ASAN-Central Ohio/Ohio State is trying to gather as many people as possible to attend a protest on Tuesday, June 30. The event has been organized by Sue Hetrick and other disability organizations to protest Ohio's funding of institutions/nursing homes while cutting funding for community-based living services. (See more details below.)
ASAN-Central Ohio will be meeting at the campus Barnes & Noble on Tuesday morning at 9:00am to make some signs. We will then bus down to the state house for one or two hours (and those who wish to stay longer may do so).
If you are interested in joining our group, please leave a comment or email us at asan.ohiostate@gmail.com by Monday, June 29.
JOIN US AS... WE PROTEST OHIO’S FUNDING OF COSTLY INSTITUTIONS/NURSING HOMES WHILE CUTTING MORE ECONOMICAL HOME AND COMMUNITY BASED SUPPORTS AND SERVICES
WE PROTEST OHIO’S FUNDING FOR SEGREGATION OF PEOPLE WITH DISABILITIES AND THE ELDERLY THAT DENIES CHOICE IN WHERE ONE WORKS, LIVES AND SOCIALIZES
ALL OHIOANS HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE PRODUCTIVE, CONTRIBUTING, INDEPENDENT CITIZENS AND OHIO TAXPAYER’S HAVE THE RIGHT TO RESPONSIBLE USE OF ITS PUBLIC DOLLARS
When: Tuesday, June 30 Where: Ohio Statehouse, Third Street Side, Columbus When: 8:30AM to 5 with “primetime” from 11AM to 2PM Who: People with Any Disability, the Elderly, families, friends, advocates, and concerned Ohio taxpayers
Bring a chair, blanket, water, lunch, sunscreen or raingear! Be prepared for a peaceful demonstration, but one that is persistent and vocal!
This is not a RALLY it is a PROTEST!
Note: As this is a grassroots demonstration no one group or individual can or will be responsible for attendant care though attendees are usually willing to support their brothers and sisters in this fight! Signs are permitted and encouraged -- however, they cannot be attached to sticks or poles!
In medieval allegory, Body and Soul were often pitted against one another in debate. In Body Against Soul: Gender and Sowlehele in Middle English Allegory, Masha Raskolnikov argues that such debates function as a mode of thinking about psychology, gender, and power in the Middle Ages. Neither theological nor medical in nature, works of sowlehele (“soul-heal”) described the self to itself in everyday language—moderns might call this kind of writing “self-help.” Bringing together contemporary feminist and queer theory along with medieval psychological thought, Body Against Soul examines Piers Plowman, the “Katherine Group,” and the history of psychological allegory and debate. In so doing, it rewrites the history of the Body to include its recently neglected fellow, the Soul.
The topic of this book is one that runs through all of Western history and remains of primary interest to modern theorists—how “my” body relates to “me.” In the allegorical tradition traced by this study, a male person could imagine himself as a being populated by female personifications, because Latin and Romance languages tended to gender abstract nouns as female. However, since Middle English had ceased to inflect abstract nouns as male or female, writers were free to gender abstractions like “Will” or “Reason” any way they liked. This permitted some psychological allegories to avoid the representational tension caused by placing a female soul inside a male body, instead creating surprisingly queer same-sex inner worlds. The didactic intent driving sowlehele is, it turns out, complicated by the erotics of the struggle to establish a hierarchy of the self’s inner powers.
From the rise of Nazism to the conflict in Kashmir in 2008, nationalism has been one of the most potent forces in modern history. Yet the motivational power of nationalism is still not well understood. In Understanding Nationalism: On Narrative, Cognitive Science, and Identity, Patrick Colm Hogan begins with empirical research on the cognitive psychology of group relations to isolate varieties of identification, arguing that other treatments of nationalism confuse distinct types of identity formation. Synthesizing different strands of this research, Hogan articulates a motivational groundwork for nationalist thought and action.
Understanding Nationalism goes on to elaborate a cognitive poetics of national imagination, most importantly, narrative structure. Hogan focuses particularly on three complex narrative prototypes that are prominent in human thought and action cross-culturally and trans-historically. He argues that our ideas and feelings about what nations are and what they should be are fundamentally organized and oriented by these prototypes. He develops this hypothesis through detailed analyses of national writings from Whitman to George W. Bush, from Hitler to Gandhi.
