New video: Should there be a separate label for profound autism?

The Subversive Librarian is Working the Polls!

Yep! I'm gonna be a poll worker on November 8! I'll be that cute old lady in a pink cardigan sweater who checks you in. 

This is my chance to get involved in an easy but meaningful way. Service to my country. With donuts on the side!

I mean, how hard could it be? The voter comes in and gives you their name and ID. You check them off the list and give them a ballot and a reassuring smile. It's all computerized now, and I'm good at customer service. In essence, I'm a patriotic Walmart greeter. Easy peasy!

Not so peasy. The training manual is 150 pages long. 

But hey, I'm sure the training will cover everything. Besides, I'm a Harvard lawyer, and a librarian, and every day I use sophisticated video editing software, and I'm really comfortable with computers. So I'll be fine, right? Right?

Let's just say the training assistant hung out behind me for a good chunk of the three hours because I was the one who needed constant remedial help. 

Like, he had to show me the correct way to push the "off" button on the computer because when I did it, nothing happened. Turns out you just push the button. 

Maybe I can just hand out the stickers.

I could still back out of this, but I'm not going to, because I really do need to do my part in this very scary time. 

So at 5:00 a.m. on November 8, I'll bring my sleepy, sleepy self – and plenty of coffee and snacks – to my precinct location. And that night at 8:30 or so I'll drag myself home, eat a couple of Hostess Ding Dongs, fall into bed, and hope that when I wake up I still live in a democracy.

Yeah. That's the plan.

Oh no she didn't.

Oh, yes. Yes, she did.

No point in burying the lede here. I’ve started a YouTube channel: Deviated Spectrum. 

I’m autistic, I’m queer, and I’m an addict in recovery with a lively variety of mental diagnoses.  Lots of spectrums there, and they tend to intersect in weird ways. Hence, Deviated Spectrum. 

What’s it about? Adventures in late-diagnosis autism! Laughing at myself while I get reacquainted with my brain. Very basic adulting tutorials, hacks, and some product reviews. But I’m not limiting myself to autism. Addiction recovery and LGBTQ+ issues will definitely be in the mix.

Here's a teaser:

So what on earth possessed me to start a YouTube channel at age 65? You know, other than the fact that there aren't enough old people on YouTube talking about this stuff?

Just before the pandemic hit, I had this weird urge to do photography. And make videos. And write. And act. And I missed making music. And maybe I could start a podcast. Or a YouTube channel! I wrote about it here.

It’s like my head exploded and rainbows spewed out in all directions and I wanted to chase after every single one. And that's exactly what I did. I pursued every one of them. And this particular rainbow led to Deviated Spectrum.

You can find my channel right here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC8WV67qBrz90E1mqSh8Qelg.

It's my hope that you'll find my channel positive, helpful, and entertaining. Please check it out, subscribe if you'd like, and feel free to give me your comments and suggestions.

Thank you!

All I need now is a mom with a refrigerator.

 I've been busy: I just finished an intensive course in Photoshop and Illustrator. Three credits, a 14-week semester squished into six weeks. It's the hardest class I've taken since law school. But more fun, and I'm determined NOT to be that old lady who can't find the mute button. Besides, remember that creative urge thing I had going? Well, I've been indulging. And more is coming!

Anyway, here is some of the stuff I did in the class. 

(With apologies to Joni Mitchell.)

Thanksgiving, and I'm not okay.

Confession time: I don't really like the typical Thanksgiving celebration.To most other people, it's a time for gathering the whole family, cooking a wonderful feast, lots of laughter and happy noise. 

That is not my experience. For me, Thanksgiving is chaos and strangers and football and extreme cooking anxiety. It's an event to be endured and survived. A typical Thanksgiving is this autistic introvert's nightmare. 

My idea of the perfect Thanksgiving? No more than four or five people. We eat out so nobody has to work very hard (and we tip extremely well), and then maybe we go to a movie. Quiet and intimate. Calm. Ordered.

