I think of a cultural generation of being, like, ten years. And there are three generations below that but they didn’t grow up seeing almost anything good. If you were maybe a stray genius — which I know everyone thinks they are, especially people your age, but they’re not, there have never been that many, they’re not going to start now — the cultural environment is so debased, it has an echoing effect for many generations. I don’t know if the world ever will recover, frankly. I really don’t.

Fran Lebowitz

(A most admired cynical-humorist)

Then re-quoted on Sore Afraid

(An excellent read BTW.)

Ms. Lebowitz was referring to the terrible loss to the world of art due to AIDS. A dark but touching tribute to the too-many-lives-lost to that plague.

But, many artists have survived, among them a stray genius or two. So to Ms Lebowitz, heeeeere’s Banksy!

And of course his hilarious/troubling/terribly sad really, intro to the Simpson’s.

No matter how many times I try, I always mispronounce his name.

As for Fran, me think she doth protest, if not too much, maybe a little too soon.

Firstly I/we/them don’t actually view the world with eyes but instead and almost exclusively with cameras. Perceptions are further warped by the constant re-adjustment of the position of the picture-taker, the components of the camera and the jockeying for  prime angle in prime light. Often If a loner is seen to be feverishly snapping away from somewhere which at first seems seems odd, the group will slowly migrate there in case anyone feels they’re missing the coveted exception-to-the-rule shot.

Without a camera the only choice you have is to watch the picture-takers. Nothing  else is left unobstructed by their presence and you certainly can’t be in the way of their shots.

You’ll also notice pretty quickly that humans do not qualify as relevant subject matter. Even the bland signs of in-habitation are avoided unless  part of the point of the architect (maybe to soften the monumentality of a housing project by Aldo Rossi).

It’s not so hard to understand why we architectural practitioners (and fans) demand such purity of the objects we photograph. We have seen pictures, plans and  sometimes even models of these places but when we experience them in the flesh it’s akin to finally seeing your favorite rock star in concert. Goose bumps.

There is no place for sloppy, unpredictable humans moving about and destroying the experience of a building.

Fine. But the whole taking-pictures-of-buildings business becomes absurd, not to mention rude and insensitive, when someone’s home is involved. I have seen people tackle bushes and stomp through gardens to get a more impressive shot of a house. Should privacy be completely obliterated just because you live in a famous building? Or in a not so famous building designed by a famous architect?

Even worse are the architectural/planning experiments where the jury is still out. In these places the photo-tourists are there to evaluate and ultimately judge your home. They don’t want to actually speak to you – your opinion is not relevant – and they certainly don’t want you in their pictures.

Such is the case for the Wychwood Barns artists’ residences. They’re only about a year old. They represent a novel idea for housing in Toronto and it’s certainly no stretch to call them experimental.

All of which brings me to the following. While walking my adorable dog around the barns this morning I spotted a hoard of youngish student-types  being toured around by two elders. A series of short lectures were followed by the the group moving en mass to another spot and ever closer to the private homes of the artists. My heart began to sink.

The residences are on the north side of the project on a residential street across from older houses with tall trees. The building itself consists of the remains of the TTC barns with the residences carved out of the old facade and a colonnade acting to shelter a row of front porches each with individual entrances.

By the time the invaders rounded the corner to the residences it was a free for all – students scurrying up and down the colonnade within inches of the artists’ doors studying details and of course, snapping pictures.

One resident emerged from his home, coffee in hand and in his pajamas (?) with a  look of shock and then embarrassment.

I didn’t see anyone trampling the tiny gardens the residents had planted in front of their homes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Instead I approached the tall, bespectacled leader and his shorter accomplice with a her perfect blond hair-do.

He said yes to everything I said while the blond smiled smugly.

Yes, He was leading this tour of the Barns.Yes, he knew people lived here. Yes, they deserved their privacy and yes he would make sure his group stoped being disrespectful. He gave no instructions to his group though. Most of whom looked like they had been caught with hands in the cookie jar.

I lingered around until the whole group had rounded the corner and beyond the residences.

How long they were able to resist the itch invade and document, I’m not sure I want to know.

