Another Spectrum

Personal ramblings and rants of a somewhat twisted mind


Women ogle too

I’ve long thought that when people ogled me, they where puzzled by my atypical behaviour. However a study by Dr. Jon Maner, assistant professor of psychology at Florida State University offers an alternative possibility: men see me as competition, and women, well, they find me attractive.

If only!

The study found that heterosexual men and women are both equally “guilty” of fixating on attractive people, and it seems the more attractive a person is, the more difficult it is for the observer to avert their gaze. The reason for this behaviour is believed to be an evolutionary process designed with a dual purpose: (a) to find a mate, and (b) protect us from potential competitors.

This phenomenon has been termed attention adhesion. Both men and women are attracted to members of the opposite sex as potential mates, but attractive members of the same sex are seen as potential rivals for the attention of their own mate. Single people tend to notice those of the opposite sex more, but people in committed relationships tend to notice those of the same sex. And apparently, the more jealous a partner is, the more that partner fixates on attractive members of their own sex.

I assume there are social conventions that regulate what is acceptable ogling/staring/gazing at other people, especially members of the opposite sex, but I have yet to figure it out. As women call out men on this one far more than men call out women, is it because women do it more discretely, or is because men are more willing to flout the rules?

I’m forever being distracted by other people, or rather I’m distracted by movement and sound, and people tend to generate both in abundance. Being autistic and face blind, I tend not to be drawn towards faces, but more towards details such as how a person walks, or opens a door, or how their clothes move on their body, or how their shoes reflect light, or how they avoid collisions with other people, or how… I think you get the picture.

I admit I’m a persistent ogler, but the only time my wife notices is if the oglee (if it’s not a real word, it should be) is female and, in her opinion, attractive. Not only does she notice, but she lets me know in no uncertain terms that she has noticed. I can avoid ogling as easily as the next person can avoid scratching a persistent itch – it’s an impossibility.

I’m a lost cause when it comes to ogling, but the next time your partner accuses you of objectifying a member of the opposite sex, perhaps you can suggest that they are attaching a moral judgement to something that is hard-wired in our brains.

On the other hand, if you value your relationship, perhaps it might be more prudent to apologise.



I am atheism

I am atheism.
I’m visible in your children, but if I can help it, I am invisible to you until it’s too late.
I know where you live.
And guess what? I live there too.
I hover around all of you.
I know no colour barrier, no religion, no morality, no currency.
I speak your language fluently.
And with every voice I take away, I acquire yet another language.
I work very quickly.
I work faster than paediatric aids, cancer, and diabetes combined
And if you’re happily married, I will make sure that your marriage fails.
Your money will fall into my hands, and I will bankrupt you for my own self-gain.
I don’t sleep, so I make sure you don’t either.
I will make it virtually impossible for your family to easily attend a temple, birthday party, or public park without a struggle, without embarrassment, without pain.
You have no cure for me.
Your scientists don’t have the resources, and I relish their desperation. Your neighbours are happier to pretend that I don’t exist—of course, until it’s their child.
I am atheism. I have no interest in right or wrong. I derive great pleasure out of your loneliness.
I will fight to take away your hope. I will plot to rob you of your children and your dreams. I will make sure that every day you wake up you will cry, wondering who will take care of my child after I die?
And the truth is, I am still winning, and you are scared. And you should be.
I am atheism. You ignored me. That was a mistake.
And to atheism I say:
I am a father, a mother, a grandparent, a brother, a sister.
We will spend every waking hour trying to weaken you.
We don’t need sleep because we will not rest until you do.
Family can be much stronger than atheism ever anticipated, and we will not be intimidated by you, nor will the love and strength of my community.
I am a parent riding toward you, and you can push me off this horse time and time again, but I will get up, climb back on, and ride on with the message.
Atheism, you forget who we are. You forget who you are dealing with. You forget the spirit of mothers, and daughters, and fathers and sons.
We are Qatar. We are the United Kingdom. We are the United States. We are China. We are Argentina. We are Russia. We are the Eurpoean Union. We are the United Nations.
We are coming together in all climates. We call on all faiths. We search with technology and voodoo and prayer and herbs and genetic studies and a growing awareness you never anticipated.
We have had challenges, but we are the best when overcoming them. We speak the only language that matters: love for our children.
Our capacity to love is greater than your capacity to overwhelm.
Atheism is naïve. You are alone. We are a community of warriors. We have a voice.
You think because some of our children cannot speak, we cannot hear them? That is atheism’s weakness.
You think that because my child lives behind a wall, I am afraid to knock it down with my bare hands?
You have not properly been introduced to this community of parents and grandparents, of siblings and friends and schoolteachers and therapists and pediatricians and scientists.
Atheism, if you are not scared, you should be.
When you came for my child, you forgot: you came for me.
Atheism, are you listening?

