4 more years of fucking the poor

I am really angry this morning. Not as angry as I was last night (because I'm not drunk any more), but really angry. And if this were my other blog, I'd talk myself through that, but I'm in no mood to be rational. Because I'm scared. The LibCons just won another majority. Strong majority. And 48% of eligible voters just flat out didn't show up. Assholes. I hope it's their jobs that are lost.

What the fucking hell is wrong with people?! These are the assholes that gave us the HST, the HST that we got angry about and successfully repealed. Have we forgotten that? These are the pus-filled assholes that cut funding for the disabled OVER AND OVER AGAIN. These are the festering fuckholes who cut autism funding. Who made getting welfare even more demoralizing than it already is. Who sold BC rail under a cloud of scandal and RCMP raids on the legislature. Who utterly decimated the legal aid system. They are going to destroy the environment with fracking and a pipeline. They tore up contracts between the HEU and the government, creating a clusterfuck in the hospitals. Child poverty in BC is worse than in any other province. They don't even sit the legislature! These are the heartless sonsofbastards who cut funding for physiotherapy for injured poor people to once a month (I cried for hours when they did that, because I knew how much pain I would be in within a week. I was wrong. I was in more pain than I thought). And cut podiatry entirely, so you know, fuck the elderly poor people too. I could go on! And someone else did.

But you know, fuck the poor. Fuck the disabled. Fuck children. Fuck the law. Fuck unions. Fuck good quality wages. Fuck the environment. We want... I DON'T EVEN KNOW!

What are these fuckwads any good for? The economy isn't shit hot. They keep inflating it with schemes like requiring stratas to have depreciation reports so that they have to hire contractors in order to fix shit up so that they can sell. Yeah, that's wonderful for the contractors. Not so awesome for small stratas who were fixing things slowly on their own terms. Like mine. Two units out of 23 in mine are going to lose their homes because of the BC Liberal scheme. And I have to come up with $20,000 by June 2. Lucky me.

Honestly, what in the hell is the appeal of these assholes?! Low taxes? Are people that goddamn stupid? Our income taxes are artificially low because Medical Services Plan (MSP) is separate. We actually pay MORE tax if MSP is factored in. What a load of shit.

So yeah, this is the angry bitter lefty. FURIOUS about the harm these "Liberal" motherfuckers are doing to the poor and the earth. I hope each and every one of them gets exactly what they deserve.

edited to add:
In truth, I blame the NDP voters for a) not showing up; b) electing Dix as leader. What the motherfuck were they thinking? Oh, the Libs won't bring up that whole backdating a memo thing... I'm sure the electorate will have forgotten and just won't care. If Horgan had been elected, we'd be celebrating Premier Horgan.

Autism, hope, help and useless governments

Yesterday, there was a piece in the news about a woman who dropped her 19 year old autistic son with the government and left. Oh how I feel for her! What a heartbreaking decision that must have been. She had no hope left. And no resources to give her any respite from it. I suppose she clings to hope that this will be a better situation for all of them. I am praying for her. And all the parents and caregivers who are at the end of their ropes. I'm voting for the NDP, because they promise more help than anyone else. And I'm writing to everyone who might be able to help.

Here in BC, the situation isn't much better once your child turns 19. There's no more autism funding. There's $905/mo in disability welfare, that you can use as you see fit (this is assuming the 19 year old is unable to manage his or her own money at all, like in the case above where he functions at the level of a two year old). Depending on the person's needs, that may not cover even a quarter of what is needed. It costs me and the government combined (my own cash + autism funding + respite + distance ed school disability grant) about $3500/mo for Crackle - my most seriously disabled child. When he turns 19, his needs will not change. But we will lose all but $905/mo of his funding. Here's hoping his needs change considerably by then!

Crackle has been particularly loud for a few weeks. The kind of loud that makes my eardrums throb by days end. Not exaggerating. Days like these are the ones that make me truly understand how someone could lose it and say "Enough. I cannot do this any more". But I have hope. And he's only 7. And he likes to cuddle with me in the morning. And he's learned to kiss me. Hugs me when I ask. And even when he's screaming, he's happy. I think.

Yesterday, the woman who spends 6 hours a day here quit. Gave 30 days notice. Eep. The day before, my strata voted for a $20,000 levy from each unit so that we can do major renovations. That's right. I have to come up with Twenty Thousand Dollars. By June 3. The whole summer will be filled with renovation noise. Crackle loses it when the gardener mows the laws. Or when the vacuum is running. So, we will have to go spend time in the forest. But... the SEA quit. EEP. And to top it all off, my ultrasound revealed that my already serious gallstone problem has developed into intrahepatic dilatation (the stones may be backing up into my liver) and so I'll probably need surgery sooner rather than later (or never, as I had planned). And now there's no one to help.

Furthermore, I promised Snap a trip to VidCon in August (already mostly paid for - non-refundable) and I'm going to the Son-Rise Maximum Impact class in October (already half paid for - non-refundable, but possibly delay-able).

So, if you're the praying sort, I could use a few prayers. I don't think that God just drops in loads of cash, but maybe God could nudge some help my way? Hint hint, Old Dude In the Sky! Or Pretty Lady in the Forest. Whatever you're calling yourself this week.

I still have my hope. But I'm rapidly running out of patience. :)

x-posted to No False Hope (I don't usually x-post, but this one fit both blogs so well, I couldn't figure out where to post it and figured both would work nicely)

Clueless White Girl Post

I recently started reading more feminism by First Nations women and black women. It's very different, and very educational. I'm intrigued. And a bit baffled at times about how to be a good ally.

Okay. I admit FULLY to my ignorance. From the start. That's why I'm writing. Because I want to be clued in. I'm not so clueless as to expect one person to speak for their whole race, but I figure the only way to get the perspective of native people is to ask them. But I know some white people are just that clueless, and asking questions often gets me accused of this. So I don't ask. And then I'm still clueless. :)

 Let me give you an example. I saw a tweet from a woman who was angry about a quote about her reserve. The person in the article (or documentary? I don't remember) talked of the mindblowing poverty there. The FN woman was very offended by this. Or possibly just pissed off at the cluelessness of the speaker. She regularly posts that she doesn't need saving. I guess some people think she does. I don't know. From my perspective, on my privileged white ass, the poverty on some reserves is mindblowing. The water is undrinkable. The houses aren't winterized, even if they have electricity. I don't know how to wrap my brain around that. That's not racism. That's utter incomprehension. I know how it got that way, but I don't know what, if anything, I should be doing about it. The lovely lady who tweeted about it was clear she didn't need saving. Okay. But the Idle No More folks seem to be screaming for help. So how can I help? I vote for the party most likely to be helpful. But what else? How can I be a good feminist socialist who is also sensitive to racism without being That Kind of Person? You know, the kind who wears dreamcatcher earrings...

Speaking of that, the idea of cultural appropriation is another thing I don't understand yet, but want to. What's the difference between appropriation and appreciation? I utterly adore the handcrafted beaded barrette that I bought from a FN artisan downtown. I love the handmade moccasins I got for Pop. Am I being culturally insensitive having my very white kids wear these things? Or am I contributing by buying local?

I studied FN languages in University (mostly Cree and Assiniboine Nakoda), and spent a fair amount of time with some FN people. I was pretty good friends with a Cree woman from Manitoba. (No this isn't a "but some of my best friends are native"). She helped me be less racist. I had a best friend in high school who was Métis, so I thought I already wasn't. Ha. I had a lot of ingrained racism that I wasn't aware of. Probably still do. I'm working at it though. Pauline was pretty no nonsense, and one hell of a joker. She utterly adored when I spoke to her with her accent (and showed me off to her friends. "Hey! This is the white girl I told you about who can talk like an Indian!"), but called me out on it fast if I said something idiotic. Which was often.

So, now I don't have Pauline to run shit past. And of course, she didn't speak for everyone. She was pretty clear that I shouldn't ever speak with my Cree voice unless she was there to tell everyone it was okay. And even then, I got a few looks. :D So... I don't know how to ask without risking offense. But I want to be more sensitive. Help?

Tramampoline!

I don't have time for much blogging these days, but I don't want to lose all of my regular readers, so dear comrades, here is an old story of mine. It's perfect for today because today I had to attempt to order replacement parts for this.

June 2010


Saturday: Got up, went to the Farmer's Market, got the very best cherry tomatoes in the world and ate two pounds of them in two days. No, really. Myself. Also got some sugar snap peas. Ate them, pods and all. Crackle had a few, Tony had a few. OYG YUM. Then we went to Canadian Tire and bought Crackle a trampoline. Brought it home and then Tony suggested a walk at Witty's Lagoon. He suggested this because he loves me. He hates hiking. Being allergic to everything doesn't help. Also, Crackle loves hiking and it tires him out nicely. So we walked the beach trail from the parking up in the left corner down to the beach.

Crackle and I walked in the water a bit and then we all walked back. Bit of a hike, that. I got a bit of a sunburn on my arms. Pop on his cheeks. Not much though. Thanks be to sunscreen.

Sunday morning, I got up early (for me on a Sunday), skipped church, and set to work on the trampoline

Okay... so it took me 7.5 hours. And why? Because I'm an idiot, that's why. What happened? First thing is to set up the ring around the outside. Basically, it's 6 curved pieces, joined by t joints. You just cram the curved pieces into the t on each side. So, that is so much easier said than done. Why? Because when one gets to the last piece, it doesn't want to go in very easily, and forcing it just pulls the previous one out. So I duct taped them (after swearing, getting Tony to help, sending Tony away for saying, "It's shit. Let's take it back" after 5 minutes of trying, trying again, swearing some more). That let me force the last piece in.

