"Directionally Challenged"

Talking to someone who's not going to respond because I'm not talking directly 

to that person (though I should be because otherwise how will you get dialog 

going? I think I'll post this in facebook notes or something) is something I'm 

fond of doing, and Diane is no exception.

"In fact, one time at Ridgedale Mall, I actually called the cops because I thought someone had stolen my car.  It turns out I had parked in a different lot."

Diane claims to be "directionally challenged". Or "directionally disabled," if you prefer being politically incorrect. 

"Looking at me, you’d never guess that I have a disability."

Well, you don't. At least, as you next claim, I don't. 

"One time our son was driving for the first time from Elk River to Rogers and ended up in Downtown Minneapolis—I guess the disability is genetic.  But my husband was able to go online to Google maps and give him directions home—during rush hour!"

I can only speak for me at this point, but I know quite clearly (similarly to how I knew 

why I was depressed), why I'm "directionally disabled". And perhaps you could factor 

in genetics, but I doubt that it has as much cause as the following: 

Disinterest. 

If you recall my past, you'd find me often reading a book while we were 

driving about in the car. Guess what Clara was doing? Nothing but looking 

out the windows at the pretty scenery. While this might make for the 

assumption that I would one day be a leader and Clara a simpleton 

valley girl who'd be cute to look at (hey, while I'm not talking to them 

directly, why not have a few unwarranted and unlikely assumptions 

put in for the fun of it?), this also meant that I was not paying any 

attention to the road. At all. And Clara was. 

Unsurprisingly, Clara has become the family GPS, and I have become 

"genetically" disabled, following in my mother's footsteps. Y'see, all 

that time spent "doing nothing but looking at the scenery" probably 

developed in Clara's mind an intuitive map and layout of the geology, 

geography, or whatever-the-fuck-you-call it, during the early years 

that she could use expertly later on. And I, an intuitive linguistic 

map, which as many of you know quite well, I navigate like a pro. 

Which is to say this: while I might be "genetically disabled" in the 

area of maps, that lack of ability shows where it went, with my 

literary enjoyments. And this could very well be one of those 

combinatory nature/nurture types of things - Diane herself 

was adept at studying. I might hate homework with a passion, 

but what I study, I also study with a passion. 

So it might be that I had a tendency to be shit with maps, 

roads, and directions, and obsession with literary works simply 

solidified that lack of development. The question that that 

raises, I think, is whether taking the time to become geographically 

adept would be worth it to me. Right now, no, not really. 

Just doesn't seem all that interesting. Of course, there are 

aspects of it that interest me, but not enough yet to devote 

a lot of work to it... yet.

The main thing that annoys me of what Diane's talking about 

is all these things she's using as a means to cover up the truth:

"OK.  Maybe being directionally challenged isn’t as bad as some other disabilities, but it is a disability for which the general public has no compassion.

There are no special classes in school for students that can’t find their way to the bathroom.  No guide dogs for the directionally impaired.  No. . . . People make jokes about people like me. . .people who get lost.  They question the intelligence of the directionally challenged.  I’ve heard the snickers behind my back.  The whispered put downs, “she couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag.”  It hurts.  You cut me I bleed.  Just because I get lost doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind."

"If you are one of the fortunate people who can’t understand why some people seem to be perpetually lost, I beg you for compassion."

"If you are one of the fortunate people who can’t understand why some people seem to be perpetually lost, I beg you for compassion.  Although I have largely overcome my disability, I recall the most dramatic symptoms of directional impairment manifested themselves when I was driving:

 I couldn’t remember how to drive somewhere until I had driven there at least 5 times.

 I was completely unable to reverse driving directions."

"I used to get left and right mixed up.   I often pondered the meaning of statements such as “on the left side of the house,” wondering which left is meant.

Parking at shopping malls will strike terror into the heart of the directionally disabled:

 I didn’t just park the car, I abandoned it.   For a while, Mall Security at the Mall of America was on a first name basis with me, because they had to help me find my car so many times. 

 In fact, one time at Ridgedale Mall, I actually called the cops because I thought someone had stolen my car.  It turns out I had parked in a different lot."

"Does any of this sound familiar?  What can be done?  How can the “lost be saved?” 

Well, prayer can’t hurt!  Jesus  called himself “the Way.”"

*facepalm*...

"But, if you are directionally challenged, you need some practical advice.  The 3 keys are:  Careful Planning, continuous practice and creative . . .lying.  Not lying to other people. . .that would be wrong, but lying to yourself. . .a little self-delusion can be healthy.  Saying things like,  “I’m not lost,  I’m just taking the scenic route.”"