Are you an atheist? Did the message above appal you? I hope it did.

Are you religious? Did the message above appal you? I hope it did.

In some regions of the world, atheists are victims of the attitudes displayed in the transcript above, and many of the religious in those regions would support the sentiments it contains, even if they would be reluctant to voice them openly. Fortunately I live in a region where all forms of religion and non-religion are accepted and valued. Atheism along with the world’s major religions are regarded in a positive light by around 90% of the population.

That’s about all I’m going to say about atheism and religion in this post as it is not really about religion (or lack of it) at all.

Huh? I hear you say? Truly it’s not. The transcript above has been very slightly modified from the original by replacing one word with the word atheism. I could have changed a few additional words the make it more consistent, but I think the message is very clear as it is, and that is that atheism is a very bad thing indeed.

While I concede that the harm manifest in the transcript will not be recognised by some fundamentalists of any religious flavour, I think the rest of us, religious or not, can see it. In some parts of the world, the transcript might be considered hate speech and the speakers sanctioned accordingly.

Most people like me will recognise the transcript, and know what word originally stood in place of atheism. We know it is hateful and harmful. People like me experience the result of the demonising of our person-hood that voices such as the ones in the original transcript cause – every day.

Can you imagine what it would be like to be subjected to not just disapproval or hatred, but intense compliance-based training to ensure every action, every deed, every word that you utter or write makes you indistinguishable from others in a devout religious community? Many like me don’t need to imagine. We’ve lived it.

Although the analogy of atheism is not perfect, if it’s made you uncomfortable or angry,  or given you food for thought, then I’ve succeeded. If you don’t know what the original word is in the transcript that I replaced with atheism, I’ll help you out. It’s another word starting with “A“. The transcript is of an advertisement put out by an organisation that supposedly has our best interests at heart, but fails to consult us or allow us to take a part in its activities, and makes others fear and hate what we are. No matter where we are in the world, we cannot escape the attitudes expressed in the transcript.

The original word in the transcript that I replaced with atheism is autism, and the advertisement is I Am Autism put out by Autism Speaks. I’m not going to put a link to the video, but if you want to see it in all its horror, search YouTube for “I Am Autism commercial by Autism Speaks”.

It does not speak for me!


Too Hot!

Since returning from our holiday in Japan a little over a month ago, I’m beginning to wonder if somehow we’ve moved into a parallel dimension.

The people look and behave the same, places look the same, even the politicians seem the same (although the government has changed). What is different is the weather. It’s not New Zealand weather as I know it.

Aotearoa New Zealand is well know for its temperate climate. Not too cold in winter. Not too hot in summer. The average daily maximum temperature in December in my home town is 20°C (68℉), But not one day this month has the maximum daily temperature been below 24°C (75°F). I started writing the piece late morning and already the thermometer is at 23 24 25°C (77°F) outside and climbing. According to my weather station, the maximum temperature so far this month has been 34°.3C (93.7°F)!

Perhaps if you reside on or near a continental land mass, you’re wondering what the fuss is all about but weather in Aotearoa New Zealand can change unexpectedly, and newcomers to NZ frequently get caught out. Sustained high or low temperatures feel oppressive when one lives where daily temperature variations can be as large as seasonal variations, and it’s not unusual to experience four seasons in one day.

And I suspect being an Aspie doesn’t help the situation. For me, anything below 15°C (59°C) is cold, and a trigger for the symptoms of Raynaud syndrome. Anything above 23°C (76°F) and I begin to sweat profusely, and within a relatively short time I’m saturated. As I’m unable to use any antiperspirants (hypersensitive skin), the result isn’t pretty.

When hot, I find clothing extremely uncomfortable – especially typical NZ male attire. I’ve resorted to wearing a yukata in an attempt to make life more bearable. It definitely helps.

The MetService (meteorological bureau) informs us that this summer is going to be exceptionally hot, dry and windy. Already many regions have seen new seasonal records set and it’s barely mid December! Ocean temperature in many places is 2°C warmer than normal for this time of year and toxic algal bloom is affecting the gathering of kaimoana (seafood) in some areas. Not good.

