INTERESTING BUT...
...Possibly bunk.
So, it's just past 0300 hours on what is effectively my Friday (a night early this week, as I've a class to go to on Wednesday to satisfy the certification gods) and, bored but with T1 access at work, I checked out This article and took the quizzes.
Hrm, somehow I don't think so, but maybe just possibly. I scored abysmally low on the empathy scale, low enough to qualify as a very high functioning autistic or an individual with Asperger's Syndrome, and also ridiculously high on the systematizing scale, high enough, that's right, to qualify as a very high functioning autistic or an individual with Asperger's Syndrome.
Golly, you'd think a school counselor or human resources specialist might have said something to this effect before now, hey what?
So, as you might guess, I'm not going to lose a great deal of sleep over this, except for the occasional chuckle at inappropriate moments when I am completely unaware that my chuckling might be taken the wrong way by some hypersensitive freak who is trapped with me in the room...
Heh heh heh.
Monday, June 06, 2005
FOUR EYES (AND COUNTING)
Well, not really.
It was, I suppose, only a matter of time. MODPM is nearsighted as all hell, and MODPD equally, as he has aged, farsighted, so really, how many more non-bespectacled years had I to look forward to, really? A brief spell in high school notwithstanding, of course; I didn't really need them and once I was (cough) financially independent I didn't appreciate the expense and more or less chucked them wholesale -- especially since I made some, let us say, unfortunate fashion choices as an early 90s college hipster w/r/t frame selection. Must I elaborate? Oh, all right. Tiny. Purple. Oval. Metal. Frames. On a face that, even before I gained the freshman 15 and then some at Beaudacious Bard College, could best be described as closely resembling that of the Laughing Buddha. Bad.
Recent and embarrassing experiences at work and elsewhere with a continual incapacity to call the right phone number even from lists rendered in very large type sizes, plus a continual rash of migraine and other headaches, led me to conclude that it was maybe time to pay a vist to an optometrist again after lo these many years. Even though as a state employee who nevermind the ten hour underground shifts staring at three computer monitors I have no vision insurance...
Long story short, my eyes are in fantastic health but are shaped somewhat like footballs, and I might indeed benefit from ocular aid when doing detail work; and from antireflective coating to cope with the three computer screens.
A month later (it apparently takes a very long time indeed to put this coating on a lens or two) and here they sit as I type, perched on the end of my nose: a brand new pair of glasses. Woot, as they say, woo.
So far, I think I'm still getting used to the slight correction they provide, and so have experienced a sort of low-grade headache from the get go; either that or I'm just really annoyed with people (we did have to close interstate 80 for the better part of a day due to snow and stupid crashes, and the disbelieving phone calls about this extended far into the following day. Really, people, there is no law of man or nature that says it can't snow in June, especially at these elevations).
And when did glasses get so very postmodern and funky? Really, these things are sort of sly allusions to glasses; the ear pieces are straight with only a slight inward curve; the metal thin and ribbonlike, the ends rather on the sharp side, as though perhaps these things are meant to double as shuriken or something. The lenses are even smaller than my unfortunate purple ovals of yesteryear but this time, at least they are trapped in frames that I'm told are really quite complimentary to my face (at least my fellow dispatchers, who, let's face it, have to look at me more and for longer continuous periods of time than anyone, say so, and it would not be in their best interests to fib about it, would it? Given that they do have to look at me? Right?).
The really funny thing about all of this is what I have learned over the last two days about how people perceive each other in general and me in particular. I'm reminded a bit of the way my coffee buddies in Saratoga have, to a man, apparently and extensively edited their memories of me as a child to accommodate the flaming red hair I sport as an adult. "You always were a flaming little redhead," the Lord Macklebrains has said on more than one occasion, obviously forgetting that, though there were strawberry tones I was most definitely a blonde, blonde, blonde little girl, and still blonde as a teenybopper; blond of a shade so unusual that no one believed it was natural; hence my joke in later years; no one believed my blonde hair was real back then, and now no one believes my red hair is fake.
