Mel's Diner

52nd Thessaloniki International Film Festival

2011-11-13T20:18:00.001+02:00

The Thessaloniki International Film Festival was going on this past week, and my husband and I made it to a handful of films, some with horrifying results. Part of the problem was having to see movies around our schedules, and so our choices weren't as varied as we would have liked (we flagged perhaps 20 films we would have liked to see over the course of the festival - we made it to 4). Another tip that might have been helpful – checking IMDB first – although I didn’t really want to be influenced by someone else’s opinion. All in all I don’t regret any of the choices (even the horrible, really couldn’t understand it “experimental” film), because that is part of the film festival experience. You can’t expect to love everything, and obviously, as with all art, everything is subjective.

The first movie we went to see was When Pigs Fly, directed by Sara Driver. A ghost story, I think the setting was fabulously done – American Gothic, perfect for the film - and the idea of ghosts being more alive than the living worked well. Unfortunately, the dialogue fell horribly flat, and made what could have been a great film a bit of a farce. Of course, this could have been what Ms. Driver intended (we did not attend the viewing where she answered questions), for whatever reasons. I try not to make assumptions about artistic intentions. However, I’d have to say that overall I enjoyed it, and the things I saw in it that were good.

The second movie was You Are Not I, also directed by Sara Driver. This film was excellent insight into the mind of a mental patient, from her point of view, with beautiful acting (mostly in voice-overs) by Suzanne Fletcher. There were so many things about this film that I loved - the way the young woman moved as if invisible through an accident scene, the monologues, and the interactions she had with her sister and others. This film was apparently lost at one point, so I am glad that another copy was found and is being shared with the world.

Our third choice was Finisterrae, directed by Sergio Caballero. Apparently this film belongs to the “experimental” genre of cinema, which, not being a film student, I am not exactly sure what that means. The concept was interesting enough – two ghosts on a mission to rejoin the world of the living. I hate to say that most of the film – its meanings and nuances, were lost on me and my husband. My initial reaction was “you’ve got to be kidding me”, if that says anything. However, I accept that there are many things I don’t know about film, and that this film was a vision of something I could not properly understand. I felt the dialogues forced, the imagery sophomoric, and I could not identify with the ghosts in their quest. I did, however, like that the ghosts were depicted in white sheets – the old fashioned way for ghosts to take on corporeal form. I also loved the scenery and cinematography. There was one scene that I felt was beautiful visually (a reindeer walking through an unfurnished but stately house), but it had no meaning to me as far as the film was concerned.

Lastly, we saw Jesus, Du Weisst, a documentary by Ulrich Seidl, which follows six Catholics as they confer with Jesus. Jesus is their confessor, their psychiatrist – always silent as they unfurl their myriad problems with their relationships. I found it sad, a testament to why religion fails (self-serving and empty), but my husband found comfort in it. Despite my religious views I was entertained by the film and the glimpse into how another culture interacts with their religion.

Kudos to the film festival staff for another banner year. I’m looking forward to the documentary festival in March!

Idolatry

2011-10-14T01:38:00.001+03:00

On clear days I can see Mt. Olympus in all of its august glory, but on hazy days, during sunset, all I can see is the outline of its majestic peaks. This mountain bears a few millennia of Greek myth, the sacred ground of an ancient religion long dead. As a landscape it holds great beauty – from its snow-covered zenith in the winter to heavy mists in the summer – and to be there, on the mountain, is like being a million miles away from any busy metropolis. I don’t know what it is about the sleepy village that lines the pathways up the mountainside, but it has a sense of character and charm that is often drowned out by the cacophony of an overgrown populace in cities that are bursting at the seams.

I suppose it is obvious that I miss living there, on the edge of Mt. Olympus. Not all mountain villages in Greece are created equal, it seems.

Virtual reality

2011-09-23T23:30:00.004+03:00

Cityscapes in Greece tend towards the dreary and mundane. There are a few architectural gems nestled amongst the standard seven- or eight-story polikatoikia, but for the most part buildings are simply vast expanses of concrete suited to the purpose of housing multiple residences and shops. Denizens do what they can to brighten their spaces – balconies become virtual jungles, filled with potted plants and melancholy songbirds. Still, without the glamour of shopping and people-watching, walking around the city can be monotonous at best, unless you find your route along the sea. So imagine my delight when this mural sprang up on a street I frequently haunt. It is a cheerful respite from the blight of building edges, usually caked with dirt and peeling paint. It serves as a portal into an imaginary world, away from the humdrum of the city, even though its surroundings are a constant reminder of reality.

Death in the U.S.

2011-09-22T17:43:00.001+03:00

The U.S. state of Georgia might have executed an innocent man last night. It probably seems heartless under the circumstances to apply the word “might” regarding Troy Davis’ innocence, but from what I have read about the case over the past few days there is too much missing information to make a claim for innocence *or* guilt, which is why his execution is particularly troubling.

Let me be honest, I am not technically against the death penalty (no, I am *really* NOT a Republican, I swear). Personally, I feel that when a human being crosses that line to our baser selves – where killing others is a natural, pleasurable state of mind – that putting him (or her) to death is the most humane choice, both for them and society. Of course, the problem with my opinion is that it relies on certainty, and as we all know, certainty does not come easily in a court of law. Since we live in a world where people lie (criminals, victims, witnesses, lawyers, judges, statesmen, media, etc.) we have to rely on science and evidence to provide the kind of proof needed for this kind of certainty, and yet, even these things can lie.

In the case of Troy Davis, there was too much doubt for the state of Georgia to reasonably bear the burden of responsibility for ending his life, yet it happened. I have read some things that suggest the whole outcome of Mr. Davis’ trial was racially motivated, as to the truth of that, I cannot say. When such a thing happens that is so far beyond our grasp of humanity it is easy to place blame somewhere. The South is an easy target – a lingering stain of racism, the post-Civil War defeat, a wound that doesn’t seem to heal even after 150 years. Whatever the reason, perhaps it is time for the death penalty states in the U.S. to scrutinize their corporeal punishment laws and what motivates them.

