What's Funny About Words (Guest Blogger)

At my improv class this week, one woman killed the rest of the class with a scene where she described her partner's butt as "two turkeys just bobbing up and down toward the end zone." (I'd explain, but it would take too long. Just know it was damn funny.) The whole scene that followed was hilarious, but it was the "turkey" that put it over the top. "Turkey," all by itself, is a funny word. That "urr" sound is a funny noise to me. And the hard "k" sound has often been cited by comedy writers as something that helps make a word funny. No one has really ever been able to explain why.

For some time now, I've wanted to explore what makes a word "funny." I realized there were certain words I fall back on when I need to be off-the-cuff funny: "Cats," "squirrel," "perturbed," and "pants" are some of them.

So I mentioned on Facebook (you can "Like" right here. WordNerdGirl likes to be "liked.") that I was looking for other people's ideas about what make a word funny when my über-funny, ultra-wordy friend, Dave Ankers, offered some of his thoughts. Then a few more. And then some more. Poor guy is recovering from a Mardi Gras-induced broken ankle and the cabin fever is getting to him. But what he had to say was very interesting and covered way more ground than I ever could with four kids pulling me away from the keyboard every 2 minutes. So I decided to turn today's blog post over to him. Take it away Dave...

Dave Ankers' Random Thoughts About Funny Words
Some random thoughts about funny words, as I procrastinate my hobbling out on crutches to pick up both ground beef and my cholesterol-reducing medication (without irony):

Words can be "funny" in as many ways as there are words and ways to use them, I think. Some word can elicit an amused response just due to how they sound phonetically to us. Haboob. Hurly-burly. Rattletrap. Poughkeepsie. Bulbous. Yabba-dabba-doo. Babaghanoush (which we're all familiar with now, so it's no longer funny. These are usually non-Latin or French-derived words. I realize now that I must personally think words with lots of Bs and Ps are funny.

Some are funny because they are archaic and out of common use, and sound old fashioned, like poppycock, folderol, bolderdash, winsome, or zounds! Or because they're foreign and not familiar to us, like benihana, Addis Ababa, bibimbap, couscous.
Alliteration and rhyme can also make a word stand out.

We laugh at things that are unfamiliar and new and unusual. Making something funny has to do with seeing it in a new way that changes its status and dignity. (See also: drag queens calling out to a cop "Excuse me, miss policeman!" Or a gardener solemnly referring to pests as 'Miss Aphid" or "the esteemed representative of the nation of rabbits." but those examples aren't about funny words, per se.)

Most often, words are funny because they are dropped in places you don't expect them, out of their usual sphere of usage. Like calling a pathetic dinner of canned marinara sauce over chow mein noodle as "fusion" "multicultural" or "sino-Italian."

"Tasty" or "crunchy" aren't particularly funny words, or even noticeable words, when positioned next to "breakfast cereal." But they will probably get a giggle when modifying "Volkswagen" or "sound effects manipulation" or "defense attorney." (Both of these words were once fresh and funny when applied by stoners and jam-band fans to "guitar solo" and so on, but they're now a cliché, so they might as well be modifying "breakfast cereal." That usage isn't funny anymore, to paraphrase Morrissey.)

A very funny usage would be "a crunchy and tasty multicultural fusion snack of chow mein noodles cleverly sauced with a traditional Sicilian marinara." Desperation munchy becomes a parody of food-writing pretension.

Ezra Pound said that the whole point of writing things is to make things new, in our descriptions. Recombining words and images in unexpected ways gives us vivid and new thoughts. Which are usually funny because we're saying something you aren't expecting.

Combining techniques, like using non-funny-sounding words in unexpected ways, can be funny. A great recent book title: "The Guernsey Literary And Potato Peel Pie Society." Not funny enough to get me to read it yet, but certainly an inherently amusing title comprising totally ordinary un-funny words in an alliterative and also dry and dignified way. Combining abstract words (literary, society) with vivid and even undignified words and images (the lowly potato peel, unexpectedly crammed into the form of a probably repulsive pastry) can give you a sharp unexpected blow to the head, in a comedy sense.

People who were really good at this combining ordinary words in multiple ways, for comic effect: SJ Perelman, the Marx Brothers, Monty Python. Sometimes Tom Stoppard.

The word "avalanche" may not be funny to you, but remember, avalanche is better than no lanche at all, yes?

