Creative Approaches to Stress Reduction: You’re Full of Shit Day

Posted on February 20, 2013 by captaincliff

Creative Approaches to Stress Reduction: You’re Full of Shit Day 

by Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.

I’m sure we all agree that too much stress is a major problem in society. The human body is basically like a big pressure cooker and our beating hearts are electrical pumps that keep it all running smoothly. Every time we get mad, anxious, over-excited or frustrated there is an undeniable increase in blood pressure which is not heart healthy over time, particularly if you happen to be a fat slob who never exercises and shovels junk food in your mouth constantly.
Many respected scholars, spiritual leaders and self-help personalities like the Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra, Richard Simmons, and Suzanne Somers remind us that we need to keep our stress to a minimum and maintain a positive and cheerful disposition. However, most of these same people have millions of dollars if not millions of twitter followers… not to mention personal assistants with very mellow auras who rub their feet and tell them how wonderful they are. It’s good to be the King or the 14th reincarnation of somebody Holy in Tibet, and its even better if you’ve managed to “manifest” a beachfront house in Maui, like Wayne Dyer. It’s hard to not feel jealousy and envy about that.

The problem for the rest of us is daily frustration and having to constantly repress feelings of murderous rage which is quite normal and human. It’s not good to run around shooting people but its also not healthy holding it all in 24/7 and self-medicating over our natural inclination and savage animal nature. Let’s be honest, anthropology and genetics have shown we are only half a chromosome away from being Travis the 200 lb. maniac chimp who went insane and had a lifelong predilection for cheap box wine, bars of Xanax, and mutilating innocent people carrying birthday cakes and stuffed animals. We read about horrendous mass murders occurring practically every day now, which is very stressful, but rarely think to ourselves, “Hey, that could have been me… if I had a full-body SWAT uniform hanging in my closet and several fully loaded assault rifles in my car trunk”.
We all have bad days but the stress can really pile up. For example, have you ever stood in line at Publix pharmacy or the bank or grocery store and overheard conversations between random people and the dedicated employees who have to serve them? The term “grin and bear it” has to have been invented for all the working people of the world who after listening to someone kvetch, complain, and completely make shit up are bound by their ethics, their sense of professionalism and their “oath of office” (otherwise known as their boss’s boss and their fear of losing their health insurance if they get fired) to keep smiling and say things like, “I’m so sorry we have no record of that” and “Of course, I’ll see what I can do. I’m so terribly sorry for the misunderstanding.”  You dont have to be a psychologist or have x-ray eyes to see that these customers are sometimes completely wrong, screwy, missing a lugnut, and/or trying to manipulate the situation to their advantage. How can I be so sure you ask? I’m sure because I am sometimes the manipulative lugnut screwball customer who had a bad day and decided to suddenly feel “outraged” that my blood pressure prescription wasn’t ready or became “indignant and offended” that the waitress forgot to bring a lemon slice like I clearly requested in my (free) glass of water.
Ok, so you get the picture. There is a balance to be achieved here. You may now be thinking I’m going to suggest we all take deep yoga breaths, calm down and treat one another with love and respect. Forget that. That takes alot of work and might even expend calories having to learn certain painful body postures, ancient breathing techniques and mind clearing exercises. Personally, I’m a little afraid to clear my mind completely. It might not come back… sort of like my last HP laptop computer. Some of that was my fault for looking at dirty pictures and videos that clearly were carrying Trojan Horse viruses, Russian malware and virtual STD’s so virulent I actually heard my computer cough and wheeze before it flashed the blue screen of death.
No, instead of calming down and taking a Lamaze classes or shlepping in traffic to introductory Buddhism lectures (again), I propose we have one day a month called,“You’re Full of Shit” Day. On this day, all public servants and company employees across this great nation are allowed to turn on their customers, their clients and bosses and totally let them have it….verbally I mean. After listening quietly to their over demanding half crazy drivel they are allowed to flip out and say things like, “Right, your SO full of crap, Mr. Weinstein! The pharmacy message machine you refer to does NOT give the kind of personal information or prescription specific data you mentioned. You are either lying like a crack whore or you are crazy and need Haldol to go with your Metamucil!! It’s not our fault you cant take a crap and are getting old!”    Wow, wouldn’t that feel good? What about being able to tell your BOSS or direct supervisor once a month what a giant asswipe and fool he is and how he is so SO annoying the way he eats with his mouth open and spits little pieces of ham sandwich out when he talks and pontificates!!  Talk about stress reduction and emotional catharsis!!! Go ahead, “visualize” it……You’ll feel a little better already.
Dont get me wrong. I’m not saying this would be a good idea or therapeutic exercise every single day. It might lead to complete anarchy, lawlessness and the kind of atavistic “Lord of the Flies” type behavior that occurs daily in the United States Congress and among floor traders at the NYSE and Chicago Mercantile Exchange. That’s just a human mosh pit with people wearing suits and waving paper instead of shiny gladiator outfits and carrying trident pitchforks. I’m just saying there should be a day of emotional “amnesty” when you, me, and even our kids are free to tell the “emperor” that he/she wears no clothes and is full of ca-ca. Wait, my kids already do that…. Nevermind that last part. Do I even need to mention AGAIN no guns, no knives and no hand-made nunchucks?


