Thoughts on Fictional Aspergers

There are two fictional characters I suspect of having Asperger’s Syndrome, whether or not the actors were consciously portraying them that way:

1. Napoleon Dynamite.

2. Bill Haverchuck of Freaks and Geeks.

Or maybe I’m just projecting that onto them because I like those characters, and one of my sons has Aspergers, and I want to imagine my son living a life with a happy ending. Every week.

And now that I’m searching for links, I see that I’m not the first person to have expressed those thoughts:

So, once again, know that you can count on for all your years-after-the-fact pop culture commentary! Here’s some more:
I saw Shallow Hal last night, and it wasn’t as bad as I’d assumed it would be, way back when it first came out in 2001. I guess I was just looking for an excuse to dislike Gwyneth Paltrow. That was before she wore that too-big-in-the-bust pink dress to the Oscars, and I began to feel bad for her, instead.


I was in the dentist’s office for about four minutes this morning, and now I’m good to go. (Tiny bump on my new temp bridge was throwing off my bite, wreaking havoc. Now it’s gone.) Thank gosh. It wasn’t until it was over that I realized how much I’d been dreading that visit. Oh, also, dreading things makes me grind my teeth. Which makes them hurt more. Duh. Vicious cycle ahoy!

I’m going to start a museum

in which I archive lame attempts at flirting by self-important Corporate American men.

Not because they flirt with me, but because I’ve been in a position to overhear the flirting, over and over and over again. Because they do it right in front of me, because I’m not pretty enough to be visible to them. Plenty of women can say the same thing, I’m sure — that they overhear crass come-ons on a regular basis, that they feel disrespected by the men who do such things in professional settings… But would other women obsessively analyze and catalog the phenomemon, like I unwillingly find myself doing every week day? Probably not. Upon hearing any random failed come-on, I immediately, telepathically comprehend the would-be pick-up artist’s secret fears, skeevy desires, and pathetic fetishes. I don’t want to know, but I can’t help it.

And that’s why hearing that crap tortures me. No, not because I’m an old, fat, jealous shrew. Not because I’m a jealous lesbian. But because it’s pretty depressing, hearing the silently screamed longings of men I can’t admire.

Five Pound Allowance

Speaking of being a fat, jealous, lesbian shrew… I can’t wait until Christmas Eve. Why? Because I’m going to eat baked goods on that day. Baked goods of my own making.

I’ve decided to allow myself to gain as much as five pounds, between Christmas and New Year’s. Because isn’t that, like, the legally ordained amount of weight that we gain that week in America? So I’m ready.

And then, by May, I plan to lose 20 pounds net. And then I will be done. Wish me luck.

And merry December 24th to y’all, whether you celebrate Christmas or not, and whether you eat baked goods or not. Have fun.

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Posted in Aspergers, Christmas, pop culture, sexism, venting on 12/20/2007 05:57 am

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