Perfect. Next, is the legs. Put the legs which are vaguely W shaped. Really low middle part of the W though. KWIM? So, these go in with one of those push-button latch things that you push down, slide the two poles together, and then the button pops up into a hole. So I start and WTF? The holes don't line up!

Tony: I told you, it's a piece of shit! Take it back!.
Me: No. This is stupid. It... SHIT! The T joints are turned around.
Tony: *laughter*

Unmentioned by the instructions, the T joints must be all turned in the same direction, and the hole must face inward. So I took it all apart, turned the T joints around, forced all the curved pieces in. Put the legs on. Flipped the thing over, and got the jumping mat out so I could attach the springs.

Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The curved pieces were on upside down. The spring holes were underneath instead of on top. O.Y.G. (aside: Oh Your God is my new favourite thing to say.)

So, I took it all apart again, turned the Ts upside down, effectively turning all the pieces around. Cram the rounded pieces in again. Put the legs... SHIT! When I flipped over the Ts, I inverted them. Stomp around swearing. Death glare to the laughing Tony.

Okay. So at this point, I'm mad, but this thing is NOT going to get the best of me. I took it apart again, carefully made sure all the Ts lined up, put the legs on, flipped it over, got the mat out and started on the springs. So... I'm not a very strong person, and the "Spring Hook" was missing. So I put on 4 of them and Tony did the rest. He used one spring to pull the other on. Worked well enough, and the good people in China provided us with two extra springs. YAY. So, Tony got those on, and I got the spring pads and covers on.

Break time. I got Pop down for a nap, and got a bit of lunch. Mostly those cherry tomatoes and some almonds I roasted too darkly the day before.

All right, Trampoline... let's get the enclosure on.

Now, the way the enclosure is attached is the poles of it are clamped to the legs of the trampoline about half way down. The enclosure poles don't touch the ground. They're clamped with a U bolt, with self-locking nuts on the prongs of the U. The bottom of the U is on the outside, so all the nuts are on the inside. PITA. So I grab the ratchet and socket set. Well shit. The sockets aren't deep enough. The instructions say to use an electric screwdriver. HUH? All I've got is a wrench. There are twelve nuts to attach, from behind. With a simple wrench? That won't go all the way around because it'll hit the other prong of the U? Forget it.

To Canadian Tire! Well, first to Rona, because it's easier to get in and out of. But the person there though that a vice grip was the only possible tool. Okay, so she's a possible tool. Anyway, I left and went to Canadian Tire. Stomped around the sockets grumping that there were no "long ones". Who knew? "deep" is the right term. Not me, apparently. So... finding help in Canadian Tire is like usually finding something at the bottom of a pool. You think you see it, but it slips away from you. And if you do grab one? Slimy. Well, I found one after some time, and behold, he was really REALLY good looking. Must be new. So I told him what I was doing and what my problem was. And he looked at me with this combination of amusement, pity, and respect that I found quite amusing myself. So, he took me over to the tools in automotive and found a deep socket in the right size. Not quite deep enough we thought, but it was the only possibility because the racheting wrenches didn't come in 11mm and the deeper sockets didn't either.

Home we go with my new 11mm deep socket for $6. YAY! Much better than the vice grip idea. Tony helped me get those on, because by then, I was a bit tired. Got those on, got on the net, and VOILA!

Tramampoline!

Woke up Monday morning and moaned in agony. Muscles I forgot I had hurt. Oh well... took a couple of Advil (after trying the herbal stuff that generally works)
Me: "Crackle, let's go jump on the trampoline!"
Crackle: No
Me: *silence* No seriously. Let's go jump.
Crackle: No
Me: Oh. Your. GOD!


(Note from now: Huh. Crackle still had the word "No" back then. I'd forgotten that!)

It all worked out in the end. Crackle adores the trampoline. He spends all summer on it. He spends half the winter on it. I bought new pads and a new net for it today after spending some interesting time on the phone with the Canadian Tire rep who insisted it had to have 4 legs, despite my staring at it telling him it for SURE had 3, and then locking myself out of the house - and the kids IN it - while trying to get the "version number" off the 3 year old tag on the mat. Thankfully, I'd left the front door unlocked.

Adventures in Autism, part 2

Today, my 7 year old pooped in the the bathtub full of water. And he looked at me with more meaningful eye contact than I've ever gotten from him. He spontaneously signed 'sing' at the new volunteer. He's screaming happily at another volunteer now.

My 4 year old told the SEA to get away from him. He also did some really cute things like tell the dog to 'stop sneakin'. And he calls the character from Cars named Francesco Bernoulli "French Cannoli".

And my 18 year old got a work experience job. If she does well for 6 weeks, it'll become a paying job. She also had a bunch of bloodwork and her stress levels are insane. Got the results, and knowing what I know, it'll mean a bunch more bloodwork. Poor kid.

I did 1.5 hours worth of paperwork relating to their funding. And bleached a tub.

Adventures in Autism

Today in Autism Awareness, Mommy nearly lost her mind. Crackle was so loud today. OMG. The shrieking. The random, ear-piercing shrieks that literally make my eardrums throb. And for reasons I can't begin to fathom, other than God hates me, Pop picked today to get extra sound-sensitive. As in, even before Crackle was screaming, I took Pop out to the garden store to get seeds. We got about 10 minutes into the 25 minute walk, and he started to cry that the cars were making too much noise. So I carried him back home, and we got into the car instead. He's been whiny and miserable. Snap has been utterly miserable because she needs to get blood work, and has been taking it out on me. She has an interview for a work study program tomorrow, so I hope she smartens up and doesn't rip their heads off if they ask her something she deems rude, like why she wants the job. Crackle pooped in the backyard. I guess he figures if the dog can do it, so can he. Ugh. So gross. He's shrieking and running and jumping and getting into everything. He's like a toddler on coffee and chocolate, except he's 7 and big and smart.

And to top it all off, I am hungover today, because apparently Flexeril is the one and only drug (to date) that works TOO well for me (I took half a dose). My neck is so sore and seized up. I have myoclonus and dystonia, and for some reason it doesn't respond to alcohol the way it is supposed to. I'm just not coping as well as I'd like.

Autism Awareness is every day!

It's Autism Awareness Day once again. At least, it is everywhere but Canada, where we inexplicably celebrate it in October. *facepalm*

I wanted to say, "Is anyone still not aware of autism?" but a quick look told me that many many people aren't aware of what it is, even if they know it exists. The ridiculous prejudices that autistic people experience are still pervasive, even if the refrigerator mother theory isn't (though I've still actually seen this one spouted!).

Exhibit A. Autistic kids are:

 Yes, autistic kids are all of these things. Except when they're not. And FFS, can we stop using the word "retarded"? Don't be so lazy. If you want to insult someone, there are plenty of other words that aren't hateful toward those with intellectual disabilities. And if you mean 'intellectually disabled', say that.

Exhibit B: Autistic people are

Yes, autistic people are all of these things. Except when they're not. Well, I'm not sure anyone is a flash blog, but you know what I mean.

Some kids are smart. Some aren't. Some people are rude. Some aren't. Are you seeing the pattern? If you've met one autistic person (child or adult), you've met one. They're all different. Just like you and me.

And then there's the hatred and fear
Exhibit 1:

 Autistic kids should be killed?! That's the first hit on "autistic kids should"?! Do you see a glimmer of why I was so angry when I heard the media blaming autism for the Newtown shooting? I knew this would happen.

So, let me give you an awareness of autism on an average day in my house:
6am Pop wakes up, wants breakfast. Tony is the morning person, so he gets up with him.
7:30 Tony wakes up Snap for school. Snap cries.
7:40 Tony wakes up Snap again. Tells her to get up NOW or she'll miss the bus.
7:50 Tony yells at Snap that she MUST leave now. Snap gets up, puts on dirty clothes, either puts on makeup and does her hair or does nothing at all, leaving with bedhead and sleep in her eyes.
8:00 Tony tells Snap if she doesn't leave this instant, she'll miss her bus, be late, and will lose her computer for the evening. Snap calls Tony an asshole. OR Snap cries and screams. OR Snap curls herself into a ball and says, "I am so stupid and useless."
8:05 Snap leaves. Maybe makes the bus. Maybe doesn't.
8:30 Snap phones from the bus to apologise for yelling at me last night.
8:45 Tony wakes me up and then leaves. (Yes, I sleep in. You'll see why soon enough. Also, this only happens on the days Crackle sleeps in. But these are more often than not lately, so...). I drag my ass downstairs and make myself a triple espresso.
9:00 Crackle wakes up. This varies between 6am and 10am. But 8:30-9 is about average. When he wakes up, he gets his medicine. This involves me mixing up about 12 supplements into a nasty concoction and having him drink it. He does. Like a champ. Then he gets his seizure medications.
9:15 Crackle eats breakfast. Pop is either playing trains, watching Cars or Super Why, or running around after me telling me to sing him the ABCs in French. I check Google Calendar to see what my agenda is for the day. Check for appointments with occupational therapy, speech pathologist, counselor, behaviour consultant, school representatives, Snap's teachers, doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, dentists, specialists of various sorts. Call the autism funding unit to fix whatever the latest fuckup is.
10:00 The SEA arrives and takes Crackle upstairs for therapy. Pop has Second Breakfast. We think he's a hobbit. Or maybe a leprechaun, because his feet aren't hairy, and he only weighs about 30lbs, even though he's 4. Throw in a load of laundry and sit down and try to read FB or Twitter for a few minutes.
11am Pop and I do housework, or play trains, or go to the garden, or hiking, or grocery shopping.
12:30 Lunch
1pm I take a turn doing therapy with Crackle. Pop and the SEA do play therapy. Some days, like today, I have another SEA here. These days are rare, and I use them to catch up on laundry or chores that require going downtown. And somedays, I sit on my ass and read Twitter. Or blog.
3pm Get snack for the kids. Prepare a bunch of stuff to make for supper - all meals are from scratch. There are no convenience foods. At all. Nor are there restaurant meals. Maybe cram in picking up Snap from school if she's had a rough day.
4pm SEA leaves. Some days, another one arrives. These ones need training, so we do some training work.
5pm Start making supper unless it's a day with no late SEA, in which case, play with the kids.
6pm SEA leaves. Tony gets home from work. Start making supper.
7pm Supper is ready. Fight with kids to get them to eat something. Or, try to stop them from fighting each other to get the last piece.
7:30 clean up, get Crackle his nighttime meds. Put Jeopardy on the TV and call it brain nourishment.
8:00 bath time.
8:30 While ears are ringing from bathtime screams, wiggle kids into pjs. Brush teeth. Hold kids until they fall asleep. This usually involves some playing, fighting, arguing, singing, books, popping in on Snap to remind her  to do her homework, because otherwise it won't get done. Yes, she's in Gr12. Yes, it's still necessary. Threaten to shut down computer privileges. Listen to her call me a fucking bitch. Calmly respond that if being a bitch means making her do her homework, then yes, I will wear that with pride. Walk out and mutter swears under my breath.
10:00 Watch a 10pm TV show while cleaning up, baking food for tomorrow. Try to catch a few more minutes of FB and Twitter.
11:30 Fall into bed.
12:30 Crackle wakes up for the first time. Crawls into bed with me. I can't go back to sleep. Neither can he. Go crawl into his bed, which is too small and brightly lit. Let him play.
1:30 Fall asleep.
2am Crackle falls back asleep.
3:30am Get up with sore back and go back to bed. Be unable to go back to sleep.
4:45 fall back asleep.
6am Pop wakes up. Start over.

