And if I only could...

I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
Say, If I only could, oh...


Picture two people at the bottom of a hill...

Can they both make it up the hill?

You don't know. I haven't given you enough information.

OK... I will tell you that one person is standing up and the other person is in a wheelchair.

Can they both make it up the hill?

At this juncture, you may venture a guess based on your prejudice. You may make assumptions. You may be the type to think, "the bloke in the wheelchair can't make it up the hill alone!", you may the type to think, "disabled people can do anything normal can do; they just need more work or a different approach!" or you may be the type to think, "if the able bodied person helps the person in the wheelchair, then they can both get up the hill together!" You may be type to think any number of other things... you may want more information about the two people.

The man standing up may be a pregnant woman, a ninety year old with arthritis, an athlete, a child... The man in the wheelchair may be a pregnant woman, a ninety year old with arthritis, an athlete, a child... with Parkinson's...

Without more information about the two people at the bottom of the hill, you cannot know if they can both make it up the hill.

And HOW you get your information matters about as much as the information itself. The man in the wheelchair may be muscular and the man standing may be frail... but the muscular man may have taken a nasty fall yesterday and his shoulder hurts like hell and he can barely push his chair on a flat surface let alone up a hill... the scrawny bloke may have just taken a whole bottle of amphetamines and be able to run up the hill in a second flat... only to die of massive coronary failure at the top.

So now, for the sake of this argument, let's say we've solved the issue of whether or not both people can get up the hill. Let's pretend they both can. Let's pretend that they both got to the top because the wheelchair bound person was either pushed, dragged or crawled on his stomach. They're both at the top of the hill. Wheelchair dude should be happy, no? Yay! You're up the hill, mate! Look happy!

Ever thought that maybe HOW you get there is even more important than why, whether or not you can get there or getting there at all? It's hard to feel great about being up a hill if you had nothing to do with getting there. If you were pushed, maybe it's not that bad... but if you had to crawl on your stomach? What if you were dragged unceremoniously by an arm or by your hair? How glad would you be to be up the hill? How likely would you to take it well if someone told you: "You're up the hill! Just be happy! STOP QUESTIONING IT!".

Now picture two people entering a social situation. Picture them at a big party with 500 guests. Picture two people having an argument. Picture two women meeting and falling in love with two men. Picture two people defending their children's interest to a school official...

Can they both make it up the hill?

You don't know, I haven't given you enough information.

So I will tell you that one is neuro-typical (normal) and the other is Autistic.

Can they both make it up the hill?

Do you still want to make assumptions?

Fool On The Hill
(The Beatles)

Day after day, alone on the hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still.
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool.
And he never gives an answer .....

But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down.
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning around.

Well on his way, his head in a cloud,
The man of a thousand voices, talking perfectly loud.
But nobody ever hears him,
Or the sound he appears to make.
And he never seems to notice .....

But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down.
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning around.

And nobody seems to like him,
They can tell what he wants to do.
And he never shows his feelings,

But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down.
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning around.

You're very important.

You're very important. Of course you are. Your car cost a lot of money. The speed limit was set for those of us who drive econo-comical cars. Red lights are so we know to slow down to let you speed through the intersection. Your car doesn't have turn signals; turn signals were installed in our cars so you know where we're going thus enabling you to weave through traffic more efficiently at rush hour. The service ramp is to insure you don't have to waste your time in traffic with us.

You're very important. Your job is big and so is your paycheck. You have an office and a leather chair. Your favourite sports are squash and over-time.

You're very important. All your clothes are designer. Your shoes are of the finest leather there is and cost more than my entire wardrobe. You wear expensive designer sunglasses. They protect your eyes from all those posh UV rays that inexpensive sunglasses don't block. Like... UV RayBan, UV God Rays and UV Foofoo!

You're very important. Your house is enormous. Your decor is perfect, the decorator told you so. It's the cleanest house in the neighbourhood, you have a cleaning lady in twice a week. Your house is never messy, you're hardly ever there. You have a super high tech kitchen. My oh my the things you could whip up in there if you knew how to cook!

My pants are ringing

I'm a an absent minded person. I think too much. My mind has no time for inane info like: "Where did I leave my keys?" or, "Where did I leave the cordless phone?" And yet those are very important questions that, once answered, lead you to very important information, like the location of your keys or your cordless phone.

Every time I go to the bathroom, I take the cordless phone with me. Why? Because people wait until I pull my pants down and sit on the toilet to call me. It isn't my fault. I need more considerate friends, family and telemarketers. So I take the phone with me, I put it down by my feet or on the counter, I do what I need to do and leave the bathroom. The phone? In the bathroom, on the floor or on the counter, right where I left it. This, of course, leads to mad dashes around the house and much cursing about where did I leave the "deleted expletive" phone!

I need to not bring the phone with me. I need to start ignoring the ringing phone while I am on the toilet. Barring that, I need a clever idea...

...wait! I'm chock full of clever ideas!

Now when I go to the bathroom, I still take the phone with me. I put it down. I never forget it in the bathroom anymore. It all has to do with WHERE I out it down...

What?

Oooooooh! You wanna know where I put it down?

In my pants! Naturally. No, no! Not in my panties! I put it in the crumpled up pant leg at my feet. Trust me, it's impossible to forget it there. I did once. I was very quickly reminded of its presence as I pulled my pants up. But that's not the best phone in the pants story.

Picture me. I'm sitting on the toilet. My cordless phone is in my pants. I am obeying the call of nature. Bit of a tummy ache... I smell like chemical warfare. I'm trying to focus on happy thoughts, nice smelling thoughts. Then all of a sudden, my pants ring.

Now, picture me... sitting on the toilet... frantically grabbing at my pants to fish the phone out from under my panties down where the phone is hiding... in one of my pant legs... under folds of fabric. I'm cursing... at my pants. Find the phone... feel like chucking it across the room... look at the caller ID... it's an important call. Fuck. I answer. I start having an important conversation... sitting on the toilet... bathing in toxic fumes... I can't get up because... you know why! I can't flush because the person on the phone will recognize the sound... it's a sound we all know... a very normal, universal and real sound... a sound that says: I am Human and I just evacuated biological trash! If I try to wipe myself and leave the room I will have to struggle to do it one handed and I will end up making odd straining sounds and I might even drop the fucking phone... in the toilet! So I sit... and I have an important conversation... a long, important conversation. And the person who I am talking never knows where I am. The person on the other end of the line never knows how stupid I look during this phone call. The person on the phone never knows how much I curse them and the rotten timing.

Clever ideas... they can lead to ringing pants and toxic inhalations.

Maybe I need to start wearing a HAZMAT suit to the bathroom...