Now, more revisionism, as proven not the very day but the day after I first showed up at work with four eyes. One colleague, who shall remain nameless, put it most amusingly and succinctly: "Hey, I like those new glasses! They're a lot better than the old ones."
Hee hee. The closest thing I have to "old ones" are the aforementioned specs discarded back before anyone had ever heard of Nirvana, and thus long pre-dating my acquaintance with any of this crew.
But almost to a woman (and man) the mental picture of me that they have had appears to include glasses.
Is it because of all the reading I do?
Hmm.
Well, not really.
It was, I suppose, only a matter of time. MODPM is nearsighted as all hell, and MODPD equally, as he has aged, farsighted, so really, how many more non-bespectacled years had I to look forward to, really? A brief spell in high school notwithstanding, of course; I didn't really need them and once I was (cough) financially independent I didn't appreciate the expense and more or less chucked them wholesale -- especially since I made some, let us say, unfortunate fashion choices as an early 90s college hipster w/r/t frame selection. Must I elaborate? Oh, all right. Tiny. Purple. Oval. Metal. Frames. On a face that, even before I gained the freshman 15 and then some at Beaudacious Bard College, could best be described as closely resembling that of the Laughing Buddha. Bad.
Recent and embarrassing experiences at work and elsewhere with a continual incapacity to call the right phone number even from lists rendered in very large type sizes, plus a continual rash of migraine and other headaches, led me to conclude that it was maybe time to pay a vist to an optometrist again after lo these many years. Even though as a state employee who nevermind the ten hour underground shifts staring at three computer monitors I have no vision insurance...
Long story short, my eyes are in fantastic health but are shaped somewhat like footballs, and I might indeed benefit from ocular aid when doing detail work; and from antireflective coating to cope with the three computer screens.
A month later (it apparently takes a very long time indeed to put this coating on a lens or two) and here they sit as I type, perched on the end of my nose: a brand new pair of glasses. Woot, as they say, woo.
So far, I think I'm still getting used to the slight correction they provide, and so have experienced a sort of low-grade headache from the get go; either that or I'm just really annoyed with people (we did have to close interstate 80 for the better part of a day due to snow and stupid crashes, and the disbelieving phone calls about this extended far into the following day. Really, people, there is no law of man or nature that says it can't snow in June, especially at these elevations).
And when did glasses get so very postmodern and funky? Really, these things are sort of sly allusions to glasses; the ear pieces are straight with only a slight inward curve; the metal thin and ribbonlike, the ends rather on the sharp side, as though perhaps these things are meant to double as shuriken or something. The lenses are even smaller than my unfortunate purple ovals of yesteryear but this time, at least they are trapped in frames that I'm told are really quite complimentary to my face (at least my fellow dispatchers, who, let's face it, have to look at me more and for longer continuous periods of time than anyone, say so, and it would not be in their best interests to fib about it, would it? Given that they do have to look at me? Right?).
The really funny thing about all of this is what I have learned over the last two days about how people perceive each other in general and me in particular. I'm reminded a bit of the way my coffee buddies in Saratoga have, to a man, apparently and extensively edited their memories of me as a child to accommodate the flaming red hair I sport as an adult. "You always were a flaming little redhead," the Lord Macklebrains has said on more than one occasion, obviously forgetting that, though there were strawberry tones I was most definitely a blonde, blonde, blonde little girl, and still blonde as a teenybopper; blond of a shade so unusual that no one believed it was natural; hence my joke in later years; no one believed my blonde hair was real back then, and now no one believes my red hair is fake.
Now, more revisionism, as proven not the very day but the day after I first showed up at work with four eyes. One colleague, who shall remain nameless, put it most amusingly and succinctly: "Hey, I like those new glasses! They're a lot better than the old ones."
Hee hee. The closest thing I have to "old ones" are the aforementioned specs discarded back before anyone had ever heard of Nirvana, and thus long pre-dating my acquaintance with any of this crew.
But almost to a woman (and man) the mental picture of me that they have had appears to include glasses.
Is it because of all the reading I do?
Hmm.
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