Every time they eat, they get supplements. So in there somewhere, I'm usually ordering new supplements.And, every time they eat, I go through a "well, what do you want?" "EH!" "I don't know what that is. Can you point to it for me?" "EEEHHH!" repeat cycle with Crackle. It's very hard to tell someone you don't want hamburger but you do want the ketchup when you are non-verbal.

 Yes, they work. No, I don't want to argue this point. I know, because we ran out, and it was awful. Every time I go into my bedroom, Crackle has a temper tantrum because he wants in there too, and he's not allowed during the day.

On top of all that, there's the usual stuff. Cleaning, paying bills, keeping the van filled up, taking the dog to the vet, going to the chiropractor for my messed up back. The usual.

And you know what? I'm not complaining. I love my kids. I love my life. It's crazy and hectic and awesome. Doing therapy with the boys is FUN. Really. Playing with them is fun. It's just different and a LOT of work (the cooking is really the hardest part). I do wish Crackle could sleep. That would help us all a lot.

Now, if you want to help, there are a few ways to do it.
1) You can send me money. I'm not kidding. I will use it to go back to the Autism Treatment Center of America for more courses. They're the best thing I've ever done in my life, other than actually having the children and marrying their awesome father. Any leftover money I raise I will donate to them so that they can give a bursary to someone else.
2) You can donate money to the Autism Treatment Center of America. Or the Victoria Society for Children with Autism. Not Autism Speaks. Never Autism Speaks.
3) You can offer to babysit a child with autism so their parents can go out.
4) You can offer to do free housework for a parent of an autistic kid.
5) You can volunteer in someone's Son-Rise playroom.

Are you kidding me with this bullshit?

Feminism is more necessary than ever. A Canadian Con MP, Minister Keith Ashfield, told a little girl that she was a great cook and would make someone a good wife someday.
 Skip to 5:30.

GODDAMNIT. This is 2013. Why are we not saying to a kid like that, "Grace, you are an awesome cook! You could be a chef in the finest restaurant in town!"

But this asshole says she'll make someone a good wife. At least he didn't say 'some man'. Small consolation.

In other amusing news, every time my daughter says she's going into Women's Studies, someone asks her if she means gynecology.

I guess the fight needs to be stepped up a bit.

My Hockey Hero

The Steubenville case has reminded me of something that happened to me when I was 18. My friend and I were at a party. We didn't know anyone there, but we were having a grand old time. It wasn't an ordinary party, really. There was a hockey tournament in town, and a bunch of hockey players from all over Canada were in town. A few of them were staying at one house near my friend's place, and as we were walking, they invited us to come into the yard and have a beer. We were young and stupid. And they were hot. So what the hell. And we had a great time. I had a beer I was guarding (I wasn't totally stupid). My friend was getting plastered. And we were having fun. They were flirting and chatting, and generally being awesome. I was flirting hardcore with one very very attractive guy and as the night went on, so was he with me. About 10pm the ambience changed, and I was uncomfortable, and the guy told the others to leave us. YAY! I was game. As soon as they left, he said to me, "You need to get your friend out of here. NOW."** I was stunned. I had noticed the change in the feel, so I said, "Oh my God. Thank you." I left the room, and he shouted obscenities at me to cover what he'd just done. I grabbed my friend and we got the hell out of there. She didn't want to go, but I wasn't having any of it.

That guy was a fucking hero. I don't care that he didn't tell the others it wasn't cool. Who knows, maybe he'd tried that before. But he got me and my friend out of there. He was awesome.

He was drafted that year and played in the NHL until about 3 years ago. I always cheered for any team he played on. And no, I'm not telling you who it was. Feel free to guess though. :)

**My memory is fuzzy. I may have suggested we leave and he said, "That is a VERY good idea". Regardless, he's still my hockey hero.

Happy Birthday Snap

Happy Birthday to Snap! My baby is 18 years old. It's stunning. And terrifying. There's no more "she's a minor, you talk to me!". She's on her own with the world and the authorities. She's not ready, and neither am I! She's sure looking forward to R movies though! Hehe. Too bad none are on tonight that are remotely interesting to her. She wanted to go to one on her birthday.

She's going to college this fall. She's going into the local college's university transfer program, with plans to go into Women's Studies at UVic. She's amazing. She's got learning disabilities (Look into NLD), anxiety, depression, asperger's. And she's rocking it. She's fighting it and winning.

I remember when she was born, so vividly. Even then, she did things a bit backwards. She was "sunny side up". And she was perfect.

She's got a great sense of humour. A sense of justice like one rarely sees in a teenager. She's stubborn as a mule. Sarcastic. Witty. Snarky. Thoughtful.

I love her.

p.s. OMG OMG OMG. I'm freaking out a little. I raised a kid to adulthood. OMG OMG OMG.

I'm Peter Johnson, and this is my son Dick.

So, today I managed to tell a 75 year old woman for the first time that her surname is slang for penis. She's had this name for 50 years. And no one clued her in until today. I feel ridiculous. Here's the story, as verbatim as I can remember it:

I had told a bit of a story about my last name during a Christian healing workshop called Encountering the Wise One. So this older lady stopped to tell me about her name.
Lady: I loved your story about your name. I have a story about mine too. I love my name.
Me: *glances at name tag, starts to smile*
Lady: I just love it. It's Dong. It's the Vietnamese currency. When I got married, about 50 years ago, and was young and shallow, I was sure it would bring me luck. That we'd be prosperous.
Me: Oh how nice! Sure beats thinking about the other meaning.
Mrs. Dong: What other meaning?
Me: *brain is screaming UNSAY! UNSAY! SHUT UP NOW!* You mean no one has ever told you? You don't know the other meaning? *smiling, half thinking she's joking*
Mrs Dong: No. I have no idea what you mean. There's another meaning for Dong?
Me: Uh yeah... it's slang for penis. You didn't know?
Mrs Dong's mouth drops open: You are not serious! Really?!
Me: 'Fraid so. I can't believe you'd never heard that.
Mrs Dong: Oh my. I wonder if my kids know.
Me: *blinking rapidly, trying not to make things worse* Yeah, I suspect they were clued in.
Mrs Dong: Well, this is perfect! I LOVE my name. *looks at me to see if I get her double entendre*
Me: *laughing* Oh good. I'm feeling kind of ridiculous that I told you after all these years of you not knowing. I'm glad it doesn't bother you.
Mrs Dong: Oh no. It's a perfect name for me and my husband. We're very sensual people.
Me (choking on a dong?): Uh.
Mrs. Dong: Let's go get some lunch. I have just GOT to tell the ladies about this.
Me: And I have to see this.

So we went into the sanctuary, and sat down at the tables that were set up and she told the story of her name, and then the story of how I told her what else it meant. Two of the women were dumbfounded. They didn't know that term either.

The other one, the eldest, about 85 years old: "YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT WORD?! Okay..."
One of the clueless: Well where did you hear it?
Mrs 85: *grinning her face off* I must have read it somewhere.

So, are you getting this? I was the one to inform a woman that her name means penis, and I did it at a Christian retreat. Yes. I am entirely that capable of putting my foot into my mouth. At least this time, I didn't try to shoot my foot once it was in there.

Who says feminists are humourless?

My inlaws are in town. This is Tony's parents, his two sisters, one sister's husband, the other sister's two kids, and two of Tony's aunts and uncles. It was his parents' 40th anniversary on Sunday, so I rented the church hall and cooked a meal for everyone. It turned out fabulously! Woo! I rock.

A little snippet of a conversation I heard:
Great Uncle to Snap: So, you're almost done school. What are you going to do next?
Snap: Women's Studies.
Me: *trying not to smile*
Great Uncle, smiling expectantly: Haha. What's the punchline?
Snap, not understanding what he means: Huh?
Great Uncle: Wait? Seriously?
Snap: Yeah...
Grandpa: Couldn't you study men?
Snap: That's called History.