In other words, there's only one legitimate piece of "practical" advice: Careful Planning. 

Which of course isn't at all obvious. Well, I take that back. Two legitimate pieces of 

advice - continuous practice, something that I don't much care for yet.

"Always carry note paper–I’ve learned to never park a car without making detailed notes about where I left it. If all else fails you can use the Hansel and Gretel method– tear up the paper into little pieces and leave a trail.  Sure the paper may blow away, but chances are the mall police will have been notified of your strange behavior and will help you find your car."

Is this one relevant? No. But it IS fuckin' funny!

"Whenever possible, let someone else drive or lead the way.  Then if you get lost, it is somebody else’s fault–you can just claim you weren’t paying attention."

Or you could just say this:

"Hey, I suck with directions and always will, probably. 

(addition for Diane: 'I have a genetic disability.'

addition for Sean: 'I read too much when I was in the 

car when I was younger and still ain't too interested in directions.')

You lead the way, or we're going to end up in Canada."

"Get a job or hobby which requires you to drive a lot.  In the past year, I have had 3 different assignments with the Census Bureau (including one currently which has kept me from blogging recently) , all of which involved using maps and finding locations.    The best part of the job is that the Census Bureau pays for all mileage and the time I spend driving.  So, now I get paid to be lost!  Your tax dollars at work."

Another good piece of advice. Except for every sentence after the first one.

"Finally the third key is a little healthy self-delusion—really just changing your attitude. Enjoy the journey!  Accept that you may not end up where you planned—you might end up somewhere even better!"

Well, I guess that explains it: "Enjoy the journey!" When wasn't I doing that? 

Sheesh, Diane, slow yourself down. The end of the journey does not justify 

being embarrassed about being different from others in a way that makes 

you less reliable with directions which is embarrassing to you because 

it's thought to be normal and so you're different in a fundamental way 

that scares people a little bit and so they make fun of you, when they 

should be making fun of this run-on sentence that just won't end. 

(From SuperSense)

"Human freaks challenge our view of the living world. We expect people 

to look a certain way and be a certain size and shape, and individuals 

who do not fit these expectations are deemed unnatural." pg. 136, 137.

"Although we intuitively think of essences, life forces, and holism, we would be hard-pressed 

to describe what we mean. ... Having good or bad "vibes" is the closet that most of 

us come ... but our behavior and opinions reveal that essentialism, vitalism, 

and holism are still guiding our reasoning. When people respond negatively 

to wearing a killer's cardigan, this is a reflection of their naive biological reasoning at work. 

The evil they think is imbued in the cloth is a reflection of the same mechanisms 

that children apply to infer the hidden properties of living things." pg. 139

"Jewish dietary law forbids the consumption of certain animals described in Leviticus of the Old Testament as unclean. At first, the lists seem rather arbitrary. Unclean animals include camels, ostriches, sharks, eels, chameleons, moles, and crocodiles. ... One intriguing alternative is that originally the animals were deemed either clean or unclean depending on how well they fit properties of the group to which they belonged.

'But this is what you shall not eat from among those that bring up their cud or have split hooves; 

the camel, for it brings up its cud, but its hoof is not split--it is unclean to you; 

and the hyrax, for it brings up its cud, but its hoof is not split--it is unclean to you; 

and the hare, for it brings up its cud, but its hoof is not split--it is unclean to you; 

and the pig, for its hoof is split and its hoof is completely separated, yet it does not chew its cud--it is unclean to you. 

You shall not eat of their flesh nor shall you touch their carcass--they are unclean to you.'

-- Leviticus 11:4-8

Any group of animals should share more properties compared to those from another. 

Biologists call this grouping "taxonomy," after the Greek taxis, which referred to the 

main divisions of the ancient army. Today's modern taxonomy is based on one originally 

devised by the Swedish biologist Carl Linnaeus in the eighteenth century, but prior to this, 

taxonomies were based on animals' different modes and movement and their habitats.

All the various animals of the land, sea, and air share very similar bodily structures and 

forms of locomotion. Land animals have four legs and jump or walk. 

Fish have scales and swim. Birds have wings and fly. One suggestion is that unclean 

animals tend to be those that violate these properties of the general category to which 

they belong. Sharks and eels lives in the sea, but do not have scales. 

Ostriches are birds, but do not fly. Crocodiles have legs that looks like hands. 