A true benefit of English is that it has all these odd-sounding Anglo-Saxon words, as well as lots of weird words absorbed from non-romance languages, which combine with all the words derived from Latin (both religious and legal) and French (which the Norman conquerors spoke), forming a never-quite-blending stew of sounds and shadings of meaning.

Lots and lots of toys in the toolbox, to mix a metaphoric cocktail.

I really should mention John Lennon as a natural master of funny wordplay. Not his song lyrics, but the funny little books he put out: in "His Own Write" and "A Spaniard in the Works." At their best, they are amazing little case studies on how to replace one word with another, usually a homonym, and make a dull sentence both funny and thought-provoking.

Also, Irish writers historically have been very good at clever wordplay. And I'm sure somebody has a well-reasoned theory as to why, but it's not me. Check out quotations from Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw, and James Joyce. Please exclude Bono from your investigations -- he is an unfortunate exception to the trend.

Other words: doughboy, wallaby, wombat, ocelot, kazoo, Bonobo. Bebe Rebozo.
 

Cloris Leachman. Which becomes funny when juxtaposed with "Clorox Bleach."

Kalamazoo.

Conniption. Aneurysm. (Which aren't so funny to most people, probably. But think of the comedy mileage you get with just an exclamation point: "Aneurysm! The Musical!" Or imagine a solemn and pompous John Grisham legal thriller titled "The Conniption Ruling" or something like that.)

A great exercise is taking a word that is decidedly unfunny, and finding ways to make it funny, to the point of making people really uncomfortable. (Cancer Crispies, anyone?)

Can you tell I am going stir crazy, stuck indoors on crutches, alone all day, with nothing to do?

 We can tell Dave. That's one of the reasons we love you. Comment below on words you think are funny, your thoughts on Dave's thoughts, or what you think Dave should do while cooped up in his apartment in a cast/boot for the next one to three weeks.

Celebrating Autism Un-Awareness

We have another off-topic blog post today, for something very close to my heart. I promise the next post will be more writing about writing. Meanwhile, April marks the beginning of Autism Awareness Month. My 9-year-old son and 2-year-old niece have both been diagnosed on the spectrum. Below is an essay I wrote on the subject of how great it feels to be unaware of autism. Thanks for reading, and remember that if you see someone wearing a puzzle piece pin, that puzzle piece represents a person who is loved:

Michael, holding his baby sister
at the top of the sliding board.
(Thankfully, I had my camera
with me that day.)

 Celebrating Autism Unawareness

It’s April – Autism Awareness Month. Time for puzzle pieces, wearing blue and experts who tell us that it’s a neurobiological disorder of epidemic proportions, but nobody knows what causes it. It’s probably genetic, but might also be environmental. But it’s definitely not vaccines. More research is needed.

Personally, I’d like to have an autism un-awareness month. I have to settle for the occasional unawareness day, like the one we had a couple weeks ago. It was a warm, pre-spring day at the playground, and my son Michael, age 9, was chasing his younger brother up the jungle gym. My 18-month old daughter got away from me and followed, up the steps to the highest point at the sliding board platform.

Honestly, if my oldest had not been off with her friends, I would have had her do it. But in a parental leap of faith, I put the baby in Mikey’s lap. He held her tight and smiled.

Then Mikey took his baby sister for her first ride down the big kids’ slide. Then they did it again. And again.

It was a small milestone for the baby, but a very big deal for Mikey. In that moment, he wasn’t one of the 1 in 110 kids diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder (ASD) that everyone hears about each April.

For one afternoon, he was just a big brother, protecting his sister on the sliding board. It was an extraordinarily normal moment for all of us.

For Michael, his ASD means he struggles to maintain his coordination and balance, especially when at any kind of height off the ground, like on a jungle gym. He also has low muscle tone in his upper body, so he doesn’t always have the strength needed to do simple things, like hold his squirmy baby sister in his lap.

Mikey also has sensory issues. That means he’s easily overwhelmed by sights and sounds, and can’t eat many foods because the textures make him gag. He’s never had a slice of birthday cake. The spray of water stings his skin. Once, he tried for 10 minutes to play in a sprinkler because he saw the other kids having fun too. But it ended the way I should have known it would – with him dissolving into a meltdown.

If you only know autism from the TV’s Parenthood, that show usually gets it right from the parents’ perspective. But in real life, we don’t have the luxury of a fade-to-black commercial break when the tantrums start. The wailing and flailing can last all day. I’m lucky; Mikey’s pretty mellow. He only has one or two meltdowns a day, and they’re not usually physical or long-lasting. I know other parents who have to medicate their children because the tantrums are so frequent and violent.