HA! Go Snap!

Tony's family is pretty conservative. Great Uncle thinks Idle No More is "the greatest scam ever" and asked me how to say, "Get back to work" in Cree. Instead, I taught him how to say, "I'll see you tomorrow" which I figured might sound encouraging to anyone he yelled it at. I'm not fluent, so I couldn't come up with anything better on the spot. :) He's not all asshole though. I mean, he was the only man there who offered to help in the kitchen, and the only man to thank me for all the work and food. Makes it hard to hate the guy.

Adventures in Bureaucracy

It's the continuing saga of dealing with bureaucracy for autism. Today, Snap had her PWD (persons with disability) intake appointment. PWD is disability welfare. It provides some programs, a cheap bus pass, and $900 per month for people who can't work due to disability.

Here's the process:
1) Apply online. It's a MANY page application.
2) Await phone call saying they got it. Get date for intake. Get list of shit to bring. At least one important thing will not be mentioned. Get location of intake. Forget to take down time of appointment.
3) Try to find a phone number to find out the time of the appointment. Discover that there is on 866 number for the whole province. Get connected to the smarmiest SOB who ever worked in government (seriously, I understand the gravity of that statement). Ask for the time of the appointment.

• Didn't you take it down when you called?
• I must have forgotten! I'm sorry.
• Well, you're the mother. Do you have written permission to speak to this file?
• (thinking 'speak to this file'?) She's a minor. I'm her mother.
• She's a minor?! How old is she?
• 17
• Well, why is she applying for benefits?!
• Because she has autism. Look. I just need the time of the appointment.
• Fine. What's the confirmation number on the email you received when you applied?
• I have no idea. It went to her email. But if you hold for a minute, I can look it up for you.
• No, don't bother. What's her social?
• Uh?
• So. Shul. In. SURE. ANCE. Num. BER.
• [looks it up and tells her] 
• Monday. 1:30. 771 Vernon. *click*

4) Show up for the appointment at 1:25pm. Find out that the address given to us didn't include the office number and there are at least two dozen of them in 5 different buildings. Luck into the right one and find a room full of terribly sad, terribly poor people who smell even worse. Stand around looking confused, trying to decide whether we had to take a number or not, because the signs were really not clear if you needed one if you had an appointment or only if you were a walk in. Finally be greeted by a security guard demanding to know whether we have an appointment. Yes, we say, for "Snap". Be told, "Fine. Have a seat."

5) Wait about 20 minutes. Try not to die from the smell. (Can't blame them. Not being judgmental. Just damn. SO MUCH STINK.)

6) Get called into the office to meet with the intake worker. This is the first time we are treated decently in the whole thing. The intake worker was awesome. I wish I'd gotten his name. I'd write up a letter to the office saying just how nice he was. Find out that we were supposed to bring her SIN card. Try to figure out how the snappy woman on the phone connected her SIN to her file, considering they didn't seem to have any record of us giving it. Ask to have a form filled out allowing me to "speak to her file". Be promised that was coming. Realize while writing this that this did not happen.

7) Go through a 45 minute interview in which we are asked the exact same questions they asked on the online form. To this interview, we had to bring ID (reasonable), proof of diagnosis (reasonable except for what will follow), a letter from the social worker saying that she recommended Snap apply, a recent psych report, and banking information dating back 60 days. 

8) Be preliminarily approved, and given, get this, an application package!! This package has to be filled out by Snap and her doctor and returned within 90 days. Her doctor is an asshole, and the chances of that happening are slim to none. 

9) Be told that after the package is filled out and returned, then there will be another sit down meeting, to which we will have to bring the banking information again.

10) Get home, call the doctor's office. Hear, "I don't think she'll do that. I'll ask her and get back to you. But probably not for a few days."

To be continued...

Why the hell does her doctor need to fill out the information they already received in reports from psychologists who know her a hell of a lot better than the idiot we get to fill the ritalin prescription? These reports are enough to get funding for autism. Why not PWD? It's the same government!

Why did the woman on the phone have to know why my daughter was applying for benefits in order to tell me what time the appointment was at? And why did she have to be so rude?

Why couldn't the original call have included an email confirmation of the time and place of the appointment with a list of items to bring? 

Why did the intake worker have to ask all the same questions we already answered on the internet form?

Why couldn't the signs on the wall make it clear what one is supposed to do when they get to the office?

How in hell could anyone who is disabled who does not have a support system be expected to do this on their own?

How in the hell could anyone without a GP manage this? A walk-in-clinic sure as hell won't fill out PWD forms. What if I just moved here and had no GP? What if my GP retired and I couldn't find a new one? (both of those things have happened to me and I've been doctor-less for a while)

edit: I just looked at the medical package. IT'S ALL THE SAME STUFF THAT IS ALREADY IN THE FUCKING REPORTS THAT I HAD TO BRING THEM TODAY! OMG. /edit

How in the bloody fucking hell can anyone live on $900/mo when rent + hydro + food can easily cost more than that? What about medicine? What about therapy? What about any sort of connection whatsoever to society? Snap's lucky enough to have us, and we can support her to a large extent. But imagine having no family support!

This government is just cruel. And the previous one was no better. This whole system needs a major overhaul. 

MMS

I've been hearing a lot of good things about MMS lately. Miracle Mineral Solution. It's supposed to be this amazing cure for all that ails you, up to and including cancer, AIDS, and autism. Now, believe it or not, I've heard this shit before and I'm skeptical. But normally, my thought is, if it doesn't hurt, let parents have their hope. But this is not a case of "if it doesn't hurt". MMS is poison.

MMS is sodium chlorite. It's industrial bleach. But as people who use it love to point out, it's mixed with citric acid before use, and that changes its chemical composition to chlorine dioxide. Also bleach. Why? Why in the hell? Right? Here's what they're telling people: MMS oxidizes toxins and destroys them, when the body can't do it itself. Okay... even if that worked and I don't have a clue if it does, wouldn't it also oxidize the hell out of everything else? Oxidation causes the formation of free radicals, which contribute to cancer. How is this not dangerous? I'm forever taking antioxidants and eating foods rich in antioxidants (phenols, actually, but that's another post). So why in the hell would I want to oxidize? Oh sure, if you could target just the toxins, maybe.

There are two main people shilling this shit: Jim Humble (who calls himself an archbishop of the "church" he founded) and Kerri Rivera. Humble appears to be batshit insane, but Rivera? She talks a good talk. I'm sure she completely believes what she's saying.

It's not just me saying it's not safe. CBC had an article about it last year. Health Canada put out a warning about it almost 3 years ago, when it was being sold as a water purification system. The grumpy fucks at ScienceBlogs* posted about it. And still, people are clinging to MMS as a miracle cure.

It's all about hope, of course. And that's why Rivera and Humble make me so mad. They're selling poison and profiting off of desperation. The fact that they believe in it only slightly mitigates it.

Speaking of profit, these are Canadian websites that still sell this:

• Subtle Energy Therapy (Approved supplier)
Website: health4allinfo.ca
MMS1, MMS2, Transdermal Magnesium,
Aura TherapyPatches
subtleenergytherapy@shaw.ca
• MMS Supplier in British Columbia (Unapproved supplier)
Website: MMSSupplier.com
• Positive Options (Unapproved supplier)
Contact - Deana Whitely, D.MMS
Email: davendeana2@gmail.com
• MMS Alberta (Unapproved supplier)
Contact phone: 403-505-4976
• The MMS Store (Approved supplier)
Website: BuyMMS.biz
Email: info@buymms.biz

If y'all would like to report them to Health Canada, that'd be awesome.

*Sorry, they make me mad. Some of us are just as angry at Thorson, the felon who embezzled from CDC studies on vaccination and how the media doesn't have anything to say about it as we are at Wakefield, the asshole who can't write a proper study. Oh, and btw, do read his paper. The one that got everything into an uproar. He concluded that it appeared that there was some sort of link between gut measles, vaccination, and autism, but that no causal link could be found and more research was necessary.

Compassionate conservatism is dead.

Ya know, Cons are just mean. Plain old mean. Vic Toews is cancelling the pizza parties that prisoners in federal prisons sometimes get. Oh, I know, they're in prison, they don't get treats. But you know what? They pay for those. With the $25/mo they make. And furthermore, they get them when they've raised enough money for charity.

" These food drive nights also doubled as fundraisers for local charities and relief efforts such as Doctors Without Borders and victims of hurricanes and earthquakes."

Seriously Vic? This is social behaviour. This is accountability. This is giving back. This is making amends. Do you really want prisoners angry, all the time. This gives them something useful to do, something to live for, something to look forward to. That you would take this from them, something that doesn't even cost the taxpayer a single cent? That's just mean. Cruel. What kind of a human could you be to do this?

Neurodiversity. Again.

Okay, screw hiatus. I'm just going to maintain two blogs. Somehow.

I want to talk about Neurodiversity again, now that I've had Son-Rise training and my outlook is a lot different. I was unfollowed by someone I've known online for years (although, I almost think she forgot that she knows me on LJ too, because she hasn't unfriended me there). Anyway, this happened because of a disagreement, or even a perceived disagreement about autism, autism treatment and the desire for a cure. I was asking questions, and before I knew it, BLOCKED. How dare I try to understand?! Oh well. I understand that she's probably dealt with a number of people whose questions weren't quite so non-judgmental, so I'll give her a pass on it, but unless someone lets her know, I guess I'm shit out of luck.

Here's the neurodiversity argument as I understand it:
I have autism. I like me for who I am, and don't want to change. I believe that curing autism will change me, so I don't want a cure. I do however want treatment, on my terms. I believe that autism causes great minds, so I don't want prevention of it either.

