captaincliff

Normally I only make fun of Florida, Georgia, and the great state of California for it’s liberal excesses and acceptance of ….everything.  Ask me another time about the lady in San Francisco who is a “Breatharian”, convinced she can live only on sunlight and water, like a potted plant or green shrub. She’s on the 38th day without food (which is REALLY nuts in SF because you can smell fresh brewed cappuccinos and garlic wafting in the air 24/7). Today, however I am inspired to turn my attention to Ohio.

If you read the news then you know that the great state of Ohio is not always great.
First of all, the place is teeming with serial killers, crazed sex offenders, and teenage abductors of every form and fashion (many of whom for some reason look alot like burned-out versions of Cheech or Chong) Still, I find it hard not to praise the place and its people for their tenacity, guts and can-do determination. I just dont want to end up hanging on a ceiling pulley in someones creepy basement on the outskirts of Cleveland for ten years plus. Personally I am no Breatharian. I need to eat…and I love garlic and cappuccinos.  Let me explain.

With a State economy that has transitioned over the years from a wealthy industrial
hub exporting steel and other essential manufactured goods to a hodge-podge of local
methamphetamine labs, pain clinics, hookers and massage parlors, Ohio’s economic “flexibility” and entrepreneurial ambition is to be lauded, especially if it doesnt lead to a rash of face-eating zombies wandering Ohio’s streets high on crack, bath salts and synthetic marijuana. My guess is, if it does, it will source back to a few out of work Dow research chemists and assorted enterprising potheads (with MBA’s)  in Akron or Toledo.

Admittedly, Ohio has struggled to define it’s more contemporary image and State brand.
In fact, they are yet to come up with a catchy advertising campaign or “logo” for both
their resident boosters and visitors alike. “Come to Cincinnati Where the Players Play and Usually End Up in Jail” seems too derivative (of Atlanta or LA) and doesnt get at the more charming and non-violent aspects of Ohio’s diverse and entrenched population. When I say entrenched I actually mean people so insular, xenophobic,
inbred, paranoid and subject to crackpot conspiracy theories (not to mention their sentimental old world mafia connections, excessive drinking, and love for their weapons arsenals) that the words “bunker”, “survival compound”, and “lunatic fringe group” are nearly synonymous with the Buckeye state. Well, that and people who are totally and completely nuts for their professional sports, since many of them manage to do literally everything including eat, sleep, poop, raise large exotic animals (that eventually turn on them and kill their owners, see below), tap-weld, wire home-made pipe bombs together and conduct open heart surgery (at the highly respected Cleveland Clinic) all while rooting for their favorite baseball and football teams. Keep in mind all the silly antics that recently occurred at Steubenville High School. Fun, football and gang rape are apparently king there. In fact, “fun and feisty” is a pretty good description for this heterogeneous populace that ranges from hard of hearing elderly with 12 guage shotguns to young urban street gangs….with 12 guage shotguns. However, fun and feisty drinkers who love having a good time (a “hoot”) while carrying live rounds in the chamber are almost always the type of human beings who will eventually appear on TruTV’s “World Dumbest Drinkers Without Fingers” episode….or be offered their own reality TV show.

Lastly, there is no greater praise to give than to those humble folks who manage to wed creative ingenuity with utility and practicality. Hence my uber-love of the TV show Modern Marvels. Ohio is home to some of the world’s greatest industrial innovations and must-have felony-crime accessories like “duck tape”. Seriously. They invented it. By the way, is it duct tape or duck tape and why wont anyone make up their mind definitively?

I am personally very grateful for the invention of duct tape since my many attempts at home remodeling have led to massive financial setbacks and engineering challenges that only duct tape could hold together (and obscure long enough for me to forget about engaging more permanent solutions). Does anyone else out there have exterior door trims and window sashes made entirely out of pink tape? I didn’t think so. Add to that cheap caulk from Big Lots and you have a unique as well as 100% synthetic home that even termites are not interested in. Anyway, I give final praise to Ohio for having the vision and the chutzpah to honor the makers of duct tape by sponsoring a colorful annual parade complete with duck tape floats and kids dressed entirely in…yes, duct tape. Unfortunately, the pervasive rumor that Jimmy Hoffa’s duct taped corpse had been dug up from under a Cincinnati football stadium just for the festival and parade has been discredited and apparently was merely a vain attempt on the part of Michigan, it’s jealous neighbor, to smear its primary rival. Michigan cant find Hoffa’s body either. Check out these local Ohio kids and their sticky-cool duck tape summer attire. Now that’s what I call wash and wear!

http://avon-oh.patch.com/groups/avon-heritage-duct-tape-festival/p/scenes-from-a-duct-tape-festival_b0878ed2

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/19/hoffa-search-jimmy-teamsters-oakland-twp-dig-ends-call-off_n_3466132.html?1371654819&ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009

http://on.aol.com/video/giant-mosquitoes-popping-up-in-central-florida-517813715?hp=1&playlist=127161&icid=maing-grid7%7Cmain5%7Cdl4%7Csec1_lnk3%26pLid%3D327174

Trigger Warning:  The following entry is not all positive and may trigger feelings of confusion and or anxiety. I’m not a black and white thinker. There are many shades of gray and final answers of “I dont really know.” I consider this blog to be a lot like everything else in my life, a narcissistic testament to my need to blab about different things and end up often (but not always) more right than wrong. Being right is a very pleasurable sensation and a boost to ones earthly ego (sorry Dalai Lama) but the fact that few people notice makes it even more ironic if not heroic and gives it just the right dash of existential futility. Of course being completely WRONG is usually a far better life lesson and karmic exercise, even tho I dont like to advertise that Cosmic fact…because it is truly humbling.