Maybe some of the unclean animals are the freaks of their taxonomic group. 

The early Jewish scholars thought that such violations were abominations of the natural world." 139-141

Apparently, when convenience has become the norm, being utterly unable 

to find your way out of a lunchbox with 5 tries is rather close to that schema 

of "unnatural". While Diane isn't condemned (or a "freak") in the way those 

with leprosy were, she does get snickers, and since she too shares the same 

mindset, she gets embarrassed about it.

Me, I just say that it's my fuckin' fault. Though I may have a biological basis 

for getting lost when I venture far away from a familiar place, I'm pretty sure 

that being a bookworm had, I don't know, something to do with it. 

And sure, maybe if I had, as it were, "normal genetics", I would have a natural 

ability to geography and maps in the same way I seem to excel faster than most 

at most things I try things I try (I'm not saying I'm better than anyone; hell, for 

all I know, I'm average, and Diane is just a retard or something... don't tell her 

I said that.). 

Oh, and by the way, though I may be an atheist, I know this, too (from reading 

SuperSense): In some cases, prayer Does work. Why? Placebo effect; 

feeling that you're in control. That does a world of difference when you feel 

lost and helpless.

Or you could just call the police:

"[O]ne time at Ridgedale Mall, I actually called the cops because I thought someone had stolen my car.  It turns out I had parked in a different lot."

It may be a little insane, too, but at least you can see 'em. Then again...

"Always carry note paper–I’ve learned to never park a car without making detailed notes about where I left it. If all else fails you can use the Hansel and Gretel method– tear up the paper into little pieces and leave a trail.  Sure the paper may blow away, but chances are the mall police will have been notified of your strange behavior and will help you find your car."

See her post:

http://smalltalkbigresults.wordpress.com/2010/05/16/im-not-lost-im-directionally-challenged/#more-160

I'm in denial? Nu-uh! Well, maybe a little...

It is not exactly preferable to be in denial if you are in pursuit of truth and reality, which I am. To be honest, I do admit that I am slightly in denial. So I will explain the ideal that I intend to exude with this.

I wish that I did not have a body with needs for food and drink. I also wish that I did not require shelter. In the state of things of the USA, you are born into a virtual slavery (in my opinion). To live is to either leech off of other people, or to be in debt to something called "the government" by way of owning property; or you could rent, which has the same essential feature (in my opinion). You could, of course, just live outside in the cold and be rained on, but I do not prefer this, as I'm sure many others don't.

Having used "(in my opinion)" twice and possibly annoying someone who might read this - well, having annoyed myself - I give an explanation of what that sentiment means: this requires more explanation which I currently don't want to bother explaining.

It might do well to explain how I've gotten to this way of approaching life. I was raised a Christian, and one of my questions regarding God was, "Why does God love us?" I pursued this question and never got what I thought was a satisfactory answer. It usually boiled down to something like, "Well, why does the artist make a painting?" or "Why does the artist love his painting?" But... God does not require anything. Which would then be counter-acted with, "God's love pours out." Yet, it still did not explain anything. Why did God love us, and why was his love pouring out?

I used to imagine what the afterlife would be like, after the earth would be gone. It was much like C.S. Lewis' "cold place" version that he wrote of in one of his books, and like the vision of Narnia; it could also be compared to the planet that Mr. Manhattan went to when he was pissed at the reporters. A cold place, desolate from all human activity but my own, on a small planet that wasn't exactly big, but not exactly small, perhaps like the planet that the prince from My Little Prince inhabited, and I would be sitting on it, the rest of the planet utterly dark (more of just a loss of focus from it), and I would watch earth, with all of its destruction and drama. And I would feel at peace.

For a long time, I wondered if I had autism; or perhaps its lesser counterpart, Asperger's. I used to write in my journal/diary everyday, not quite religiously, just voluminously and vigorously. My ideal was to capture all of my thoughts, and analyze them, each and every one, and see what I could find, and if I was consistent in my thoughts. This part of it happened more-or-less after someone recommended Plato to me and I read his Apology. I loved the Socratic method and adopted it.

What I think now was probably the case, and still is the case, is that I might have some mild form of autism/Aspergers, but only as relates to what every other shy person has. That is, I'm suggesting that there is, perhaps, a link between shyness and autism. Well, not really suggesting it, but I am trying to see what the similarities or links might be. Perhaps I'm a combination of the two, as it were, a "very high functioning autistic". Perhaps "shy" could be interchanged with that.

