This news came as a crushing blow. Kelly joined the band in 1974, right after Eldorado, and stayed until 1983. He was a large part of the well-known, popular, successful ELO line-up — my favorite line-up. Kelly’s voice perfectly complemented Jeff Lynne’s.

ELO was a large part of my childhood, and still occupies a rather sizable portion of my adult life. I’ve been hooked since about the third grade. Kids often teased me for obsessing over ELO, for claiming Jeff Lynne as my so-called “crush.” I was a child of the 80s and 90s. ELO broke up when I was two. Asperger’s probably predisposed me to like adults better than my peers, and I frequently wished that I’d been born in the 60s — because people my parents’ age were the only ones willing to tolerate my monologues about Roy Wood’s hairstyles or the metaphorical significance of “Livin Thing.”

During my adolescence, I would only listen to music that I could somehow connect back to ELO. (e.g., The Moody Blues were acceptable because Bev Bevan, ELO’s drummer, played with Denny Laine and the Diplomats for a bit, and Denny Laine eventually sang lead for the Moody Blues. Likewise, Denny Laine’s connection to Wings made Paul McCartney acceptable, though McCartney was also acceptable because Jeff Lynne produced his album Flaming Pie and also worked on the Beatles Anthology.) When I dropped out of school in ninth grade, Jeff and Kelly’s harmonies — and the histories and trivia surrounding those harmonies — carried me through some emotional rough patches. My aspie special interest helped to keep me grounded in a lot of ways.

In eighth and ninth grade, I grew desperate to have ELO posters, to amass anything and everything related to ELO, no matter how tangential.  I collected LPs from flea markets and proudly displayed the duplicates as if they were posters. I also began drawing ELO members and affixing their cartoonish likenesses to my walls:

Richard Tandy & Kelly Groucutt. Drawn when I was 15.

My drawings make me laugh when I consider the amount of detail I pored into sketching the band members’ hairstyles. Such detail presents a stark contrast with their penciled faces, which are amazingly blank and bare.

Jeff Lynne. Drawn at age 15. I mailed this to him with a birthday card. He never responded.

I’m still reeling from the shock of it all — of Kelly Groucutt not being here. It’s hard to fathom. My weekend consisted of me listening to Kelly-heavy tunes such as Sweet Is the Night and live versions of 10538 Overture. I’ve pulled out his 1981 solo album, his OrKestra songs, his work with ELO Part II/Orchestra. All such lovely, lovely songs.

]]> http://aspierhetor.com/2009/02/25/before-we-go/feed/ 0 http://aspierhetor.com/2009/01/04/favorite-search-keyphrases-of-2008/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=favorite-search-keyphrases-of-2008 http://aspierhetor.com/2009/01/04/favorite-search-keyphrases-of-2008/#comments Sun, 04 Jan 2009 18:51:29 +0000 Melanie http://aspierhetor.com/2009/01/04/favorite-search-keyphrases-of-2008/ Using awstats, I keep tabs on how people (and spambots) end up at my blog — what sites have referred them, how often they visit and how long they stay at my blog, and, most interestingly, what search terms and phrases have led them here.

So, compiled below, I’ve addressed what I feel are the most interesting and perhaps ridiculous phrases that have attracted web visitors to my aspie rhetor blog. Hopefully, in addressing these keywords, the web searches of my mythical visitors will not have been in vain.

1. aspergers and the inability to realize the need to vomit

I keep reading over this one. When I paste the phrase into Google, my site comes up as #8. (Should I feel flattered?) A lot of things make me want to vomit, and I usually try to reduce needing to vomit by avoiding the things that will induce it. Of course, I am but one aspie, and perhaps other aspies don’t realize that they need to (or want to?) vomit at certain junctures.

My only guess as to this particular in-the-dark-about-vomithood sensation might revolve around aspie perseveration. When I was younger, especially, I’d get so engrossed in something (e.g., reading maps, playing with dolls, or listening to ELO) that I’d fail to realize that I needed to take heed of necessary bodily functions, such as eating or using the bathroom. But never with vomiting.

2. why do presbyterians hate pentecostals

Presbyterians hate pentecostals?

Actually, my experience has been the other way around — pentecostals hating Presbyterians (or, more realistically, pentecostals hating anyone who isn’t pentecostal). I grew up in a pentecostal family and ended up in a Presbyterian college for my last two years as an undergraduate student. Though the presbies I came in contact with did not theologically coalesce with those of a pentecostal persuasion, they always seemed fairly cordial as compared to the pentecostal people. (Of course, perhaps presbies are just more restrained in their hatred. After all, the pentecostals are rhetorically glossolalic and tend to be more charismatic.)