Mikey is “high-functioning.” (That term makes me think of robots – he’s anything but.) He can speak. Academically, he’s on-target, assigned to an integrated classroom with other special needs and “typical” third graders. He has an education aide assigned to help him through each day because he needs constant reminders to stay on-task.

So I am lucky – I remind myself – that Mikey is able to cry out, “I’m a weirdo!” during a meltdown. He knows he’s different – and if he forgets, he has all the constant reminders.

While consoling him, I’ve tried to explain why he feels different, and that it’s okay. But I have no idea if he understands.

Even with three siblings, Mikey is lonely. He wants friends, and gets mad at me because I can’t get him one. I’ve tried. We just finished 10 sessions of a social skills group. (We called it a “friend-making class.”) I’ve arranged play-dates and signed him up for a special needs sports clinic.

But when he goes to these things, he often pulls away to do his own thing -- crazy dancing, or a word-for-word recitation about how to build a campfire. He can be hilarious. But he can also be inappropriate, like the time he repeated all the “big balls” wisecracks from Wipeout. If we try to pull him out of his little world and help him interact with others, he gets overwhelmed, and the tears well up again.

I already know more about autism than I ever wanted. In addition to Mikey, my two year-old niece was diagnosed on the spectrum just a couple of months ago. So in our family – even as we wear blue clothing, attach puzzle pins to our coats, organize walk-a-thon teams and promote research to identify a cause and effective treatments – we do these things while not-so-secretly wishing for more autism un-awareness days, like that day my son had on the playground. It’s one I’ll hold forever in my heart.

Personally, I think Mikey deserves more of them.

Heartfelt Words from My Dad

My father -- a Vietnam veteran who, until recently, has not shared a whole lot of his experiences -- wrote this letter this morning. He sent it to me because, "I thought you might be able to use it on your newspaper whatever thing."

It's called a blog, Dad. (And I say that -- rolling my eyes -- with love.) 

This blog is (usually) about writing -- how to write so that your words have an effect on people. Today, the lesson is 'writing from the heart.' And the lesson is an easy one: If you write the truth as you know it,  you won't have to worry about the effect of your words, because they'll have a power all their own:

To those of you who served, this letter is to you:

Welcome Home and Thank You for Your Service to Our Country!

Believe it or not, after all of these years, they have finally decided to say, "Welcome Home!" to the Vietnam Veterans.

There was actually a resolution passed in the House earlier this year designating March 30 2011 Welcome Home Vietnam Vets Day, by Rep. Richard Burr (R-NC) and endorsed by 5 other members of the house. – I’m impressed.

I happened to stumble across this in a news article from the VFW letter I receive periodically – I personally have certainly not seen a whole lot in the press (printed or electronic) or on the television.

And as far as a "Welcome Home" goes, this should go out to all Veterans, for any hazardous duty assignment, not just Vietnam. People ended up just as dead in Korea, Grenada, Mogadishu Somalia, Iraq, Afghanistan etc. It is a shame that it took the event of 9/11 to wake people up to the fact that veterans and their families make sacrifices, and that politics and service to this country are not a dividing line that determines whether or not you should thank someone for their service.

The military has been the mainstay of the defense in this country, and allows people the liberties that we all enjoy. A simple "Thanks" and "Welcome Back" should not have to be solicited – but sadly, that appears to be the point we have devolved to.

In my opinion, Vietnam got all the attention because of all of the political protests and the stigma brought out by the press coverage – everyone from every conflict should have been welcomed back. We all did a job, be it significant or insignificant, with several goals – uphold the Constitution, defend the people, obey lawful orders, get back in one piece -- or at least enough pieces to function .

Remember, all gave some – some gave All.  Celebrate that (for more than just one day a year) PLEASE.

Michael C. Bartha

Specialist 5

Hazardous Duty Service 1970 - 1971

HQ Company, 1^st Signal Brigade – Phu Bai

337^th Signal Co. M/W, 1^st Signal Brigade -101^st Airborne Div Camp Eagle

Active Service May 20, 1958 – March 16, 1973

Status – Disabled Veteran

Vietnam was one of the most boring experiences of my life, interrupted by moments of sheer terror.