What matters

2011-03-17T00:37:00.000+02:00

“The words matter”. This simple phrase was uttered by the leader of a creative writing workshop I attended many years ago, and made an indelible impact on how I have interacted with reading and writing in the years since. We were sharing our poetry with the workshop – the leader was given a stack of poems and would read them aloud. One particular poem was printed in an extravagantly elegant font on flowered paper, and after he read it our fearless leader held up the page and said, “Remember this. The words matter. Not the font, not the paper, not any graphic design surrounding the words. You have to make the words matter. If our words can’t stand alone, if our words can’t capture the attention of the reader, then we have failed as writers. Our words paint the pictures. Our words are the pretty font. Only the words matter”.

This seems particularly wise in today’s hyper-visualized world. Even the most brilliant writers have the most advanced graphic design on their websites, because without it, nobody would visit. Our lives revolve around a barrage of imagery, from the news to YouTube, to sharing pictures on Facebook or Flickr. We need the visualization, we crave it like a heroin addict craves sugar. It is the 21^st century version of the shiny baubles and keys that attracted us as children. Do the words matter anymore?

I started the blog as a writing exercise. I stopped posting for a variety of reasons, but foremost in my mind was the thought that my words no longer mattered. I had failed as a writer. Today I wonder if it was just an excuse for mental laziness, because I have always had the need to keep writing. So I will try, here and there, to keep writing for myself. Hopefully I can find a way to make the words matter.

Εντυπώσεις από το 13ο DOC FEST και από δυο ταινίες: «Νευροτυπικοί» (Neurotypical) και «Αυτιστικοί» (Autisten)

2011-03-14T19:43:00.001+02:00

Παρακολούθησα τις δυο ταινίες τη μια πίσω από την άλλη και αναρρωτιέμαι τώρα αν η διάταξή τους στο πρόγραμμα ήταν τυχαία ή κατ’ επιλογήν. Όπως και να ‘χει, η διάταξη αυτή λειτούργησε καλά: Η μια ταινία εξισορροπεί την άλλη, παρέχει την απαραίτητη «άλλη» οπτική γωνία.

Πριν συνεχίσω, δυο επισημάνσεις / προειδοποιήσεις: Διαβάζοντας παρακάτω θα μάθετε κομμάτια των ταινιών. Δε γνωρίζω πόση σημασία έχει αυτό σ’ ένα ντοκυμανταίρ, αλλά το να μη γνωρίζετε τους χαρακτήρες μπορεί να κάνει το κείμενο δυσνόητο. Επίσης, δεν έχω καμία σχέση με τον κινηματογράφο, οπότε δε θα μάθετε πολλά (ή ακριβή) γύρω από τις τεχνικές αρετές των ταινιών.

Το θέμα των ταινιών είναι ο αυτισμός, ή έτσι φαίνεται αρχικά, μια έννοια τόσο ταλαιπωρημένη όσο και άλλες που δυσκολευόμαστε να τις περιγράψουμε και να τις κατανοήσουμε. Η λέξη ξεκίνησε τη ζωή της ως κλινικός όρος, πέρασε ένα μεγάλο διάστημα ως λέξη ταμπού (ή βρισιά) και τώρα σιγά σιγά εξελίσσεται σε μετάλλιο για γονείς, των οποίων τα παιδιά μπορεί να πάσχουν από ένα σωρό πράγματα – ή και οχι. Το θέμα των ταινιών είναι ο αυτισμός, αλλά εμμέσως. Το άμεσο, το ζωντανό «εδώ και τώρα» των δυο ντοκυμανταίρ αποτελούν οι άνθρωποι. Γονείς και παιδιά, «διεγνωσμένοι» και μη, «έγκλειστοι» ή «ελεύθεροι», όλοι μιλούν στην κάμερα και μας λένε την άποψή τους, για το τί τους συμβαίνει – αλλά και για το τί συμβαίνει σ’ εμάς.

Η ταινία «Νευροτυπικοί» του Adam Larsen (www.neuro-typical.com) φαίνεται να παρουσιάζει πιο οικείους ανθρώπους. «Αυτιστικούς» που μας κάνουν ν’ αναρρωτιόμαστε «καλά, αυτός είναι αυτιστικός;» και «μήπως είμαι κι’ εγώ;». Φέρνει τα πάνω κάτω λοιπόν, αποφεύγει τις κλινικές ταμπέλες, παίζει με τα όρια του φυσιολογικού και μας ενημερώνει οτι «τραγικά, έως 149 στους 150 ανθρώπους μπορεί να είναι νευροτυπικοί». Είναι εύκολο να σταματήσουμε στο παιχνίδι αυτό, στη γλύκα της Violet, στην «τυπική» σχεδόν εφηβεία του Nicholas, στην συναρπαστική νεα ταυτότητα της Paula και να φύγουμε από την αίθουσα γεμάτοι βεβαιότητες και ζεστασιά. Ο Larsen δεν μας το επιτρέπει. Ευγενικά μας σφυροκοπά από την αρχή ακόμα. Τα λόγια της μητέρας του Taylor στοιχειώνουν την ταινία, μαζί με τις μουσικές του πατέρα της Violet. Οι ίδιοι οι πρωταγωνιστές παραθέτουν τις δυσκολίες τους και έτσι δεν μας επιτρέπουν το «ζήσαν αυτοί καλά κι εμείς καλύτερα», μια ρόδινη παράσταση πασπαλισμένη με άχνη. Παραμένουμε στην πραγματικότητα – ντοκυμανταίρ άλλωστε – και στο «έχουμε καλές μέρες και έχουμε και κακές».