While stopped and waiting to turn right my friend and I were approached by a stranger. With no inhibition and in a flat, unemotional tone he looked at my bumper and began to give us very detailed instructions. All pleasantries were ignored. He didn’t ask any questions or for that matter even pause to catch his breath. This was not a conversation.

My bumper had been torn off in a fight with a fence post and this stranger was going to tell my friend and me exactly what we needed to do to fix the situation. Exactly and with a precision completely off the charts including the serial number for the part required which he correctly identified as a fascia, not a bumper.

If we needed a mechanic instead of a parts store he knew of several in the area, their exact distance from our current location and how to get to each garage. His driving instructions included all the vitals but he also went on to describe in minute detail the landmarks one might find useful including buildings categorized by architectural style and building material, species of trees and notable (to him at least) elements of urban infrastructure. And of course the distance to each destination down to a tenth of a kilometer.

No opportunity was given us to engage with  him except to listen (very carefully).We thanked him, mouths agape, which he ignored and walked away. He appeared to be neither offended nor happy to have been of assistance. But I knew this experience may well have required a monumental effort. Not for the incredible recall and coherent, nano-detailed instructions but rather for the fact of his even approaching two people from whom he was probably utterly incapable of reading social and emotional cues.

“Wow, how Aspergerian was that!” I said to my friend after a long silence.

Personally it was less the birth of a neologism that stuck with me. I had been fascinated with Autism since working with Autistic children – albeit in a limited capacity- as a young man. Asperger Syndrome , a part of the Autistic spectrum, is also known as Autistic Spectrum Disorder. What struck me about this fellow was that his attempt  at social interaction  (probably a very brave one for him) turned out to be such a naked exposure of his affliction.

Aspergarians will often completely overlook generalities while possessing an overwhelming recall of – and ability to detect – detail. Dates, places, numbers, patterns. These abilities can be very useful in certain occupations and also prove to be debilitating as Aspergarians cannot easily grasp abstractions, metaphors and most importantly lack the ability to read (what for us are blatant) clues necessary to read the feelings of others.

This does not amount to lack of empathy -that is sociopath territory – more the inability to read others. Social illiteracy.

I have used this term “Aspergarian” around others. Some, a social-worker/family therapist find it offensive. Some, like my psychiatrist, find it useful as a descriptive term and he has even noticed others at his clinic beginning to use the word.

But a word is not a diagnosis. I am not in any position to make a diagnosis. It is descriptive, yes, but runs the risk of becoming derisive. Asperger Syndrome is a disability. The word needs to be used with care.

My interest runs deeper in any case.

Just as political extremes can diverge to such a degree that they almost meet at other end , so the Aspergerian shares much with his opposite. Problem is, that opposite is not clearly defined.

The opposite would be the person who is so sensitive to social cues they become deafening. Like the Aspergerian this is not about empathy. In fact for the Sensitivian, over-reading can mean paranoia and delusion  – the assumption that a person or people feel a certain way when they do not. Or at last not to their knowledge.

The slightest, most subtle nuance or gesture can provoke the Sensitivian into  a highly exaggerated response – whether externalized or not- which is completely out of scale with the triggering cue. Out of scale, but not entirely inaccurate.

Similarly, the Sensitivian can be overwhelmed by his physical environment, especially if it is new or foreign, something else shared with the Aspergerian. But the Sensitivian is far more likely to respond by translating his experience of the physical world into an abstraction.

This can come in handy for the artist, musician or designer but  such hyper-sensitivity can make engagement withe the outside world so unpleasant he loses touch with the very sources of his imagination.

The similarities are as numerous as the differences. The Sensitivian often engages in rumination (patterned and highly repetitive thinking) to drown out the deafening cues and hem in flights of imagination for example. He can become anxious in new social situations and  can rely heavily on routine. He may feel misunderstood and isolated and, like the Aspergerian, tend toward depression and obsessive-compulsiveness.

The Sensitivian Zero.

Fortunately not yet a trend, some agents are nonetheless attempting to fluff up the cache of their listings by headlining their adds with “By Appointment only”.

In other words, we wont be able to view these particular properties without first making an appointment. It’s possible that a very small minority of us may believe that we can  simply walk into any home that’s for sale without warning. Of course if there’s an open house we can do just that.