Picture any old movie or book where there is a sarcastic main character wise-cracking his way through some random hellish scenario, alone or with others, in outer space or just prior to the big shootout at the OK Corral. That approximates CaptCliff’s brand of sardonic humor and out-of-step fatalism. However, as we all know, it’s not cool to be overly negative or pessimistic nowadays. Conversely, it’s uber cool to splash perky inspirational messages and images of success (and superficiality) all over ones Facebook page and Twitter feed ….sort of like Jackson Pollock spilling a bucket of Big Pharma approved happy pills over a floor-sized canvas of red and black resin paint…. gooey Prozac gel-capsules and all. They appear to be absorbed and “blend in” but do such pithy affirmations really get to the bottom of our often complicated lives as human beings?

Dont get me wrong. I have tremendous faith, hope and optimism for and about many individuals.  I love children and dogs (and one or two cats), especially those animals that dont immediately go for the jugular vein or end up shaking me like a limp rag doll in their Jurassic Park-sized teeth. I love helping people, particularly young people by assisting them to open their beautiful starry eyes and realize (learn to trust) their unique passion and creative potential. In fact, I really enjoy seeing the art and artistry in nature, in found objects, in good food, and most of all in giving “birth”, so to speak, to anything and practically everything that still retains vestiges of it’s original innocence. On the other hand, I am a strong believer in realism (functional ego), ie. if you make friends with wild Grizzly Bears, ie., like Tim Treadwell, dont be surprised if they decide one day to eat you for lunch. We probably taste like chicken.

I also think there are a fair number of psychopathic-ish people (Grizzly Humans) pretending to be nice “productive citizens” while running shady businesses and bogus operations within large, corrupt, deeply entrenched bureaucratic systems. You know, little  organizations like the Federal government, the Vatican, almost every politician, Nigerian telemarketers, Wall Street bankers and investment “managers” , psychiatrists with hidden ties to pharmaceutical companies, the FDA, the CIA, MARTA, the SEC, etc. and probably a number of my own relatives alive and dead…..

While its difficult to separate the human wheat from the chaff,  here’s my rule of thumb: dont trust anyone who talks, walks, or peppers their speech with techno-aphorisms, fancy sounding acronyms, policy wonk drivel or grammatical short-cuts plagiarized from an IT manual, the Urban Dictionary, a short course on reverse mortgages and/or the DSM-4 or 5. That’s right. It’s even worse  in my field of psychotherapy that so many people (both professionals and clients) now so casually and colloquially assume that it’s healthy to wed mechanistic lingo with diagnostic categories meant only as preliminary typologies rather than lifelong disease ‘badges” confirming ones identity as  “bipolar2” or a “premature ejaculator”. Oh well, we have over-labeled and bastardized just about everything else in the world already. We’ve plumbed the depths of the known universe and still continue to kill each other with long pointy sticks, litter the beaches with plastic, Coke cans and cigarette butts, create new mindless/needless “survivor” competitions on TV and tear the heart and soul out of the coral reefs, the rain forest, daytime/nighttime entertainment (reality tv, really?), not to mention trivializing the really fun stuff like sex, food, and bowel movements (ratemypoo.com). Ok, I posted a photo there…once. It was ginormous! Truly, bigger is NOT always better. Just ask my ass.  Plus, we really dont need no more stinking “badges” or online rating systems to prove our beauty (ie, “Hot or Not”) or “worth” in this world.

And for all that hard work and social “progress” many of us still believe in ghosts, paranormal phenomena, televised searches for Sasquatch, the Loch Ness Monster and Jewish Mermaids, while simultaneously carrying on intimate-erotic web based relationships using other peoples identities and photo-shopped pictures. We therefore create and then tolerate facades of facades… of our facades. I guess we’re Catfish Culture now as well as Prozac Nation.  No worry, we can still remind each other to “get real” and remember our “true authentic self”, as if its a certain plastic wrapped nicely dry-cleaned garment hanging in a Kardashian-sized walk-in closet.

So sorry for the morning rant. It could just be my reflux GERD last night or the Pikachu nightmare I woke up with this morning (I accidentally left the TV on the Comedy Channel all nite) or it could just be the way our present culture, like really bad junk food, gives me a headache as well as horrible gas and bloating.  What is worse is the way all the popular food venues now advertise their 100% “green” practices, their corporate composting, recycling programs and fair-trade policies. Mostly they just rip us off by taking our money and telling us what we want to hear …and I’m not just talking about my pitiful looking Whopper, soggy Big Mac or “air-popped” french fries drenched in salt and preservatives (see Michael Douglas hamburger scene in “Falling Down”).

Of course all of this raises the dreaded “Matrix” question or “Total Recall” if you prefer (as I gulp a handful of colorful Tums): Do you think it’s better to remain “asleep” tied to the blood sucking brain-numbing digital/virtual Matrix? Or is it more of a nightmare to wake up in the middle of a day dream and realize the truth, that human life is relatively short and most people on the planet sweat and toil for survival like foraging animals or hamsters running on a big business/government controlled wheel/power grid. Oops, sorry about that massive oil leak in the Gulf, people!! Hey, c’mon back to Louisiana and Alabama!! Check out our new black sand beaches!!  We’ve got delicious three-headed shrimp and mutant sea birds! The albatross taste just like chicken!

Did I mention that BP’s cloying televised advertisements sicken me too?