Δια της ταινίας έχουμε την τύχη ν’ ακούσουμε ανθρώπους να περιγράφουν αυτό που βιώνουν με όρους νευροτυπικών. Ο Wolf, ο Michael (ας με συγχωρεί αν θυμάμαι λάθος το όνομα), o John, άνθρωποι υψηλής ευφυίας αλλά το κυριότερο στοχαστές της ζωής και αυτιστικοί. Ο Michael με το παραπλανητικά γελαστό του ύφος μας λέει πόσο δύσκολες είναι οι σχέσεις, χωρίς να μας πονά, χωρίς να μας επιτίθεται. Ο John, (υπερ)αναλύοντας ένα παιδικό παιχνίδι, μας διδάσκει για τη ζωή, τη ζωή «μας», όχι τη ζωή «του αυτιστικού». Ο Wolf, τέλος, χωρίς να μας «δαγκώσει το κεφάλι», μας χτυπά με αμείλικτα ερωτήματα. Για μας ο Μόγλης φεύγει από τη ζούγκλα για ένα καλύτερο κόσμο. Γι’ αυτόν όμως η ζούγκλα είναι το σπίτι του, ένα σπίτι πιο όμορφο, πιο λειτουργικό και τελικά πιο οικείο από τις παράξενες τσιμεντουπόλεις που εμείς οι νευροτυπικοί έχουμε συνηθίσει. Οι άνθρωποι της ταινίας μας προειδοποιούν ενάντια στη «νεα ευγονική»: Αν χάσουμε τον αυτισμό, μήπως χάσουμε σε ιδιοφυία, σε δημιουργικότητα και τελικά: σε ανθρωπιά;

Διάλειμμα, καφές, τσιγάρα, αγορά του νέου εισιτηρίου – «να μείνουμε ή να φύγουμε; Είναι 11 η ώρα». Τα φώτα χαμηλώνουν και αρχίζει το «Αυτιστικοί» του Wolfram Seeger (www.exit-seeger.de).

Η ταινία «Αυτιστικοί» λειτουργεί αντίθετα από αυτήν του Larsen. Εδώ οι άνθρωποι είναι «διεγνωσμένοι» και ζουν στο οικοτροφείο Haus Bucken (www.haus-bucken.de) . Οπτικά μοιάζει με επίθεση στις αισθήσεις. Άνθρωποι στο μπάνιο, στο φαγητό, στο ντύσιμο. Άνθρωποι με κρίσεις, με παράξενη συμπεριφορά, που δεν επικοινωνούν. Άνθρωποι, τέλος, που χρειάζεται να φορούν κράνος και να δένονται στο κρεββάτι, για να μη τραυματιστούν. Παρά το όμορφο περιβάλλον, ήταν προφανές στα πρόσωπα του κοινού τι σκεφτόταν. Σοκ, τρόφιμοι, έγκλειστοι, κολαστήριο, λύπη, οίκτος, φρίκη. Εξορκισμός. Μακριά από μας.

Η ταινία του Seeger είναι τόσο πικρή, όσο ήταν γλυκιά αυτή του Larsen. Αν μπορέσουμε να δούμε πέρα από το εξωτερικό των ανθρώπων του Haus Bucken, που σημαίνει αν μπορέσουμε να σπάσουμε τις δικές μας αλυσίδες, τις αλυσίδες της μισαλλοδοξίας, της πουριτανικής ψευτοαξιοπρέπειας, της νοσοφοβίας, θα μας ανοιχθεί ένας πολύ διαφορετικός κόσμος. Σαφώς ένας κόσμος δύσκολος. Ένας κόσμος που δίνει μια απάντηση στο «ευγονική ή οχι» της ταινίας του Larsen. Ένας κόσμος που μας θυμίζει οτι για κάθε ένα «λειτουργικό αυτιστικό» υπάρχουν δέκα (εκατό;) που λειτουργούν δυσκολότερα. Μας θυμίζει οτι μπορεί να μη μιλάμε καν για το ίδιο φαινόμενο – ας μη ξεχνάμε οτι η διάγνωση γίνεται με ένα αδρό μέτρο του φαίνεσθαι και οχι αιτιολογικά. Μας θυμίζει οτι πολύ λίγα πράγματα ξέρουμε για τον ανθρώπινο εγκέφαλο.

Το πιο εκπληκτικό στην ταινία «Αυτιστικοί», όμως, δεν είναι όλα τα λίγο – πολύ κλινικά που παρατέθηκαν παραπάνω. Το πιο εκπληκτικό είναι πάλι οι άνθρωποι και οι ανατροπές που προκαλούν. Οι άνθρωποι του Haus Bucken που παρ’ οτι μοιάζουν «έγκλειστοι» και παγιδευμένοι σ’ ένα σώμα που δυσλειτουργεί, επικοινωνούν ελεύθερα! Αντιλαμβάνονται τον Seeger και την κάμερα, συνομιλούν μ’ αυτόν – οχι πάντα λεκτικά – και τελικά αφηγούνται την ιστορία τους μέσα από το παιχνίδι, την αλληγορία, τον ιδιότυπο συμβολισμό και τη γλώσσα του σώματος.

Είναι ευκολότερο να το δούμε αυτό στον Christian, ένα παιδί πέντε και ογδόντα χρονών, που αγαπά τα Duplo και το κεφάλι της μητέρας του. Δυσκολεύει κάπως με τη Marlen, η οποία μοιάζει να παίζει συνεχώς με ένα ροζ φλαμίγκο και να λέει παράξενα πράγματα, όπως «δαγκώνει; δε δαγκώνει» και «ζει! είναι ζωντανό!». Αν κάνουμε μια μικρή αυθαιρεσία και υποθέσουμε οτι το φλαμίγκο αναπαριστά εκείνην, τα παράξενα πράγματα αποκτούν αίφνης νόημα. Μας φωνάζει «ζω! είμαι εδώ!». Μας λέει οτι δεν είναι επικίνδυνη, δε δαγκώνει, αν και της έρχεται που και που – σε ποιόν από μας δεν έρχεται; Δείχνει μεγάλη συνείδηση της πραγματικότητας δε, όταν πολύ συγκινητικά μας λεει για το φλαμίγκο οτι «έχει τραυματιστεί, έχει χτυπήσει το φτερό της».

