He Who Plays With Fire

Like most adults my age, I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, some with more serious consequences than others.  One mistake I seem to keep making is accidently winding people up on social media.  It could be said that Twitter these days is little but shouting, abuse, trolling and agenda-pushing.  I try and avoid all that, but whereas those things seem to be de rigeur, one thing that seemingly is not allowed is my main mode of operation - irreverence.

Recently, a new beer blogger was asking for advice on how to go about their pastime.  "Beer blogging?" I thought "Do people actually still want to do that these days?  I thought it was all about meeting fellow dudes in awesome places and taking selfies to put on Instagram."  But it appears at least one person still thinks it's a viable thing to do these days.  Of course, I made my usual mistake and gave the facetious advice "Don't do what I did".  You'd think that saying not to piss people off all the time by making fun of them would be sensible advice.  But no.

Well, that was me told.  Maybe it's an autistic thing, but I simply do not get how people read stuff like this into what I say.  Enjoy being what I view as the voice of dissent?  I thought I just wrote what I thought and let people judge me on the basis of that, but the clue here is in the use of word "being".  It implies I'm "acting a role" here, that I've created a persona that allows me to annoy people by being deliberately contrarian.  As anyone who's ever met me will tell you, I express exactly the same opinions in real life as I do online, and in pretty much the same way too.  I don't possess the social wherewithall or energy to pretend to be someone I'm not.

And belittling the careers of her friends?  Well, I'm not exactly sure who said "friends" she refers to are, but I can take a good guess - the Awesome Dude Blog Brigade whom I regularly make fun of.  They're an easy target, admittedly, what with their view that anyone saying something in the beer world is less than rosy is being treasonous by "doing the industry down", and their marked preference for pressing emotional buttons over reporting facts.  But "belittling"?  They seem to be doing quite well to me, and I assume their blogs get far more hits than this farrago of nonsense does.  If the ADBB feel threatened by anything I say here, it says more about them than me.

After all, this isn't really about blogging in the old sense.  Eighteen years ago, when I started, everything in the blogosphere was metaphorically all fields.  People started them because they were interested in stuff and wanted to share their views and connect with other people.  But now, it's all become very careerist - the thing on display isn't the blog's subject or even the views expressed therein.  No, the product is the blogger themselves.  "Look at me! I can both network and compose coherent sentences! Hire me for paid gigs!".

And that's why they don't like irreverence.  People's futures are being "risked" by a subject being seen to be less than serious.  Anyone who doesn't take things seriously must be dismissed out of hand lest they say something other than the accepted truth of the hive mind.  And that's why I end up upsetting people, usually by accident.

I think I may have finally learned the lesson here - Do Not Engage The Awesome.

On Autism & People (Part 2 of 2)

(Part 1 here)

So, if my life and experiences are as I described in Part 1, then why do I do what I do?  Or, more specifically, the way I do it?

Blogging and Twitter are easy, and as such I've been doing them a long time. I sit alone and type. Easy, right?  Whereas sometimes the consequences of what I've written can be difficult, the actual act of getting the stuff out there isn't.  This is a way for me to put my point of view across, and if it wasn't there I doubt I would be able to do it.  This is where the stereotype of the "angry autistic" comes from - the inability to get what you think and feel across to other people. It builds and builds until it gets to the point where you explode in rage.  Even though I'm diagnosed as being more "high-functioning" (as the literature puts it), this does happen to me on occasion, though I usually try my best to remove myself from the situation before it becomes noticeable.  But in the main, I do very well at this, even though it may not come across that way.

Beer-related events I do fewer than I used to, mainly due to the energy required to do so.  Whereas most people, when put into a noisy and crowded situation with no obvious direction, can simply filter out the "unwanted" stuff and concentrate on the matter at hand, I can't do that.  I have to manually process everything around me, try to push the "unwanted" stuff to the back of my mind (where it still is, trying to get out), and work out what I'm supposed to do.  It's sometimes taken me half-an-hour just to get inside a building where an event is taking place. And once I'm inside, the whole process has to start again.

I know that some of you have seen me and introduced yourselves to me at various Beer Fests over the years (and let's face it, with how I usually dress I'm easy enough to spot).  Many people have seemed nonplussed when I look startled as they introduce themselves to me. This is because I'm still in the "processing" stage of trying to orient myself to the surroundings and I've just been given something unexpected to deal with in addition to this.  My conversational skills are not great in the most ideal of circumstances, so it's unlikely anyone's going to get a great deal from me.  I've been told that people are wary of me due to my "beer blogging's greatest monster" reputation and are surprised when I'm more anxious and less obnoxious than they've been lead to believe. All I can say is that, usually, things are rarely what people expect them to be.

I will never be able to be part of a "gang" or a "scene" or group of beer people charming their way into recognition and "fame" (such as it is in the beer world).  Networking isn't something I'm able to do, and this has probably hindered any progress I've made over the last 5 years or so.  I have to work with what I have.  And what I do have is the ability to see things in a different way to most people.