I’m no George Carlin but he got it right. The planet will survive and eventually shake our species off like a minor case of fleas on an old hound dog. In the meantime let’s try to enjoy the fruit of our Froot-Loop culture. Speaking of irony, did you know there are now giant mosquitoes in Central Florida (as discussed in a previous blog, but see the very latest above) that are TWENTY times the size of the annoying pests already sucking the blood out of morbidly obese kids standing in line at Space Mountain in Orlando. They (the ginormous mosquitoes) look alarmingly like modern Stealth Fighters and they sting like, well, Stinger missiles. Don’t worry, Monsanto and Dow Chemical as well as the makers of the insect spray “Off” are currently working on a state-of-the-art repellant for the Godzilla mosquitos. Can I just call 1-800-BAD-DRUG now and get my “lump sum” settlement? Better they should create a Klingon “cloaking devise” so I can make myself disappear on command using some new cellphone app. I’m sure there is a super smart Millennial kid (and a greedy venture capitalist standing right behind him) working on it as we speak.

http://on.aol.com/video/giant-mosquitoes-popping-up-in-central-florida-517813715?hp=1&playlist=127161&icid=maing-grid7%7Cmain5%7Cdl4%7Csec1_lnk3%26pLid%3D327174

Falling Down Hamburger Scene:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJs9p-VNORw

I recently had the pleasure of staying at this unassuming and
longstanding (code for somewhat dumpy) hotel establishment near the Georgia Medical College campus. After a late arrival from Atlanta due to traffic congestion, I unsuccessfully attempted to use my
bogus travel agent credentials to obtain a reduced rate at two
crack-house type motels near Augusta's dilapidated downtown.

Besides the strong noxious smell of a local paper mill and/or a concentration camp/zombie crematorium burning nearby, I was struck by the general lack of any detectable urban development or progress in Augusta. The stores on Main Street are either shuttered,closed,or empty and there is an overall feeling of a distinct social dichotomy present, ie. "the haves and have nots" that permeates the downtown
and GMC campus area. Instead of modernizing, building and creating a walkable, safe and plentiful community, they appear more willing to change the names of the colleges repeatedly, add a bench at the Riverwalk or boldly open another Waffle House. If there is a middle class I think they have mostly moved to North Augusta just across the river in South Carolina and have hired Kurt Russell (dressed as Snake Plissken in the "Escape From ....." movies) to guard the interstate bridge and rest area with a shotgun, grenade launcher and pirate patch. 

Dont get me wrong, there are some quaint areas and unusually friendly people around. However, the (other) hotels late night desk clerks in matching wife-beaters and smelly looking jeans were not two of them. I much preferred the sleep-deprived guy with ADD at the Quality Inn. He was very nice, even tho he forgot my credit card and ID in the copy machine twice and almost slumped to the floor before handing me the room key. The room he chose for us was well-situated and right next to the fluorescent bulb lit vending machine room and laundry facility. If I was a meth addict or chocoholic with a major load of wash I might have really enjoyed an all-nite laundering session, but I was dog tired. Speaking of dogs, I think the bed might have had a few bed bugs or fleas, as I woke up  swollen and itching. I do realize this is a widespread and unusually difficult problem to solve and the Quality Inn may not have the technical means to totally eradicate such pesky pests. To be fair, the rooms were clean, very close to campus, and the tiny flat screen TV on the wall was serviceable. However I chose not to steal it because of its limited HD capacity and lower resolution.

In the morning we went to the lobby/lounge for the complimentary
breakfast. To be succinct, I would summarize by saying, “Stick with the waffles”. Im pretty sure the sausage patties were a form of human flesh possibly rendered and harvested from one of the nearby hospital morgues with some Jimmy Dean like flavoring added to fool those guests who are either gluten-free or not really into cannibalism. I know I am making this sound worse than it was. We didnt get robbed or raped on the premises or even at the so called “ghetto Kroger” closeby. I’ve heard we were lucky and it wasn’t a full moon, so the odds were in our favor.

All I'm saying is that the hotel is ok, yet probably unchanged since its inception. Augusta is the bigger problem. Clinical depression (as well as potash and various unnamed environmental pollutants) lay heavy in the air, and the police patrols in the area somewhat resemble a kinder, gentler version of South Africa during apartheid. I think they (Augustans) really need a billionaire with Trump-like vision and an inflated ego to adopt Augusta like a slightly smelly lemur at the zoo and make it be more than just a one golf "tournament town". By the way, the food sucked too.

“Usal has called a big one! Again, it is the legend!”  Dune (1984)

Previously on this blog I mentioned the new fast-acting FDA approved
pill for erectile problems called Stendra. The good news is that it is the fastest
horse out of the barn in the pharmaceutical arms race to make a flaccid penis
into a nuclear powered human warhead (less then 15 minutes). There is also
new data to show that Stendra is longer acting, as in helping men to achieve and
maintain a lab assisted boner even longer than Viagra. When I say “longer” I dont mean greater length in any permanent sense of the word. When THAT pill is produced I will let you all know….after trying it first myself to make sure it doesnt have any negative “Inspector Gadget” type side effects. Of course when it comes to “duration”
Cialis is the “King of Cock” and gold standard of erectile medication, remaining
bio-active for a period of 36 hours depending on dosage. Longer acting
prescriptions for ED problems or SSRI related side-effects can mean less anxiety
and mental planning needed for a dinner date versus complicated NASA  love-making launch. With the freedom to be more spontaneous, couples and particularly male sex
partners can consider a broader number of mutually satisfying choices,  including sexual intercourse during or after ones Caesar Salad and without a sneaky trip to the restroom  to gulp down a large blue pill with a glass of tepid drinking water from the sink.