Hogan’s book alters and expands our comprehension of nationalism generally—its cognitive structures, its emotional operations. It deepens our understanding of the particular, important works he analyzes. Finally, it extends our conception of the cognitive scope and political consequence of narrative.
Before I get started, let me stress that I’m fully aware of what’s going through your head. Between now and the last time I posted you and your wife conceived and had your second child. Between now and the last time I posted Evan “The Villain” Turner has had three different girlfriends and two different boos. I get it. It’s been awhile. But I’m not going to apologize for the delay, because while you were getting infuriated with my lack of production, I was busy studying for the finals that I ended up bombing. Then, I was busy enjoying my one week of summer vacation that I get due to my glamorous role as a benchwarmer/blogger of a Division I basketball program. Now that I’m back in Columbus for the rest of the summer, it should be business as usual, so please take my picture off your dart board and stop making voodoo dolls of my likeness.
I promised last post that this post would be the second version of a mailbag, but as you’ve probably figured out by now, everything about this blog is essentially one broken promise after another. If I keep this behavior up for another three years, two kids, and one messy settlement, I’ll basically be my first wife. And nobody wants that. Anyway, I was working on the second mailbag (new name to be revealed when I publish it) and I realized that I should push that aside to instead write about what I chose to use this post for.
I received an e-mail from Jacob Jackson, a kid that goes to the high school I graduated from (Brownsburg HS), that basically said I should write a post about my hometown and all it has to offer. My initial thought was, “Jacob, you sound like a great guy but giving myself an atomic wedgie is a better idea than what you just suggested.” Then I went home for a week and realized that seven days in Brownsburg, Indiana provides for a nice supply of blogging material. Jacob, I apologize for thinking your idea was garbage. I initially failed to understand your thought process, but have since realized you are a genius.
Brownsburg is a booming (read: not booming) suburb that rests in the heart of the Midwest, where a love for corn, auto racing, and Jimmy Chitwood intersect. If you don’t know how to get there, just drive around central Indiana until you come to a poorly planned town with two McDonald’s. If your cornfield to pick-up trucks with a confederate flag bumper sticker ratio exceeds 2:1, you’ve gone too far. It’s simple math, really.
There’s a joke that Keller and I always throw around that basically says the best thing to do in Brownsburg is go to Indianapolis, which is absolutely true. But in all honesty, Brownsburg wasn’t all that bad of a town to grow up in. It had everything I wanted in junior high and high school town—a bowling alley, way too many pizza places, and cops that knew me well enough to always just give me warnings. Now that I’m older, though, Brownsburg just isn’t getting the job done for me. Unfortunately, it took me around four days to realize this.
I spent the first few days of my summer vacation doing what any party animal of my stature would do—playing Scrabble and Boggle with my mom and sister. The games really weren’t all that fair, considering the fact that I have been an amateur writer for about six months and have thus augmented my lexicon with a myriad of new words and morphemes (see what I mean?). I flexed my Boggle muscles while playing my sister, as I ran away with the game and put the icing on the cake with a career-high seven letter word (soapbox). Scrabble wasn’t all that much harder, despite my mom’s best effort to bend the rules (if I call her a cheater, she won’t do my laundry anymore). She (accidentally) did the classic move of turning over a tile to pass it off as a blank, which would have worked if I were seven years old or The Villain. I eventually pulled the two real blank tiles from the bag and was confused (I guess you could say I drew a blank when I drew the blanks) until I checked my mom’s supposedly blank tile. I overcame her gaffe by using the blanks to make my first ever word in which I used every tile on my rack (secretes), giving me the coveted 50 point bonus. Writing does wonders for family board games.
After the board games got stale, which I personally thought could never happen, I decided to try out the night life in Indianapolis. Keller and I made our way to Bud’s Tavern on Lafayette Road and 30th street, which was smack dab in the middle of An Area That Would Make Me Feel Much Safer If It Was Better Lit. Basically my idea of experiencing Indy’s nightlife is going to a hole in the wall where I have to put my wallet in my front pocket and wear my hat straight.
Let me sidetrack real quick before I get back to the story. I have noticed something rather scary about myself that I’m not sure how to fix. I mock certain people so much (it’s what I do best) that over time I start acting like them without even realizing it. Here’s an example. If you have ever talked to anyone between the ages of 15 and 25 within the past two years, you have undoubtedly heard the phrase “I know, right?” (Maybe it’s just a Midwestern thing, in which case I apologize to the rest of the world reading this). I personally find this phrase to be one of the more annoying things that I have to put up with on a daily basis. To combat this, I decided to constantly mock people who use this phrase. Somehow, though, I mocked so much that for a period of about a week I began using the phrase without even realizing it.