These are the types of discussions I would have with myself in my diary. I would take a possibility, and then try and demolish it, while retaining it enough that the battle of affirming and disproving could never be over; or, if one possibility became more apparent, I would simply travel further down the list of possibilities, and then also, make another outrageous statement or connection, and then go about trying to figure that one out, too. And then I'd tie them together. Put simply, I loved using the written word as a means of exploring reality. Reading books, writing my thoughts, and exploring ideals.

About the time that I started asking why god loved us, I noticed that I saw patterns. In later reading some of Anne Frank's diary, I'm wondering if that was about when she noticed colors. It was, then, very "male" of me to notice that I saw patterns. She noted that she saw all sorts of colors. Me, I saw all sorts of patterns. And then I soon found a type of mind that might help me with my question: geniuses.

Issac Newton, Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Thomas Jefferson, Samuel Johnson, Benjamin Franklin (and so on)... I googled "genius, creativity" and many other things daily in attempt to wield more information from the internet. I browsed the online library and checked out books on genius, creativity, madness, and all combinations thereof. Soon I found autism, idiot savants, and Asperger's, too. I wanted to find the extremes, since nature reveals its properties soonest when working with extremes.

I wanted as much time as I could possibly get to study the world and think about it. Since I have/had only about 80 or so years of life, I focused on thinking as often as I could (which wasn't too hard), and more importantly, speeding up my perception of time so that 1 second would seem like 10 seconds, 100 seconds, an hour, or longer. Longer was preferable. I couldn't and haven't figured out a way to do it, though. The main possibility seems to be either training for it, or a rush of adrenaline. Thing with the rush of adrenaline is, the probability of focusing on problems with paranoid vigor. I'm not sure if that's a detriment to thinking, or an advantage.

I guess I'm sort of writing a mini-autobiography. That's kind of how it is when you're explaining part of your life to someone, I guess. I wonder what the verbal/visual format of it will be called. We have YouTube now, after all. A mini-autobiography is what it's going to be until I "catch you up" to the current times, which I kind of intend in doing with just one broad stroke, though this might not happen. And then this'll be more like a... blog? Diary? I don't know. I'm playing it by ear and trying to find out if I'm OK with this.

I've always been slightly introspective. It was increased after an event. In October of 2001, a man named Andrew Pudewa held a writing conference. My mother got word of it by newpaper, and knowing of my interest in bettering my writing, suggested the event. I was enthusiastic about it and went. The event was (and I wish I had a better word for it, but still after 8 years, I don't) spiritual for me. I couldn't attend the speech he gave, so my mom got a copy of it on CD. I listened to it 7 times right away. It has also been is uploaded to YouTube. Andrew Pudewa also gave reference to someone else, John Taylor Gatto and his book (which can be read for free online), The Underground History of American Education.

I loved his vision of how learning should be done. My mom was homeschooling me (having taken me from public school because my sister and I were having problems there; a girl was teasing me and my sister was being a bully and threw a kid in a garbage can); I stopped doing the curriculum, instead focusing on research on genius, creativity, madness, and autism. This caused problems, since I didn't have a job. I was, essentially, leeching off of my mum and dad. This didn't settle too well with me, but neither did I want a job. I'd read about the tyranny and discomfort of having a job (How to Be Idle [Amazon link] by Tom Hodgkinson) and didn't want to get one.

This went on for about a year. Finally, my mother couldn't take it any longer, and took me to a counseling place to get me evaluated. I saw it as a chance to show her, officially, that I was depressed, instead of telling her myself, since I was trying to avoid her. I was diagnosed with Mild Depression, and my mother cried over it. Mostly, I was surprised that I wasn't diagnosed with severe depression.

During one of the last visits to the place (they tried to help me with psychiatric care and it just didn't mix), she suggested a private Christian school. At this point, the word Christian had begun to have a bad taste in my mouth. But I was tempted to see what Andrew Pudewa was talking about in regard to the corruption of schools. So, I agreed and went.

It was a good year. For the most part, I liked it. I even passed out CDs about the Andrew Pudewa stuff to a teacher or two, and we tried the system. It didn't last for that long (and later the school closed), but from a recall point of years later, it was probably the best time and most stimulating time I had when doing a school assignment.

The school year ended, and I expected to go back to my research on genius, creativity, and so forth. Instead, I fell into a deep depression, and found YouTube. Thereat, I searched around and listened to people, and soon found TAA (or, TheAmazingAtheist). This was back before when TAA's videos were a lot better. I concurrently started at his first video, and listened to all of his videos. I also went looking for long (2+ hour) debates on religion.

