DANNY Detail

I'd always been long fascinated by Ganymede, the teenager who was kidnapped by Zeus to serve as his cupbearer on Olympus. Zeus sees Ganymede on the earth below, decides he's the coolest kid ever, changes into an eagle, and snatches Ganymede up to Olympus.  Zeus then persuades Hebe to make Ganymede immortal, then dumps Hebe as his cupbearer and gives that exhalted position to Ganymede.

Only two and a half stories about Ganymede have survived--the story of his kidnapping, a mention in the Iliad about
Zeus giving Ganymede's father Tros a set of horses in payment for the loss of his son (that's the half), and a story in which Ganymede plays a game of dice against Eros, loses, and gets mad at him.  That's it.  Nothing else.  But there are lots and lots and lots of painting and sculptures from ancient Greece depicting Ganymede, and it seems very likely that Ganymede was more popular than just two and half stories would indicate, and I always wondered what else he might have been up to.

When I got older and read the actual material instead of the summaries and children's versions, I learned that Ganymede was more than Zeus's cupbearer.  Zeus also took Ganymede to his bed. This was part of Greek culture--a powerful man would often serve as a mentor/teacher/second father/love interest to a teenaged male. Usually the parents went along with this: "Good news, son! Your uncle has offered to be your mentor!  His wine business is doing well, and he still remembers his sword work. We're so happy!"  So Ganymede a mythological paralllel to this mortal custom.

The stories, however, never went into what it was like.  What was it LIKE for Ganymede to be snatched away from his family and friends and suddenly make into the cupbearer and lover of the king of gods?  You have the ultimate mentor, but it wasn't anything you'd asked for.  Your culture teaches you that being taken to this guy's bed is a good thing, or at least something you can put up with because all of us men went through it, but how do you =really= handle it?  (Unlike our culture, which treats sexual assault victims as lepers, Greeks saw this kind of thing as normal and acceptable and not at all shameful.  And yet . . . )

The only way to find out what it was like was to write it myself.  The trouble was the setting.  Did I want to write ancient Greece and writing a straighforward fantasy novel, or could I get away with this in a modern setting and using characters who were parallels to the myth?

Ultimately, I settled on using both, and DANNY was born.  And . . . wow.  It was a p[owerful and difficult and heart-pounding book to write in all kinds of ways I never expected.

It's available at Book View Cafe and at Amazon.

The Idiocy of the Social Security Office

We can't find Aran's social security card.  We needed it in order to apply for his driver's license and/or a free state ID. The Secrtary of State's office is very firm on this point.

Sighing, I looked up on-line what we needed to get him a new one, and the SS web site said he needed to show a photo ID such as a driver's license or passport. Birth certificates were specifically disallowed.  If you didn't have a photo ID, you could show somehting else that the office liked, such as a employee ID card, a school ID card, a health insurance card, or a military ID. Originals only, please--no copies--and they prefer you do it by mail.

Aran has no passport. He's never worked.  He doesn't have his license yet. He hasn't served in the military.  He has insurance in my name, not his.  The only thing he has is his high school ID card.  I mailed that and the application form to the SS office in Pontiac.

A week later, they mailed it back with a rejection form saying they won't accept a student ID card.  Even though it clearly says on their web site that they take a student ID card.

I put Aran in the car with a mess of supporting documents--his student ID, his birth certificate, a tax form listing him as a dependent--and drove up to the SS office in Pontiac, which took 40 minutes.  When we arrived, we waiting in line for 40 more minutes.  At last we got to see and functionary, and I explained to him the situation.  "The application was rejected, but the web site says you take a student ID," I said.  "Here's his ID."

"We can't take a student ID," the functionary said flatly.  He was a dark-haired man with horn-rimmed glasses and a hard mouth.

"But your web site says you can," I replied.

"Nope.  We can't."

"What can you accept, then?" I said.

"We can accept a driver's license, passport, or military ID," he said shortly.

"My son can't get a driver's license without a social security card," I said.  "And now you're telling me he can't get a social security card without a driver's license."

"Yes," he said.  It was clear he wanted me to leave.

I didn't move.  "This can't be right," I said.  "You can't tell me he can't get either thing without--"

"You can open a MySSI account," he said. "There are kiosks up front.  Then you can print out a letter that says you've applied for a social security card. The Secretary of State will accept that in place of a social security card."

"I tried applying for a MySSI account for him already," I said.  This was true--I'd done it months ago.  "It wouldn't accept his information.  I have an appointment later to deal with that problem."

"Once you've tried MySSI, you can apply for a driver's license."

"I can't try for MySSI."

"Use the kiosks up front and try again." He stacked some papers.  "That's all I can tell you."

I pressed him further, but he wouldn't budge on the issue.  Growling and snarling, I left his desk and went to the kiosks with Aran in tow. I filled in the information for a MySSI account, and as I expected, the computer rejected our attempt.  After three attempts, it locked us out.

A woman was working at the kiosk area, so I flagged her.  She unlocked the kiosk and we tried again with her watching.  Still didn't work.  "Does he have a work history?" she asked, and I said Aran didn't.  "That's the problem. With no work history, he isn't in this system, so he can't get an account started."

Barely keeping my voice steady, I explained to her the situation.  "How do we get a card?" I finished.

"Here's what you do," she said.  "Get a copy of his latest visit from his doctor and send that in to us. We'll accept that."

On the way home, we had to pass the doctor's office, so I stopped in and got a printout of Aran's most recent doctor visit.  I mailed it in along with a new form.

Meanwhile, Aran's appointment for SSI benefits came up.  See, as an autist, Aran qualifies for disability benefits, including rent subsidies, food stamps, and a monthly stipend.  Once again, we drove up to Pontiac. Since we had an appointment this time, we didn't have to wait.

The caseworker this time was a younger man, nicer-looking and more pleasant.  We went through the initial SSI application process with no troubles.  I gave him a copy of Aran's birth certficate (which they required this time) and a copy of both his IEP and a letter from his therapist certifiying he's autistic.  When we were done, the caseworker asked, "Is there anything else you need?"

Naturally, I asked about the social security card.  "Does Aran have a driver's license?" the caseworker asked.

"No," I said.

"How about a student ID?" asked the caseworker.

Aran showed his student ID.  The caseworker glanced at it, clicked around on his computer, gave us a printout that said we'd applied for a card, and said, "There! You should get a new card in about a week."

You have to be fucking kidding me.

So clearly your abiliy to get a card rests solely on which functionary you get that day.

But wait--there's more.  Today in the mail Aran got two letters.  The first was a letter from the social security office. It said they were rejecting his application for a new card because a doctor's record was not acceptable ID.  The second letter was his social security card.