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CaptCliff on Kvetchers: A Pirate-anical Public Service and For Profit Business

Posted on February 19, 2013 by captaincliff

 

Kvetchers: The Business of Getting Things Done   by Cliff Mazer, Ph.D., aka CaptCliff
A Pirate-anical approach to helping people. We’re a little like the pros on Hoarders but we carry swords and curse occasionally (sometimes in Yiddish).

 

Self-Test:

1) Has anyone ever referred to you fondly as a “big mess”?                                   Y/N
2) Do you have piles of papers like reproducing ant hills in your home?            Y/N
3) Do you sometimes wish you could cordon off or condemn parts of your own house?     Y/N
4) Do you have unfinished, unread, or untouched  ”To Do” lists in various places?              Y/N
5) Do you ever watch Hoarders and think, “Well at least I’m not THAT bad!”                      Y/N
6) Do you have the same crap in your car from over a year ago?                                              Y/N
7) Are you full of shit about things you say you are going to do but dont?                              Y/N
If you answered Yes to three or more questions you need to get Kvetched.

kvetch

intransitive verb \ˈkvech, ˈkfech\

Definition of KVETCH

: to complain habitually : gripe
— kvetch·er noun

Examples of KVETCH

  1. They’re always kvetching about something.

Origin of KVETCH

Yiddish kvetshn, literally, to squeeze, pinch, from Middle High German quetschen

First Known Use: circa 1952

Related to KVETCH

Synonyms
beef, bellyache, bitch, bleat, carp, caterwaul, crab, croak,fuss, gripe, grizzle, grouch, grouse, growl, grumble,grump, holler, inveigh, keen, kick, complain, maunder[chiefly British], moan, murmur, mutter, nag, repine,scream, squawk, squeal, wail, whimper, whine, whinge[British], yammer, yawp (or yaup), yowl
Antonyms
crow, delight, rejoice

Idea: Kvetchers: A website, a phone service and a private pay consultation business with the intention of helping people get anything done