3. the baddest evilest vilest web site ever

I hope that this site didn’t exemplify what the searcher was hoping for…

4. elo and autism

Someone who wasn’t me actually searched for this?! (Or maybe it was me who searched for this.)

When my parents first heard about Asperger’s way back when, the first DSM criterion they pegged onto me involved that of the  intense, unrelenting interest. ELO, for me, is a very serious thing. The first ELO album I owned was 1975′s Face the Music, which I had on cassette. To the chagrin of my sister, who happened to share a room with me at the time, I’d play the tape over and over and over. Eventually, my parents had to separate us into different rooms as our personalities were so disparate: I needed to control every aspect of the environment, and any time she so much as moved a sock, I’d flip. Moreover, she could no longer tolerate the sounds of “Evil Woman” or “Fire on High.” (My father still jokingly refers to us as Felix and Oscar.)

5. aspergers sufferers

I hate this term. I don’t “suffer” from Asperger’s. I have a rather large problem with the autism spectrum being defined wholly in terms of suffering and deficit, hence the letter I wrote to the president of my university. This idea of ASD being equated with suffering seems a largely neurotypical construct to me, as if anyone who isn’t “normal” must somehow be suffering, and the problem of the suffering lies entirely within the so-called sufferer.

Many say that those with ASD have “problems” socializing –  but I would posit that, while spectrumites have difficulty socializing with NTs, so too do NTs have difficulty socializing with spectrumites. I’ve met very few people who “get” me, and I’ve likewise met very few people that I understand socially. Communicating with NTs, for me, sort of feels like cross-cultural communication: there has to be some give and take from both sides, because when I’m the only one giving or compromising in the way that I communicate, I’m effectively draining and killing myself, my personality. My autistic ways of communicating aren’t marks of my suffering self. My autistic ways of communicating are constructed as those of a “sufferer” because they deviate from a one-size-fits-all, neurologically typical society.

I have some painful sensory experiences sometimes — but even here, I hesitate to use the term “suffering,” and, if I ever use it, I put it in scare-quotes, because “suffering” is so inadequate as a term, so emotionally and neurotypically loaded as a term. Who’s to say that NTs don’t “suffer” from their sensory experiences? Though spectrumites may be “missing out” on how NTs perceive their surroundings, NTs are “missing out” on how spectrumites perceive theirs. This construct of suffering depends upon who controls the dominant discourse surrounding neurology and (dis)ability.

I’ve noticed a lot of theoretical overlaps between the readings from my independent study on autistic narratives/rhetorics and the readings from my Race & Literacy course. All of these readings, whether implicitly or explicitly, deal with issues of representation and community, as well as issues of authorship and subjectivity. To borrow a question from Jacqueline Jones Royster, who can/should/does speak for/with/about whom?

Royster’s question seems especially pertinent in the writings and conference presentations of Paul Heilker, who, in claiming that autism is a rhetoric, is careful to delineate between autism communities and autistic communities — the former composed largely of parents and charities, the latter composed largely of individuals on the spectrum. These two communities, as one can probably gather from the unrelenting snark that has come to constitute my blog, are “warring” factions. Both claim representation rights; both claim to be voices of/for/with/about autism. The Autism Society of America claims to be the voice of autism; Autistics.org claims to be the real voice of autism (Heilker, CCCC 2008).

Interestingly, the primary audience of most large autism charities isn’t the autistic individual: by and large, their audience seems to include everyone but the autistic individual. Parents, teachers, supporters, doctors, researchers, students, any NT with spare pocket change — these are the bodies that such organizations strive to reach. Thus, ASA, for example, assumes its role as the voice of autism, rather than the autistic voice, because they imply that autistics, whether speaking or non-speaking, cannot autonomously self-advocate — for autistics to do so would go against the DSM IV criteria, or somesuch nonsense. Moreover, in highlighting autie and aspie testimonials on their home page, ASA suggests that individuals on the spectrum need an NT voice behind theirs in order to “function.” We autistics are high-functioning only inasmuch as we have NTs to brace us: note the lining up of ASD narratives next to narratives of NT mothers and NT speech pathologists. (Of course, I should here note that ASA is a lot more “ethical” in its operations and approach toward autistics than, say, Autism Speaks and other cure-autism conglomerates.)