Things I don't understand: 
What is their definition of treatment? If a treatment is so effective, that all the symptoms of it are gone, how is that person still autistic? Because their brain is wired differently? But if all the symptoms are gone, and no further treatment is needed... that's a cure. That's kind of the definition of it.

Why do they believe that great minds are created out of autism, not that autism is a side point? Surely there have been many great non-autistic minds. And furthermore, great art has come out of cancer. No cure for that either? (YES, I know, they're not the same. They're not even in the same class. I am not making them equivalent)

If someone doesn't want treatment, and they are of the age to make such a decision, why would they be against someone else getting it? I'm not in favour of the surgery required to fix my son's brain abnormality, because it's not serious enough to cause him issues. But I'm not opposed to someone else getting it. Why are they?

What I believe they don't understand:
You not wanting to change who you are is completely okay with me and completely okay with everyone I know who is advocating for a cure and prevention. We are not saying there is anything *wrong* with you. We're saying you the same as you are - that autistic people need help, need support, need understanding. Our idea of help is effective treatment, which is what we call "cure". Fixing the symptoms. Our idea of support is money for treatment, suitable schools and suitable jobs, money for living when there are no suitable jobs, counselling and therapy SHOULD YOU WANT IT. No one is forcing anything on any adult. As parents of kids, yes, we get to decide what is best for them. Like any parent, of any kid, with any issue. And understanding, well, that's listening, being okay with your autism symptoms, and just loving you for who you are right this moment.

I love my kids. I love them exactly the way they are. Today. Right now. And I want to help them live full, happy, productive lives. Just like every other Mom out there. And to do that, I work with them to help them embrace the world. I have to work harder at it because they're autistic, but really, again, this is no different from every other parent. So you're right if you think I'm angry about your attempts to undermine "cure charities". Because those charities are looking for ways to help my kids. I have a son who can't talk, can't communicate meaningfully, can't use the toilet himself, can't eat by himself, can't go to school, can't cross a street, can't have friends (that's the one that I think is most important). If I use a system like Son-Rise that uses the neuroplasticity of the brain to rewire it, so to speak, so that he can do all these things, he will be able to have all the things the neurodiversity people already have. Every time I see one of these people arguing against a cure, i.e. a treatment that works, they're someone who *can* argue for it. These are people who have friends, meaningful relationships, jobs, skills, life partners, pets.  And they would like to prevent me from doing that?! From giving that to my son?

Not just no, hell no.

Guns, mental health, autism and tragedy

Just a quick little note on the massacre in Connecticut. I do not think this was a feminist issue. A few people have been quick to point out that the shooter killed more female people than male. However, it was an elementary school, and women are disproportionately represented in that community. Also, he killed the kids indiscriminately. So no, I do not think this is a feminist issue. This? This is a human issue.

Human. That's right. Human. Not "monster". I am so very against dehumanizing criminals, because it really prevents us from treating them, rehabilitating them, but more importantly, from preventing them from becoming criminal. This man? I don't know. I don't know his history. I've heard everything from schizophrenic to psychopathic to Aspergers (more below). But I don't know, and neither do you. What I know is that this man got so disturbed, so miserable, so disconnected from his humanity that he killed his parents and a classroom full of children. And that shit needs to never happen again. And we cannot prevent that if we continue to dehumanize people who get to that point.

We also can't do that if we allow weapons like the ones that killed those kids. At the same time as this happened (not the same exact time, but within a day or so), a man in China lost his shit and went into a classroom full of kids and stabbed 22 of them with a knife. None died. Guns did this. If people think that a few dead kids are worth their 2nd amendment rights, well, then I'd say they're the problem. A damn big part of it. Every time someone is murdered with a gun, it should be on the heads of the people who continue to make those weapons available. The ONLY point of these weapons is to kill. That's what makes them different from knives, cars, ropes, all these other things that can kill. The only exception I'd make is for hunting rifles and shotguns. And those should damn well be registered. Like cars. And licensed. Like driving.

And can we please please stop with the talk about this guy being autistic? Please? Because it's no more relevant than the colour of his hair, the length of his eyebrows, or the number of moles on his back. There is NO connection between planned violence and autism. None. Nada. Not even in the 'they've been stigmatized more, and so they're more prone to snap' type. NOT EVEN THERE. So knock that shit off.

And finally, can we please stop stigmatizing the mentally ill. Most do not commit these kinds of crimes. Most are not dangerous. Most know the difference between right and wrong. And they need to be able to have the confidence to go get help when they need it without worrying that their friends, neighbours and coworkers will be afraid of them should they find out that they're mentally ill.

There. I feel better. Time for a nap. :)

Hiatus

I'm going on hiatus. I know, I know. You love me and you'll die without me. So I'm not going away completely. I've started a new blog. It's about hope. Snap says it's about sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. She's not quite right, but close enough. It's about hope, my hopes, the world's hope, good stuff I see here and there. It's called No False Hope.

I'll probably pop back in here the odd time. But in the meantime, check me out over there. The place is ready to visit, if you don't mind that the curtains aren't up, and there's no furniture. That is, it's barebones at the moment, and who knows when I'll get time to spruce it up. :)

A mishmash of politics and God

Holy crows. It's been a while since I found time to write. I renovated the bathroom (well, I put in floor and wall tiles). I've been training new people in the boys' program. And I'm getting ready to go back to the Autism Treatment Center of America next week. Saturday, I leave. I'm so excited. Crackle made such huge gains, but he's leveled off (not regressed back, but leveled off), and I'm hoping for renewed energy and new ideas for his program.

And today is Election Day in the US. There's no question that I'm cheering for the lesser of two evils: Obama. He's nowhere near as progressive as I'd like, but he's hamstrung by their idiotic governmental system. I'll be watching with drinks in hand tonight. Because what they do affects us. A lot. I suspect I'll be shutting it off in anger by about 8:30pm. I know anger doesn't help and isn't useful, but I still jump into it sometimes. Maybe I'll just watch Arrow. I rather enjoy that show.

What brought me to my blog today though wasn't American politics. It was the story of the conservatards (that's "conservative bastards", lest you think I'm using a variant of the r- word) cutting funding for non-Christian chaplains in the prison system, saving a whole 6 million bucks, and defending it by saying that they're going to a multi-faith chaplain like in the military. It's a travesty.

I know some people don't want to pay for any religion with their taxes, and that includes chaplains. Those people are remarkably short-sighted. If someone is raised in a faith, and faith can take them to a place where they're able to function in society, then that's a hell of a lot cheaper than a prison. And if you think that faith can't do that, give your head a shake. It can and does. Not for all. No program works for everyone. But it most certainly does help some people.

I don't even know where to start with "multi-faith chaplains". Do you know how few people are able to be that truly ecumenical? I bet most United Church ministers could do it. But how's that gonna fly with the First Nations prisoners (who are disproportionately represented in the prison population) when the United Church ran some of the residential schools that caused so much devastation in their communities? How are the Catholics going to handle it if the minister is a woman? Or are women not eligible because it might offend someone's faith? There aren't many Jewish, Muslim, or Sikh prisoners, but there are some. Do we say they can suck it up and convert? Where are these multi-faith chaplains going to get the kind of indepth training on these religions that they'd need to properly minister to these people? Is the government going to pay for that?

Of course not. This is all part of their evangelical agenda, and it's disgusting. God knows I'm an evangelical person. I love to talk about God. I love to talk about the Bible. But I don't do it to convert anyone. I do it because it interests me and because it gives me joy, and I like to share. If it's not something someone wants to talk about, I don't talk about it. You know, like everything else. These guys are trying to eliminate the "competition", which is, I'm sure, how they see it. Harper's church, the Alliance Church, isn't particularly ecumenical, progressive, or liberal. They teach (with some exceptions) that only Christians, and only their kind of Christians, go to heaven. The rest will burn in hell for eternity. So it's no wonder that his government would cut the funding for the chaplains from other religions. And it's sad. Because that will not bring people around to their way of thinking. It will only make them resent religious people and turn away from whatever faith they have.

Seriously? Get 10 people to describe me to you. You will get 10 very different answers. Then think about the mystery and magnificence of God. Just how are people supposed to look at God and give the exact same description when they can't do that for someone as simple as you or me? Come on. I am so tired of people thinking they have a lock on what God is and everyone else is wrong, lying, or evil. Hell no.

Dear God, please show people that you are bigger than one religion. Amen.

"Rape babies" and other terms I hate

When I was in Grade 7, I had a friend named Melissa who was a lovely Métis girl. She "passed" for white, which is why she had no problems in my school, which was very very very white (I'm kind of surprised the PTA fundraiser didn't sell white hoodies with pointed hoods). Anyway, after we'd been friends for a while, she took me home after school one day where I was greeted by her 100% Cree mother. They didn't warn me. They thought it would be funny. I'm sure it was, because they both howled with laughter at my obvious shock. Once I got over it, and I'm not sure if it was even the same day, I said something stupid about obviously having a white father, and her mother, who pulled no punches said, "Yeah, they were white." I must have looked confused and she told me that two young white guys had raped her, and the result was Melissa. I was horrified. I mean, I almost started to cry. That's when she got really gentle and said, "It's okay honey. I made peace with it. And I chose to have her. I figured some good should come of it all. I didn't have to do that. It'd be different if they made me." Then she looked a bit haunted and said, "Like my sister."

I swear that's true.

And we're back to choice. Women get pregnant in all sorts of ways, expected, unexpected, planned for, spontaneous and rape. Rape is a horrible way to get pregnant. It's a horrific crime. It often damages women forever. And sometimes not. But it can and does result in pregnancy. And at that point, like every other pregnancy, the woman has a choice to make - do I want to carry this to term? Do I want a baby now? Do I want to abort? Do I want to give it up for adoption?