I have a feeling that I come across as a hardcore redneck on this blog. Some of it is justified, seeing as how I do have many redneck characteristics, but I’ve never shot a gun in my life and don’t have a favorite beer (two of the most taboo things imaginable in the redneck community). Nonetheless, I turn my redneck-ness on full blast as a way to mock what I could have turned out to be. Only I’ve done it for so long that I actually feel myself becoming exactly what I make fun of. In the same way that I made fun of Sarah from Kappa Trappa Keepa for saying “I know, right?” and in turn began saying it myself, I am starting to wear novelty tank tops not because I am making fun, but rather because I think they are comfortable and I (*gulp*) like the look. The difference is that the “I know, right?” thing is only a phrase that I said, which was a small thing that was easy to change. The redneck thing is an entire lifestyle and could take countless hours of interventions from my friends for me to change my ways. I guess I’ve got the first step of admitting I have a problem out of the way. Just know that I really am sorry that most of the stories I share involve me either acting like or associating with a redneck in some way.
I tell you that as a preface to the story about my experience at Bud’s Tavern. Bud’s is, for the most part, exactly as trashy of a bar as it sounds. With the exception of Keller and I, nobody was younger than 40 years old and everybody had either an American flag or a bald eagle on their clothing. Simply put, it was the type of bar that someone like myself, who is battling a redneck/non-redneck identity crisis, should not have gone to. To make matters worse/much, much better, it was karaoke night on this particular evening.
I could go on and on about how awesome it was to watch a 45 year old woman, who earlier in the day had decided that putting on a bra was too much trouble, down her Budweiser and take a long drag of one her Marlboros before singing “Baby Got Back.” I could also go on about the old man with a mustache that I could write a book about who brilliantly used “Ain’t No Sunshine” as a vehicle to release all of his pain and sorrow. But I’d much rather talk about how I got the entire bar drunk with a little concoction I like to call “Courtesy of The Red, White, & Blue.”
After watching no more than three people do their thing with the karaoke machine, I immediately knew that I would be remiss if I didn’t give it a try. The only thing that stood in my way was deciding what direction I wanted to go with my song selection. I initially thought singing something like 2pac’s “Life Goes On” would have made for an awesome reaction from everyone else in the bar. I also thought about singing Journey, for one rather obvious reason, but the chick that sang a few spots ahead of me chose to completely ruin “Open Arms” and I didn’t want to be associated with her mediocrity. I instead decided that I should pick a song that would breathe some life into the bar. I’ve said it many times that Midwestern rednecks are some of the most patriotic people anywhere, which is why I knew I had to tug on the patriotic strings of these people’s hearts. The obvious first choice was to go with Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless The USA”, but I had to instead go with Toby Keith for one very awesome reason.
For those who don’t know, the Keller I keep referencing to is my best friend, who goes to the University of Arizona and usually has his clock set three hours behind mine. On one particular night a year ago, Keller had a few too many alcoholic beverages and found it necessary to call me at 4 a.m. (it was only 1 in AZ) when I had workouts just two hours later. For whatever reason, I chose to answer the phone and I heard a drunk Keller belting out “Courtesy of The Red, White, & Blue.” I was understandably upset with him waking me and forcing me to have an even worse than normal workout and thus decided that a little payback should be in store. After a few days passed, I called him in the middle of the night and sang the same song at the same volume level. From there a ritual was born. We now call each other whenever we hear the song and have even included a few of our friends in the experience (Kyle Madsen and Danny Peters being two of them). It makes for some really awkward situations when the song comes on while I’m around people I don’t know that well, because the rules clearly state that whenever either of us hears the song, a call must be made. If you want to be added to the “Courtesy of Red, White, & Blue” list, e-mail me your number and expect a call from yours truly somewhere down the line.
As you can see, even though Lee Greenwood is probably considered more patriotic, Toby Keith occupies a special place in my heart and provided me an opportunity to call Kyle and Danny at two in the morning. When it was finally my turn to sing, I walked to the karaoke stage with a smile that could be classified as a little bit too big. As soon as I grabbed the mic, I decided to gauge the enthusiasm of the audience by throwing that “How’s everyone feeling tonight?” line at them. Based on their collective reaction, the audience insinuated that they just got diagnosed with measles or they just found out they are related to The Villain in some way. In other words, they weren’t initially vibing me and my antics. That would soon change.