There’s another issue  I have with the summer season: hay-fever. It’s started somewhat earlier this year than normal. Typically it doesn’t start until mid to late December, but this year it started in mid November. For me it lasts continuously for around two months. Let’s hope that this year will be the same – over in mid January instead of the usual late February.

If you get the impression I’m not fond of summer, you’d be right. Roll on Autumn!


Autism is nothing to fear

Over on the silent wave, Liana makes a plea not to demonise autism. Get to know us. What makes us different is nothing to fear. Look, I am surrounded by non-autistic people, and while I might never understand their way of seeing the world, I see no reason to be afraid of them, or their condition. The same applies in reverse. The only thing to fear is the public perception of autism, not autism itself.

I live in the US, where the predominant feeling surrounding the autism spectrum is fear. Parents decline to vaccinate their children because because they’re afraid they’ll wind up autistic. Parents, I hear you, on a certain level. Some children really do react badly to vaccines. I’ve heard too many stories, even from people I know–reasonable […]

via Autism is nothing to fear. Are you scared of me? — the silent wave

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Theory of mind(reading)

Theory of Mind is a concept that autism “experts” have come up with, but as is amply illustrated in Laina’s post, one must ask whether it’s the autistic or the expert that lacks it.

the silent wave

Realizing that you’re autistic when you’re an adult means you get to do a lot of searching. This takes multiple forms – soul-searching, Google-searching, memory-searching, and often, people-searching (the journey of finding others just like you).

In my internet searching, I tripped over a staggering number of tidbits that clicked my entire world into place. It was like being given the instruction manual to my brain, and having it translated into my native language.

There was one particular concept, however, that did not click in line quite so easily: Theory of Mind.

What the hell was that, this “Theory of Mind” of which so many speak? The term stoically hides any further information.

Many a mention, nary a definition. At least, not a definition that helped much.

At first, my Inner Smartass came out. ”Well duh–of course we have minds. That’s not a theory!”

Har-har. 😉

It took me…

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Three days lost

There are two conditions that conspire to make my life difficult at times. One is considered a mental disorder by the medical profession although I hope that in time this attitude will change. Once homosexuality was considered a disorder by the medical profession, and when I was a child, left handedness was certainly treated as punishable condition.

How times have changed. Today we understand that what is considered “normal” is in many cases, just the bulge in a bell curve of human variability, and one doesn’t need to be “cured” if one tends to be at either end of the curve.

Of course I’m referring to autism. While autism has its challenges, most of those challenges are because of the way other people, in other words “society”, respond to how I exhibit aspects of autism. While I think autism awareness is ideal in theory, I’m afraid that awareness isn’t accompanied by understanding. In Western culture, it seems that it’s being demonised as an epidemic; something that needs to eradicated, even to the point where the desire to  eradicate the person with autism is seen as understandable, although thankfully not condoned. This must change.

The other condition, and the one that has had the most effect on me over the last few days, is considered a disorder, by the medical profession, and with which I heartily concur, is migraine. Having been laid low by a particularly painful attack that has kept me in a darkened room for three days, unable to eat, think rationally or coherent thoughts, I would like nothing better than for science to find a cure, or even to reduce the severity, frequency and duration of attacks. Looking at the Migraine Buddy app on my phone, I see the following statistics for the last 31 days:

No. of attacks: 14
Average attack duration: 32 hrs 25 mins
Attack days: 27
Attack-free days: 4
Pain Intensity
(1 – 10 scale)
Minimum: 3
Average: 6.3
Maximum: 9

The three most common symptoms (apart from pain) are sensitivity to light and noise, and Tinnitus. These occurred in every attack. However following symptoms occurred in at least half of attacks: Aphasia, giddiness, sensitivity to smells, fatigue, blurred vision, blind spots, ataxia, and confusion, with nausea occurring in only six of the attacks. Distorted spatial awareness, hemiparesis, tremors, dysarthria, and facial numbness occurred in five attacks. There are a few other less common symptoms, but I think the list is long enough as it is.

While the frequency and duration of attacks are a little up on a normal month, it’s not by much. Migraines do limit what I can do and it means that I’m not able to make definite plans. Everything depends on my condition at the time. It means that I’m often seen as “unreliable” because I can’t commit to being at a particular place at a particular time.