My parents' wedding, February 7, 1970, one week before my father left for Vietnam

The Feedback Loop

Last week, Salon posted a good Q&A with comedian Michael Showalter about his new memoir, "Mr. Funnypants." One quote of his, in particular, jumped out at me...

"I didn't perform any of it (his book's comedy material) in front of an audience, which is one of the more interesting and terrifying things about writing a book. You really have no idea whether or not what you're writing is funny. In stand-up and sketch comedy, you know right away and you can make your changes accordingly."

I smiled the first time I read that, because I can relate -- especially now that I've made the conscious decision to write more humor. It's a frustrating thing writing the funny for print. You have no way of knowing for certain if what you're writing is getting the laugh until it's read or published. I often crave that immediate feedback. When you can tell a joke or perform a sketch, if the intended gag is met with audience silence, that will usually tell you everything you need to know.

Every writer -- regardless of their experience, or what they're writing -- carries a tiny bit of anxiety, questioning, "Is what I'm writing going to get the reaction I want?"

• Will my memo convince the boss to start production on my product?
• Will my legal brief sway the judge?
• Will readers get turned on by my steamy romance story?
• Will my headline generate page views on the website?
• Will the studio buy my screenplay?

That's why it's so important to seek out -- and listen to -- feedback on your work. The "seeking out" is relatively easy: go to writing classes and workshops, open mike (mic?) nights, track the web hits counter, track your book sales, watch your Facebook friends hit the "Like" button, ask a colleague, seek out the advice of a mentor.

Experienced writers can get in their own way, tuning out help because they think they know what they’re doing – even when they don’t. New writers, because they lack confidence, tend to "over-listen." Regardless of where the feedback is coming from, they make every change suggested, and question their own instincts. They don’t stop to ask, "What is this person's motivation?" Sometimes, you have to consider that the person giving feedback has his or her own agenda.

This happened to me early in my career. For a (thankfully) short time, I wrote for a newspaper where one of the editors actually had the balls to circulate a memo that showed examples of how to not write stories. Every single ‘don’t write like this’ example quoted from stories with my byline.

Still relatively new and unsure of myself (despite a couple of years and awards already under my belt), I felt humiliated and took it to heart, because this guy was an editor with more experience. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to me:

• The stories were all good enough to publish in the first place.
• None of my other editors had complained before (or since).
• I never asked for his opinion. No one did.
• His memo did not offer constructive criticism -- helpful suggestions that would be instructive to everyone who saw it for how to make our writing better.
• He may have been purposely sabotaging me, trying to push me out of the job.

 While at the time, I was floored (and – surprise, surprise – quit very soon after) I eventually came to realize that this guy, even though he was an editor and had more experience than me, was your basic, run-of-the-mill d-bag asshole. He had his own agenda for telling me and everyone in the office I didn’t know what I was doing. Helpful instruction was not part of that agenda. This was feedback that could be rejected.

Now, this is the exception, I believe, not the rule. Most often, if you ask for, or are offered, feedback -- especially from other writers – people genuinely want to do right by you. But sometimes the feedback is misguided. Occasionally, it can be damaging. It takes experience to learn how to sort through it all. This is by no means complete, but here is a list of questions to ask yourself to help tell the difference.

Advice from a Do-Write, or a D-Bag?

• Why is this person giving the advice? Did I ask, or was it offered?
• Does this person have expertise in your area of writing?
• Is this person giving you their honest, fair assessment?
• Does the feedback talk to you in terms of what works and what doesn't in your writing? (As opposed to what is "good" or "bad" about your writing. "Good" and "bad" are subjective. What "works" is something that can be quantified and/or explained.)
• Is the person asking questions about what you were trying to accomplish?
• What's in it for this person if he/she is offering to help me?
• Is this person only focused on what they didn't like, or what was "wrong" with the writing? Can he/she point to what you wrote that was right.

I'd love to hear about how others get feedback, and when you can tell if that feedback is good. Post in the comments.

Referenced link: Salon: Michael Showalter interview

Keep It Simple, Say It Plainly.

I was talking to a friend earlier this week about how you can tell when a writer is trying too hard. The signs are usually obvious, even to an untrained eye:

• Strained similes and metaphors are in every other sentence.
• Every adjective sounds like it was the 5th entry in a thesaurus search.
• Most words have a three-syllable minimum.
• Ideas and events are told, then shown, then explained again, but with different words. And then there's the summary...