So why the headline? Are we supposed to believe that a home is more desirable simply because we have to make an appointment to get in and have a look? More prestigious? More exclusive? (Is it even possible for something to be more exclusive?)

This kind of attitude by Realtors to their buying public is offensive. It assumes we’re stupid enough to fall for this kind of used-car-salesman double-speak tactic.

In Toronto’s real estate world “by appointment only” is completely tautological, redundant and, in my opinion makes the listing agent and by extension the property seem ….
Well just plain stupid.

This week’s offender:  Linda Strutt., Sales Rep Royal LePage Johnston& Daniel Division.
From The Toronto Star, classifieds, March 28, 2009.

In defense of the offense. When selling my own home, there were (very occasionally) times when I would spot someone poking around the backyard. There were a couple of folks who thought they could knock on the door and come right in for a viewing. One who didn’t even knock. *Agent Zero said this was to be expected. **The Goddess of Real Estate did something magical and this sort of thing stopped happening. Still doesn’t excuse the silly headline though.

*Agent Zero was my first agent whose utter incompetence and irrational behavior contributed to my home languishing on the market for months.
**The Goddess of Real Estate took over from agent Zero and sold the home in 5 days.

My Christmas card for 2006.

It was done using Paint – a bitmap program. Have a look at it on Flickr as it has much better resolution there.

I make cards every year for my family and close friends – have for decades.This year though, there was little response to the card. My dad finally mentioned that he thought the card was “commercial” and din’t realize I had done it myself.

Good friend Joe did the type and set it up for printing so it really did look professional. Beautiful font – really the whole card looked great (thanks, Joe).

We had some discussion about “digital art” and Joe pointed out it has a tendency not to look hand crafted/homemade. Judging by my family’s reaction, this seems to have been the case this year despite the fact that I spent many more hours on this card than I have done in the past.

It was a lot of fun and a lot of work but I got more RAM as Christmas gift so now I can get a more sophisticated graphics program.

Merry Christmas!

A preventable tragedy, really. Jack and his sister, Jill could certainly not be blamed. Neither their parents. After all, they were only trying to provide the very best for their children. The best the developers had to offer. The best the Hills could afford.

Unlike their next door neighbours, the Grimms, who could afford private everything for both Hansel and Gretel; therapists, trainers, mod-cons, en suits, the Hills turned to the newest design solution for that age old challenge of giving each child their own bathroom. Not just a shared bath, a bath accessible from each child’s room and, importantly, NOT from any hall-ways. The hope was that this bathroom arrangement would give their children the same sense of self esteem a private en suit would – without the need to repeat toilet and tub.

In that respect the plan worked as neither Jack nor Jill showed any resentment or envy toward Hansel or Gretel for having their own private bathrooms.

There were minor altercations over how long Jack spent alone in the bath, but his parents understood that jack was coming to that particular age when boys were best left alone and un-questioned during “personal times”.

Ms. Süßigkeithaus across the way had her own opinions about these new fangled arrangements for children. “Indulgent” she called them. “A sure way to spoil an entire generation of kiddies”. The Hills were not bothered so much by Mrs. Süßigkeithaus’s opinions. She had, after all, no children of her own and they had learned to trust their instincts when it came to suspicious spinsters. They knew, somehow, that she was not to be trusted with children and quite possibly meant them harm, despite the enticing assortment of candy cladding her tiny house.

Tragedy does tend to revisit the screen of the crime. And so it was for the Hills. It wasn’t enough, that heart-breaking tumble leaving poor Jack with a devastating head injury, not to mention little Jill’s multiple fractures.The new house was to be their new start.

The Hill’s were very rigorous about hygiene with their children and no one could say that their personal habits were the problem. No, it was that new house, or more specifically the seemingly sophisticated arrangement of the children’s shared bath.

Jack, with puberty rapidly taking him over quite rightly insisted on total privacy while attending to his toiletisms. He closed and locked both doors to the shared toilet/tub area. A reasonable course of action except that this meant having to open a door before reaching his sink (where he always diligently washed his hands).

One touch of that door handle was all it took. Soon, Jill, attempting to borrow her brother’s pail by sneaking through his vanity, came in contact with the perilous contaminant, followed by Mrs Hill. Each became devastatingly ill, eventually ending up in hospital.