Even blogging has to go by the wayside during a migraine, as I’m unable to string a coherent paragraph together, and I’m unable to perform even the basics of proof reading during many attacks.

Currently I’m in the postdrome phase of the last migraine. This means that although the throbbing head pain is gone, it still feels like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I’m not sure how coherent my writing is. The postdrome phase can take as long as a day, sometimes longer,  to finally fade away, but at least, that little guy with the sledgehammer who has been so busy inside my skull for the last 3 days has gone for now. For that I’m extremely grateful.


Sensory Overload

I’m sometimes asked what it feels like to be an Aspie. I don’t know, as it feels perfectly normal to me. I’ve been one for almost 68 years, and will remain so for the rest of my life. However, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to not being an Aspie, then shudder at the thought. You’re all so strange!

However there is one non-autistic trait I wish I did have, and that is the ability to filter incoming stimuli. This is simply because I am required to inhabit a world dominated by people who take sensory gating for granted. Most people on the autism spectrum are prone to sensory overload to some degree. I certainly am, and I think I might be able to explain it in a way that make sense for those of you who don’t experience it.

email_icon_crystalLet’s imagine that your job is to respond to all email sent to your office. If it takes on average about ten minutes to attend to each email, then over an eight hour working day you can process about fifty emails. So the forty or so that arrive on a typical day is a walk in the park. Sure, there will be times when they arrive in quick succession and some may require more time than others to process, and you may end up with five or perhaps ten in your inbox awaiting attention. You simply prioritise the messages and in quick order you’re back to an empty or near empty inbox.. However…

What you don’t see is all messages that have been sent to the office email address. As well as the forty messages you see, there are another 360 that have been caught by the the Spam filter on the office mail server. What would happen if the filter suddenly stopped working? Instead of processing forty emails per day, you’re now faced with processing 400 per day. That’s an average processing time of one minute and 12 seconds per message if you want to leave the office at your usual time. Sure, some of the messages will obviously be Spam, but a great many will not be so obvious at a cursory glance, and will take a few minutes to check their validity. Are you beginning to feel the pressure?

There’s one other bit of information that will really put the heat on. Your mailbox has developed a software fault and can hold, at most, twenty messages. Any more than that and one of two possibilities happens. Either, the new message pushes one of the existing messages out of the inbox where it simply disappears, or, it merges the new message with one of the existing messages, resulting in absolute gibberish. It’s not possible to predict which message will be pushed out or merged, nor which of the two possibilities will occur. So when your inbox contains nineteen messages and another thirty arrive within one minute, you know you’re in deep doo-doo.

Your sensory gating works in a way similar to the Spam filter. Anything that is irrelevant is stopped at the gate. You only have to deal with the important stuff. There are moments during the day when your “inbox” gets kind of full as you struggle to cope with two kids that won’t stop bickering, while a third has just taken a tumble off the shed roof and possibly has concussion and a broken arm. Meanwhile the dog has just thrown up on the new carpet in the lounge, and you discover the phone’s been disconnected because your spouse forgot to pay the bill last month. But on the whole you cope quite well, knowing that your “inbox” can hold hundreds or thousands of messages at any time.

On the other hand, I’m struggling with no Spam filter and a restricted “inbox”. My partner and I go to a restaurant for dinner. She’s wearing a broach that catches the light every few seconds. Each time it does, I receive a new message in my “inbox”. I ask her to remove the broach. She refuses, The candle on our table and the table on the left have tea light candles. Each time they flicker, I get a new email I blow out the candle on our table. My partner comments that that was very romantic deed. Is she being sarcastic? How does one know?

The table on the right has one of those confounded fake candles with an electric flame. It flickers incessantly. Each time it does, I get a new message. In the background, there’s piped music with a vocal track. Each time I hear recognisable word, another message is sent. At the table behind me there’s at least two conversations going on. Each time there’s a recognisable phrase, I get a new message, The same thing is occurring with the tables to our left and right. Each click of utensils on crockery anywhere in the room creates a new message. And then there’s the constant toing and froing of patrons and serving staff, sending multiple messages each time they cross the floor. And I haven’t even included the stimuli I am receiving from the food or the many messages that result from contact between my skin and the suit I’m wearing. One of the waitresses is wearing shoes that squeak (am I the only person hearing that?) and my partner thinks I’m being distracted by the waitress. She’s right, but the reason for the distraction is most definitely not what she thinks. It’s those darned shoes. The right one makes a different sound to the left. The result is a sort of sqeeeksquick, squeeeksqick, and I get another email with each squick. I sense my partner is not happy with my distractedness, but to what degree I have no idea. My inbox is now overflowing, and I have no clue as to how many of the messages containing her half of the conversation have been lost, but I’m sure some of those messages have merged with the conversations going on around us. How else could “imdemnity clause” occur in the same sentence  as “salted caramel fudge for desert”? Someone is wearing perfume and it’s making my head spin, not to mention my stomach churn. Each spin and churn results in another message. And we’re still deciding what to order from the menu…

All I want to do is run. But stay I must.