Despite the hesitancy from the crowd (which was about seven people) at the onset, after they heard me and my soothing baritone voice effortlessly hit the first few notes, they immediately knew the situation. I wasn’t on that karaoke stage to have a good time. I was there to put on a show and to express my love for this country through the art of singing and, at times, creative dancing. Unfortunately, for the crowd and me both, I severely underestimated how exhausting karaoke can be. By the time I got to the line “My daddy served in the army…” (which I’m pretty sure is less thirty seconds into the song), I was so tired from singing so loudly that I basically yelled that line in as angry of a tone as possible. I continued yelling for as long as I could and then basically just ended up speaking the lyrics by the end of the song.
After I finished singing/yelling/talking/rocking out with an air guitar, I looked over at the crowd and noticed that they were just as dead as they were when I started. Clearly my singing talent wasn’t nearly as impressive as it was in 8th grade when I was partly responsible (there were almost 200 of us) for one of the greatest junior high renditions of “Proud Mary” ever. That’s why I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out the go to move (some call it a desperation move, I just call it being smart) when dealing with a crowd of rednecks—the “U-S-A! U-S-A!” chant. Keller saw that this was my last chance at getting the crowd’s attention, which prompted him to join in and magnify my chant. Soon, everyone at the bar was looking up to see what the fuss was all about. I can’t say for sure if anyone else chanted with us, but a guy in a Harley-Davidson tank top did come over and give me a high five, so clearly I did something right. (For the record, my attempt at converting the high five into a one-armed embrace was swiftly shot down.)
When I woke up the next morning, I immediately knew that no day in Brownsburg could ever top a night at Bud’s Tavern and I was definitely right with that assumption. My usual routine of laying around the house all day and watching TV was put to an abrupt end when my dad came home and made me turn off Maury so he could watch the news. If there’s one thing my dad does better than anyone I know, it’s sit in front of a newscast and be genuinely entertained. A typical day for him consists of waking up, turning on a morning news show, going to work, coming home, watching every segment of the news from 5-7, eating dinner, and going to bed at 11 so he can watch the evening news and fall asleep. Despite the fact that important events in the world really don’t change all that much from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m., my dad still finds it necessary to watch at night, just in case. Even so, my dad’s love for the news is still only the second most head-scratching thing that he does, slightly behind his decision to eat cheese puffs with a fork (you don’t get the cheesy residue on your hands that way, he’ll tell you). HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, DAD!
Left with nothing to do, I foolishly decided to go to a 7th grade girls’ basketball game because two of my good friends, Courtney Neil and Kristin Houck (there are your shout-outs, now stop bugging me about it), were coaching. Because I showed up alone and because I have a beard that I haven’t cut in a month in a half, I’m pretty sure my actions almost exactly fit the mold of a pedophile. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn a trench coat with nothing on underneath it. You live and you learn I guess.
The easy thing to do would be to make jokes about how watching girls’ basketball is as exciting as watching Michigan football, but I’m not going to bite on that bait. Even though girls’ basketball players slap hands up by their shoulders when going through the post-game handshake line, I respect their brand of basketball for the wholesome entertainment it provides (did that sound believable? Kinda? Meh, good enough). The only reason I even brought up that I went to a 7th grade girls’ game is to point out an observation I made about a longstanding tradition in the youth basketball world.
Undoubtedly, my favorite part of any basketball game (boys or girls) that involves players younger than 9th grade is halftime and any timeout. If you go to any junior high or elementary level basketball game anywhere in the world, you are guaranteed to see at least two or three stray kids sitting on the sideline with a basketball in hand, waiting on a break in the action so they can throw up NBA range threes from their hip. These are the same kids who the refs have to tell over and over again to stop bouncing their ball during the game, to which the kids respond by holding the ball until the game action goes down to the other end of the court and they then dribble even louder than they were before. These kids are simultaneously ruining youth basketball for the people who have to put up with them on a consistent basis and are saving youth basketball for casual fans like me who enjoy watching pissant kids try to drop kick a ball into the basket from half-court during a 30 second timeout. With that being said, thank you to the four 1st graders who were seemingly playing dodgeball at halftime of this game I was at. Without your help, there was no way I was making it through that second half.