All alone in the new house it was decided that Mr Hill would require the services of their maid, Mrs. Spratt, full time. But eventually the maid herself fell ill and with her massive weight and terribly unhealthy diet, Mrs. Spratt succumbed.

The Hills have since knocked down walls and made one large bathroom with sinks directly beside the toilet. Jack and Jill are quite content with this more old-fashioned arrangement. The family was approached to go public with their deadly encounter with Hepatitis but they had had their fill of media attention after their children’s now infamous tumble down the hill.

Its a simple, ingenious idea (though not Joe’s).
A way for you to help Joe help the disabled, one micro-step at a time.

You may have noticed lately the growing accumulation of letters for each of the subgroups in our all-inclusive gay community. Even the Toronto District School Board has devised a questionnaire asking students, in effect, what kind of gay they are.

So far, as you no doubt know (or maybe you’d prefer a tongue-lashing from a lesbian), we have four letters — LGBT — and we are to be referred as such. We are all now LGBTixers. But are four letters enough? Is that really fair to all the unsung subcommunities in our proud counterculture?

Take the lesbians. They got it right: Started their your very own pride parade (womyn-only journalists please) and, while they were at it, they made sure, without anyone really noticing it was happening, that their letter came first. True, a lesbian can still call herself gay; we’re all gay. But more distinction was obviously required for gay womyn. Sorry, Lesbians.

To the question “don’t more folks deserve letters?” I say hell yes! It’s about time somebody brought us together with a festive gesture our true team spirit.

Well, here it is. A varsity letter jacket for <em>all</em> the teams at school.

• L= Lesbian. We really owe a debt of thanks to our same-sex-seeking systers. They started it all. We can leave the task of rewriting our herstory in their hands — starting with the letter L.
• G = Gay. You could argue that this letter should come first, seeing as we’re all gay. You could argue. But there are risks involved.
• B = Bisexual. I know, bisexuals aren’t really gay. But they aren’t really straight either. That’s gotta be a jam. The least we can do can is sacrifice one little letter.
• T= Transgendered. Now don’t start in with “but transsexuality is about gender, not sex.” It’s not that they are all gay.They can be straight or gay or gay pre-op and straight post-op or any combination of the combinations. The issue is that <em>we</em>, gay people, are all really, deep down, transgendered.

A measly four letters. Not very inclusive of us LGBTixers. Not to worry, though. Now we can welcome a whole new swarm of letters into the fold. Now there are letters for peoples you didn’t even know existed. Let our rainbow radiate with the glow of true diversity.

• 2S = Two-spirited. A native term that doesn’t quite describe either gay or transgendered. But it’s a fascinating phrase.
• Q = Queer. Ut-tut-tut. This is not redundant. You don’t have be L, G or B or to declare yourself queer. If you are a transgenderist of any ilk in any stage and also consider yourself gay, pull up a Q, you’re queer!
• Q = Questioning. <em>I</em> wonder, don’t you? What about the population of sort of non-LGBTixers who prefer a more subtle title for their sexuality? Very intriguing; the definitive title “questioning” is fast becoming a popular one. We’re trendspotters. Let’s just give them a letter now before the straights take over the word.

• Q = Queens. The final Q goes to the most gorgeous, most fabulous and most divine divas ever to snap their fingers, girlfriend.
• B = Bears. Those big ol’ hairy beasts. If we don’t give them a letter, who will?
• L= Leather. Ah, the sweet smell of cowskin. Our most adventurous (not to not mention kinkyest) have too long been stuck in the shadows of swings and chains. Time for a letter.
• M = Married. We can’t just give our newlyweds a flimsy legal document, people. They need an actual letter, please.
• OR = Open Relationship. True, there are still some whispers of controversy within the tribe about this group. Shame on those judgemental, envious loners. Despite the many moral (not to mention practical) conundrums strewn across their path of conquest, these brave souls forge ahead. Proud to openly advertise their open relationships. That’s got to be worth two letters.
• M/OR = Married/Open Relationship. (See above.) Three letters? Consider, please: Being married and in an open relationship, a threesome is never out the question.
• Y = Youth. The young bucks and buckettes of today are a new, different, and, they will gladly tell you, improved breed of Gay. One letter is all they’re getting, though.