What used to be young men and women in the ’80s snorting long white
lines of coke together in Manhattan discos and toilet stalls are now
Baby Boomers with ED swallowing prescription meds and using their cupped hands
to scoop water like primordial apes out of motion-activated chrome faucets, a hit
or miss proposition in and of itself.  I hate those faucets. They never work for me and I end up dancing back and forth along the row waving and flapping my hands like a fool. Please dont ask me about the time I mistook my Ambien sleeping pill for a Viagra in a romantically lit (dark as a cave) Italian restaurant in San Francisco. Let’s just say sleeping giants do not impress the ladies, with or without serious garlic and anchovy breath…..

The advent of avantafil (Stendra) makes possible much more casual and last minute
decision making, something a guy with ADHD and commitment issues particularly appreciates. Also, given the soaring prices and minimal insurance coverage of many
of the pharmaceutical prescription treatments for erectile problems (ie., “What the hell?
$12 a pill!! I’d rather have two shots of tequila and take my damn chances, etc.), it even
makes monetary sense as well as gamblers logic to be more selective and “count ones cards” as far as sex is concerned. That or take Cialis and be a “Ready Teddy” 24/7 or at least 24/7 in 36 hour increments.

If I have to find a fault with Stendra, it’s in the name. I cant help but call it Splenda on a few occasions, which has caused unnecessary confusion for more then one client. One guy whose name shall remain completely confidential due to strict HIPPA regulations and a possible pending lawsuit was carrying multiple packets of Splenda around with him for two weeks and wondering why he continued to be impotent as well as suffering from a near fatal case of sucralose breath. When I say fatal I mean about to have his loving spouse kick his ass for believing in CaptCliff/Dr. Cliff’s inspired folk remedies and medicinal quackery. There are far better names to give a new sexual medicine, even the unusually fast acting kind, like “Quicksilver Messenger Service” or maybe “Humongo”. Just what the heck are those pharmaceutical marketing executive geniuses with corporate Blackberries paid for anyway?

Dune Clip:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bj7R_2WWdKs

Heaven lies above us in our infancy!
But he, the growing boy, beholds the light and whence it flows
He sees it in his joy…
The youth who travels farther from the East
Still is nature’s priest.                                  William Wordsworth

One of my best friends is a 11 year old Jewish kid and former neighbor
named Bryce. That’s right. I’m a 59 year old semi-retired Clinical
Psychologist with a remodeling addiction and he’s a skinny kid with a
head full of bushy blond hair and sparkling big brown eyes bursting
with equal parts mischief, innocence and ADHD. I guess that’s
what we have in common, minus the bright eyes and child-like innocence.

I am, or was until recently, the slightly crazy but interesting empty-nest single
father and next-door neighbor who turned his backyard and basement into a Pirate ship
complete with cannons, poop deck and wheelhouse. Naturally Bryce, with his mother’s permission would  wander over to my house with its never-ending construction and hammering to ask, “What are you doing Cliff and can you make me a sword??” Normally, when I am in compulsive building and creativity mode I tell people to heave-ho and walk the plank, so to speak, but in Bryce’s case I always made an exception. I dont know what it was about the kid. I could tell that school wasn’t easy for him, making friends (or keeping them) wasn’t a breeze either and he talked so rapidly you needed a super computer to  keep up with him and translate his rapid fire speech and ricochet thoughts into slowed down english. If ADHD had a 1-10 scale this boychik would have scored a 10 and his fidgety-bounce off the walls behavior often matched his pin-ball wizard mind. Of course I’m ADHD too, so we were immediately bonded and a perfect match with only a measly half century age difference standing between us. Here’s the thing tho. If you really bothered to listen to what Bryce was saying and took the time to understand and process his wide-ranging observations about life, love, God and the universe, they were often startlingly precocious and spiritually deep. Some of the things he would say in an off-handed Tom Sawyer kind of way were definitely food for thought, and we would share ideas and mutual insights over juice boxes, soda and an occasional cookie. Sometimes I would have him go home and swipe us something good out his mother’s kitchen pantry because it was a virtual treasure chest full of goodies and after school treats, easily the best leftovers and cracker collection in the entire neighborhood. We pondered many things together and designed dozens of “inventions” on paper napkins, scraps of newpaper, and blocks of wood. For a short period of time he was a little crazy about catapults, for some reason, and I did my best to follow his Michaelangelo-like lead, unless it sounded downright dangerous.

All of that is mere character development for the dramatic conclusion
and main point. One thing I noticed early on about Bryce was his love
of music, his fearless falsetto singing voice, and a Jazz legend like
sense of timing that was always accompanied by very precise physical
movements like tapping his foot to the beat or slapping his hands on
his upper thigh to the musical score. I dont mean just good or ahead of his
years type musical aptitude. I mean like human metronome PERFECT timing
and toe-tapping. The kid that couldn’t sit still was a mop-haired pre-pubescent Beethoven!! I felt like I had somehow stumbled across a child prodigy or through sheer luck discovered the Beatles, a group we both share a great love and respect for. Since that time, less then a year ago, Bryce has been playing piano, composing his own music, and singing….in the Atlanta Boys Choir.