I’m wired to process fifty messages a day – just like you. But whereas you only have to process forty on a normal day, I’m faced with processing four hundred! Unlike you, I wasn’t given a Spam filter.



Curiosity and Routine in Autism

Although my mind never stops asking “what if”, “how”, and “why”, the one thing I’ve never asked myself is “why is my mind so active?”. Over on A Is For Aoife Not Autism, Aoife discusses the relationship between autism and curiosity. This post started as a comment on her blog, but it kind of grew until I realised it was no longer appropriate as a comment. Thank you Aoife for prompting me to add another (infrequent) post to my blog.

Since being diagnosed as an Aspie at the tender age of 60, I’ve often been asked what I collect, since this is supposedly a common autistic characteristic (I’m not so sure about that). Certainly as a child I was an avid stamp collector and I’ve had other intense short term interests over the years, but for a while I was stumped for an answer.

That was until I realised that I have been an avid collector of facts and interesting (often useless) information for as long as I can remember. I don’t claim to be an expert on anything, but friends and family are always amazed at the depth of knowledge I possess about almost any topic. It’s probably why I was dubbed “the little professor” by many of my peers at primary school, and “the prof” in high school. Passionately curious marks me to a tee.

A recent example was when some friends dragged me along to view a restored steam locomotive going through its paces at the local railway yards. Although the restoration society’s premises were not open to the public on the day, we were invited on a tour of the site to see the work in progress. There were about a dozen locomotives in various stages of restoration, and in every case, I knew much more about the history of the locomotive class, and the purpose for which they were constructed than any of the thirty or so society members there. By the time we reached the third locomotive, I had taken over from our guide in relaying information about each locomotive, and a number of those on site, stopped what they were doing to follow what was now my guided tour, often asking questions that I would have otherwise assumed they knew. It’s rather nice to be able to “info dump” without being told to shut up!

This curiosity, in my case, masks much of what might otherwise become routine habit. Besides having absolutely no awareness of the passing of time, I’m always asking myself how, what, and why (but seldom when and almost never who).

Give_Way-128x128For example, whenever I’m driving somewhere, I seldom appear to take the same route twice. If I was given a dollar for every time I’ve been asked “Why are you going this way?”, I’d probably be a millionaire by now. So, why? Perhaps this way might be quicker, have less stop signs or give way  signs. Perhaps it might involve fewer right hand turns, or might have less traffic, or more roundabouts. Sometimes, it’s simply because I want to know what’s on that route. Until it’s tried, I’ll never know. And I really dislike not knowing.

No_Right_Turn-128x128And once I know, I’ll add it to my repertoire of routes, labelled with when and why that route is better and/or worse. And of course, routes can have sub-routes, each with  reasons why they might be more appropriate to use at certain times. Eventually, I’ll develop a complex set of rules as to why a particular route is best for a particular set of circumstances. To others, my variation in routes seems random, but I’m simply following the rules I have established, unless it’s to check whether those rules are still appropriate (and I have rules about how often to check), or whether there might yet be another route, or because I’m curious what I might find…

This applying of rules goes on in every walk of my life, but it’s through my insatiable curiosity that I have developed complex rules that others don’t see. They see only randomness instead. When I’m asked why I’ve taken a particular route, I could very easily say why, but it’s probably going to take some time to give the reason justice, and they’re likely to loose interest before I’ve finished, so instead I usually reply with “Why not?”

Strangely, my curiosity was mostly at the theoretical level, seldom at the practical level. Perhaps because I tended to be rather cautious, my curiosity seldom ended in “Oops!” moments, unlike my younger brother, who still today finds himself in the occasional one. Of course, many of his Oops moments in childhood, were the result of me posing a question I was unable to resolve in my head. Perhaps I might consider telling some of those stories some time in the future.