I'd hazard a guess that most women who get pregnant by a rapist don't want to carry that to term. They don't want a physical reminder of it. They don't want to worry that they'll look into their baby's eyes and see their rapist. They don't want to worry that nature will outsmart nurture and their baby will grow up to be a rapist too. And so they choose to stop it.

And some women choose to go on with it. Either because they're like my friend's mom and view it as a new life, something wonderful from tragedy (I might have named that girl Phoenix!) or they don't have access to safe abortion and won't risk a back alley job, or whatever. Or maybe they decide to give it up for adoption (I can't fathom this one - carrying a pregnancy from rape to term and then giving up the baby? It's boggles my mind.)

But they're all choices. And dammit, we feminists need to support them all. Can we please stop mocking the idea that some women might actually want that pregnancy once it starts? I understand the impulse. There was a woman on a pregnancy group I was in when I was pregnant with Crackle who's baby was conceived in a rape. She actually had to fight with her family (read: parents) who tried to get her to abort, because they were afraid of all of the things I said two paragraphs up. And they were afraid she wouldn't be able to love her baby. They wanted to protect her. But she said the same thing my old girlfriend's mom said, "I wanted something good to come of it. And what could be better than a new baby?" (My thoughts were, wine, chocolate, a hot bath, and some bubblewrap therapy, but to each her own) And so she decided to carry on.

This twatwaffle who is going on about God's will, could really stand to shut up. I understand his point. He believes that God creates all life, and that would include all conceptions. So he says it's God's will. Not the rape, but the pregnancy from it. I'm not sure how one can separate them, but maybe he thinks God is micromanaging the sperm. Or that God is some sort of weird doorman at the egg barrier. Hell if I know. This former professor at the Chicago Theological Seminary disagrees with him on all of it. She says that making God the author of conception after rape makes God the author of the crime of it. Where I disagree with her is here, and only in small part: Conception following rape is a tragedy, not part of “God’s will.” Tragedy is defined by the victim. It is a tragedy if the woman perceives it as one. Like rain is a tragedy in a flood, but a blessing in a drought, a conception from a rape is a what the woman perceives it to be. 

Actually, that's where the religious anti-choice people make the least sense. They claim that all conceptions are gifts and blessings, and we just need to shut up and see it that way. It's like saying that rain is always a blessing, a gift from God. Just get in a boat and enjoy it. Crops failing? God's will. Can't eat this winter? Must have been a sinner. Conception is just something that happens. The value of it is determined by us.

I've been mulling over the idea that God creates all life in view of this. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. I kind of think (and my thinking is not cemented, so please, comment away) is that God created life, and we propagate it. Similar to how I planted the mint, and it's spreading. Not my will, but not against it either. Not that I'm God - it's not a perfect analogy, but along those lines. We have free will, so we can choose to reproduce or not. I don't believe in pre-destiny. Or God as the ultimate puppeteer. I believe God is with us, and nudges us to do the right things via conscience and other things, and we do what we'll do. Sometimes that's what God wants, sometimes it's not. So when some boil on the ass of society rapes a woman, and God is there begging him not to and he does it anyway, it's not God's will that she is impregnated. It just happens. And whether that pregnancy is a tragedy or not, is up to her. No judgments either way from me. Because I don't have her experience. I don't have her life. I don't have her beliefs. I don't have her conscience. I don't have her knowledge. We need to trust women to do what is right for them (us) and shut the fuck up about it.

One thing in that article that really struck me, was the very last bit, and so I'll end with it too:

There is, however, no failure of compassion so glaring as the way rape survivors are being made into political and religious scapegoats today.

Stop that. In God’s name, stop it.

NERDS! Oh no...

Telling a nerd joke at an autism fundraiser is like telling a fag joke at a PFLAG meeting. Seriously? What the hell? I'm no fan of Bill Burr at the best of times (he gets laughs by being an asshole - I don't find it funny), but goddamn. Use your fucking head.

He joked about there being too many nerds, whined that nerds used to have shame, laments the good old days when they got locked into lockers over night and then beat up for wearing the same clothes the next day. Asked when the nerd bubble would break, and said that's what happens when you get rid of bullying. That's what happens when you get rid of their natural predator, that they proliferate.

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?!

What's a nerd, anyway? A person who is good at something, but not much else, and is socially clueless. Sound a lot like a lot of autistic people? Damn right it does. And somehow this is a bad thing, to be mocked by people who are threatened by their intelligence, or who enjoy preying on perceived weakness. Autistic kids are often nerds. Autistic kids are bullied a lot. A LOT. Nearly half of autistic teens have been targeted by bullies. Sometimes by teachers. Our kids are treated like shit everywhere. Stories from friends of mine:

 - Child kicked out of music school because he spit at a child who was bullying him. The child who was doing the bullying? Nothing. She was treated as the victim. Director told my friend, "Your son is the worst kind of kid. He's not welcome in my school. He's not welcome in my city."
- Child smacked by the aide for turning on the water fountain after being told not to. It was witnessed by someone who talked to the principal, who told her, "Well, John *is* a difficult child. How hard did she hit him?" If she hadn't threatened to go to the police, nothing would have come of it.
- Child was tormented into losing her temper, which was explosive, because the bullies thought it was funny. Finally led to the mother pulling the autistic girl out of school because the school put the onus on the autistic child to leave the situation and tell a teacher.
- Child was convinced that all the kids were his friend. They'd pretend to be his friend to get him to do their homework or give them money.
- "Nerd" "Geek" "Loser" "Dork" "Retard"

And just last week, I was reading about the guy who was the reddit troll, the vicious asshole piece of shit, who was outed. And in the comments, "He's a software engineer with no social skills. He's just autistic". Fuck no. He's an asshole. A heartless, mean, oozing sore of a sniveling little boil on the ass of a weasel. Maybe he's autistic too. I doubt it. This troll, like other trolls, gets glee from angering people, and is particularly good at doing it. People with autism are not generally socially adept enough to be the kind of troll  this shitweasel is.

So they're getting it from both sides - They're called nerds, retards, bullies, assholes. Everywhere in society. Apparently even at an autism fundraiser.

Feminist Christian Politics!

If anything intersects feminism, Christianity  and socialism better than a VP debate in which the only question about women's issues is couched in religion, I don't know what it is.

Seriously? The ONLY question about women's issues is asked in the form of "how does your religion inform your opinion about..." Not only that, that was the ONLY question about religion. How does that work? I mean, the bible never once mentions abortion, and in at least one place explicitly defines the fetus as less than human (to be fair, that's in the same book that outlines rules for slavery), but Jesus specifically tells his followers to feed the hungry and heal the sick. And yet, questions about health care and poverty reduction are never asked in religious terms.

Not cool, Ms. Moderator. Not cool.

Women's issues are important. Men's issues are important. Social issues are important. Economic issues are important. Foreign policy is important. And ALL of this is influenced by the religious views of the candidate. So it seems to me that the abortion issue should be treated the same as all the others. When our issues are made out to be the only ones informed by the religious views of the candidate, it seems that abortion is an "emotional issue" of women, not an issue of the same kind of importance. Abortion = emotional, poverty = logical. Women vs. men. Sexist to the core.

I've said it before, I'll say it again, there is no way to separate religious beliefs and political views. It is a good thing to know what a candidate believes and why. But there is NO excuse for only making it about abortion, when poverty, healthcare, war, prison reform, and humanitarian aid are just as religiously relevant.

Body Image Issues

Erf. I thought I'd gotten over my body image issues. Apparently not so much. When probing my "why am I dreading going to see Mom? I love Mom. I haven't seen her in 3 years!" feelings this morning, it hit me. It's the weight I've gained, and the judgments she makes about weight. Mom's never had a weight problem, in either direction. She has to monitor her weight for dialysis, but before that, she never did. At all. She's just one of those lucky people who was about the right size for society's comfort all her life. And it's one thing she's never understood about others. Very little compassion or understanding for fat or skinny women. And so I picked that up and was rather hard on myself. Sometimes I still am.

Some Mom fails:
Mom: Stacy really let herself go lately.
Me: Oh yes, I'm sure she just decided to get fat, you know, while she's trying to convince Tom to marry her. Definitely.
Mom: Oh come on. You haven't seen her. She's huge.
Me: Huge huh? What, she's bigger than I am?
Mom: Well, maybe not quite THAT big.
Me: *sputter*
Mom: [quickly changes subject]

Keep in mind, I was 15 lbs lighter then than I am now. So, I'm feeling a little self-conscious. Dad was the same. I remember him saying, "That Tara is such a nice girl. Too bad she's so big". WTF, Dad? Tara was happily married and related to him. I asked him what that had to do with anything, and he just looked slightly embarrassed, slightly sad for me for being so stupid as to not know, and shook his head.

I know I shouldn't beat myself up about it. I know that I eat good, healthy food, in reasonable amounts. I know that I don't exercise as much as I'd like, but that I do as much as I can given time and health constraints. I somehow need to get a bit more, because it'll help me feel better, but I haven't figured out how to do that while raising three kids, one of whom must stay home or he becomes overstimulated to the point of a screaming meltdown.

I fully believe in Health at Every Size. And I know, intellectually, that it is not my job to be physically appealing to whomever might glance at me. But it bugs the piss out of me that I'm invisible because I'm not. Even though, again I know intellectually, that it takes the target off me that is imprinted on the body of women who are that societal standard of beauty.

And yet, here I was this morning, sitting with the boys while they played, making myself sick about how I look and what that means about me, and what Mom will think when she sees me.