Τα πράγματα δυσκολεύουν περισσότερο. Ο Lars δεν μιλάει παρά ελάχιστα. Χωρίς λόγο πώς να προσεγγίσεις κάποιον; Είναι ο Lars λοιπόν αυτός που προσεγγίζει – και απομακρύνεται. Κοιτά την κάμερα περιπαικτικά, ποζάρει «άγρια» με το τσεκούρι (με το οποίο κάνει ξυλογλυπτική και δεν είναι ο «σχιζοφρενής με το τσεκούρι», μια ακόμα εικόνα που μας δένει με τις προκαταλήψεις μας), μας δείχνει κομμάτια της καθημερινότητάς του, την αγάπη του για τον καφέ – καπουτσίνο κατά προτίμηση – και στο τέλος, όταν πια έχει πει ο’τι ήθελε, καλύπτει το πρόσωπό του με τη μπλούζα του – «τελείωσα, ο’τι καταλάβατε καταλάβατε».

Ο Hannes; Οχι μόνο δε μιλάει, αλλά πια προσεγγίζει στο έπακρο την εκλαϊκευμένη εικόνα του αυτιστικού, του «καθυστερημένου». Επαναλαμβάνει κινήσεις αενάως, μουγκρίζει, δυσκολεύεται να φάει, χρειάζεται βοήθεια στο μπάνιο. Κινητοποιεί το κοινό – «εισβάλλουμε στην ιδιωτικότητά του». Εννοούμε οτι αυτός εισβάλλει στην ψυχική μας γαλήνη, ο φακός τον φέρνει πιο κοντά απ’ ότι θέλουμε, είναι πιο καλά να νομίζουμε οτι δεν υπάρχουν τέτοιοι άνθρωποι. Και έπειτα; Βλέπουμε τον Hannes να πλησιάζει και να γέρνει το κεφάλι του επάνω στο μουσικοθεραπευτή που παίζει στην κιθάρα του ένα όμορφο, ίσως λίγο λυπημένο μοτίβο, επαναλαμβανόμενο κυκλικά, ασφαλές και συναρπαστικό. Μετά από λίγο το πλάνο αλλάζει, ο Hannes είναι ξαπλωμένος στο κρεββάτι του, φαίνεται να κινεί τα δάχτυλα των χεριών και των ποδιών του κυματιστά και να μουγκρίζει. Οχι. Παίζει μουσική και τραγουδά.

Επιτέλους φτάνουμε στο τέλος, στον πάτο. Ο Jörg αποκλείεται να καταλαβαίνει και να επικοινωνεί. Κοιμάται δεμένος στο κρεββάτι του, χτυπά, δαγκώνει, ουρλιάζει. Μη μας τον δείχνετε! Η εικόνα είναι δύσκολη, απελπισία. Ίσως αν τον βλέπαμε μέσα από ένα πρίσμα, μέσα από κάτι που να φιλτράρει το σοκ, σαν μια έκλειψη ηλίου: Να τη δούμε μέσα από ένα φακό για να μη μας καταστρέψει τα μάτια. Ο φακός είναι το προσωπικό του Haus Bucken και αν θέλετε κατ’ επέκταση κάθε άνθρωπος που έρχεται σ’ επαφή με τους Jörg του κόσμου. Στα μάτια τους βλέπουμε την απογοήτευση από την δυσκολία στην επικοινωνία, αλλά οχι απελπισία, οχι οίκτο, παραίτηση. Του πιάνουν τα χέρια για να τον κουρέψει η κομμώτρια, αλλά γενικώς τον αφήνουν να είναι. Να υπάρχει με τον τρόπο του. Όταν δαγκώσει του καθιστούν σαφές οτι αυτός ο τρόπος επικοινωνίας δε συμβαδίζει με τις νόρμες των «νευροτυπικών» και βλέπουμε οτι απλώνει το χέρι να χτυπήσει αλλά επιλέγει να μη το κάνει – η το στρέφει στον εαυτό του.

Δυσκολεύομαι να χωρίσω τις ταινίες, να θυμηθώ ποιός χαρακτήρας εμφανίζεται που, ποιός λέει τι. Ίσως να είναι η περασμένη ώρα και η κούραση, ή ίσως να λέει κι αυτό κάτι. Το αυτονόητο, δηλαδή. Δεν είμαστε όλοι ίδιοι και η διαφορετικότητα είναι δύσκολη. Όμως είμαστε όλοι κομμάτια του ίδιου συνόλου, οι βασικές μας ανάγκες είναι ίδιες και όλοι μας επικοινωνούμε. Ο αυτισμός μας προκαλεί να τον κατανοήσουμε, να κατανοήσουμε μια ξένη γλώσσα που όμως μιλιέται μόνο από έναν άνθρωπο κάθε φορά και περιέχει σύμβολα ανοίκεια σ’ εμάς τους «άλλους», τους παρά-ξενους.

Impressions of the 13th DOCFEST: Neurotypical and Autisten

2011-03-14T00:08:00.002+02:00

I watched the two films back to back and now I wonder if they were scheduled in succession by design or by chance. Be that as it may, it worked: One film counterbalances the other and supplies a much needed “other” viewpoint.

The main theme of both films is autism, or it seems to be thus initially. A concept so battered and bruised, as many others which we have a hard time defining and understanding. The word started its life as a clinical term, then spent years in darkness as a word – taboo (or a curse word) and now gradually is becoming a patch of honor for parents whose children may be suffering of an array of things – or nothing. The main theme of the films is autism, but indirectly. The direct, living “here and now” of both documentaries are the people. Parents and children, “diagnosed” and not, “committed” or “free”, they all talk to the camera and tell us their version of what is happening to them – but also of what is happening to us.