Maybe I didn’t exactly paint the picture of Brownsburg that Jacob was hoping I would, but I did give you a look at a typical Brownsburg experience for me. Sure I left out things like going to a local breakfast place who still has “Freedom Toast” and “Freedom Fries” on the menu, six years removed from France opposing the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Sure I left out things like going to one of several carnivals held in Brownsburg each and every summer. Sure I left out things like how the student section at baseball games grills out just behind the left field fence so they don’t have to pay the lofty $4 admission to get into the actual bleachers. I instead chose to give you a look into what my life is like when I make the three hour drive back to beautiful Brownsburg, Indiana. Playing board games, singing karaoke, and watching junior high girls’ basketball may not seem like all that much fun, but the harsh reality is that Brownsburg isn’t all that much fun. Just don’t tell the Brownsburg cops how I feel about my hometown. Other than the opportunity to annoy The Villain on a daily basis, getting nothing but warnings from the Brownsburg police force is the nicest luxury I have going for me.
Streak for the Cash Group Leader: R. Huff, for the second entry in a row (streak of 16 wins)
Streak for the Cash Group Loser: B. Truslow, for the fifth entry in a row (streak of 15 losses). In the words of Lloyd Christmas, “You are one pathetic loser.”
Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Swetha S. There’s your shout-out, Swetha. And here's your video.
The Culture of Uplift, Identity, and Politics in Black Musical Theater
Paula Marie Seniors
Paula Marie Seniors’s Beyond Lift Every Voice and Sing is an engaging and well-researched book that explores the realities of African American life and history as refracted through the musical theater productions of one of the most prolific black song-writing teams of the early twentieth century. James Weldon Johnson, J. Rosamond Johnson, and Bob Cole combined conservative and progressive ideas in a complex and historically specific strategy for overcoming racism and its effects. In Shoo Fly Regiment (1906–1908) and The Red Moon (1908–1910), theater, uplift, and politics collided as the team tried to communicate a politics of uplift, racial pride, gender equality, and interethnic coalitions. The overarching question of this study is how roles and representations in black musical theater both reflected and challenged the dominant social order. While some scholars dismiss the team as conformists, Seniors’s contention is that they used the very tools of hegemony to make progressive political statements and to create a distinctly black theater informed by black politics, history, and culture. These men were writers, musicians, actors, and vaudevillians who strove to change the perception of African Americans on stage from one of minstrelsy buffoonery to one of dignity and professionalism. http://www.ohiostatepress.org
Event. In recognition of Autistic Pride Day (which typically falls on June 18 of each year) members of the Central Ohio/Ohio State Autistic Self-Advocacy Network will meet with two state representatives to discuss the policy issues that are important to autistic people. We will then hold a picnic/brownbag lunch on the state house lawn. Members of the community are welcome to join us for this event.
RSVP and Contact Information. Those interested in attending should RSVP by the afternoon of Friday, June 12. Please send an email to asan.ohiostate@gmail.com.
Itinerary. 8:45am For those uncomfortable with getting to the state house on their own: meet Hillary and Melanie at the campus Barnes & Noble. We’ll take the #2 bus down to the state house. (Bring appropriate fare—$1.50 each way.) 9:15am Everyone meet in the lobby of Riffe Tower, 77 S. High St., Columbus, OH. (For those parking, rates are $2/hour.) 9:30am Meeting with Representative Kevin Bacon 10:00am Meeting with Representative Ted Celeste 10:30am Brief tour of the State House 11:00am Lunch on the state house lawn! Please bring your own lunch, in a lunch bag or backpack. (If it rains, we’ll eat inside the lobby of Riffe Tower.) 12:00pm Head home, or bus back to Barnes & Noble with Hillary and Melanie.
About. The Autistic Self-Advocacy Network (ASAN) works to advance the autistic culture movement and to improve the representation of the autistic community in public policy deliberations about autism and disability affairs. The Central Ohio chapter of ASAN seeks to provide opportunities for social and community involvement in and around the Columbus area.
Autistic Pride Day (cited from Wikipedia) is a celebration of the neurological diversity of people on the autism spectrum and is about shifting views of autism from “disease” to “difference.” Autistic pride asserts that autistic people have a unique set of characteristics that provide them many rewards and challenges, not unlike their non-autistic peers.
The Autistic Self Advocacy Network, along with several other advocacy groups, has submitted an amicus brief to the United States Supreme Court in the case of Winkelman v. Parma City School District. The lawsuit was brought by the parents of an Autistic child who was not given the opportunity to continue receiving occupational therapy services in an Ohio school after the district had agreed that those services were necessary. The school district prepared an IEP stating only that a further assessment of the need for the services would be completed.