So to work it out, my questions to myself:
Why do you feel sad about being fat?
Because it means I'm not attractive.
Doesn't your husband find you attractive?
He says so.
You don't believe him?
No.
Why?
Because he's a product of society too, so how could he possibly?
You don't trust him?
Of course I do.
Then?
He's lying to protect my feelings. And the women he finds attractive other than me NEVER look like me.
So? Do all the men you find hot look like him? Do any of them?
Well, Ben Browder does, but other than that, I get your point.
So, do you still feel gross?
Yes.
Why?
Because fat is gross.
Why?
Um... Because it is.
Says who?
Everyone.
And you're so sure everyone is right on all the other issues, aren't you.
Shut up.
Why? Because you enjoy beating yourself up about shit you can't change?
Apparently, yes.
So why do you have to be unhappy about being fat.
Because if I were happy, it would mean I don't care.
Would it? I mean, could you be happy and still want to change? Like you are with your kids. You love them as they are, and you want to help them be better. Could you do that?
No. It's not the same.
Why?
Because they're kids and they... DAMN YOU AND YOUR LOGIC!
And besides, what would be so wrong about not caring?
Um... It would mean my Mom is right about "letting myself go".
And? Is it something you need to prove to her?Fuck... Apparently it was. To hell with that. She can be right. Again.

Much better. I'm going to go eat some potatoes with the kids.

M312 down. Thank God.

This needed saying again today: "Some people will say that politics and religion don't mix. Hogwash. If that's true, there's something seriously anemic about our faith, or something seriously suspect about our politics. Vote for the candidate or party who can do the most for your neighbour. Jesus told us to love our neighbour as ourselves. So think about your neighbour when you vote." Rev. Mark Bedford

And for me, that means voting, or contributing to the campaigns of people who would not ever vote against my rights or the rights of my fellow women, who are my neighbours. 91 of our MPs voted to study when life begins, so that they can limit the rights of pregnant women. The would make us state property when we are pregnant and force us to carry pregnancies to term against our wishes, regardless of the circumstances. Already have 3 kids in a 2 bedroom apartment? Too bad. You'll lose your job because you can't do it pregnant? Too bad. You have rough pregnancies and will spend 7 months vomiting and hooked up to IVs and won't be able to look after your other kids? Too bad. You were raped by your husband and he'll beat you if you're pregnant? Too bad. You're 9 years old? Too bad. They don't care.

I do care. I care about those people, my neighbours. I care about the fetuses too. I do, really. I wish no woman was ever in a situation where she had an unwanted pregnancy. I wish no pregnancies ever ended in abortion (or miscarriage), but the fetus's rights can never be considered before the woman's. If you do not have to donate an organ to keep someone alive, I do not have to donate my uterus to a fetus that attaches there without my permission. Having sex was my permission, you say? No. No, it wasn't.

And because it wasn't and wouldn't be, and because it wasn't for many other women, there will always be abortion. And women will die. And children will be without their mothers, husbands without wives, parents without daughters, and most importantly women without lives. And the supposedly Christian pro-life people who terribly want to outlaw abortion will say they brought it on themselves. And that is NOT loving one's neighbour. Not by any definition of love I am familiar with.

Irony? Or just plain evil?

Quick annoyance of the day: Pantene gives away $1 to cancer research for every bottle sold. Pantene shampoo contains carcinogens such as retinyl palmitate and oxybenzone and dmdm hydantoin (okay, so that one is a possible carcinogen, but whatever). And THIS is why I hate those stupid walks for cancer. They're almost all sponsored by companies that fucking cause cancer.

Celiac Disease Awareness

Today is Celiac Awareness Day. So, since this directly affects my family, you, dear comrade, get to read all about. Or click the back button. Whatevs.

Celiac is:
An autoimmune disease. When gluten proteins enter into the tissues of the small intestine, to digest, the body views the tissue, not just the gluten, as an intruder and destroys it. The villi of the small intestine become so damaged that malabsorption occurs. I became magnesium deficient to the point where I developed seizures. My husband doesn't absorb zinc or lysine when he has damage.

Deadly. Celiac kills. Not directly, but indirectly via cancer caused by damage. Bowel cancer and lymphoma are particularly more common in Celiac sufferers. Also, because it's an autoimmune disease, the person with it becomes more likely to get another autoimmune disease.

Common. 1 in 133 people are estimated to have celiac disease.

Uncomfortable. The symptoms of Celiac Disease include: * refers to symptoms someone in my family has had to deal with.

• Abdominal cramps, gas and bloating*
• Anemia*
• Borborygmi (stomach rumbling)*
• Coetaneous bleeding
• Diarrhea*
• Easy bruising*
• Epistaxis (nose bleeding)
• Failure to thrive
• Fatigue or general weakness*
• Flatulence*
• Fluid retention*
• Foul-smelling or grayish stools that are often fatty or oily*
• Gastrointestinal symptoms*
• Gastrointestinal hemorrhage
• Hematuria (red urine)*
• Hypocalcaemia/ hypomagnesaemia*
• Infertility
• Iron deficiency anemia*
• lymphocytic gastritis*
• Muscle weakness*
• Muscle wasting
• Nausea*
• No obvious physical symptoms (just fatigue, overall not feeling well)
• Osteoporosis
• Pallor (unhealthy pale appearance)*
• Panic Attacks*
• Peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage)*
• Stunted growth in children*
• Vertigo*
• Vitamin B12 deficiency*
• Vitamin D deficiency
• Vitamin K deficiency
• Vomiting*
• Voracious appetite*
• Weight loss*
• Obesity*

Once one is diagnosed and on a gluten-free diet, most symptoms clear up. Until the next OOPS. In my house, gluten exposure means a lot of things depending on which of us it is, including insomnia, paranoia, irrational anger, diarrhea, constipation, extreme muscle pain, swelling, abdominal distress, bloating, exhaustion.

Celiac is NOT:
Picky eating. I'd give my left foot for a soft, delicious doughnut. Or to be able to eat at your house. Or a restaurant. But I'd rather not risk cancer. Or 2 weeks of hell. 1 crumb. ONE. That's enough to make a person with celiac sick. The current labelling laws allow anything under 20 parts per million to be called gluten free, as long as it's not deliberately added. So cross-contamination levels are permitted. I still get sick. From less than 20ppm. In fact, Rice Dream, which claims to have removed all the gluten, and have less than 20ppm made me sick for years until I discovered their barley processing. Assholes.

Imaginary The next person to tell me this is all in my head gets to listen to that Friday song on a loop for a month. Except on Fridays, which will be It's a Small World day. Seriously, it's physiological and can be tested with blood work or endoscopy.

Trendy or A fad. I know the gluten-free diet is a fad right now. That's not really helping me. Because Random Celebrity claims to be gluten-free one day and is seen eating a bagel the next day, people like me and my family are often perceived to be following the trend, and our health concerns are not taken seriously. On the other hand, there are more gluten-free products right now.

If you know a Celiac who cheats, remind them that no symptoms doesn't mean no damage. Is that baguette worth cancer? And please, please, don't judge the ones who are super careful as neurotic. They're doing their best to keep themselves safe and comfortable. Think of it as rat poison. If someone put rat poison icing on your cake, would you scrape the rat poison off and eat it? What if there was only a very little bit of rat poison? Surely you'd eat that, right? A little can't hurt, right? Wrong.

So now you're aware. My job here is done.

A quick hitter post

The spanking thing that's in the news. My take: I do not spank my children. I do however give them a swat on the ass if they happen to do something like wander into traffic. Because it's quick, it's in the moment, and it surprises the hell out of them. I WANT them to be afraid to wander into traffic. If the cars aren't enough, a swat (and that's a singular swat, not a whipping, not a beating, not smacks until it's red, etc) might be enough to save their lives. So I do it. I have NEVER had to swat Pop. Crackle, yes. Didn't help, because he didn't connect the two. Once, when he was riding in the stroller (he was about 4.5), he reached down to put his fingers in the spokes of the wheels. I hit him with my fingertips on the top of his head enough to make him stop, but not actually causing pain.. Someone screamed her head off at me from her car. From her angle, we were jogging down the street and I smacked my kid when he wasn't even looking at me. I kept him from breaking his fingers. He'll still do it again, but in that moment, he stopped to see why I'd done that. So I'd do it again if I had to, knowing it would keep him safe in that moment, and that it wouldn't keep him from doing it again. Snap is 17, so that would be awkward, but yes, the odd time when she was younger, I tried a smack on the butt to keep her from doing dangerous shit. It worked for her.

Spanking? Real spanking? Keep it in the bedroom between two consenting adults. :)

Irony: The medical system makes me sick

Our medical system is so fucked up it makes me sick. There are so many stories, so many examples, and so much to gripe about. But I'm going to go with this one - alternative medicine in the big medical system. Broken.

Some background: In BC, and 4 other provinces (if memory serves), naturopathic doctors are regulated by the province. I don't mean 'holistic medicine practitioners' or any of that nonsense. I mean NDs, who went to school for 6 years and have a degree in naturopathy. Bastyr is one of the better schools - if you can find an ND from there, you're doing well. Anyway, NDs in BC can prescribe medications - not all of them, but most. Not any federally scheduled drugs (like Ritalin or OxyContin, for example). And a few others are apparently randomly excluded. It's bizarre. What NDs cannot do, is order labs through MSP. So, my ND can order thyroid meds for me, but not check my TSH. Well, not entirely true. She can order the labs, but I pay for it, and the testing is done in Alberta. WTF? It's criminal. Seriously. I cannot figure out how the government justifies this.