Motto: Pay a little. Get Alot Done

Introduction:  I used to get paid a substantial amount of money as a Clinical Psychologist and licensed psychotherapist to listen to people express themselves and their feelings but not necessarily change their behavior or get anything done. After a while I started to feel sort of like an emotional prostitute. They paid me and I helped them not feel so bad…sometimes about not getting off their ass and making necessary changes in their lives. A common complaint of many clients had to do with their loss of motivation and failure to keep up with life tasks. Ironically I have ADHD myself and have many areas of my own life where I tend to procrastinate, put off, avoid, and not finish what I started. It became clear to me that without accountability (to another person) or consequences, I wasn’t likely to change. I wanted to…I really did, but there just wasn’t anyone smart enough, dogged enough, skilled enough, or forceful enough to get me actually off the dime.  Some of the things I wanted to do I actually needed help with to figure out (the problem and the solution) and many other things were written off as unfinished due to pure laziness on my part. Being somewhat rebellious and independent minded, I even avoided taking the initiative to get another persons input, help and/or consultation. Anytime I did happen to get over myself and hired someone, no matter what the task might be, I noticed I made considerable progress. Kvetchers takes this idea a step further by having trained staff both on call by phone, by Skype and in person who know how to be both understanding and supportive but also smart and strong enough to assist clients to overcome their psychological and physical inertia and cross the “finish line”. Tasks to be prioritized and completed are individually determined, no matter if it is a professional resume, a job application, a yard clean up, a bathroom remodel, a house painting, a tax return, a telephone call to Comcast, a car repair, a cat declawing, a dog neutering, a husband’s vasectomy, a psychiatrist appointment, or at worst… ripping useless bits of trash and junk out of the hands of crazy obsessive people and driving it away in a truck faster than they, the client, can run. It doesn’t matter what it is. We all have something we havent gotten done and we KNOW we should do it, but just dont. Many people end up feeling horrible about not taking care of simple tasks or have unfinished symphonies that end up languishing like a dried up ficus tree in the corner of the master bedroom or a 2009 State income tax return under a pile of papers that we defend ferociously against all intruders (or our loving partner’s preying eyes) as if it were radioactive, ie. “Dont touch that pile!  I have it all in a very particular order!!”  That’s the thing. We arent like the certified addictionologists, OCD experts and  specialized Ph.D. therapists on TV (yeah, I got one of those too…). We realize that alot of times its the small little things that matter and you dont have to have a house full of cat feces, cardboard boxes and expired food items to feel crappy about it. We’ve got your number and we know how you roll. Most of all, we want you to succeed and get it done. We dont need to talk to your well meaning but enabling family members, angry or shell-shocked spouses, or acting out teenagers. We are here for you and hired by you to get something done…completely done. Period. Correction: You get it done and we professionally kvetch until you do it.

 

There are four critical steps to the Kvetchers approach (see Kvetchers training manual and website) that acknowledge the problem and shared humanity in being individuals afflicted with the procrastination plague. We recognize how and why people make “To Do” lists on little scraps of paper and then typically NEVER get them done….and then lose the scraps.  Rather than feeling bad about it we help people move quickly through the four stages of treatment for their particular Kvetching Disorder:

1)  PERMISSION: being allowed to freely kvetch, complain and make illogical and irrational excuses.  Then being made fully aware that kvetching (by the minute) will cost you money and burn zero calories and not get a damn thing accomplished… kind of like Freudian Psychoanalysis  and people who “think” about working out…
2) ADMITTING our Powerlessness (by ourselves) to get things done, to make meticulous lists of reasonable tasks to accomplish, do them, and then cross them off the list with rainbow colored Sharpies like highly organized and motivated individuals….not.
3) ACCEPTING professional help in any and all areas of human need and functioning to establish, craft and organize lists of undone behaviors, discrete goals and tasks and then be cajoled, supported, humored, beaten, kvetched at and reinforced like a puppy dog with a big pig’s ear to get it done…
4) PAYING FOR IT: While most people would think “follow-up” is the most important and final dimension of such a labor-intensive human service business, they are wrong. The most important part is getting paid for having the skill and finesse to get normally lazy, irresponsible, sneaky and avoidant people of all races, creeds and colors to cross the finish-line and feel like a champ. Go ahead, do the Dirty Bird or any silly touchdown dance you want because you deserve the special feeling (see above antonym words, ie. crow, delight, rejoice, etc.) that goes with actual completion and closure and we, the Kvetchers team deserve to get the Benjamins and then get out of Dodge. It’s more fun being the Lone Ranger, Zorro, or Mighty Mouse than it is having to stick around and watch people remake a huge mess, like for example the ones in Iraq and Afghanistan……. Hopefully our clients learned something and wont do it again, but hey, if they do, that’s on them and they’ve got our number. P.S. We sometimes cleverly have clients write out a check to people and organizations they hate with a passion and would rather paint the garage then have us ever mail it, ie. the American Nazi Party, Neo-Cons for Cheney in 2016, Casey Anthony is Innocent.com, etc.
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CaptCliff on Tavi Gevinson’s David Sedaris Interview

Posted on February 18, 2013 by captaincliff

 

Token Older Guy Response to Tavi’s David Sedaris Interview in  rookiemag.com:

 