And finally:

• SS&S = Straight Spectators and Sponsors. After all, where would our parade be without whole families (including babies and hyperthermic dogs) baking on the broiling pavement waiting for the thrill of seeing a real live drag queen or leatherbear at our parades? Isn’t it our straight comrades who have made all our rights and liberties possible? And lastly, the Sponsors. Finally a much-needed influx of cash. Now really hot young go-go dancers can be purchased (without the worry of whether or not they’re gay) for our parades. Besides, without our sponsors would we ever have become a legitimate marketing demographic? And you can put your worries aside and rest assured that massive corporations are not simply appropriating gay culture to seem, by association, cool (to everyone but the LGBT2sQQQPMORM/ORs, that is).

• Mo Varsity Crest LGBTBL2S edition.Symbol legend to follow.

We’ve checked out the Bentley’s at a dealership near my place but we’ve never seen a late model Rolls in the flesh. There a quarter of a million bucks so its not surprising.

I’ve made it a habit to check to see who’s parking in the disabled spots at my local Lawblaws.There are six dedicated spaces.Very rarely there’s perfectly average cars with actual permits. More often, any type of car with no permit at all.

But far and away the most common sight are immaculately clean, late model, high-end vehicles with the blue wheelchair cards on their dashes.

I also check to see who gets into these cars and it always seems to be able-bodied looking customers hurrying into their Benzes or Lexii or Cadillacs.

I guess I could ask one of them what’s up. But what are you going to say? Hey, lady, you’re seem to be pretty healthy; running around just fine and then you jump into a car with a disabled permit. Where’s the disability?

Well, maybe its invisible. That’s possible. Or maybe the lady’s just stepping out to grab some groceries while her paralysed husband waits in discomfort at home.

And, you know, you feel guilty questioning whether or not someone is disabled. Then you start wondering why you’re even wondering about it. There’s lots of wealthy customers at Lawblaws. Why wouldn’t some of them be disabled?

Except it happens over and over and over again. Rich, healthy shoppers getting to into expensive cars with disabled permits.

So as we’re approaching the Rolls I say I bet its got a disabled permit and sure enough …

This icon of privilege and wealth, the only car parked for a good half block, and the driver’s disabled. I just don’t buy it.

“Disabilities for sale.”

We laugh. I eventually get the car turned around so my friend can take pics. He sees the same phenomenon all the time himself so naturally he’s going to want to document this.Plus he’s the one with the digicam.

I don’t know what I believe. Are these permits easy to get if you’re willing slip a little cash to a clerk at city hall? Are rich people the only ones who’ve figured out that all you need is a doctor’s letter to get one and after that there’s no worries because the laws aren’t enforced anyway? Or maybe I only notice the ones attached to fancy cars.

Because they do draw attention, those fancy cars.

Just to clarify:“Disabled person parking permits” are issued to the individual with the disability, the permit privileges are not transferable. The permit is not valid when displayed on a vehicle and the vehicle is not being used to pick up, drop off or transport the holder of the permit named therein. Persons who use a “disabled person parking permit” in the absence of the named holder, may be charged under the Highway Traffic Act.

http://www.toronto.ca/transportation/parking/disabled_parking.htm

This is why:
"I am sitting in a hotel room in London. I have a minibar full of alcohol, and 80 Lorazepam tablets (2 milligrams each) and 100 friends within a mile radius."

I have had many experiences with depression so I guess my friend figured I might be able to help or at least help him help her.
By the end of her post I was very concerned for Molly.

"If you see me tomorrow, it’s because maybe I can figure out how to help myself instead of destroying myself. But I'm not sure that will happen, and I have only myself to blame. I have waited too long pretending."

There has been a steady outpouring of support for Molly' by her friends in the comments field and even more support behind the scenes to secure her safety I'm told.

But it got me thinking…
I don't muck around when it comes to suicide. ALL threats of suicide should be taken seriously. Statistics back me up on this. There's no question anymore that suicide is a major health problem.

Suicide Deaths, U.S., 2001

Suicide was the 11th leading cause of death in the United States.

It was the eighth leading cause of death for males, and 19th leading cause of death for females.