Tomorrow nite, May 3rd, 2013, I will have the extreme pleasure of seeing him sing a solo in ABC’s spring program at the Cathedral of St. Philip at 7:30 PM.  The spring concert under the direction of Maestro Fletcher Wolfe includes a selection of Cantor Charles Davidson’s moving musical piece, “I Never Saw Another Butterfly”. Cantor Davidson set to music some of the beautiful poetry that was written by child survivors of the notorious Theresienstadt concentration camp. Of over 150,000 children in the Nazi camp, only 150 survived. Bryce, my good friend, the co-creator of many catapults and the living embodiment of childhood hope, dreams, innocence and inspiration will step forward into the theater lights and sing his heart out, more than likely in perfect pitch. I may be ADHD and sometimes distracted, late or preoccupied, but this is ONE thing I wouldn’t miss for the world. In fact, I really think the world and our collective futures as creative and caring human beings fundamentally depends upon special people like Bryce.

Postscript:  I went…I saw……..I kvelled.  Getting to hear Bryce sing Shema Yisrael loud and proud in the beautiful Cathedral of St. Philip? Amazing. Seeing him dressed as a Pirate in the last act? Priceless.

Published in Atlanta Jewish Times: http://issuu.com/atlantajewishtimes/docs/0507_01_ajt_19_01_lr?utm_source=Digital+Issue+-+May+10th+2013&utm_campaign=Digital+Issue+-+May+3rd+&utm_medium=email

Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. is a Clinical Psychologist living in Sandy Springs, Georgia. He is crazy about Pirates and home remodeling.  Contact: 404-932-7193

Sometimes having ADD is more an exercise in mindlessness than mindfulness.
We ADDers and “pirate” type personalities have a wee tendency to get distracted and act on impulse. As a Clinical Psychologist who has worked with many at-risk kids and teenagers for over 30 years, you probably think I’m going to talk about how mindful meditation can help people with ADD become more focused and attentive. You might also speculate that mindfulness training would be a very useful adjunct and alternative to mass quantities of Adderall and wheelbarrows full of Ritalin in the treatment of the more dreaded form, ADHD (ADD with Hyperactivity).  Those unfamiliar with ADHD may have run across the full-blown disorder in some earlier life experience such as watching a 10 year old freckle faced cousin or nephew bounce off the walls after eating cake and Coca Cola at a family member’s funeral and then deciding to jump into the open casket with the deceased just to “see what it feels like”…. or something on that order.

In my case I only cut off a small section of my little sister Julie’s lower lip at age 12 while
attempting to recreate a Bozo’s circus act I saw that afternoon on TV. Well, maybe I also
engaged in a few other somewhat anti-social behaviors involving Twinkie wrappers and carving curse words into my nice new desk, the one I was supposed to be studying on.      I I swear I saw that exact desk being hauled away in a truck on a recent episode of Storage Wars. The point is that ADHD can be a bitch…often for other people as well as for the person with the problem. As far as we, the ADD-afflicted are concerned however, life is often a big “adventure” and an interesting blast, except when it comes to homework, socializing, and behavioral consequences, all of which are things we dont tend to specialize in, at least not early on. As I said before, we may be initially better at the “mindless” living in the moment part rather than the Zen-like mindfulness. Hindsight is always 20/20.

So what exactly is this mindfulness “thing”, anyway, besides a faddish new-age concept that is used by hipsters to promote and further legitimize their yoga, yogurt, and retractable awning businesses?

As usual there are multiple definitions that bear only a vague resemblance to each other depending on how you want to look at it and especially how shamelessly one want to pervert the core concept of mindfulness to further ones greedy, self-centered and/or
materialistic ambitions.

Before you accuse me of being too cynical allow me to 1) fully admit to being cynical
and sarcastic…boom, now whatcha gonna do? 2) acknowledge that being
mindful is probably still very good for most of us and is alot better than triggering
a world war on an angry or impulsive whim or mindlessly eating sleeves of fig newtons
with buckets of sweet tea very late at nite and 3) validate the fact that actual
scientific research demonstrates that practicing mindfulness improves ones
mental and physical health. When I say actual research I am referring to
the 5% of clinical studies that were NOT sponsored by large corporations or pharmaceutical companies who hire mafia hitmen and wealthy lobbyists to stand over the researchers (also known as primary investigators) and whisper into their nerdy  little ears, “This betta work, Einstein…we got big money into this”, etc.  Even if I am cynical I am quite capable of being semi-objective ……in a semi-impulsive way.

Here is one decent definition of mindfulness: “The first component [of
mindfulness] involves the self-regulation of attention so that it is
maintained on immediate experience, thereby allowing for increased
recognition of mental events in the present moment. The second
component involves adopting a particular orientation toward one’s
experiences in the present moment, an orientation that is characterized
by curiosity, openness, and acceptance”.  Personally I can do the
curiosity and openness part without a problem. Acceptance is somewhat
dependent on circumstances. For example if I witness a shooting or a fire
breaks out on an airplane I am on that is, let’s say, waiting to take-off, I will
not remain quietly seated, do deep Ayurvedic cleansing breaths, or accept the “reality” of the situation.

You can bet your butt that I will instead focus on the “flight
or flight” reflex in my brain and probably do both (fighting and
flighting) to get off the airplane alive.  If you ever want to see
a nearly 60 year old man with cervical arthritis scamper like a
professional athlete and leap like a gazelle, light a fire or smoke
bomb onboard a plane and watch me mindlessly vault over the first class
passengers busy drinking chardonney and eating freshly baked
cookies and then do a triple lutz somersault out the partially blocked
cabin door. Such is the human will to survive. Mindfulness, on the
other hand may not be so easy.  Physical survival however is most important.