I got some news for you, Tavi. David Sadaris, who is admittedly a very funny man and talented writer is not really that old. I realize to you guys (the rookie staff and readers) he’s absolutely ancient, as in the Ancient Mariner. That was an old poem the english teachers used to make us read in high school. I’m guessing both David and Amy and the entire Sedaris clan remember that. Even back then most of us just read the Cliff Notes. It was what they used to call “long and ponderous”. Sadaris, who happens to be one of my favorite writers is the exact opposite, He’s quick, witty, hilarious, and completely transparent. You dont have to sit around wondering what the albatross hanging around his neck might mean metaphorically. With David Sedaris you just know, and it makes you laugh. One thing he is not, however is old. In fact he’s three years younger than I am and he actually looks to be only about 40 or maybe 45 years old thanks to photoshop and very clever plastic surgery probably performed in Los Angeles or Beverly Hills, California.

 

In California you can really only get two kinds of cosmetic surgery. One kind is extremely subtle and refined, with almost no scars visible. The other kind makes you look like a space alien with permanently swollen lips and leads to a gig on a reality TV show. David may well have had the former and its the type of cosmetic work that when you go out in public at first you get really pissed off for spending so much money because not enough people notice a difference or they just say you look “sort of refreshed… or something”.

 

Even tho David Sedaris lives with his partner somewhere in England, either in an old castle or a completely restored farm house with shabby chic furniture (like everyone else in Great Britain) he is not your average “older guy”. First of all, David Sedaris openly admits to being gay and gay people are not only better looking than the rest of us, but also look much younger naturally. They probably live longer too because they care about what they eat. In contrast, I’m a genuinely older guy. I will be 60 years old in October and I am also Caucasian, straight, bald, live in Atlanta, Georgia and have zero interest in any music that occurred after the Beatles broke up. I am so old that I cant really remember when the Beatles actually did break up and I have to use Wikipedia and the Urban Dictionary on speed dial to survive more than five minutes in a conversation with anyone under 30. Really young kids like those who are 10-12 are fine because they often like the Beatles and possibly Led Zeppelin. Since I didn’t grow up with cellphones or computers, most of my conversations end quickly because I cant figure out how to use the “hold call and switch” function on my iPhone. I pay hundreds of dollars every month for premium cable and Pay per View movies but never use it because I cant work the Comcast remote (or anything that scrolls) without a visiting teenager.  Otherwise I have to bribe my grown children to drive over to my house and help. Like feral cats and illegal alien construction workers they have all learned to demand more each time for their time, trouble, and feeding.  Hamburguesas con queso?

 

 

So, what’s my point?  My point is you dont just need to interview a few token famous older guys for “balance and perspective”, like David Sedaris, but you need to have someone on your website staff who looks older than 15 and a sophomore in some charter high school. Yes, I know, i know….your website and content is aimed specifically at female teenagers and artistically inclined emos, fashionistas, bloggers, writers and graphic designer types. I notice that just about everyone who works for rookie.com or contributes to it lives either in New York City, Brooklyn, Seattle, LA or Tokyo, but where is your minority viewpoint? By that I obviously mean where is your crotchety old white man dude who cannot believe the world is now run by people with pimples, skinny jeans, and Little Kitty pen and pencil sets in their top desk drawer.

 

I know I have already said too much, used too many big words and not enough splashy graphics and instagram photos and video links. I didn’t tweet or hashtag a damn thing because I dont want to. I imagine the person who reads this is about to go use one of those bullet blenders their parents got them on Amazon to make a vegetable and wheatgrass smoothie for lunch. After that they will skype with their best friend in Seattle and have a short conference call with a really young venture capital and hedge fund manager who thinks Google might be interested in making an offer for your e-zine this year because they think it’s “fresh, real, new and plus they just like to swallow up anything and everything they can that might someday compete with them”.