The total number of suicide deaths was 30,622. * The 2001 age-adjusted rate** was 10.7/100,000 or 0.01 percent.

Suicides outnumbered homicides (20,308) by three to two. * There were twice as many deaths due to suicide than deaths due to HIV/AIDS (14,175).

Yet there' is no consistent and REQUIRED procedure for dealing with a suicidal person, even amongst professionals. There are recommendations, guidelines and certainly protocols for emergency rooms, EMTs and police. But they can vary from place to place and there is certainly is no way to become CERTIFIED in suicide intervention.

For the rest of us lay folks, there's nothing at all.

There should be.

Yes, you can go online and look up what the NIMH recommends or call a hotline on behalf of a friend or loved one. What they will tell you right off the bat is to call 911. That's not the problem. The problem is that we non-professionals really don't know how to identify a threat of suicide or what to do while waiting for an ambulance. Worse is the notion that we can handle our friend's threat ourselves. Reassurance and an open ear are vital, of course, but suicide can be a sly beast. A friend who you helped may seem much better, happy even, after you've talked. But what about the days after?

Suicide has such a devastating effect on family and friends. Too often they feel guilty for missing signs or not knowing what do.

Say your friend, (conscious) is lying on the floor clearly having a heart attack. You wouldn't just reassure them, listen attentively to their concerns and then once the heart attack was over hug them and then pick up leave. Nor would you decide not to call for help because they didn't want you to.

In reality if your loved one was at high risk for a heart attack you may well have learned CPR. In any event you COULD become certified in CPR. Its encouraged even.

So I'm thinking we need to use this model, CPR, and set up a course in suicide intervention. Maybe call it Protocol for Threats of Imminent Suicide. You could go to your local community centre, St John's Ambulance or health clinic and become certified in PTIS and in the event you encounter a suicidal person, you'd know what to do. This has certainly worked wonders for cardiac patients and CPR. Its saved thousands of lives.

I'm not qualified to design such a program. besieds, there are well tested recommendations already in place.

** If someone is threatening to commit suicide, take it seriously. Be calm and follow these steps from ACEP to help you manage the crisis:

Don't try to handle a suicide threat or attempt alone. Involve other people. You don't want to risk your own health and safety.

Call 911 or the local emergency response number, if necessary. Contact the person's doctor, the police, a crisis intervention team, or others who are trained to help.

While waiting for help to arrive, listen closely to the person. Let the person know you are listening by maintaining eye contact, moving close to the person or holding his or her hand, if appropriate.

Ask the person questions. Find out if the person has a specific plan for suicide. Try to determine what method of suicide the person is considering.

Acknowledge the person's feelings. Be understanding, not judgmental or argumentative.

Remind the person help is available and things will get better. Stress to the person that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Don't promise the person threatening suicide that you will keep this confidential. You may need to speak to a physician or mental health professional in order to protect the person from injury.

Don't leave a suicidal person alone until you are sure they are in the hands of competent professionals. If you have to leave, make sure another friend or family member can stay with the person until they can receive professional help.

If a person attempts suicide, immediately call for emergency medical assistance. Administer first aid, if necessary. If you know the person swallowed poison or drugs, call the Poison Control Center. Be prepared with the name of the poison or drug used.

Molly writes today that she is feeling much better now. The overwhelming support of her fiends has helped dodge this bullet. She even spoke at her conference .Even better, she's going to seek out counselling or a psychiatrist. But this brush with suicide, however it is framed, means Molly's at a greater risk now. She needs for the people around her to know what to do should this happen again.

Perhaps Molly's very personal posting may seem a rare thing in the blogosphere (yes, I hate that word too). It prompted immediate and on-going comments of support. At least 50 at last count. But visit an online support group for a mental illness and you'll see many similar stories. The difference is in the comments. People there know that however many times its been said it must be the first thing you say in a reponse: Get professional help as soon as possible.

Photos:Suicide Barrier. Designed by University of Waterloo Prof. Dereck Revington of the School of Architecture and engineer Morden Yolles.

2. Luminous Veil by Jon at groundglass.

* From the National Institute of Mental Health : Suicide facts.
** From The American College of Emergency Physicians " Responding To A Suicide Emergency"