own game; the only thing to do, really, is to enjoy and applaud the gusto with which she plays it. Because ultimately, these people aren’t competing with you, but with some unattainable image of themselves.

So, yesterday, a friend of mine mentioned on Facebook that Hoda Kotb was on vacation and Tori Spelling was guest-hosting with Kathie Lee.

Imagine my shock when I got to the studio today and saw–Tori Spelling. In fact, when I saw her in the dressing room, I vaguely thought, “Wow, that chick kinda looks like Tori Spelling. Pretty funny, considering what my friend said.”

Because this friend–if she’s anything like she used to be in high school, when last, pre-Facebook, I knew her–is entirely the kind of person who would make something like that up just to rattle me. It never even occurred to me that she was telling the truth.

I have another, similar, story about a mischief-making friend who told me something shocking and improbable that turned out to be true, and because I was so sure that he was making it up, I very nearly committed a horrible faux pas.* If you’re my friend, you probably know this story; if not, it involves too many innocent parties for me to write about.

But have you ever done this? Discounted a true statement because a friend was such a joker? Or do I have an unusually high percentage of friends who like to play mild practical jokes of this sort?

Or do I have an unusually suspicious nature?

*Frankly, if I’d said what I almost did, it would have blasted through the atmosphere of “faux pas” and gone faster than light into the deep space of “dick move,” it would have been so bad.

Here it is, folks!