 

Here’s what I say. I say you should think about allowing me to write something or be interviewed. You want March mystery, secrets and hidden treasure? I’m a pirate with a Ph.D.! I’ll tell you all the dirty secrets your parents and your parent’s parents dont tell you, including how they all have hidden fantasies that you all get carpal tunnel syndrome and lose your laptop data and music files in a meteor shower or electronic pulse event and solar flare-up. It’s not that were all just jealous, crabby older people and parents who envy your pre-pubescent professional success, your young supple bodies, your flat abs and total lack of wrinkles, and amazingly dexterous opposable thumbs. It’s just that we cant remember our own names and phone numbers let alone all the new acronyms, emoticons and slang terms you and your generation have created to replace normal social intercourse, the human language and classic literature. Ok, I said it…we feel left out and we want a piece of your wicked awesomeness.   Peace Out….or is that even used anymore? See what I mean??

http://rookiemag.com/

Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. aka CaptCliff is a therapist, Psychologist and humorist who lives in Sandy Spring, Georgia. He loves Pirates, can talk like one and likes to lament when he isn’t eating Triscuits.
Contact:  404-932-7193 He writes a sarcastic blog on WordPress at https://captaincliff.wordpress.com
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Happy Spiritual Valentines Day

Posted on February 14, 2013 by captaincliff
it-puts-the-lotion

 

Does anybody remember being a kid and filling out those stacks of cheap but colorful Valentines Day cards? Do you remember the little multi-colored candy hearts and the various sayings on them? I remember take the time to pick out the ones that said “Marry Me” because that was just too freaky weird at age nine or ten.  I distinctly remember wanting to get as many cards from as many classmates as possible thinking that “more is better” and that a paper bag bulging with store bought valentines was a sign of being popular and well-liked in school. If I didn’t get one from a “popular” girl or someone who I had a crush on it actually hurt my feelings and made me feel shitty. I wished the world could be more “fair” in that respect and I sometimes fantasized what it would be like to “control” how people felt towards me like some elementary school Svengali King. In general I guess l I wanted everybody to either like me, think I was “really cute” or at least look up to me in some age-appropriate way… which usually meant being a good athlete.  Kinda unrealistic considering I was always the second smallest kid in class and extremely skinny to boot. Also, up until high school I never excelled at anything except maybe dodgeball and that was only because I was fairly clever and knew how to duck. In retrospect, I dont think I ever really succeeded at that very human desire and exceedingly social pursuit (to be super cool and popular) and no doubt I have the childhood scars to prove it. It all seems pretty superficial looking back on it.

 

Superficiality aside, the idea I remembered (again) recently is how important it is to consciously  let go of ones false sense of control over most things, to open ones heart to both joy and pain and especially to let God (atheists insert “higher power” here) or something greater then oneself to motivate and drive ones pursuits in life. The sense of connection to God is a very personal matter and something one uniquely perceives/feels and perhaps “practices”. The loss or forgetting of this deeper connection can be due to many understandable reasons that include human apathy, anxiety, trauma, existential alienation, loss of “faith”, anger, depression, ego-hubris, cynicism, laziness, too much focus on money (or cocaine) , personal vanity and compulsivity/addiction in a culture that is about as far from spiritual as McDonalds is from gourmet food. I’m talking about a personal felt spiritual connection here and not religion, altho to be honest I dont consider playing with rattlesnakes while quoting bible verses to be a valid form of spiritual practice. By the way, I raised my hand on most of the factors above that can get in the way of ones ongoing spiritual connection and growth. A lot of the things that happen in the course of ones life really cause damage to our souls and really hurt…alot. I guess like many other people I need to keep working on consciously opening my “heart chakra” and seeking deeper and more authentic connections with others and with myself.

I also must admit that just watching too much TV (or being online) , while very entertaining and an excellent distraction can make one either dumb as a doorknob or even worse, actually stupid enough to care about how things are going with Snooki and her new baby. Work can also be physically exhausting and mind-numbing for a lot of people. Not working on the other hand, can make one crazy or bored to death. Like physical activity or exercise there apparently is such a thing as spiritual inertia as well as spiritual momentum. Maybe it (spiritual connectedness) is just the natural mind-body opposite (or counter-balance) to working out, being physically fit and eating healthy…or in my case, not falling back into a really bad habit of late night Triscuit binges or scarfing down double Oreos by the sleeve.