The main problem for ADDers is that we fidget. Fidgeting is like a key
component and prerequisite skill in our large tool bag of useless
life skills. Sitting still for long lectures, yoga classes, Buddhism
seminars, and even cancer-causing 12 minute tanning sessions can be
excruciating. We just cant keep still. We go through life vibrating with
kinetic energy and yiddish “spilkas”. My son Ben, now a renowned medical
student at MCG and self proclaimed genius was once so fidgety as a child that
I actually witnessed him vibrate all of the metal screws and bolts out of his desk
until the doors fell right off.  I swear. I know he didnt use a screw driver
or do it as a teenaged prank because that would have taken too much time and
effort on his self-centered teenager part. It just happened over time and
due to the basic physics of ADHD. How can one be so accomplished and smart now
you might ask? Well, I never said you cant be a genius with ADHD. It’s just
you wont find people like my son (or me) earning a meditation certificate or sitting
Zazen at the Atlanta Zen center. Instead, we would probably be the ones kicked out of the silent retreat at the Jesuit Monastery. My other son Eli, at age 21 almost tore an arm off one of the standing cadavers at the “Bodies” exhibit at Atlantic Station because he couldn’t NOT touch it and of course wanted to check out  how “real” it felt.  That’s what I mean. We cant help ourselves and, in addition, we’re extremely aware and “mindful” of the hilarity that lurks everywhere in the known and unknown universe, and especially in Monty Python-like pious monasteries and taken much too serious yoga classes.

That brings me finally to the main topic. ADD people “see” humor and pathos in life’s
myriad forms……. We turn the world upside down, on it’s ear and then get a big kick out of expressing it. We sing it out, dance it out, write it out, sculpt it out, paint it out and especially act or mimic it out. That’s the kind of “therapy” I promote and support.

Many people call that creativity or theatrics, and it probably is, but it also is a necessary form of individual self-expression. Maybe our natural form of being “mindful” is to “mirror” what we see and turn it into an impromptu lyric opera, improv skit or solo comedy act. Dont get me wrong. Learning to focus and self-regulate ones attention is still a critical life skill we need. But it cant or shouldn’t be regulated by any one form, posture, blueprint or cookie cutter treatment. We’re too unique for that and like any good pirate worth his gold doubloons and interesting creative people everywhere, we are way more likely to fidget our way out of the box and color over the lines that others hold so dear. Arrrgh!

http://news.yahoo.com/got-science-pushing-back-against-corporate-counterfeit-science-203330743.html

I think I might finally understand the true meaning of ”On a clear day you can
see forever”.  I’m not talking about the Barbara Streisand version of the popular song which was a musical home run both on stage and movie screen. Instead I’m thinking about an idea this morning I want to call “extended empathy”.

What is it? It begins with the somewhat spiritual notion that of all the things we learn as human beings while we are so very busy in life extending empathy to others is the most useful and significant.

Having empathy and attempting to establish a heartfelt understanding is the very basis of our ability to connect, relate to and “love others as ourselves”. This often cited religious prescription is more easily said than done. The idea of loving others
as ourselves and having ongoing compassion makes intuitive sense to just about anyone who is not a flaming megalomaniac or psychopath by nature.

When we hear about renowned figures like Jesus Christ or the Dalai Lama we instantly recognize someone who is highly refined in their ability to love and experience deep compassion. In contrast, psychopaths deviate both physiologically and psychologically from the rest of humanity in their fundamental inability to feel empathy, love or compassion. If you dont believe me check out the newest research below. It’s the neuroscience of empathy and scientifically speaking its pretty hot stuff.

From an evolutionary perspective, recognizing pain in others and experiencing a sense of discomfort and sympathy toward people who are hurting is our hard-wired human inheritance. Furthermore, it is not a matter of what we have that other species lack. It is what many animals have that we have EXTENDED. Somehow, over millions of years, human beings have evolved both in a social sense and in our genetically enhanced and modified brains to feel mercy, pity, sympathy, forgiveness, empathy and love. At first, our basic instincts like lust and disgust were easy emotions to feel. Both are instinctive reactions, part of our reptilian brains early beginnings. Love was a more difficult concept to achieve. To feel love one must feel both bonded and fearful of losing the object of ones love and affection. That’s something a philosopher might call an inherent paradox. While the words I just said may seem complicated, contradictory or obtuse, the actual feeling of loving someone and being afraid to lose them is well known to any decent parent, poet or star-crossed lover with a beating heart.

Most people want to keep on living and naturally fear dying, but any truly loving father,
mother or Leo Decaprio- like Titanic lover knows who they would willingly
hand over their “life preserver” to without question. It is not just old school chivalry, a well trained parental reflex or some military code governed heroism involving brave soldiers diving on a live hand grenade to save their comrades. It is an empathically derived human response to loving someone so very much that they would give anything to insure their loved ones continued existence.

The real “drama” in such a heartfelt and stirring scenario is not the “Sophies Choice” like
conflict or emotional ambivalence one might feel but rather the bittersweet clarity that comes from knowing that we as both sentient beings and a life-affirming species can actually want to give that much of ourselves for the sake of a loved one. When human beings lose their individual or collective ability to be compassionate or when they begin to actually enjoy suffering in others or no longer feel any empathy for them they have not only lost the ability to love but have become the antithesis of what we were meant to develop. In addition, any “culture” in the past, present or future that promotes the opposite or espouses a reversal in such fundamental values and spiritual truths is not only “God-less” and barbaric but has truly turned to the “dark side” of human nature. Apocalypse Now, much?

Need another apt movie metaphor? Star Wars is not so much an action packed cinematic expression of computer enhanced graphics and science fiction fantasy as it is a rather simple but accurate portrayal of the dualistic “forces” of human nature which compel us to ”do or not do”, especially when it comes to choosing our primary principles to live by as well as how to best use our Jedi-like powers of humanity.