There is a major shortage of doctors in BC (and most of Canada). I've posted on that before, and I notice that one of the parties in Quebec has recently come up with a plan much like mine to keep doctors in Quebec. I'm naturally taking credit for that. Clearly the powers that be in Quebec politics are among the 4 of you who read this blog. So what those of us who are wealthy enough to do when we can't find an MD is see an ND, and then never go back to looking, because the care is great. Except then we run into the testing problem. Now, I can afford to see the ND once and a while. But I cannot afford the testing. It's too much. So what I do is go to the walk-in, tell them what's going on, and they order the tests. Which is STUPID and a total waste of money. In trying to save money, by not allowing NDs to order tests, they ensure that patients to go MDs who bill for the visit. It costs them money and they're too stupid to see it. The same is true of diagnostic procedures and referrals. I have no idea why an ND isn't allowed to refer me to a specialist. There's no cost. It baffles me.

NDs are regulated in 5 provinces, and need to be in the other 5. But more than regulation, NDs need to be covered under medicare. Several reasons, but here are the most important two:

1) Without coverage under medicare, we have a tier of medicine unavailable to the poor.
NDs are not absolutely essential, but they are damn good care. When I go to mine, I get a minimum of 20 minutes and usually more like 35 or 40. They provide full service care or supplementary care. Since our family doctor is completely overburdened, and appointments take 6 weeks to get, our ND fulfills most of our primary care needs. Sometimes she prescribes regular allopathic medicine (like antibiotics) and sometimes she prescribes herbs. She sells the herbal remedies there, but is quick to tell me that I can get them anywhere, and has given me tips on where to find certain things cheaper.

If I did not have the money to pay for trips to see her, I would be back in the GP game. I had a GP here. He was nice. He also missed a lot of things that the ND picked up immediately. Like my seizures. I have myoclonic seizures - they're short jerks of motion from my head and arms. My brother says it's like little wasps appeared in front of my face, scared me, and I try to bat them away. My husband says it looks like someone stuck me in the back with a cattle prod. Heh. Anyway, I had them for years. The GP sent me to the neurologist who ran a battery of tests and prescribed a drug that has a high risk for dependency and abuse, and means I'd be legally impaired while taking it. No way. So I went to the ND. She got my entire history and then figured out that I had magnesium deficiency, and put me on a high dose of magnesium. And my seizures? Went from ~50/day to ~3/week. And have been like that ever since (we're way way way past placebo effects now), as long as I take my magnesium, and don't get glutened (i.e. eat any gluten by accident). I got glutened this week, and I'm having a few more of them. Maybe 5 or 6 a day. Some of them with dystonia. Ow. If I didn't have my ND, I'd still be seizing several times an hour.

An acquaintance has breast cancer. She sees a whole swak of doctors, including an ND. Of course, she has to pay for that. And yes, it is approved by her MDs. In fact, the ND works in the same clinic as her family doc. The ND handles the side effects of the chemo with vitamin therapy and some herbal remedies. These treatments are doing wonders for her. And she wouldn't have access to them without the privilege of wealth. She's solidly middle class, and she's spending a lot of money on these treatments. And that brings me to point 2.

2) Coverage under medicare protects patients from unscrupulous NDs who gouge patients.
She's paying too much. Yes, she's getting good advice and good treatment, and it's helping her. But she's paying too much for it. For her vitamin B12 shots, she's paying $60 each. My ND charges $16, and I think that's a bit much. I get the liquid prescribed, and then inject myself. Costs me about $2 each time. If medicare covered all or part of naturopathic treatment, the ND would bill the government for a specific amount, regulated by govenment, same as MDs, and profiteers like my acquaintance's doc would be unable to screw patients over. I know, she could go to another one, shop around, hope to find someone who specializes in Cancer, but SHE HAS CANCER. She's tired and sick and vulnerable. And this guy is in the same clinic, so they share info, collaborate on cases, and are all in the loop. So she either pays the big bucks, or doesn't get the treatment. It's not fair. And while life isn't fair, this is something that could be fixed.

We can fix the system. We can save money while reducing the burden on GPs. And do that while making the system more accessible to everyone. And the government won't do it.

What to do when you witness a meltdown

Crackle had a meltdown today. A full-blown autistic meltdown. He doesn't have many of these anymore, because I'm really good at managing his environment. But today at about 4:30, he lost his marbles. I don't know what sparked it, but he lost it and started screaming, crying, and wailing. Hysterically. Loud enough to be heard for at least a km. Not exaggerating. Anyway, that's not the point.

I got him into his shoes, his brother into clothes and shoes, and took them out to the van (car rides calm Crackle down). When I opened the front door, there were two men standing there. They were from the company doing an engineering report for our strata. Anyway, I smiled, they smiled, and the one guy said, "How's your little guy doing?" I said, "Oh, okay. It's an autistic meltdown, is all. We'll go for a drive and he'll be okay." The guy smiled, nodded, and said, "And how are you doing?" WOW. I said, "I'm okay. He doesn't do this much any more. And I like car rides too, so it's good." The guy smiled and said, "Okay! Have a good one." [edit: Then, after I took 4 steps, gobsmacked by his class and kindness, I stopped, turned around and said, "Thank you for that. I really appreciate it." He just smiled and said, "No problem."]

That. Is. Awesome. That just doesn't happen. Like ever. It's almost always the stink-eye. Or "shut that kid up" or "What's his problem?" This is exactly what to do when you see a kid losing it. Ask Mom how he's doing. Ask her how she's doing. And if she doesn't seem to need help, smile and say 'have a good day'. If she seems to need help, say, "Need help with anything?" And then take no for an answer if that's the answer. This guy did it perfectly.

Poverty you can see from space

The gap between rich and poor is so big that one can see it from space. Literally. It's stunning. And inspiring. I'm not clever enough to come up with an idea like that myself, but I can sure as hell rip it off for all it's coolness.

Canada is a very wealthy nation. Our poorest neighbourhoods in our urban cities anyway are nothing like the poorest areas of Mexico City or Abuja or any number of other places. We have a safety net, that while it has some holes, at least it's a bit of a net. It needs some darning though. So I thought I'd do much the same as the above project, but only for cities in Canada, and see if I could literally see the disparity from space. Turns out, yes, in some cities, no in others.


Toronto shows a lot of obvious differences between rich and poor.
Forest Hill, home of Upper Canada College, and zillions of trees.

 Malvern
You'd think I was monkeying around with the zoom, but no. It's a neighbourhood in an industrial area. Bet that's healthy.

In Ottawa, it's not as obvious from the geography. The first picture is of a wealthy neighbourhood, the second is quite impoverished. The biggest difference, apart from the trees, is the roads. Curved street slow down traffic, and are a necessity on hills - views rather rely on hills, and views are expensive.
Orleans-Chateauneuf

Vanier's lots seem to be smaller, but there does seem to be a fair bit of greenery. I don't know Ottawa at all. Is this area as bad as people make it out to be? Does the river stink or something?

Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. Well known to be a area in crisis. Concrete hellhole.

 Just a few miles away, West Point Grey. The picture really speaks for itself. Look at how much bigger the houses are, how many more trees there are. The parks and the trees. Swimming pools in backyards.

Calgary:
Bridgeland is a poor neighbourhood in Calgary. It's not far from downtown.

 Mount Royal is a wealthy neighbourhood. Water and three golf courses. Not so many highways.

 Halifax is one of the cities where I could really see the disparity. Look at the difference in the number of trees and recreational areas.

Fairview

 South End

 Winnipeg, rich and poor. There's more green, more water, and no industry in the wealthy area of Tuxedo (aptly named, I'd say).

 And here is the West End. Grid roads, lots of trees on the grid, but no obvious play areas. No parks.

Regina is the city I grew up in, and where my Mom still lives. It is definitely the city in Canada I know the most about.

Here are the curves I was talking about. Even in a city like Regina that is built mostly on a grid, there is this neighbourhood, called The Crescents. It's an older neighbourhood, but it's been very well maintained. It may not be the richest area of Regina, but it does have the highest property tax rate.

 Actually, I couldn't come up with "the richest" in Regina, because Regina isn't a really rich city. While there is a big disparity between rich and poor in Regina, it's not like that in Vancouver or Toronto, because there are simply no billionaires in Regina. The VERY rich don't live in Regina.

But the poor do. This is North Central, an area called "one of Canada's worst". It doesn't look that bad from space, but I wonder how much of that is because Regina is a pretty socialist city in a province that is often run by socialists. That's my speculation for the day. :) The green area, that looks like it could be a park (2nd row from the bottom, 6 columns in) is a high school. There's really nowhere for kids to play in this neighbourhood.

 Just for fun, this is the neighbourhood I grew up in. It's pretty middle class (Mom stayed home with us kids until we were old enough to come home from school on our own, and then worked for the city in a administrative assistant type job. Dad worked in farm equipment, and then as a Commissionaire). The schoolgrounds are larger than in North Central (bottom middle below and the two rectangles in the bottom row of the grid in above), it's not on a grid, and there's far more greenspace.

 Victoria is my new home. We moved here in 1998 when I got a fellowship at UVic.

This is my neighbourhood. It's most certainly not a wealthy neighbourhood by Victoria standards, but it is solidly middle class in most areas.

 The little A below is George Jay elementary school. It is an inner city school with lots of poverty issues. However, in this area, there is also some heavy-duty gentrification going on. There are lots of trees, but not by Victoria standards. The stadiums have very large fences so no one can play in them.

This is the richest area of Victoria. It's zoomed out for perspective. Look at how much of the richest real estate is wasted on a golf course. It's sickening.

Tell me about your city! And if you're from one of these cities, tell me what you think!

Update: Check out Uphill's take on Montreal. You can see the difference between rich and poor divided by a boulevard! http://caitlinuphill.wordpress.com/2012/08/16/wealth-and-inequality-seen-from-space/