To lose ones mojo (inner strength), spiritual power or core beliefs about life is a bit like being sexually impotent. Once you go limp and lose interest, it feels like there is nothing left to do with ones primary purpose or libido (psychic/sexual energy), literally or figuratively. It’s like NASA having a rocket on the launchpad and no outer space to penetrate or explore for the sake of scientific discovery.  If you cant explore “strange new worlds where no man or woman has gone before” spiritually speaking, then you not only aren’t going anywhere but there is little true meaning in being here ( conscious and sentient being on Planet Earth) except maybe procreation and praying that you dont get cancer or have a massive heart attack. Such basically neurotic or superstitious options, including hopping around on one foot while trying to ward off the kinnehora (evil spirits) are NOT what one would call awe-inspiring or soul enriching human endeavors. They are the booby prize of a depressed soul that is not moving forward spiritually.

To know that there are at least a few people in the world who love me and share my core beliefs (and super sarcastic/quirky “spin” on things) is to not feel quite so all alone in this vast uncharted Universe, a place that operates on Cosmic algorithms and quantum principles that I will NEVER be able to adequately fathom. The best that I/we can do as human beings is identify and stick to our own higher principles, attempt to live our lives consistent with our personal values, and forgive oneself for being so very human. Guilt and shame are the black holes of the psyche. It also helps to “lighten up” and laugh… especially at yourself. Therefore I can only say  on this Valentines Day… thank you to my friends for being in my cosmic orbit at this particular quantum time, place, and dimension of existence.  Your love, kindness and understanding, regardless of my frail human ego and admitted eccentricity has helped me to deal with my past wounds and open my heart. I will keep working on it.  Certainly I know I have a ways to go… Btw, Happy Valentines Day. What a weird weird occasionally wonderful world it is.  Love, Cliff, aka CaptCliff

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Mock Review: Carnival Triumph

Posted on February 14, 2013 by captaincliff

Shipcarnivaltriumph-562x316

Dear Sirs: I have to take issue with some of the amenities and services provided to us on the Carnival Triumph and the “vacation” cruise I am currently STILL on with my family. I should have known something was off on our initial boarding in Galveston when they kept playing the theme song to “Titanic” and “Gilligans Island” over and over on the PA system. Also the head bursar inadvertently referred to the Lido deck as “Shantytown” as we headed to our smallish inside cabin. It was only in retrospect that I recognized his prophetic Freudian slip. Speaking of slips, the Triumph’s decks and hallways are now encrusted with human feces, raw sewage and tar-colored diesel oil and, as a result, I dont believe I will ever think of the midnite chocolate buffet in the same way ever again.


Even tho we are still not back to port as I type this review in total darkness with a nearly empty can of Tropical Mango Glade Mist in one hand and a barf bag on my lap, I am still committed to providing Tripadvisor readers with a fair and balanced assessment. God knows the ship itself is not balanced or fair. The highly sophisticated  hydraulic “stabilizers” that were touted as making the cruise ship “seasick proof” (think Titanic and “unsinkable”) are apparently only fully operable when the ship has electrical propulsion and is not being pulled by a tugboat. Bummer, right?

But hey, who needs to be fully upright anyway when the stench of urine, vomit and poop is so intense that the very thought of trying to run the hallway gauntlet through hundreds of nauseous and miserable passengers high on Compazine and warm beer to the one still functioning soft serve ice cream venue is enough to make anyone go on a 7-day cleansing fast.  Speaking of cleansing, I dont think I will EVER be clean or bacteria free again. I am hoping we are met by a fire brigade in Mobile Alabama wearing Hazmat suits and carrying fire hoses filled with Lysol. A hot tub overflowing with mercurochrome and bleach sounds luxurious to me at this point.

You probably are wondering where the rest of my family are. The kids went to a seminar on iPhone flashlight apps and my wife Gloria is “resting” and may possibly have contracted the Bubonic Plague. A simple noro-virus would be considered minor at this point. Gloria did roll over and moaned something inaudible several hours ago. I believe it was a Yiddish curse but I cant be certain. On a positive note, I do know they have managed to regain electrical power in two forward compartments and a single amphitheater using an ingenious survival technique a crew member learned while watching some barefoot hippie named Cody on TV. They are apparently also using prescription lenses taken from several first class passengers and a dozen designer glasses from the Sunglass Hut in the Main Concourse to make a fire and create solar power for a handheld generator. Hey, It’s kinda like Lord of the Flies around here, lol!