Neurotypical, by Adam Larsen (www.neuro-typical.com) seems to present people closer to what we are used to in “normal” life. “Autistics” who make us wonder “what? He’s autistic?!” and “could I be too?” Larsen topples our preconceptions, avoids clinical labels, dances around the borders of normalcy and informs us that “tragically, as many as 149 out of every 150 people might be neurotypical”. It would be easy to stop there, content with the playfulness of the movie, happy with Violet’s sweetness, Nicholas’ almost “typical” teenage angst, Paula’s exciting new-found identity. We could leave the theatre full of certainties and fuzzy warm feelings. Larsen does not allow us to. Gently he hammers us right from the beginning. The words of Taylor’s mother haunt us throughout the film, along with Violet’s dad’s eerie music. The protagonists themselves lay out their difficulties and do not allow us our happy ending of “they lived happily ever after”. We remain grounded in reality – it is a documentary after all – and in the end “we have good days and we have bad days”.

The film affords us the rare opportunity to hear people describe what they are experiencing, in neurotypical terms। Wolf, Michael (who I hope will forgive me if I remember his name incorrectly), John, people of high intelligence, but even more importantly thinkers, philosophers, wordsmiths and autistics। Michael, with his misleadingly cheerful disposition describes for us how hard relationships are, without attacking us, without hurting us. John (hyper)analyzes the game of “tag” and teaches lessons about life – “our” life, not “autistic” life. Wolf, finally, without “biting our head off” slams us with hard questions. For us, Mowgli leaves the jungle for a better world. To him, the jungle is his home, a home more beautiful, functional and in the end a home that makes sense; wherein he makes sense. Finally, we are warned against “new eugenics”: If we “cure” autism, would we be diminished in genius, in creativity and ultimately – humanity?

Intermission, coffee, cigarettes, buy tickets for the next show – “should we stay or should we go? It’s 11 o’ clock”. The lights dim and Wolfram Seeger’s “Autisten” begins (www.exit-seeger.de).

This film seems to be the opposite of Larsen’s. Seeger’s people are “diagnosed” and live in a “home”, Haus Bucken (www.haus-bucken.de). Visually it seems to be an assault to the senses. Human beings in the bathroom, eating, getting dressed. Human beings in crisis, exhibiting odd behavior, not communicating. Human beings, finally, who have to wear a helmet and be strapped to a bed in order to avoid injury. Despite the beauty of the surrounding landscape, it was obvious from the faces of the audience what was going through our heads. Shock, inmates, incarcerated, hell on earth, sadness, pity, horror. Rituals of undoing: Keep it all away from us.

Seeger’s film is as bitter as Larsen’s is sweet। If we can see past the exterior, which means if we can break our own chains, chains of preconceptions, of puritanical pseudo-indignation, our own fear of dis-ease, a new world will unfold before our eyes. Granted, a hard world, a world that does give one answer to Larsen’s “eugenics or not”. A world that reminds us that for every “high functioning” autistic there exist ten (a hundred?), who do not function as well. Reminds us that we may not even be talking about the same phenomenon – let’s not forget that we “diagnose” people by a rough yardstick of what is manifest and not by causality. Reminds us how little we know about the human brain.

What is amazing in “Autisten” has nothing to do with any clinical reality. It is the people who are amazing and their constant challenge of what we take for granted. The people of Haus Bucken, even though they seem to be enclosed by its walls, trapped in a body that malfunctions, communicate freely! They perceive Seeger and the camera, hold a dialogue with both – not always verbally – and in the end tell their story through play, allegory, a sui generis symbolism and body language.

This is easiest to observe in Christian, a child both five and eighty years old, who loves Duplo and his mother’s head। It gets somewhat harder with Marlen, a girl who constantly plays with a pink flamingo and utters strange things like “does it bite? It doesn’t bite” and “it’s alive! It lives”. If we allow ourselves a small, arbitrary shift and look at the flamingo as a representation of Marlen herself, all the strange things suddenly make sense. She is there, shouting at the top of her voice “I live! I am here!” She tells us, that she’s not dangerous, she doesn’t bite even though sometimes she gets the urge to – who doesn’t? She exhibits amazing insight and frank intelligence when she movingly holds her flamingo and exclaims “she’s been hurt, her wing is injured”.

It gets harder. Lars hardly speaks at all. Without speech how do you approach someone? Well, it’s Lars who does the approaching – and the receding. He looks mischievously at the camera, he poses “menacingly” with his hatchet (which he uses to sculpt wood and not hurt people, but he just had to challenge our perception of the “crazy axe murderer”), he shows us snippets of his day to day life, his love of coffee – cappuccino please! – and in the end, when he’s said his piece, he covers his face with his shirt – “I’m done talking, I’ve given you all I care to”.

What about Hannes? Not only does he not speak, but he comes as close to the popularized इमागे of the “autistic”, the “retarded” person as can be। He moans, rocks back and forth, has trouble eating, needs help in the bathroom. He certainly motivates the audience – “we are invading his privacy!” What we mean is that he is invading our peace of mind, the lens brings him way closer than we want him to be, it’s better to believe that such people do not exist. And then we see Hannes approaching and tilting his head, resting it on the music therapist’s shoulder, listening to him play a beautiful, perhaps slightly sad motif, circular, repetitive, safe and exciting. In the next scene Hannes is lying on his bed and seems to be moving his fingers and toes in a wavy manner, he seems to be moaning. No. He’s playing music and singing to us.

Finally we’ve reached the bottom though. It is impossible that Jörg understands anything, that he communicates. He sleeps tied to his bed, he hits, bites, screams. Do not show him! The image is harsh, desperate. If only we could see Jörg through a prism, through a filter, something to ameliorate the shock, just as we would do with a solar eclipse; use a piece of glass to shield our eyes, our souls. The filter is none other than the personnel of Haus Bucken and if you will, all people who work with the Jörgs of the world. In their eyes we do see disappointment sometimes, we see how hard it is to communicate, but we do not see despair, pity, resignation. They restrain his hands so Jörg can get a haircut, but for the most part they let him be. In his own way. When he bites his caretakers make it clear, that this specific way of communicating does not conform to our neurotypical world. We see Jörg reach out to strike, but he chooses not to – or he chooses to hit himself. His choice.

