A few years ago, when my mother's sister turned 90, her children made a wonderful (and hilarious) DVD about her life. My mother won't hit the big 9-0 until next October, but I don't think it would be tempting fate too far to start planning now how to mark it - especially as I have an idea that will match my brother's vast musical gifts with my own trifling knack for words. In short, I think there's room in this wide world for a pop video to the tune of Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" with the chorus "Hey Nonny Nonny Nonny Nonagenarian" - featuring her friends, a mouth organ and a consort of viols. Can you tell me I'm wrong?
In lieu of anything more substantial of my own, here via lnhammer is a wonderful reading of DSM V as a dystopian novel. Sample passage:
If there is a normality here, it’s a state of near-catatonia. DSM-5 seems to have no definition of happiness other than the absence of suffering. The normal individual in this book is tranquilized and bovine-eyed, mutely accepting everything in a sometimes painful world without ever feeling much in the way of anything about it. The vast absurd excesses of passion that form the raw matter of art, literature, love, and humanity are too distressing; it’s easier to stop being human altogether, to simply plod on as a heaped collection of diagnoses with a body vaguely attached.
The DSM has always struck me as being at least as much about social engineering and insurance as about medicine, and I've often toyed with writing a post explaining my various gripes with it. I no longer think I need to bother.