I am the Walrus

Thought for the Day

"Is there a maximum number of lyrics for a song to be considered trance?" -Bollo

Discuss.

The Origins of 'So Much Autism'

The Harvard Lampoon is not a particularly funny publication, but it has it's moments of brilliance, despite a strange fondness for feces. In particularly, the following episode wriggles it's way into you brain and lays there, furtively, with the patient opportunism of post-teen acne. Then, in the space between thoughts, or any time someone says "so much", it erupts into your mind with the force of a religious commandment. As you sit on the public toilet, or try to sleep in math class, or converse about autism, you spew forth a random chuckle that convinces the people around you that you are, indeed, as unstable as you look:

America's Next Top Model

Tyra Banks: Two beautiful, beautiful girls stand in front of me. But I only have one picture in my hands. And that picture represents the girl who will continue in the running to become America's Next Top Model.

We have Emily, the girl who doesn't take good pictures and is awkward in person, but has so much heart and so much autism. So Much
And then there's Ashley, the girl with near-professional modeling skills but little-to-no-autism.
[pulls out picture of girl]
Emily, you are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model.

Ashley: [uncontrollably crying]

Emily: [continues to stack blocks in the corner]

CRS. Harvard Lampoon, Dec 2007

And that is the story of how the zebra got it's stripes, and this blog got it's name.

However, as our readership has grown, we've come to appreciate that others might see this blog title as insensitive, and we have slowly come around to the light (no, not that light. Jesus still hates us.) However, no longer does this merely refer to the particular character of Dusty, Bollo, and me, which can only politely be called 'mildly autistic'-- it is also an indictment of a flawed society in which thousands upon thousands of children must by falsely diagnosed with a serious physiological disorder in order to receive the assistence from the public school system that these learning-disabled children need. It is an bitter call to arms for a gangrenous society in which there need by so much autism.

I'm only half joking.
Okay, three-quarters. But one ventricle of my heart still bleeds like an inbred, autistic British prince with hemophilia.

-FT

Best Trashy Music Videos

The So Much Autism Aesthetic

We here at So Much Autism love gratuitously-trashy women in varying degrees of undress, particularly when those women act out cliched fantasies by gyrating their hips to eurotrash-electropop. We each have slightly different styles: Dusty demands techno and girls that match his particular, selective criteria (cute, attractive, well-dressed or un-dressed, look as if they are STD free). Bollo likes humor, hotties, Portman, and primates-- anything relating to Mali or Andrew Jackson is merely a bonus. And where Bollo prefers restrained kitsch, I (FT) lean toward borderline camp. Gay-aesthetic, Kylie Minogue camp, but with a premium on deft camera-work and shamelessly suggestive women performing synchronized movements to a bangin' back beat. In the interest of cohesion, we've limited this post to videos which fit that description. But enough introduction-- we'll let these eloquent videos speak for us:

Warning: explicit, misogynistic content. Videos marked with a (*) are particularly gratuitous.

Class B
Ernesto vs. Bastian- Dark Side of the Moon
Michael Gray- Borderline*
Fredde le Grand- Put Your Hands Up For Detroit
Benni Benassi- Who's Your Daddy*

Class A
Boogie Pimps- Somebody to Love
Howard and Old Gregg- Love Games
Snoop Dogg- Sensual Seduction

Class Disco Superfly
5. Kalwi and Remi- Explosion*
4. Alex Gaudino- Destination Calabria
3. Eric Prydz- Call on Me*
2. Michael Gray- The Weekend
1. Benni Benassi- Satisfaction*

FT's honorary mentions (for videos outside the stated criteria)
Daft Punk- Around the World
Basement Jaxx- Take me Back to Your House
Murray Head- One Night in Bangkok
Michael Jackson- Thriller
Incubus- Megalomaniac
Gorillaz- D.A.R.E
Muse- Time is Running Out

Watch!

Notes for later

Investment Bankers without Borders
National Geographic
Dusty's absurd tirade against recycling
Dreams of alienation
Being shorn

We were sitting at Punjabi Daba on Saturday night, discussing something relating to global inequality and Doctors Without Borders when some combination of Dusty/ Bollo decided the Bollo should start Investment Bankers without Borders, aka Exploitation without Borders. In other words, he would go into a developing country and "drink their milkshake. Drink it up." The only problem is that he's about a few thousand years behind the curve; economic imperialism is as immortally human as art. Indeed, it is an art, a violent one.

Thoughts for the days
1) "Wrought" is a strange word.