I am having trouble telling the films apart, remembering which character appears where and who says what. Perhaps it is the late hour, the torpor of the night. Or perhaps that is in itself significant. We are not all the same and individuality is tough. “It’s a handful, but not a burden”. We are parts of the same whole, we have the same needs and we all communicate. Autism challenges us to understand it, to understand an alien language, spoken by only one person, in symbols none of us have ever seen before. A world where it is we who are alien, strange, uncanny.

Radiance

2010-07-11T21:22:00.002+03:00

O setting sun
O passing day
The colors run
a bright array
And though the night
will close your eyes
All's set aright
by Dawn's sweet rise

Sisyphus

2010-06-24T21:22:00.000+03:00

When you live your life with a chronic illness you often find yourself fighting battles of different intensities from one day to the next. A lot of “healthy” people often assume that it is the big battles that are the hardest – the long hospitalizations, the flare-ups, surgeries – yet those fights can be relatively easy. In big battles you end up putting all your energy into trying to survive and you know the cost of defeat from the beginning. I find that it is the little battles I struggle most with – day to day living with pain, fatigue, taking new medications (with new side effects), limitations, sun exposure...the list can be quite endless if you spend too much time thinking about it.

My latest Sisyphean challenge involves a new medication that I have recently started taking because my kidneys are refusing to cooperate fully with their natural filtration process. I did give my kidneys a stern talking to, but unlike me they seem to be stuck in a perpetual teenaged state of defiance. This drug can encompass a host of side-effects, some of which I have already enjoyed in just a week of my daily dose. It started with headaches for the first four days (which have thankfully waned, as the drug brochure promised), and has now erupted into waves of extreme fatigue, frequent bruising, and some additional joint pain (honestly, one can never have enough joint pain). I am now also more prone to infection and contracting common ailments. The icing on this side effect cake is that I will have to take blood tests every few weeks to make sure the medication isn’t causing more extreme bodily harm.

Basically, I went from someone who was feeling relatively healthy, with lots of energy and hardly any pain to someone who is constantly tired and in pain – all to fix a small problem with my kidneys. I once again managed to push that rock all the way to the top of the hill, only to have it tumble back down. The Greeks never realized how much their mythical punishments mimicked real life. Or maybe they did. The only difference is I know this isn’t a punishment, it is just the way things are for anyone who fights a chronic illness.

So I fight this small battle like I have fought numerous ones before and no doubt will in the future. I will come out the victor, of that I am certain. And if I am lucky, I will have a moment to sit on my rock and listen to Orpheus’ beautiful song before the battle starts all over again.

Tempest

2010-06-19T22:53:00.002+03:00

There's always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down. ~Don Delillo

Twilight

2010-06-07T14:05:00.002+03:00

"Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till--'tis gone--and all is gray." ~Lord Byron

Pictures of birds with that WTF? look on their faces

2010-06-05T00:04:00.002+03:00

These pictures are really horrible to look at, but it sure puts the oil "spill" (deluge?) into perspective.

Thankfully, BP is taking some responsibility and is funding the rescue efforts of the International Bird Rescue Research Center. They accept donations, but are urging people to send donations to their local wildlife rehabilitation organizations. As the folks at the IBRRC put it, "A pelican is a pelican whether is it tangled in fishing tackle or oiled!"

This is not a post meant to criticize or shame big oil, or the use of oil, or anything like that. It is simply that the things humans do that destroy wildlife on such a large scale make me very sad. This planet belongs to all living things, and despite their (apparent) lack of sentience, animals and plants deserve to be here just as much as we do.

Proof that I married a geek

2010-06-01T16:09:00.003+03:00

Somehow my husband managed to dig up his old Amiga from the depths of his parents' summer house, and to our surprise, it still worked! They just don't make 'em like they used to.

Butterflies

2010-05-31T21:02:00.000+03:00

I’ve always heard people say something along the lines of “if you’ve lived with something your whole life, it isn’t so hard to accept it”. This phrase has usually come up in discussions about such devastating things as poverty, illness, blindness – you get the picture. I guess it makes people feel better to think that this statement is true, when the reality is that it is not.

I’ve had Systemic Lupus Erythematosus for so long that I really don’t remember what “normal” life was like. I started getting sick at age 2 and was finally diagnosed when I was 7, and we all know our memories of those early years are difficult to access (perhaps in deep psychoanalysis, but I neither have the time, money, nor inclination to embark on such an endeavor). So let me tell you, living day in and day out with this disease, even with no memory of what it is like to not be sick, is not easy.

For the past 18 years I’ve been relatively lucky, with no serious hospitalizations or flare-ups of the illness. I maintain my health with a minimum of medication, although if I go too many days without that medication I feel it. It is easy to gain a measure of confidence when you go so long without complications – to feel invincible – as if you can walk right up to the precipice and jump to find yourself flying instead of falling. With Lupus it always seems that it is at that exact moment, mid-flight, that everything changes and you begin to fall again. You can feel perfectly healthy one day and unable to get out of bed the next. Always you have Damocles’ sword hanging over you, dangling, threatening flare-ups, kidney failure, neurological damage, and a host of other problems. You never have power over your own health – the best you can do is take care of yourself and hope that things work out for the best instead of the worst.

This is what I wish most people were more aware of when it comes to knowledge of Lupus. There is no one state of being with this illness. We aren’t always withering away in our beds. We are strong, we are happy, we are living our lives as well as we can. And if we are very lucky, there is always someone at the bottom of the precipice to catch us.

Today is the last day of Lupus Awareness Month. Learn the facts by visiting the Lupus Foundation of America website. Pass it on.

Sea at sunset, Halkidiki

2010-05-29T15:50:00.001+03:00

Sea at sunset, Halkidiki
Originally uploaded by melusinagr

The beach at Nikiti in Halkidiki is one of my favorite places in Greece. It makes a nice weekend getaway for anyone who lives in and around Thessaloniki. The shops aren't too touristy and there are some truly exceptional restaurants (Grada and Kyani Akti to name a couple) - with reasonable prices.