Did I mention we have taken the Captain prisoner and plan to roast him over an open charcoal pit covered in banana leaves?  We’re calling it “Hawaiian Luau Survivors Nite” and its casual attire with optional sanitary face masks which is a good thing because I cant find any of my shoes or formal wear. There is also going to be a bonfire on deck, a live human sacrifice and an Anthony Robbin’s type fire-walk ritual in what’s left of the boiler room. I will let you know how he, er, it tastes, as I really enjoy slow-cooking of any kind…especially when the meat that falls right off the bone, yumm. I guess I’m hungrier than I thought! To be honest, freshly harvested organ meat such as the First Officer’s still beating human heart which some disgruntled passengers cut out and offered to the Grand prize bingo winner on Wednesday (in hopes of better luck and increased fertility for the community vegetable garden we planted in desperation) is usually not my thing.  I do like to learn new things on these adventure cruises. A wild-eyed attorney with a lovely outside balcony suite (now completely floating in crap) told me that cannibalism and gambling if it occurs outside established International Waters (3 mile nautical limit) is completely legal. See, I have learned alot on this never ending voyage. Pray for us….please.

Ok, Just kidding.  I went on this boat, the Carnival Triumph several years ago with my kids and it wasn’t bad. I’m sure it will be even better in the future. When I say better I mean better than the Concordia.
Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.  Contact: 404-932-7193
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Love and Sex Like Ketchup: Slow is Better

Posted on February 7, 2013 by captaincliff

When it comes to love and especially sex you cant just “orchestrate” things to make it happen. Such intimacy, if it is to be genuine and not just “hooking up” as my kids would say, must be felt from the inside. Looking good and feeling attracted/attractive (chemistry) certainly helps but as any dating site veteran can tell you, once you actually meet and someone opens their mouth, it’s not what they say but how it makes you feel. Eventually we need to hear and “see” (think Avatar) the real person, their soul and spirit, and that’s what makes the music happen.

 
The psychological reasons and complex dynamics of love are still being debated. What is not debatable is that The Supremes were right when they sang “You Cant Hurry Love” (see link below). It IS a game of give and take. If you force it , try to fool yourself or others, or go too fast, you either end up like the perplexed linebaker from Notre Dame trying to explain why he fell in love with a gay ghost, or like the 70 year old Galapagos Tortoise, Dirk at the London Zoo. Apparently they tried to bring in a world class pianist to put the giant tortoises in the “mood” for love (photo link below). It was a spectacular failure, either due to the musical selection (Chariots of Fire, etc.) or the fact that tortoises that old dont give a shit about Vivaldi or jogging on the beach. The only thing the big guy responded to was carrots. In my case it would have been Triscuits..and maybe Viagra. 
 
Still, finding the right musical genre for lovemaking on cable TV is an ongoing challenge for many couples and it is always a bummer to have to stop everything to quickly turn off a boy band tribute version of Achy Breaky Heart and switch to ANYTHING else. Sensitive men know the feeling to which I refer, which is musically akin to ones mother knocking on the door as a teenager when said adolescent is “exploring” his sexuality, alone. Who knows, maybe for the ginormous mutant ninja turtles it wasn’t the piano music itself, but also the piano guy in coat and tails seated RIGHT in front of the glass tapping his toes to both the melody and the melodrama. That’s a lot of performance pressure. Somebody please get them a privacy curtain and a Viagra for God sakes….
 
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Jazzy Cat, Jazzy Cat, Baker’s Man…….

Posted on February 6, 2013 by captaincliff
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Jazzy cat is sick again and may soon be headed to wherever pets go when they depart from this earthly plane. She lived at my house for awhile and I got to know her pretty well. Now she hangs at the gf’s apartment and holds court in a quiet bedroom with Zen Buddhist- like simplicity and a candle-lit ambiance, which is appropriate. I dont usually like cats….even tho there were probably about a baker’s dozen of them living on and off in my garage last winter. My garage and unfinished basement are sort of like Florida for homeless feral cats. It’s warm and inviting year round and full of soft places to bed down for the nite. While I’m not crazy about the cat pee smell, I feel bad for them and admire their capacity to stay alive and overcome adversity. We had no formal arrangement, mind you but it seems they knew to pay me back for my human hospitality by keeping my house free of rats, mice and giant cockroaches. However, I dont feel the same way about most over domesticated kitty cats, especially the really puffed-up spoiled ones with jeweled collars who are innately aggressive, territorial, and prone to sudden acts of violence. They remind me too much of certain old girlfriends which triggers my PTSD and severe allergic reactions, just like said past relations. 
 