About 5 or 6 months later, I started calling myself an atheist; first, abashedly (since many of the atheists were also anti-theistic and rude), and then, more comfortably (I made another category of anti-theist/YouTube atheist, both of which have the first meaning of being against the Christian religion and thinking that it's memetic destruction will benefit the human race, with the second meaning being an atheist that might have a tendency to be an asshole to Christians). The main definition used by the atheist community is: the lack of belief in god(s). As opposed to having unbelief, or, disbelieving (or something of that elk). In which case, the Christian then claims that the atheist "has even more faith than the Christian!"

Then came college. As it saw it, since I would be, essentially, kicked out if I didn't get a job soon, my two options were live on the street somehow, or attend college. Since I was curious about what college would be like, and if it was true that college is corrupt, and since I couldn't think of a way that I would be able to live on the streets, I went with the college option, to increase the amount of time before the inevitable crash. I looked at a lot of them and visited a few. My favorites were St. John's, Cornell, and a lower costing college.

And then there were costs to consider. Since I didn't want to take out extravagant loans (I hate owing people money; I would rather people owe me money and give them a lenient time to pay it back with interest), the lower costing college became the only viable option. It still wasn't attractive, but it was college, or bum; I didn't want to be a bum, and I was, as I said before, curious about college.

The first semester went beautifully. Stimulating and full of stuff to observe. However, what happened at the second semester was unexpected. It seems that I had absorbed what I needed to absorb about how college worked. With my interest having declined, I had an issue with homework. It wasn't the work aspect that I had trouble with, it was someone else telling me what to do when in regard to what I thought about. I guard my intellectual focus with a passion, and homework was a direct intrusion upon it. Why didn't I have an issue with it before? Because it was part of the investigation.

I started missing homework assignments, and soon simply skipped class. And because I was also talking about the subject of suicide in my videos, concerned teachers had me admitted to a psych ward. I at first went willingly. Upon discovering that I was actually locked in, I spent the next three days in paranoid rebellion. The night of the second day they called my parents; they asked if I wanted to drop out and go home. I did. Home I went with a 4k bill from the hospital and a determination not to pay it off since it was, basically, imposed on me. Not that I had money to pay it off...

At about the time that I was about to be submitted to the psych ward, I was trying to get laid. From craigslist. I had an interesting experience with an older man, and then I met a girl who was "experienced with helping virgins." She also had a husband, a kid, and something she put up her vagina that prevented pregnancy. I went back home, and when we visited our grandparent's house (that's where she lived), I took the opportunity to arrange with her an night to fuck. And we did.

Having the Christian mystique taken away from sex, I could now better evaluate it and incorporate the experience into other things, like what books said about it. It seemed over-glamorized. And the jealousy that was attached to it I found confusing. Why couldn't people fuck who they wanted to? Why were people jealous of other people fucking "their" girlfreind? I could only relate it to my first love when I was a Christian, and my scathing jealousy at the thought of someone else fucking her. The next question, then, was whether jealousy was a theistic concept, or, if jealousy had similar elements that theism had. Or what sort of animal it was that I was dealing with. As it was, I preferred (and prefer) sluts and polyamory.

After the vacation at the grandparents was over, I left with the family back to home. However, I now wanted to live with the woman I'd met, instead of my family. After some talk, and a few weeks, we had some time of goodbyes and I left to back to where she was. The situation wasn't great, I wasn't technically supposed to be there, so I slept in the garage for much of it. Since I didn't have a job, I tried out a daily labor place that paid you at the end of each day.

After doing a few jobs for the place, one being heavy-work, the other a long time standing in one place, I realized that I could not handle hard physical labor jobs. I lived off and on in a homeless shelter. The place had an overall feel of tyranny to it. It wasn't overtly tyrannical, but it had Christian overtones and annoying schedules. The place was somewhere you didn't want to be if you could help it. Which, I suppose, was a positive, since that encouraged people to leave.

As it was, and is, I was trying to get a job for a place - any place - and never getting one. Consequently, I focused my efforts on online methods (specifically PTCs) as a means of making money. Unfortunately, the current PTC that I'm hoping pans out, I didn't discover until the last month or so. Apparently, the renting for NeoBux may not be that great. If it's not, then I'm kind of out of options, especially since I seem to be eternally unable to get a job.

I shall explain more later, perhaps.