However, my biggest battle when it comes to places like this in Greece is with the sun. Living with lupus means I can't just run out to the beach any time I want, I have to plan my outings in the early morning or just before the sun goes down. For the most part I don't mind, as these are quite peaceful times to go to the beach. Still, sometimes I wish I could just go be in the sun without worrying about getting sick. During the day it can really bring me down, but by the time I get out into the early evening and see the sea looking like this, it seems just as beautiful as it does during the day.

A rose by any other name is just as sweet

2010-05-27T15:37:00.001+03:00

The rose
Originally uploaded by melusinagr

Sea side

2010-05-26T22:17:00.001+03:00

DSC02400
Originally uploaded by melusinagr

It seems I've been at a loss for words lately - I'm always either too tired, too grumpy, or too disenchanted with the way things are in the world. Since I take a lot of pictures, I'll let them tell my stories now and then, at least until I have something to say.

Oh deathless sea, tell what you are whispering*

2010-05-17T23:20:00.003+03:00

*Quote from the poem "I lived the beloved name..." by Odysseas Elytis

Lupus Awareness

2010-05-17T11:28:00.005+03:00

I've shared the story of my life with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus here before. Now Lupus Awareness month falls in May, and I feel that even though I'm not keeping up with the blog as regularly as I used to, I need to promote awareness and help to quell some falsehoods that might have arisen during the Miss USA pageant last night.

It seems that during the Miss USA pageant, Morgan Woolard, the runner up for Miss America (from Oklahoma), claimed that she cured herself of Lupus. Obviously, this is impossible (unless she had drug-induced lupus, which is a bit misleading). Spreading false information like this in such a public forum hurts the efforts of all of us who are working towards promoting awareness for Lupus, and it belittles those of us who have been fighting this illness day in and day out. Spread the word...learn the facts about Lupus at the Lupus Foundation of America website.

I live in Greece, so I did not have the opportunity to watch the pageant first-hand. I only heard about Ms. Woolard's claims from scores of angry Lupus patients across the internet. Still, misinformation is no way to promote awareness, especially when it is estimated that around 80% of the public knows very little or nothing about Lupus - and so I wanted to share the facts.

From the Lupus Foundation of America website:

It is true that medical science has not yet developed a method for curing lupus. And some people do die from the disease. However, people with non-organ threatening aspects of lupus can look forward to a normal lifespan if they:

follow the instructions of their physician,

take their medication(s) as prescribed, and

know when to seek help for unexpected side effects of a medication or a new manifestation of their lupus.

Although some people with lupus have severe recurrent attacks and are frequently hospitalized, most people with lupus rarely require hospitalization. There are many lupus patients who never have to be hospitalized, especially if they are careful and follow their physician's instructions.

New research brings unexpected findings each year. The progress made in treatment and diagnosis during the last decade has been greater than that made over the past 100 years. It is therefore a sensible idea to maintain control of a disease that tomorrow may be curable.

Please spread the word and Band Together for Lupus!

Sumer is icumen in

2010-04-25T14:01:00.002+03:00

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweþ sed and bloweþ med

And springþ þe wde nu,
Sing cuccu!
Awe bleteþ after lomb,
Lhouþ after calue cu.
Bulluc sterteþ, bucke uerteþ,
Murie sing cuccu!
Cuccu, cuccu, wel singes þu cuccu;

Ne swik þu nauer nu.
Pes:

Sing cuccu nu. Sing cuccu.
Sing cuccu. Sing cuccu nu!

Summer has come in,
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!
The seed grows and the meadow
blooms
And the wood springs anew,
Sing, Cuckoo!
The ewe bleats after the lamb
The cow lows after the calf.
The bullock stirs, the stag farts,
Merrily sing, Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, well you sing,
cuckoo;
Don't you ever stop now,

Sing cuckoo now. Sing, Cuckoo.
Sing Cuckoo. Sing cuckoo now!

Easter

2010-04-07T21:01:00.000+03:00

München

2010-03-13T02:26:00.030+02:00

Oy, 5am. This is not a good time to wake up for someone who is unequivocally NOT a morning person. Yet there I was, rising and shining, running around like a decapitated chicken doing last minute things so we could our cab to the airport for our trip to Munich. Of course we ended up at the airport much earlier than we needed to be – which was ok because security was a breeze. Two of my husband’s colleagues had already arrived and we all sat around drinking coffee and juice and pretending we didn’t really want to be sleeping (or maybe that was just me). If I thought a 5am awakening was bad, you can imagine the bile rising in my throat as wave after wave of psychiatrists started arriving at the airport. Since we had booked our own flight, I didn’t necessarily think we’d be on the same plane as all the shrinks that were being sponsored by big pharma. Unfortunately, that was the case, as my husband joked about all the immediate openings there would be for young psychiatrists in Thessaloniki if this plane went down.

Ah, Munich. The weather was quite temperate when we emerged from the airport, despite the predictions from Germany-savvy travelers that it would likely be cold and snowy. What a luxury to be able to take the subway from the airport to a station (Hauptbahnhof) a block from our hotel! We stayed at Hotel Meier, which is on a lovely pedestrian walkway, and more importantly right next to a Starbucks.

It was only 11am when we arrived, but the hotel gladly accommodated us by giving us an early check in, which was awesome because I needed a nap. When we woke up in the afternoon the first order of business was lunch – my husband wanted (no, demanded!) German sausages. We explored the area around our hotel fully expecting a decent place to lunch, to no avail. It was all fast food of various ethnicities, but no sausages, so we went back down to the subway station (which had a plethora of bakeries and sausages) and got some there. We did, however, see the Justizpalast while we were walking around, so at least that was something.