The Supreme Court is seeking to resolve a conflict among the Circuit Courts of Appeals, which have taken conflicting approaches to the question of whether a court's analysis of the content of an IEP should consider only the written IEP or whether the court has discretion to consider other evidence as well.
Parents play a major role in developing an IEP, which is analogous to a contract with the school district specifying the educational services to be provided to the child. Related services such as occupational therapy also must be specified in the IEP pursuant to federal law as set forth in 20 U.S.C. § 1414(d)(1)(A)(4). School districts are prohibited from making unilateral decisions about a child's IEP.
Consistent with the general rule that in contract law, evidence outside the written terms of the contract ordinarily is not admissible in court, three Courts of Appeals have ruled that only the written IEP should be considered in determining whether it is adequate. However, three other Courts of Appeals, including the court from which the Winkelman case was appealed, reached the opposite conclusion in deciding that an IEP lacking the required specific content could nevertheless be found valid based on consideration of other evidence.
The Autistic Self Advocacy Network is asking the Supreme Court to rule that when courts analyze the content of an IEP to determine its adequacy, only the written IEP should be considered. A school district should not be allowed to omit required content from a child's IEP and then to assert later that it intended to supplement the IEP. Allowing districts to postpone decisions on the content of an IEP can lead to considerable delay in providing occupational therapy and other necessary services. The educational well-being of Autistic children and other students with disabilities is best served when they receive therapy without interruption or delay.
-- Ari Ne'eman President The Autistic Self Advocacy Network 1660 L Street, NW, Suite 700 Washington, DC 20036 http://www.autisticadvocacy.org 732.763.5530
Here is a worthwhile post by Professor Stephen Hsu. Vernon Smith is a noble prize winning economist and an Aspie. The post itself links to a number of other useful articles on Smith. I found his discussion of teaching to be particularly meaningful to me in my situation as a teacher.
John Best of Hating Autism has said this about disability civil rights:
… You hurt your case by mentioning queers. Nobody is opposed to you for your religion or your Asperger's. When you align that with queers, you include yourself with severely deranged people. No decent person wants their kids to have to listen to that acceptance crap for perverts. We don't accept it as an alternative lifestyle and we don't want our kids influenced by it. Keep it in the closet and nobody cares. You say you don't align yourself with Ne'eman but you call yourself autistic the same way he does. You aren't. You have Asperger's. Call yourself that and I don't give a damn what you do. Identify yourself as having the same condition as my kid while it looks like your AS is no big deal and I have a big problem with it. You're telling the world that "autism" is no big deal which is completely untrue. Autism is a nightmare for the person who has it and everyone who has to deal with it. I just spoke briefly with Ne'eman on a radio show. He dodged my concerns about his abuse of the word "autism" and ignored my contention that he misrepresented the truth with his anti-cure rhetoric. I was cutoff before I could respond to his nonsensical political crap. Yes, he speaks well when unopposed but he would not fare very well in any sort of debate with someone who sees through his bogus avoidance of the truth.
Do you need any more proof that Asperger hatred is not any different to being homophobic? I have no idea what Mr. Best thinks about Judaism but he has already gone on the record as saying that people with Aspergers are mentally ill and need to be cured. That sounds like opposition to me. I figure we are as safe with Mr. Best with our Asperger syndrome as homosexuals are in the closet. Ironically enough, Melanie sent me the link to this radio exchange last night. (Start it around the 37th minute) I listened to it and I must say that it was nice to hear the voice behind the blogger; Mr. Best even sounds like my stereotype of a bigoted hick. I guess Mr. Best and I must have heard two very different exchanges. He comes out throwing accusations at Ne’eman, none of which have anything to do with reality. At the moment Asperger syndrome is listed as a type of autism so no one is conspiring here or telling any lies. We are simply running with the medical classification on the ground. No one is trying to deny anyone medical attention. I think Ne’eman did a very good job on that front outlining the sorts of help he is trying to get for everyone from across the spectrum, including Mr. Best’s son. I think that any fair minded person listening to that exchange would have come away thinking that Mr. Best is a brain damaged pig and that Ne’eman is a sterling gentleman. Now who stands in need of a cure? It is a pity that we cannot cart bigots off into hospitals and make them take special education classes.
