Pan's Labrynth

So, at Tobs glowing recommendation, and after watching the Oscars, we finally got around to seeing Pan's Labrynth. And to my surprise, I didn't really enjoy it. Tobs did warn me that it was disturbing, and it was. I really enjoyed the fantasy scenes. They were really well done. In fact, the whole movie itself was really well-done. But something about it just didn't sit well with me. I suppose that's not a very coherent review. "It just didn't sit well." There was one part that I didn't understand at all, and I can't go into detail because if I do, it ruins part of the movie and that wouldn't be good because of the two or three people who read this, what if one of you hasn't seen it yet? Not nice.

I recently came across a blog that purported to be authored by a special needs teacher. I really hope it isn't. I hope it's just a made up piece of garbage. First of all, the title of the blog had a variant of 'retard' in it. Are there people older than 7 still calling developmentally disabled people that? I read almost all the entries. I felt compelled. It was like reading a long list of "What NOT to do when working with kids." Every blowout or act of aggression the author described could be traced back to something that was completely her fault. For example, deliberately disrupting the routine of a kid with not only autism, but a serious case of OCD. One of the fundamental things to keep in mind when dealing with someone with autism, or anyone with a developmental disability, is that it's not necessarily about power to them. At least, not the kind of power struggles you and I can recognize. So many people in this field fall victim to that kind of mentality. They take negative behaviour personally, and mount a mini-vendetta against a student/client.

Perhaps you are working with someone who has the odd quirk of deliberately spilling her drink on the floor. For no reason that you can discern, she will just up and pour the contents of her glass on the floor beside her. She might smile when doing it. She might even have a look on her face that could be read as defiance. You've spoken with her about it, numerous times. You've explained that it makes an awful mess, that if she keeps it up she won't get anything else to drink, you may have even considered yourself clever and only given her juice boxes with straws, but still she leans over and dribbles all of her drink on the floor.

Why?

Clearly she's got 'behaviour issues,' right? I mean, you've spoken to her time and again about it. You've explained it to her calmly (and as it went on, let's face it, decidedly not so calmly) that that pouring her drink on the floor is something that we just don't do. Even though she does it all the time, with other people around, you're her key worker, and you're the one who's spoken to her the most about it. So, it's a conflict between you and her. She's pushing the boundaries. She's testing you. She's trying to see how much she can get away with. As time passes, and each and every meal time, no matter what you try (juice boxes, spill proof cups, closely regulating the amount of liquid in her glass) she still pours her drink all over the floor. This has become something more than just a trivial quirk. This is her exerting control. This is between you, in your role as teacher and supervisor, and her, in her role of student and trainee.

Or is it?

What if she pours her water out of the glass onto the floor because she likes the way it sounds? She likes the patterns the water makes as it lands and pools around her feet? Her devious smile is really one of simple joy. Her look of defiance is merely the stare of someone concentrating hard at listening to each drop hit the floor. True, you've asked her not to spill her drink, and from her point of view, she did stop. When you turned your back and she proceeded to pour the water onto the floor again, *directly after* you'd just spoken to her, would seem to you like a deliberate act of defiance. But to her, when you turned your back, the episode was over. You didn't want her to spill her drink that *one* time, and so she stopped. This is a *different* time. A completely *separate* situation. Whether she poured the water two seconds or two years after you spoke to her doesn't matter. She is simply not capable of making the connection between then and now. This isn't a power struggle between you and her, to her. If she's autistic, it's possible she's barely even aware of you. And if she is aware of you, it's analogous to you or I being aware of the weather. You are an external force to her, one that she has no control over and doesn't comprehend that she *could* affect you.

Of course, it does go the other way, and the little bastard really *is* testing you.

And you have to figure out which is which.

That's when the fun begins.

not-so-handyman 2

So, I got the keys back for my mum today. It was pretty anti-climatic. I just told him that if that's the way he does business, then he's not going to be in business anymore. He said, "I don't know what you mean." I think he might have even called me sir. There's a type of person who calls you sir, or ma'am, when they've been caught out, and he was one of them. Anyway, I really didn't want to spend much time around him, so I just told him that he was lucky the police didn't get involved.

And the kicker is, I still feel kinda bad about saying something negative to the asshole. Why is that? Someone is a complete ass, and says or does jerky things, and then you feel bad for calling them on it. Is that just a Canadian thing?

Guitar Hero

In other news, I have been trying to learn to play the guitar for a few years now. And today, I actually feel like I can play the damn thing. I dunno what happened the last couple of weeks, but my fingers are getting more coordinated, and my chord changes are a lot more smooth. I am pretty damn proud of myself, even though if you heard it, it would probably sound very "Grade 6 Band Practice." But for the first time today, I jammed. My guitar teacher and I were working on a song, and I was able to maintain the rhythm while he noodled away. It was a very happy moment for me.

not-so-handyman

I have been sick. I had strep throat yet again. It's not fun. Don't do it.

So, my mum bought a condo. She is very excited about it. She's decided to do some repainting, as well as removing the carpenting and putting in more pet-friendly flooring. Begin the nightmare.

On recommendation from her realtor, she hired on a handyman to do all the work. He hemmed and hawed over the price, complained about how much work needed to be done, and was just generally an ass.

Long story short, anybody know where to bury a body?

Heh. Just kidding. Barely.

So, he didn't want to pick up the flooring, so he made my mum do it. And here's something else. My mother calls me every day. Sometimes two, three or more times a day. And she doesn't mention the fact that this 'handyman' has her hauling flooring. Anyway, she picks up the flooring. And he complains again about the amount of work that needs to be done. This condo is maybe 525 sq ft, with two full rooms to paint, as well as a tiny bathroom and a wee laundry closet. So, this complaining is an attempt to jack the price. Finally, my mum has had enough. She fires him.

Or so she thought.

The realtor calls her and hounds her about firing this guy, who's the realtor's friend. The dude calls her and hounds her. She's already cut the ass a check, and so she decides to just see what kind of job he does. He shows up with some helper who apparently hasn't held a paint brush before, and they go about smearing paint everywhere. My mum had gone ahead and hired someone else to do the floor, and he's doing his job. And the handyman is grumbling about the work, and grumbling at the floor guy, obviously trying to make the guy up his price. My mum had the sense to tell him to shut the hell up. And so they finished making their mess, and left, and mum took a look at their work and rightfully put a stop on the check.

Today, she calls the handyman and tells him she's not paying for mess they made, except for the one room they did okay. She gets a call back. From the handyman? No. From the realtor? No. From the helper buddy. So, that brings the count up to three assholes hassling my mother about this whole mess. She told him to sod off. But now, she needs to get her keys back from Mr. Handyman. And since I had nothing to do on a Sunday morning except maybe sleep in and enjoy my day off, I'm going to go meet up with this dude and get them back. Because if it's one thing I like on a Sunday morning, it's angry awkwardness. But Brian, if you're reading this, I am going REVEL in it.

And I know how it will probably go down. I'll probably get the keys, he'll probably be all sorry about it 'not working out' and I'll mumble something like 'whatever.' That's the way it normally goes down.

But I don't want it to this time. This time, I've been sick for a week, which makes me cranky and generally all-around pissy, and this dick has been picking on my mum. This guy should be embarrassed and ashamed at the way he's acted. This is not how you conduct business, by bullying middle-aged ladies. What I want to do is cock-punch this asshole, but what I hope I do is give him a good talking-to. Yeah. That'll show him.