Other than the eating out part, that was pretty much the plan this year. Fly to Atlanta to see my kid and her dad and her fiancee and spend Thanksgiving with them. Pretty perfect.

But Covid.

So I'm alone this year. We'll zoom tomorrow, and I'm sure that will be wonderful, albeit weird. And I'll talk to my brother too. It'll be fine.

But tonight I just feel hollow, dark, and restless. And afraid, because some scary medical stuff is happening to Fina  - I may need to get her to the emergency vet tomorrow.

I miss my mom. I could use a cigarette. And a nice buzz sounds pretty good, too. A stinger, maybe, or some 151 rum. Something that'll burn a little going down.

(Which is why I went to a meeting this evening, okay?)

It's Thanksgiving and I'm not okay. But what I am is sober, and I'm in bed and getting sleepy, so I have accomplished the only essential thing I really needed to do today. Tomorrow may feel better, or maybe not, but I'll wake up with no regrets.

That alone gives me plenty to be thankful for. So I'm hanging on to that.

Have a safe Thanksgiving and enjoy it in a way that works for you. I love you all.

That time RBG came to Santa Fe and got me in trouble with my boss

Ruth Bader Ginsburg was coming to Santa Fe! I was working at the New Mexico Supreme Court at the time. She was speaking at a school or something, and then she was coming to the Court!! 

RBG was scheduled for two events at the Court: First, a luncheon with the state supreme court justices. Second, a Q&A for some women lawyer's symposium (I keep thinking ladies' auxiliary but of course that's not what it was). 

Now, a good boss would have made sure her staff got the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see RBG speak, even if it was remotely from another room. But that day, we were personae non gratae -- to the extent that the New Mexico chief justice acknowledged our existence at all.

My office was right across the hall from the courtroom, so it was hard to miss the hubbub. The lucky attendees filed into the courtroom and, after some settling, the doors closed. 

You could see inside if you put your face right up to the gap between the double doors. I sidled up to the security guard and glued my face to that gap like a beggar looking in the windows of a Waffle House. The guard -- an ally -- said, "why don't you go on in?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure that's not allowed."

"But," he said, "There are empty seats in there. At least you could ask for permission."

Well, I was wearing appropriate court attire, and there were empty seats, and I was the court-appointed State Law Librarian. So I tagged the woman who had the invitation list and I asked. She said it was probably okay but she wanted to check with somebody else. She disappeared, and after about five minutes, she returned and told me I could go in. 

Score! I took a seat in the back. 

Now, I don't remember what RBG talked about, except that she was wonderful. I was just thrilled to be in her presence, albeit a little uneasy. I confess I was also a little contemptuous of the privileged women surrounding me who had managed to get into this gig legitimately. 

The chief justice glanced my way while she was introducing Justice Ginsburg. She didn't glare, but she didn't smile, either, which made me even more uneasy. Still, I drank in RBG's wisdom and kindness, and when she was done, I eased out the door (I correctly calculated that I shouldn't stay for the group picture). 

I don't know who told the invitation lady that I could go in. I do know, however, that it wasn't the chief justice. She came to my office a couple of days later -- the only time during my tenure that she did so. 

She was furious. 

I explained that I had gotten permission, and I explained that the lady who gave me permission had gotten permission. She wanted names, which of course I didn't have. 

In any event, she didn't particularly care how I had gotten in, just that I had. So I apologized. And I apologized some more. And then I sent an email apologizing deeply and sincerely. I pretty much prostrated myself while genuflecting. It didn't make any difference. I lost an important ally that day. 

But given the chance for a do-over? 

Yeah, you guessed right. I didn't regret it then, and I don't regret it now. 

Rest in power, RBG.

There is hope for us yet.

 I spent my seventeenth year getting high and drunk. Songbird, on the other hand, is doing some pretty spectacular political parodies.

If she is our future, I think we're gonna be okay.