My autistic brain has no time for what it sees as "irrelevant" social details.  Whereas this can make me appear clumsy and rude, I can usually size people up fairly quickly, if for no other reason than they can't use their "preprogrammed" social interactions on me.  This, as you'd expect, has led me to feel a certain degree of cynicism about the human race. More specifically, about the massive gap between what people say they want and do, and what they do in reality.  Such is the mindset of the chronic piss-taker, and as such explains 80% of this blog.

Whereas I don't like arguments and conflict, I have no problem speaking my mind.  As someone who had great trouble communicating as a child and teenager, I now have a way to do it.  I would never wish my early life on anybody, but it has given me a certain set of skills in dealing with life.  Even if they seem bizarre or baffling to anyone else.

So, this is what being autistic is like for me.  I wouldn't dream of speaking for anyone else as all experiences are unique. But for all those who think I'm a "nutter", a "flake" or a "complete prick", this is why.

On Autism & People (Part 1 of 2)

In my initial preparation for this post, I asked around on Twitter about what people's perception of Autism Spectrum Disorders was.  Based on the answers I got, it seems to be either Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory, or cute little kids lining up coloured objects on the floor.  Not exactly accurate depictions, but at least people seem to have moved on from the whole Rain Man stereotype.

I'd say it's reasonably common knowledge to those who know me online that I've been diagnosed with an ASD (fairly late in my case, at 32 back in 2008).  Some have even sought to ascribe my alleged "dick" behaviour on it.  I'm not aware of having made such claims for myself - I may say and do things that others may not like, but I've never sought to "blame" it on Autism.

But obviously having an ASD does affect my life in some ways - so what are they?

I do prefer to spend a lot of my time alone. Dealing with people is awkward for me.  I'm better at it than I was twenty years ago, but there's an awful lot I'm still unable to understand.  It's not easy having to slowly and painfully work out the rules of social interaction as an adult that most people have completely mastered by the age of nine.  And I still get a lot wrong even now.

I learned long ago that saying the first thing you think of in reply to someone is usually a bad idea.  And having had many bad reactions from people having done this, I've learned a full range of facial expressions that (hopefully) are less likely to annoy and upset people.  I'm aware that this can make conversation with me unsatisfying, but believe me it's far easier than the alternative.

The pub is the ideal place to interact with people for me.  I barely know most of the people in them, and as such they have few expectations of me.  I've always found that if you get too close, people start telling you things about them that you'd rather not know.  One major characteristic of ASDs is an inability to deal with emotions in a "typical" way, and, although I know I should be expressing something emotional, I'm very rarely able to do it.  This presents more awkwardness as people think I'm ignorant or cold when I don't react in the way they expect me to.  So I avoid these things where ever possible. "Don't get involved" is my axiom.

Of course, contrary to popular perception, those with ASDs do have emotions.  We may not be able to deal with them "properly", but we do have them.  As a child, these mostly manifested themselves for me as temper tantrums, which got me a certain reputation at school and at home.  Looking back, a lot of these things were classic autistic behaviour, but children were rarely tested for ASDs in the 1980s.  I have a better handle on emotions now (as I should at 42), but there are still things that set me off.  The main one for me is being ignored, or unjustly accused of things.  I always react badly to that, which, after much thought on the matter, stems from my childhood where such things happened all to frequently.  That's caused me a lot of grief in the past, and has led me to falling out with people and refusing to go to places that have "wronged" me in some way.

If only I could handle stuff better, I often think to myself, these things wouldn't happen.  But, unfortunately, that's not the brain I've been given.  As many people with ASDs will say, Autism itself is not the problem - it's how the world reacts to it that's difficult.  In a social milieu that expects demonstrable empathy, expected reactions and mutual acknowledgement, being autistic is always going to be difficult.  But not blaming those with an ASD for not reacting in "expected" ways would be a start.

Dealing With Stuff

Easier

As I advance into my fifth decade, I know now part of getting old is realising and accepting that certain things will never happen to me.  I know now that I will never have dozens of friends, or be the life and soul of the party.  I'll never be highly-paid journalist with a bulging contacts book and I'll never be suave, socially sought-after man about town.  No, my various disorders and conditions have put paid to that.  I know now there are many things I'll never be capable of.

Such things as anxiety, depression and Asperger's are not really disabling in the sense they absolutely preclude doing anything.  But they do make things harder than they otherwise would be, and since they're "invisible", they rarely get you much sympathy unless they become completely and absolutely obvious.

Due to this, my pubgoing abilities are more limited that they otherwise would be.  I wouldn't be able to go to the Moorbrook on a day that North End are playing at home (I tell people that it'd take too long to get served, but really it's too crowded).  During a recent Meet The Brewer there, I had to leave when it proved more busy than expected (actually, I was found by someone hyperventilating against a wire fence, but never mind).  Had I been around during the "glory days" of the pub in the 1970s that Mudgie goes on about, I would probably have never gone to the pub at all.

This came up when people asked if I was going to IndyMan this year.  Quite apart from all the piss-taking I've doled out to the event over the last year, my previous experience of it was somewhat less than wonderful for me.  It's a long way to go and a lot of money to spend just to feel anxious in a public place.  I did look at all the photos on Twitter showing people having fun and felt a bit sad, but I knew that it wouldn't be the same to me.