When we choose “wisely” and apply our full capacity for extended empathy, we are literally able to move mountains for the sake of goodness and love. If espousing a psychology of greater empathy and compassion over the dark forces of insensitivity, callousness, greed and socially approved psychopathy makes me a cultural “rebel”, a Pirate psychologist, or some kind of evolutionary revolutionary with a cause, then call me CaptCliff the arthritic Jedi Knight and Jewish Pirate. Arrrgh!

Homework Assignment: Name two graphic images (or people) that come to mind when you think of the idea of compassionate love and extended empathy. Jesus and the Dalai Lama dont count….They’re already taken.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/24/psychopath-brain-hardwiring-concern-for-others_n_3149856.html

Barbara Streisand belts it out of the park:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz5DLO8fclA

One of my faults as I writer is continually forgetting how to write for normal people. Before graduate school, before writing journal articles, and well before going into private practice I enjoyed writing (and reading) and never had to think about footnotes, bibliographies, scientific notations, and the so called APA (American Psychological Association) format used for academic papers, experiments, and theoretical investigations in the social sciences. After getting my Ph.D., my regular, “just Cliff”, creative writing and “storytelling” pretty much disappeared. It was sort of like a writer’s block but only worse because I couldn’t compose a sentence without reflexively citing a supporting body of research or seminal study, like (Bandura, 1969) or (Milgram,1968) or phrases like, “empirical studies are sparse” and “experimental control is lacking and statistical validity can be challenged based on several of the existing criterion variables…”.

Much of the blogging and writing I have done over the past few years is, therefore, a kind of rehabilitation for my creativity and spontaneous self-expression. I’m not sure if that’s exactly the same thing as what used to be called “right brain” writing but it definitely feels liberating. See, it’s happening right now where my “science mind” wants to cite new research in neuroscience that disputes the oversimplification of a right brain versus left brain dichotomy and that both hemispheres of the brain tend to signal and provide feedback to one another…. I refuse to cite a reference. Look it up yourself if you want to. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to make this “mea culpa” about my stubborn persistence to write again, not from my sometimes hyperactive sometimes dictatorial brain, but from my gut and soul. Whether anybody cares or reads what I write is up to you and involves another kind of personal exercise which is learning to be satisfied with myself and not needing external validation. Ok, well, maybe just a little bit….Either way, dont get me started about external validity!! Finally, I do enjoy making people laugh and hope someone gets a chuckle from my blog from time to time. When I force one of my three grown sons to read something I wrote, all I ever hear is crickets.  Chirp, chip……chirp.

Was the Boston Marathon “terrorist” also responsible for an unsolved triple murder in Waltham, Mass back in 2011?  Absolutely.

Use your laptop and a little psychology to connect the dots.

This is a no brainer. Look up the You Tube memorial to Brendan Mess, one of the murder victims. Look up his arrest record, look up the Waltham Patch article about the murders on 9/11/11 (duh), and connect the dots. Notice how a neighbor who also happens to have been a teacher at the private school one of the other victims (Weissman) and the Tsarnaev brothers attended is quoted in both articles back in 2011 and now after the Boston bombing. Of course he thought they were all “nice boys” because on the outside they appeared to be. The younger brother is a pothead. The older brother who was supposedly “deeply devoted” to his younger brother trained in martial arts and was close friends with Brendan Mess and knew the other two men who at the end of one 2011 article (below) suggested were local dope dealers.

My theory: The older brother got progressively radicalized and offed the three American “friends” both as a personal tribute to 9/11 as well as to send a message about their Westernized, secular, “depraved” dope dealing lifestyle to others (and possibly to his brother). The police’s previous conclusions that the murders were a “dope deal gone wrong” is completely wrong because drug dealers dont kill people and then leave all the money as well as the bodies covered in weed. That was a message. The psychology of a kind of practice terrorist act, a self-perceived “honor killing”, Jihadist violence (slitting throats and near beheading victims) , revenge, and a twisted sense of personal destiny to make up for a failed American dream (his uncle called him a loser) are together a pretty persuasive argument.

From the Waltham Patch : Police ID 3 victims in Waltham killings
Search continues for assailants

By Peter Schworm
Globe Staff / September 15, 2011

Authorities yesterday identified the victims of a triple slaying in
Waltham earlier this week, but provided no details on the search for
their assailants.

The men killed were Brendan Mess, 25, of Waltham; Erik Weissman, 31, of
Cambridge; and Raphael Teken, 37, of Cambridge, according to the
Middlesex district attorney’s office, which is investigating the deaths.

The men were killed at Mess’s apartment Monday afternoon. The other two
men did not live there. Authorities say the slayings were targeted, and
they are seeking one or more suspects. They are awaiting autopsy
results.

A woman whom neighbors identified as Mess’s girlfriend found the three
victims covered in blood around 2:30 p.m.

Residents of the quiet side street say that police have told them the
men had been stabbed and that the killings were drug-related.

Larry Aaronson, who taught Weissman at Cambridge Rindge & Latin School,
recalled him as a bright, well-liked student with an “enormous heart.’’

“He had such potential and was such a good soul,’’ he said. “He was
just a good friend to a lot of people. He was friends with all kinds of
kids, regardless of background. And that was what was important to him,
that network of friends.’’

In 2008, Weissman was charged with marijuana possession and intent to
distribute, according to a report. Police pulled Weissman over for
failing to yield and smelled marijuana smoke in the vehicle. When asked
about it, Weissman said, “I knew you would smell it,’’ and handed the
officer a brown paper bag filled with bags of marijuana, police said.