Voice and representation are likewise large issues in writings that concern race and literacy. Morris Young, in Minor Re/Visions: Asian American Literacy Narratives as a Rhetoric of Citizenship, contends that the literacy narrative, as a genre, has the potential to allow Others to project their voices, to position themselves as individuals against their communities, to analyze the hegemonic functions of literacy, to “become minor” in the process of writing. The dominant theme in Young, as well as in John Duffy’s Writing from These Roots: Literacy in a Hmong-American Community, involves the relationship between self and society.

Autism is derived from the Greek word autos, which means self. Drs. Kanner, Asperger, and Bettelheim frequently described autistics as being inherently self-centered, trapped in their own worlds, imprisoned in their asocial bodies. Dr. Simon Baron-Cohen propels lack of theory of mind as an accurate description of autistic selfhood, this inability to empathize and recognize the intentions of others serving as a large marker of autistic existence. Ann Jurecic and Lisa Zunshine, both scholars in English Studies, also herald theory of mind in relation to autistic identity, bringing up issues of mindblindness and autistic egocentrism.

If autistics are seen as self-centered, self-absorbed, and self-isolating individuals, it’s little wonder that the idea of an autistic community — in contrast to an autism community — seems paradoxical. How can a bunch of self-absorbed selves form a community? How can a bunch of self-absorbed selves relate to a bunch of self-absorbed selves? How can a bunch of autos, autistic voices meld into a (semi)unified, real autistic voice?

I think it’s important to note that these questions largely stem from autism discourse, rather than autistic discourse, and perhaps this is why so many spectrumites loathe “person first” terminology, preferring “autistic” to “person with autism.” The phrase “person with autism” suggests that, should the autism be removed, a “real” person will emerge — without any trace of that asocial, autos garbage. It denies the intermingling of the autistic autos and bodily self. It denies the intermingling of autos and voice.

All of this rambling brings me back to the title of my post, to the idea of the self-indulgent narrative. In Literacies, Experiences, and Technologies, Sibylle Gruber writes,

I would like to argue that I don’t use the personal for capital investment, that I don’t use the personal as a mirror reflection of a self or culture, that I don’t slot myself or others as being able to speak for a group, and that I don’t disembody the personal…. But it is also important to acknowledge that personal narrative — or self-reflexivity — can become ‘self-indulgent or narcissistic’ …. In other words, despite conscious efforts not to use identity politics for individual gain, it is often difficult to escape the unconscious or subconscious tendencies to justify, defend, and promote an individual, albeit theoretically founded and supported, perspective. (22)

Throughout her book, Gruber positions herself, as a foreign researcher, in the contexts of those she researches. Gruber contends that personal biases are a real part of research, and she thusly justifies her use of personal narrative. Yet, she also fears narcissism, that her narratives about her ESL status are misplaced, autos-ridden tidbits of the personal.

Similarly, in “Tender Organs, Narcissism, and Identity Politics,” Tobin Siebers writes of the ways in which personal narratives of disability are often conflated with narcissism:

It is wrong to study what you are. (41)

But I also think that people with disabilities need to resist the suggestion that their personal stories are somehow more narcissistic than those of able-bodied people. If we cannot tell our stories because they reflect badly on our personalities or make other people queasy, the end result will be greater isolation. (50)

Now we of the tender organs need to introduce the reality of disability into the public imagination. And the only way to accomplish this task is to tell stories in a way that allows people without disabilities to recognize our reality and theirs as a common one. For only in this way will we be recognized politically. (51)

I worry that my writings about autism are, or will be, perceived as the self-indulgent, narcissistic writings of a pathological person with autism. As a I read over my previous post, a post that is rife with the personal, I wonder about what I should strive to be. Is this a personal blog or an academic blog? When the autism community reads my writing, do they immediately believe that I lack a theory of mind? Am I too autos for the masses — do I need to de-auticize myself in order to be seen as a voice of/for/with/about autism? In what ways can I be an autistic voice who writes for/with/about/to/at the voice of autism? How do we begin to bridge the realities of autistics into the public imagination of autism?

Paul Heilker and Jason King suggest that the end to the autism/autistic war — or, more likely, the beginnings of an autism/autistic truce — may involve Krista Ratcliffe’s concept of rhetorical listening. Rhetorical listening, unlike empathy, invokes understanding commonalities and differences. Ratcliffe claims that

understanding means listening to discourses not for intent but with intent — with the intent to understand not just the claims but the rhetorical negotiations of understanding as well. To clarify this process of understanding, rhetorical listeners might best invert the term understanding and define it as standing under, that is, consciously standing under discourses that surround us and others while consciously acknowledging all our particular — and very fluid — standpoints. (28)

Notably, Ratcliffe does not claim that the solution to life’s problems necessitates peeking into the mind of the Other. Rather, she stresses the necessity of difference, those autos features that particularize us as individuals.