Later in the evening, we decided to get more adventurous. We took the subway to Marienplatz, a popular square in the city center. We were greeted by an anti-psychiatry rally being held in the square (this organization is apparently linked to this one). We had seen them before, marching through the streets with their sign and their cart depicting miserable tied up crazy people. They claim psychiatry is an industry of death and that there are no real psychiatric conditions, just somatic problems that can all be cured with vitamins and exercise. If only. There are things about psychiatry I don’t like (particularly tying up patients), but I don’t work with patients every day and I really don’t know what is necessary and I certainly don’t have the medical background to judge. While this group makes no claim towards Scientology I find it rather interesting that their beliefs regarding psychiatry seem to be exactly the same as Scientologists. Thanos, always in an effort to be fair, actually visited their “museum” at one point in our trip and had an interesting discussion with the people there. Certainly there are issues to debate, but I think we can be grateful that there are doctors like my husband out there working hard every day to address these issues and try to make life better for psychiatric patients.

One of the most fabulous aspects of Munich is the architecture and Marienplatz houses one of the most stunning examples in the Neues Rathaus. The details on this building are amazing, and can be seen in pictures here, here, here, here, and here.

Also off Marientplatz is the Altes Rathaus and Spielzeugmuseum.

Just around the corner you can find the Frauenkirche, unfortunately you aren’t allowed to take pictures inside.

I wanted to see Michaelskirche but, as things always go for me, it was undergoing renovation and covered up. To be fair, the covering had the outline of what it is supposed to look like, and I have no idea why I did not take a picture. We finally strolled down Neuhauser past the church and searched for a place to eat, and we finally came upon a nice family restaurant called Bohne & Malz, which is apparently a small chain in Munich.

Sunday was a day of rest for me as Thanos had to go to the convention at 8am to put up his poster and enjoy a day of psychiatric lectures. I slept in and then went to Starbucks to have a coffee and people watch. After meeting Thanos for lunch I decided to go back to the conference center with him for shits and giggles (and to see another area of Munich).

Sunday evening we made our way back to Marienplatz to find a good old fashioned Bavarian tavern. We went to Weisses Braühaus, which was recommended in our city guide. I had a fine Pils and my first wiener schnitzel. Yummy!

Monday we went to the Deutsches Museum, which covers pretty much all science and technology from the earliest inventions to the present. It is a huge museum and will definitely require another visit. Plenty of pictures can be found here.

By Monday evening we found our favorite Germany bakery – Rischart (where else?) on Marienplatz. I discovered something dangerous called butter cake. I’m glad I don’t live in Germany. We attended a pharma dinner at a restaurant at Residenz, the site of the residence of the former Bavarian kings, which was mostly destroyed in WWII. The rebuild is impressive but a bit disappointing. Like some kind of idiot, I didn’t have my camera with me that night, so I missed taking pictures.

Tuesday we had a late flight, so we asked the hotel for a late check out and spent the day shopping at two of Germany’s fine department stores – Karstadt and Kaufhof. We were so tired by the time we got on the plane, we were ready to be home.

Munich is a fabulous city, full of things to see and do, with friendly people and beautiful scenery. I intend to go back more than once, and highly recommend it to everyone!

The five stages

2010-02-03T23:17:00.002+02:00

A month ago, one of our dear cats died. Princeton was 14 years old, an old cat, to be sure. I just wasn’t ready to lose him yet. I was in denial about his condition for two months as he lost weight (he went from 9 kilos to 3.5 kilos), thinking if I can just fatten him up again he would be all right. I should have prepared myself better, because his quiet death in my arms was more than I could bear.

He was a king among cats. He was my friend, my guardian, and my companion. He accompanied me on the biggest journey of my life. He was freakish, and silly, and had a bad case of obsessive compulsive disorder. Now he is gone, and my heart is empty in his absence. I will cherish my memories of him, and move on.

Meow old friend. Meow.

Princeton
1995-2010

Bloghead revisited

2010-01-31T19:57:00.001+02:00

I know, I know. I haven’t written anything useful (or not useful for that matter) here for a long, long time. I’m not really sure I have a good explanation, except that my Greek life has become a bit mundane.

Going back to the States wasn’t as bad as I feared. One thing I did realize is that I have become overly accustomed to how things are in Greece – so much so that I was constantly amazed at how easy some things are in the U.S., and how friendly people are there. Did I always take these things for granted?

Yet, as much as I long to be near my friends and family again (and to see my niece more often than every seven years) and as wonderful as life in America seems to be, the U.S. is no longer my home. I was most acutely aware of this when my brother-in-law was driving us up the long, winding slope on our way back from the airport. A couple of miles away our house came into view, nestled against the side of the mountain. I felt happiness and relief. This is the place where I belong, at least for now.

It is a phase in my ex-pat life I never really expected. To some Greeks I am still ξένος (and will always be), but for me, Greece is home.

I'm afraid of Americans

2009-07-30T13:52:00.001+03:00

Tomorrow I will set foot on U.S. soil for the first time in seven years. I am a bit apprehensive about it for a couple of reason: first, will I love it so much I won't want to return to Greece, and second, will it be the same?

When I left the U.S. I was ready to get the hell out of dodge. Not for any particular reason, it was just if I was going to stagnate somewhere I might as well experience a change of scenery. Yet when I left I was an American through and through. I felt appropriate fear towards terrorist threats, appropriate disdain towards uncouth European ideals, appropriate entitlement from my American roots, and my mind was as closed as a nun wearing a chastity belt. Everything I knew about the world outside of the U.S. was pretty much stereotype perpetuated by the media and the curse of growing up American during the Cold War.

Now, after living in a European country (barely) for 7 years, I no longer feed on media fear, I no longer have disdain for Europeans, and I sure as hell no longer have any sense of entitlement. My mind is more open, and I know more about news of the world than I do news of the U.S. (except, of course, for what is going on with regard to Michael Jackson's death). If I didn't know better, I'd think I had the same general malaise of thought with regard to Americans as many Europeans do. But that can't be right. I'm an American!

Perhaps it is fitting that I will start my trip in the nation's capital. As I stroll around the streets of Washington, D.C., perhaps I will form a new idea of what America means to me. But I'm not certain it is still the place I would call home.