He also told police he had been previously arrested on charges of
marijuana possession and said he was carrying marijuana to share with
his friends.

Weissman’s family declined comment at their Cambridge home Tuesday
evening.

Beth Ladew, who went to high school with Weissman, said he had a great
appreciation for the arts and was an avid sports fan, especially
basketball. He was “extremely genuine,’’ she said, and had a
“contagious smile and easy laughter.’’

“I know he loved his family,’’ she said. “When he spoke of his younger
sister his face would light up.’’

Ladew said they had stayed in touch since high school, and she was
devastated by his death.

“I don’t know why this horrific crime happened, but it ended three
young lives too soon,’’ she said.

After Mess’s girlfriend discovered the bodies, she ran from the house
screaming.

Neighbors described Mess and his two roommates as quiet, nice people
who were a welcome change of pace from previous residents who often had
loud parties late into the evening.

Mess, who was active in martial arts, received a bachelor’s degree in
professional writing from Champlain College in 2008.

In 2010, Mess and another man were arrested on charges that they
assaulted several people at a store, according to a Cambridge police
log.

Teken lived in Waltham, and two neighbors who asked to remain anonymous
said they believed he was a drug dealer, saying he rarely left the
house and had a steady stream of visitors.

Testosterone: Man Medicine or Big Pharma Sex Scheme by Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.

I’m not great at math, but according to the TV commercial I just
watched, I may have little or no “natural” testosterone left in my aging
body. It mentioned something about how testosterone levels begin to go down
after age 30 and plummet after age 50. I mean who likes to hear you are very
possibly “half the man” you used to be? Does it really matter which half  is left?

After watching that particular commercial play over and over every 10 minutes, I was somewhat surprised I could even get out of bed, let alone brush my teeth
without assistance. Forget sexual desire, performance, libido, skin tone, vitality,
or anything vaguely masculine or muscular in nature. Without these new
medicines I am apparently doomed within five years to turn into some kind of gelatinous
blob with reproductive organs as useless as a vestigial tailbone or micro-penis
…..and a rather small one at that. The testosterone containing product called AndroGel
can be rubbed on your body or used under your arms, but instead of having a
pleasant anti-perspirant effect and smelling like tropical fruit, lavender and lace,
you wake up with large pectoral muscles, flat abs, and the desire to
copulate with anything that moves. Of course there are a few untoward negative
side effects like instant prostate cancer, acne, hairy palms, and if by chance
your five or six year old daughter or grandkid happens to get a hold of the stuff accidentally she could reach puberty and become a moody, angry teenager
with bad acne overnite. That would really suck. Why cant I just rub it on my
bald head or why cant I look like that 65 year old guy in the Sky Mall
magazine who has the body of Lou Ferrigno and the head of Dick Cheney?
Actually never mind about that. I wouldn’t want to have the man stuff  go to
my head and end up starting another hair-brained war on foreign soil. We cant even afford the current ones and those countries are filled with guys high on natural testosterone and adrenaline.

At my age, I admit it’s tempting to consider trying the herbal or
pharmaceutical Macho Man medicine. Still, one has to be circumspect about
anything that offers instant solutions to complex problems. I remember
the first time I received a test sample of Viagra from Pfizer as a
special promotion to certain sex therapists. I felt it my obligation
to administer it to myself as the initial guinea pig before recommending
it to others in my private practice. My physical reaction after twenty
minutes exceeded my clinical expectations. In fact I was so impressed I
became somewhat giddy and “swollen” with false pride and power. I
vaguely remember calling my internist, Dr. Kraus and telling him I
“felt like a God” (probably the Roman God Priapus) and that if he
didn’t hear from me in four hours not to worry because I definitely
would NOT be seeking medical assistance. Who would predict that
women clients would later complain to their therapists about their
formerly flaccid male partners who were now relentless werewolf-like
creatures seeking sexual gratification “too often” and interfering
with their exhausted spouses need for rest and uninterrupted sleep.

True, I dont feel so very manly lately and the guy in the mirror seems
more great grandpa than great Gatsby. The mere idea of something that
turns back the hands of time and allows one to relive long ago feelings
of youthful vitality and verve (not to mention intact cognitions and normal
memory) are understandable. Maybe I should first get back to the gym
and the treadmill I’ve been avoiding for two weeks, throw out the loaf of white
bread I got on sale at Krogers, and actually practice engaging in the so-called
“healthy lifestyle” I advise others to establish. Maybe then it wont take
me so long to bend down to pick up the toast crumbs on the kitchen floor and I wont have worry about having hairy hands and hirsute palms, or at least any more then they already are. But that’s a whole ‘nother story……….By the way, I still have a office drawer full of herbal pills and Chinese remedies containing Horny Goat Weed that various manufacturers and entrepreneurs  sent me as free samples if anyones interested.

Roman God Priapus or ancient design for robe/toga hook:   http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/Mercurius-Priapus_MAN_Napoli_SN.jpg&imgrefurl=http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mercurius-Priapus_MAN_Napoli_SN.jpg&h=3159&w=3500&sz=10240&tbnid=XeuNXo2ut9HryM:&tbnh=90&tbnw=100&prev=/search%3Fq%3DPriapus,wiki%26tbm%3Disch%26tbo%3Du&zoom=1&q=Priapus,wiki&usg=__xmCAuwcPEhHKL6PDx17J49w50mo=&sa=X&ei=rPRuUdmWM4e08QTfwIHgBA&ved=0CDgQ9QEwCA