I find it ironic that, in this discussion of the necessity of difference and personal narrative in disability writing, I haven’t been very personal. As a result, I now share this photograph, which is also meant to break up the textual monotony of my blog:

[A portion of my ELO collection: my perseveration of choice]

So, as I now listen to “September Song” for what is probably the fiftieth time today, I am also trying to complete a “map” of what I want to complete (and when) in my independent study this term. As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I’m focusing on autism, rhetoric, and representation. I’ve so many things that I want to read, and I keep having to tell myself that I only have ten weeks to accomplish this, and it’s hard for me to figure out what a workable reading load is. This past weekend I wanted to read a couple books written by parents of autistic children (including Jenny McCarthy’s book — and not because I like Jenny McCarthy’s ideas). However, I ended up on a rabbit trail of sorts, and ended up re-reading Michael John Carley’s Asperger’s from the Inside Out. (I suppose he counts as both an aspie AND a parent of an aspie. So I wasn’t completely off track.)

I also finally worked up the nerve to email a professor in the field of rhetoric and composition who has been doing work with autism. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was socially appropriate to email random professors at different colleges because of e-stalking I’d done via Google and CCCC electronic conference programs. So, I spoke with a couple of non-random professors (a.k.a. my professors) and got some tips on what to say (and what not to say). After spending three days writing the email and having two fellow grad assistants read over what I’d written, I finally hit “send,” and actually got a response — a very pleasant, encouraging, and helpful response. He sent me several pieces he’d written, and so I decided to read those in lieu of vaccine-bashing narratives.

I’m really excited to finally connect with people in my field who are looking at rhetorical and social constructions of ASDs. It’s hard to talk about my interests in autism to non-humanities people a lot of the time. It’s not their faults, necessarily: we just have different disciplinary approaches, and the things I’m interested in are wrapped up in language and philosophies about meaning-making and axiological assumptions, not studying brain functions or therapeutic interventions.

Also from the article:

In a script written by newcomer Marvin Easter, the two socially-prominent Trump-Hilton sisters and their mildly autistic brother, a toy store proprietor, attempt to reinvent a centuries-old love potion and launch a designer clothing line based on insomnia and prescription pharmaceuticals to save their “Grey Gardens”-style penthouse from foreclosure.

I’m not sure how “true” this article is, but it’s been plastered on a lot of ELO sites and listservs. Apparently, they’re looking to cast Steve Carell, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Amy Sedaris as the lead roles. I take this to mean that, if Steve Carell were cast, he would play the “mildly autistic brother.” A mildly autistic guy who sings ELO songs? All I can think of is his performance in Bruce Almighty.

I hope that this musical doesn’t make ELO look ridiculous, and I’m also curious to see how autism will be performed. I keep imagining a faux-autistic Steve Carell trying to sing something like Evil Woman or Ticket to the Moon. And that kind of scares me.

As an example of ELO gone bad, take the recent Broadway remaking of Xanadu, the 1980 bomb starring Olivia Newton-John. The plot was pointless, but the soundtrack, half of it being written and performed by ELO, rocked. The 2007 remake of the music is quite horrific, and the singers have even added a couple ELO songs to their show that were not in the original movie.

Here is a comparison of the original “Do Ya” with its recent bastardization:

1. The 1976 studio version of Do Ya by ELO
2. The sucky new version

Additionally, being that ELO has been my nearly lifelong perseveration of choice, I writhe over any cheesy commercialization of them that might occur. As an AS child of the eighties and nineties, I suffered for my love of ELO. Kids tortured me over my obsession with Jeff Lynne. And while one of my largest hopes in life is to talk intelligibly with people about ELO, I don’t think that this musical will accomplish that for me. Rather, I think that a bunch of fourteen-year-old girls will become engrossed with tin-can, screechy sounding ELO makeovers and the actors and actresses who sing them. They’d be clueless as to the context and history surrounding the real ELO. And I highly doubt that this wannabe musical would have cellists running around on stage with instruments over their heads, or dudes in sequins playing their violins with oranges. And the setting doesn’t sound amenable to giant spaceships either, unless the HFA toy-store guy happens to perseverate on them.

I always imagined that an ELO movie would revolve around time travel or outer space and aliens, something cultishly classic. Not this pop-culturish rich people stuff.