She told me: “If you kill yourself it will irrevocably harm your children. They will not recover.”
This was the Exact Right Thing to say in that moment. And she wouldn’t let me leave until I’d made an appointment with a psychologist.
And here I am today, on meds, not dead, and fairly glad not to be dead.
This comic very much was me right then; if it’s you, then please go talk to any doctor. They will point you in the right direction. That’s why they became doctors.
… for being a good role model to boys—or, more precisely, an excellent cautionary tale.
(art by DonkeyHotey)
I watched most of the debate with my 10-year-old son last night (he bugged out ~20 minutes from the end because “it’s getting boring and just repeating itself.”) Overall, he was baffled and appalled, and more than a little embarrassed.
I think we all saw the embarrassment coming (including the good folks who advised not letting children watch): Talk of the #TrumpTape had my kid covering his head with a blanket (in part this owes to the boy being a tad non-neurotypical; the concept that someone might purposefully touch someone who didn’t want to be touched is sort of existentially dreadful to him).
As for the bafflement, my kid just couldn’t get his head around anyone wanting anything to do with Trump, based on what he was seeing on the screen, let alone thinking the man would make a good president.
And the idea that he might ever be considered to anything like that man? That appalled him. In his own words, Trump was “not responsible, reliable, or trustworthy.”
So, if nothing else, we’ve at least got a new and effective bogeyman, a debased, debasing bad-touching Struwwelpeter of the soul:
“Dammit, kid: Wash your hands, do your chores, then help the lady next door by shoveling her walk—or else you’ll turn out like Donald J. Trump!”
UPDATE Oct 11, 2016: Another debate nugget that just came to mind: When the issue of Trumps “ban on all Muslims entering the country” was raised, my kid shot up, aghast, and shouted “But that violates core democratic values!” (He has a class at school called “Core Democratic Values”—which is basically, content wise, the class we called “Civics,” but that clunky phrase, latched to his very real and visceral distress, really cracked me up, so I thought I’d share.)
For the average citizen, the voting conundrum is born of finite time and imperfect information: You don’t have the time or resources to actually meet and research each candidate yourself, and thus must rely on second-hand research of dubious provenance.
…
As such, you may be better off relying on a heuristic of your own making. My preferred rule of thumb is this: Always vote for the glass-eating clown.
I stand by this obtuse position.
(Just to clarify: This isan endorsement of electing possible alleged murder clowns. This is not an endorsement of Donald J. Trump–although I do wholeheartedly endorse him eating glass, if he so chooses.)
I’ve started posting game-like-narrative-thingies to Itch.io (as “SquiDaveo”—which is also my Twitter handle).Check out the first one, and share with pals if you like:
This is an Auvi-Q.It’s an epinephrine autoinjector—basically an EpiPen—so that folks with severe allergies to bees or shellfish or whatever don’t have to die suddenly.The neat thing about Auvi-Q: It talks!
(My boy has a pal with a couple severe allergies, and so said pal always comes with an autoinjector; this was what he was using a couple years back, when I made the video.)
Here’s the thing about epinephrine: It saves lives, it’s cheap as hell—the amount needed to save a life hardly costs a buck—and it can’t be patented, because it’s just nature’s way: Giving someone heading into anaphylactic shock an epinephrine shot is basically doing what the body would do on its own if it could, with the very stuff the body would use to do it.
But you can hardly expect a stranger in an emergency to whip out a syringe and a tiny bottle and not fuck things up.So the autoinjector (i.e., “EpiPen”—which you may have heard about for recently for some reason) is a legit and important product improvement.It ain’t a $500 improvement, but there’s definite value to an autoinjector, and the EpiPen is an excellent one.
Auvi-Q took the autoinjector one step further by making the device talk you through the process.And, when it came out, it was cheaper than the EpiPen (which, at the time, was midway through it’s moon-shot price hike, which drove a meteoric revenue boost for Mylan—the company selling EpiPens; check the graph).
I mostly thought to bring this up because it’s a neat business lesson:
Autoinjectors are a great product: The medicine itself isn’t a great product (it’s just sorta there, like water or yeast), but making it easier to administer is a great place to improve, and folks will gladly pay for that.
Auvi-Q was a fantastic product addressing a very real pain point: Normal humans often hesitate to even do the EpiPen thing, because they are terrified of fucking up. People with EpiPens die because no one has the presence of mind and confidence to juice them in time.Lowering the “threshold resistance” is always a place to make a dime.
It’s a great example of the Free Market at work: Just as the Free Market first brought us EpiPen (you can’t patent the drug, but you can patent the delivery method), it then brought us the Auvi-Q (you can’t compete on efficacy, but you can on packaging and price).
But then the “EpiPencil“—a $30 DIY EpiPen workalike—hit the news feeds, and I thought it was worthwhile to point out one last lesson in the product arc of Auvi-Q:
Auvi-Q—a product that was both cheaper and, by some measures, better than EpiPen—was recalled in 2015 because it wasn’t reliable dosing people at the right level—which can be deadly.
The point being: A problem can be well defined, its solution known and well understood, and yet implementation on scale can still be an absolute clusterfuck.
Which is why EpiPencil worries the fuck out of me. Does it work for the dude giving the instructions? Maybe; I have no clue. Probably. But will it work for millions upon millions of people with diverse biologies in diverse settings having suffered diverse misshaps? Fantastically unfuckinglikely.
Please don’t leave your kids’ survival up to a self-declared DIY Internet doctor (who is, in fact a PhD mathemetician).
I don’t know what to think of this. It starts out feeling pretty cheap and emotionally manipulative, but I think it’s ultimately a sort of spot-on indictment of how we all—as Americans, left, right, and center—deeply buy into the Murder Business.
This takes a pretty wonderful turn at 5:30 (which shouldn’t be that surprising, given what we know of artistic formula—and especially my hobbyhorse: three-act with 45/45/10 distribution):