To do list

Notes to comment on later:

Hillel, Flying dogs, and Jew Slime
Balrogs and Ringwraiths
Bollo's disruptive sexual urges
Unicorns, Fela, Gorillaz, and pandora.com
quotes from the Crimson (Cubans get two rolls of toilet paper a month-- just like us!)

Actually, the future is now. So let's take this point by point. First, and most pressingly: Dusty almost died yesterday. He was so wracked by convulsive laughter that he was unable to breath. The three of us (no Benny) had gone to Hillel, aka house of the Jews. (Benny Lava's absence is particularly regrettable given that Benny, despite being of South Asian descent, self-identifies as a Jew. Why, I don't know.)

Before I continue, a disclaimer: one of the most wonderful things about being a minority is that it gives you limited license to make fun of your respective minority in a public sphere. To be honest, I don't think this is such a good rule; minorities should be held to the same expectations that they hold others to. This is how it will be when I become dictator of the idyllic Pacific isle the Elders of Zion promised me. However, until then, I retain my rights to behave like Mel Gibson.

Anyhow, it was my first visit to Hillel, which has a very nice building. The food, although limited to sausage pasta, challah, and krugel, was also very good. Given the conditions of our meal, Dusty and Bollo (Chinese and Eastern Lowland, respectively) took a sudden interest in my Jewishness.

Suddenly, in the middle of the conversation, Bollo covered Dusty's right wrist with a napkin, covering up Dusty's watch, and whispered urgently "you need to hide that here, this place if filled with Jews!" Thankfully, we were towards the corner of the room.

Nor is this the first time that Bollo has offered such pearls. We were cleaning our room-- back when we used to do that sort of thing-- when I wrapped Bollo's floor rug around me like a shawl. Bollo accused me of "getting my Jew slime all over" his dirty floor rug. Classic.

Speaking of Bollo: if you don't follow the Mighty Boosh, Bollo is rather laconic gorilla who dejays on Thursdays. Our Bollo is an exact replica of the original, in more ways than you might expect. Not only does our Bollo also dejay on Thursday nights, he is as much of an animal as his namesake. For a while, a Ms. Bollo (affectionately nicknamed "Animal") kept his animal urges in check via frequent and vocal lovemaking. Dusty has noted that, since Bollo and Animal split, he has become more and more promiscuous towards us. Last night, in fact, he suddenly jumped, clamped his legs around my torso and began thrusting violently, bending my glasses in the process. I had thought that Bollo's increasing physicality was a natural product of the rising comfort between us, but Dusty perspicaciously noted that it is more likely a product of his rising sexual frustration, which we think will soon culminate in a "sexual eruption."

One final note, before the wick of my patience burns down: I had an incredible dream last night, which culminated in my heart-wrenchingly emotional reunification with my dog, a sweet white husky named Sierra. Sierra had turned into a falcon and flown north, from our Sardinian castle into the urban future (it's a dream, ok). After some setbacks involving high castle windows and malfunctioning parasails, I managed to find the box in the basement where we stored our wings. At my sisters' desperate urgings, despite the encroaching twilight, I set off across the bay in search of my lost dog. Passing over Ecuadorian highways, I finally arrived at the mountainside Southern Gothic shack that had once been our home. Under the porch, where Sierra had used to sleep, were mere cobwebs. I entered the decrepit house and begun commiserating with the remaining fragments of my pseudo-future family. After some indeterminate time, a trucker arrived with an old, forlorn-looking Sierra held, lamb-like, in his swarthy arms. Eleven year old Sierra was so happy to see us that she leapt about like a puppy and bathed my face with kisses of relief, lapping up my salty tears of joy. It was straight out of Odysseus.

I think my subconcious may be telling me that I miss my dog-- as if I didn't already know that. In fact, I miss Sierra so much that we are thinking of getting an illegal pet. Ferrets ([2], [3]), hedgehogs , and sifakas top the current list, but it is a matter of continuing and contentious debate...

Thoughts for the day:
1) My uncle, recounting his college days, said that they used to have intense philosophical discussions about the following dilemma: if you had to choose between cutting off your penis or cutting off both of your hands, which would you choose? (This mental experiment is primarily aimed at men, but we here at So Much Autism are welcoming of all genders.)

2) If someone were to win a Noble Prize for both chemistry and peace for one single achievement, not relating nuclear weapons or tragic diseases, I think it would be for creating a love potion.

3) Fela Kuti. Start from the 3rd biography paragraph if you have a short attention span.

P.S. Bollo wanted me to add that the footage of "a Jew" is taken from Shlomo and Shira's wedding, which we attended last weekend.