Every writer does this. All of 'em, me included, though I've found it's most common with people who are either inexperienced or trying to impress people. Most of the time, this is done with good intentions. When you care about what you're writing -- whether it's a grant proposal, a college essay, a screenplay, a speech or a magazine article -- you want it to be good. Memorable. Perhaps even unforgettable. You want to make a good impression, or get your point across. So you go the extra mile to make every sentence great, because you care about your work -- it's all about the work, dammit!

If this sounds like you, stop. You're not doing yourself, your readers or (if you're writing for publication) your editors any favors.

It's very easy to get so caught up in The Writing that you forget about The Reader. Your sentence could use the most original words and imagery ever written, but if the reader has to slog through large, long blocks of text, unfamiliar words and confusing comparisons, it won't matter, because they will stop reading. This point does warrant a repeat, and extra formatting:

They will stop reading.


Whether you're writing The Great American Novel, or an email to colleagues, you don't have work sentences into flowery prose, explain every minute detail, or use words that you've only ever heard on the National Spelling Bee. A little bit of the fancy stuff here and there is great -- it makes the writing interesting, both for you and the reader. But when it's too much, your story gets confusing, your message gets lost, and no one has heard that thing you labored so hard and so long to say.

More often, it is the short, straightforward words that are the most powerful. That's what people remember and respond to most.

Keep it simple. Say it plainly.

Euphemisms Are So F*@#!ng Funny!

Last week, there was a lot of buzz about Cee-Lo Green replacing the lyrics to his song "F*ck You" with "Fox News" during the aired version of his performance on The Colbert Report. After seeing the bit, and subsequently seeing the unaired, uncensored version of the song, I got to thinking about why both versions are so damn funny.

As it is, the uncensored song is fantastic -- it's very catchy, upbeat, and I can honestly say I have never heard anyone say, or sing, "F*ck You" with so much enthusiasm and joy. Seriously... it's my new favorite song. If you haven't heard the uncensored, full-on "F*ck You" version, take 3:55 to watch and listen:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Cee Lo Green - F**k You
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes 2010 Election March to Keep Fear Alive

I know -- f*ckin' awesome, man! I think what makes it so brilliant -- and why it has become the unsung  anthem of 2010 (literally unsung -- it's the most popular song that nobody will air without heavy editing) is that it takes an inherently aggressive, nasty-sounding phrase and turns it into something silly and fun.

Like most basic cable, Comedy Central generally "bleeps" away the coarse language which, if it's done right, can actually add to the funny. But music is another matter entirely. Songs that are bleeped or "edited for radio" (which is a whole 'nuther topic I could go off on) are usually ruined in the process. But not "F*ck You." Because The Colbert Report had a brilliantly simple solution: the euphemism.

They could have used almost any phrase to replace the "f*ck you" and it still would have been funny. Go back and listen -- if the impossibly catchy hook isn't already earworming around your noggin -- but replace the "f*ck you" with almost any variation and you get some instant silliness:

I see you driving 'round town with the girl I love
And I'm like
Tofu.
I guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough
I'm like
Suck moo.
And puck her too...


"Fox News" just happened to be the best choice for their show, and inserting the euphemism aired the song in a way that a)- didn't hack it to pieces with ridiculous bleeps or edits, b)- was true to the spirit of the song, and c)- also made a great bit of comedic political commentary.

Usually, I prefer it when people say what they mean to say. But when writing for the funny, I think the lesson here is that sometimes, it is better to go out of your way to avoid saying what's so f*cking obvious*...

*Because everybody knows what the stupid asterisk really means.

Referenced links: The Colbert Report, Entertainment Weekly

Yes, And...?

Disclaimer: This blog post will not be edited, reread or proofed in any way, shape or form (I'll explain why in a moment), and does not represent the usual high-quality standards of Your Friendly Neighborhood WordNerdGirl.

Whew, that was hard... I reread those sentences as I was writing them, at least six times before I moved onto this one. Okay, baby steps -- I'll go one paragraph at a time.

Anyway -- hey there and hi. I haven't been around much lately. Very, very busy, which is a good thing, mostly. I've been WordNerdGirling for SJ Magazine as their copyeditor, and was very excited to have the privilege of editing a book proposal, and I am wishing ZsaZsa Gapooch, Auntie Ness and Merka the best of luck now that their agent has the final document in hand. I also have my four kids, who are a fulltime job themselves. But since I've had to delay my grad school plans indefinitely, I've also been seeking out my Plan B, pursuing some other non-writing interests in hopes of kick-starting my very depleted creative juices: I'm planning some quilting projects -- but not the Amishy, grandma-quilting-bee kind. I'm talking about a bad-ass mixed media, kind of quilting. I am also in the midst of an improv comedy class, which is why I've decided to write this post without editing it (and torturing myself in the process -- I didn't realize how compulsively I reread and play with things I write until now. Agh - just caught myself rewriting that last sentence.)