I'm lucky in that my days off coincide with the quieter parts of the week.  There are less people to deal with, and less chance of my fumbling attempts at social interaction going badly wrong, which it frequently has.  Again, not really my fault, but try explaining that to those who know nothing about it.  So generally now, I sit on my own.  With electronic diversions, it's far less tedious than it used to be.

By this point, I'm sure you're wondering "Then why does he go out at all?".  Fairly easy to answer. If you have recurrent mental health problems, being stuck in the middle of the same walls, seeing the same things and listening to the same sounds over and over and over again, well, it does your head in, basically,  If you stay in your house too long, it's well documented that mood gradually lowers and you become isolated and less able to function in the world when it confronts you.

Oh dear. Not my best night

This "social muscle" needs to be exercised, but I have to be careful not to strain it.  My followers on Twitter have probably observed this,  If I've overloaded my capacity for human interaction for that week, I generally have a meltdown and curse the existence of everything.  It's then I declare a "people free day" and stay in.

It's a fine balance, and I frequently fall off.  Despite everything, I'm only human.  I get it wrong often, but I'm finding self-management easier than I did 20 years ago.  I can understand why people consider me a bit peculiar because I don't act in "expected" ways, but I generally find ways to defuse or avoid any difficulties.  Occasionally, I've got into real trouble (such as here), but probably no more than any other pubgoer, even if the reasons are different.

So, if you ever happen to be in Preston (or unlikelier places for me) and I'm on own in a corner in a pub with my tablet and a pint, I'm not setting out deliberately to ignore you, disconcert you or offend you.  I'm just doing what I can cope with at that moment.

And if you think any difference, then I'm sorry. For you, mainly.

Why?

Average scene in average pub

People often ask me why I'm such a miserable bastard who feels the need to mock everything and everybody, regardless of whether their intentions are good or bad. Usually I give a facetious answer about being History's Greatest Monster or that the world is stupid and I don't need to do anything but type what I see in front of me. But there are other reasons.

Throughout my life, and with forty years to go on I think I have a reasonable sample, I've been an outsider looking in, never been able to truly connect with other people. I once had an ex-girlfriend who admitted to me feeling the same, and she burst into tears afterwards.  I suppose it depends on how much you want to be connected with other people, really. Life has taught me that trying is usually a bad idea.

How you feel about things if you have Asperger's Syndrome is difficult to explain. The very nature of the condition precludes you being able to due to a trait called alexithymia - basically, an inability to identify and describe emotions. The way I always try to describe is that "normal" people have emotions like a box of loose rubber bands, and can take the appropriate band for each situation. An alexithymic, however, has the same amount of rubber bands but in a ball, all knotted together. And you can't do a thing with them.

Having the same amount of emotions, but no way to discharge them can be difficult.  A common way to deal with it is substance use, and this is quite probably the reason why I'm often found on the relevant end of a glass, bottle or can. It can, unfortunately, let too many emotions out at once, as those poor sods who used to be my Facebook friends can attest to. Perversely, the advantage of alexithymia is that the emotions become inaccessible again once you sober up. So all you have to do is delete the posts/tweets or whatever and carry on as normal.

"But Matthew," you say "If you find people and emotions so difficult, then why are you in the pub so often?".  You'd think such things were contradictory, yes, but they aren't really. In a pub, you don't interact with others on a particularly deep level.  You talk about the beer, the crap that's happened in town during the last week or even, God help you, the News. It's not the place for intimate emotional discussions, and it's all the better for it.  I can talk to strangers about pretty much anything, because I don't have to connect with them and most importantly, am not expected to.

This is why I don't go out with work colleagues. With them, you've already gone through the initial introductions and pointless chat, and have to talk about somnething else. And with most of them not being as experienced at drinking in public as me, inappropriate things can happen.

I have to see these people five days a week. I don't want to see them getting pissed and lairy.  I don't want to hear them bitching about someone once that person is out of earshot. I certainly don't want to know who exactly is shagging who. This is why I drink in pubs I know they'd never be seen in or even find.

I'm a single man, but I don't go to pubs to pick up women.  If I was going for that, I wouldn't go to the places I do, populated as they are by men over 50.  I'm past all that now. When I tell people I'll likely be single for the rest of my life, other people tell me it's a scary thing to think. No, putting all your trust in another person, with all it's emotional and financial implications, knowing they could betray you at any minute because something "better" comes along. No, that's scary.

For me, the whole "beer appreciation" thing is just a side effect of being in the pub, not, so I'm led to believe, the other way around as it is for most beer Blogger types. I can tell good from bad, but would doubtless fail every sensory test going.  I take the piss out of the whole scene because it's easy. Beer Fandom provides more than enough material for even the moderately talented satirist. I'll never make a penny out of it, but if it gives people some cheap laughs, then that's good enough for me.

I will always be distant from the rest of humanity. The beer smooths the rough edges off dealing with it. The Asperger's is with me for life, but thankfully the consequences aren't.

Do others need people. I don't.