 So, how does improv, which is all about making it up as you go (remember the TV show Whose Line Is It Anyway?) supposed to help with writing? Explaining needed...

In the first class, the instructor, who is (parent-alert) also the host of the Sprout channel's The Sunny Side Up Show, talked about the philosophy behind improv. (And I've learned something already: improv is a philosophy?) That philosophy is "Yes, And..." Basically, all that means is that you take whatever is thrown at you by your scene partners and build on it -- even if you have no clue what to do with it. If you screw it up, move on. If it doesn't come out quite the way you wanted, move on. But don't fight it, don't try to force it to be something it's not. Just add your own contribution and hope for the best and,  more often than not, you'll actually wind up getting the desired result -- in this case, a laugh.

One of my weaknesses as a writer (WordNerdGirl - you have a weakness? Say it ain't so!) is when I'm writing fiction, or poetry, or anything that requires imagination, I find it next-to-impossible to turn off my internal editor. The same thing that makes me a great, kick-ass editor (yeah, I said it -- great. And kick-ass.) makes it almost impossible for me to sit down and write all the stories I have rattling around up in my head. Because I know what result I want, I know exactly how it should work, but because it's creative, it is messy and -- especially in the first writing draft -- it is imperfect, much like this blog post is now, because these paragraphs are too long and I'm not explaining this as precisely as I want. It needs editing, and I all I can see are the flaws that need fixing. I get so caught up in fixing the flaws, the stories get lost.

I am finding that "Yes, And..." is a very useful way of looking at writing, as well as living. (Gee, I guess it really is a philosophy.) The last few months, I've been dealing with more plot twists than a daytime soap opera. It's been exhausting, trying to fix and repair everything. Part of the fallout has been delaying grad school, which I had hoped would put me in an environment where I could learn to turn off my editor and write more stories. That's not happening now, but maybe I can learn to write creatively just by saying, "Yes, And..." And maybe I can better deal with the unexpected, and get results that may not be the one I wanted, but is -- I hope -- better than I could have ever expected.

And this is usually the point where I go back and hammer at every word I've written and rearrange paragraphsandrereaditandbythatpointI'myellingatthekidsand -oh, wait! If I change the wording here it will shortentheparagraphandshortergraphsareeasiertoreadandI'mdoingitagain. Yes, I am. And?

Just click "Publish Post," please.

Referenced Links: ComedySportz Philadelphia, The Sunny Side Up Show, Quilting Arts Magazine, SJ Magazine

Why All the Emmy Love for Temple Grandin Was Awesome

I need to interrupt my four cranky kids (8 days until school starts - YES!), two deadline copyediting assignments and my general WordNerdGirl-ing to take a sec and talk about all the love shown to -- and by -- Temple Grandin at last night's Emmy's.

Temple Grandin has long been a rock star in the autism community, and last night, she proved why. She's been a symbol of hope for people with autism and their caregivers (in some ways, even more so for the latter.) So seeing all the recognition for the HBO biopic chronicling her life, and all the affection heaped on her by the award honorees, didn't just honor her and the movie, but also gave a nod to everyone who has been affected by this disorder. (My 8-year-old is PDD-NOS. As the film's director described Grandin last night, he used many of the same adjectives I use to describe my son.)

But even more importantly, last night, Grandin also managed to dispel for millions of TV viewers one of the most hurtful and longstanding myths about autism: People with autism can feel love. They can show affection. And they are not just "autistics." They're people -- full and complete. Decked out in her quirky, country-western regalia, she enthusiastically (and in a "socially inappropriate" manner) stood and waved from her seat in the audience, interrupted one of the honorees to give a shout-out to her mom and -- most movingly -- effusively hugged the film's executive producer. She not only dispelled the myth that autistic people are withdrawn, but -- even for the most severely-afflicted -- she also showed that it is possible for autistic people to engage and contribute to the world, in ways big and small. And she did all that just by being herself.

Referenced links: Temple Grandin Wins Big at Emmy, but Who Is She?; Temple Grandin's Official Autism Website