Jazzy cat is a whole ‘nother kind of cool ass house cat. Black, sleek, and curious, she is more my kind of feline and female. She doesn’t ask for too much, and she warns you at least once with her tail before she goes for your eyes or a little blood. Most of the time she is just playing with me, keeping her left jab and right hook in shape, and it is pretty obvious I am one of her favorite human beings. Another plus. This black cat looks good, keeps her weight down and assumes a stately pose even as she ages (16). In the last couple years Jazzy was forced to fight off a new cat competitor, a cohabitating young punk kitty from San Francisco named Crispy. Crispy is all about dominance, intimidation, the Benjamins and of course revenge. She lives to make Jazzy nervous and like Jason or Freddie Krueger in the horror movies she enjoys sticking her fully clawed paw under Jazzy’s door as if to say, “I’m coming bitch!!”  Unlike Jazzy’s Zen posture and peaceful approach to life, Crispy Cat lives to gain advantage and personal bragging rights, and can often be seen actively plotting Jazzy’s demise from the other bedroom. Honestly I think Crispy always had it in for Jazzy. It’s like they are in some epic competition between good and evil like Khan and Capt Kirk from Star Trek, Simon and Chubby the feuding mini-dachshund brothers, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, Israel and Iran, Ali and Foreman… only this is more like Ali (Jazzy) having to duke it out with a young George Foreman in his current debilitated condition. It isn’t a fair fight as Crispy has age, weight, a sneaky temperament, and a stunning arsenal of sharp hand-held weapons. Also, unlike Jazzy, Crispy still has all her teeth and when she opens her mouth it looks like miniature Great White shark. The best thing to do is keep the bedroom doors shut and a spray bottle full of water close by. We know Jazzy’s time is limited. Nobody wants to admit she might be on her last cat-litter and turd encrusted leg. Regardless of my lifelong allegiance and identity as a dog person, I have to admit my special fondness for Jazzy Cat. When she goes I’m going to really miss her.

June 3, 2014 Epilogue: While I was talking on the phone tonight with Rebecca, Jazzie Cat died lying next to her. Now it’s time to cry…..and remember her forever.

 

 

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Guest Blog: Creative Expression is the Healing of the Soul

Posted on February 5, 2013 by captaincliff

My super spiritual and super creative friend Joede in Chicago wrote this response to my last blog about trauma, depression, and repression. I’ve never done a guest blog before but somehow it makes me feel kind of important, like David Lettermen or Charlie Rose. Joede is all about being real, being creative and using creative expression as a means to inform and express ones spirituality. She’s really something. The thing that makes this even more remarkable is that her husband Alan is in the hospital and she is able to still stay focused and heart centered enough to write something inspiring like this. I feel honored and  can only hope and pray that healing, love, and Peace flows back to her and to her entire family. I told her she is like a walking Menorah of light and divine wisdom and I meant it.  Cliff (Editor in Chief)

Joede Berman commented on Trauma, Repression, and Depression

I totally agree with you Cliff about the need to express fears, sadness, depression, and difficult situations we have all experienced sometime in our lives. By keeping our feelings inside or pushing them aside we usually create additional emotional issues in our lives. We all get caught up in doing what we perceive that we should do, and we lose touch with what we want and need. We may wonder, “Is this all that there is?” We may feel lost in response to our unlived lives, and we long for a sense of meaning and purpose. Engaging in creative expression provides the opportunity for creating some of the meaning that we crave, and it sometimes leads to inner knowing and clarity. Creative expression provides a counterbalance to the doing in our external worlds and gives us an opportunity to simply be and to reconnect with our own heart and soul.

My passion for creative expression which includes spiritual connection and community awareness and involvement has been the core source for me to express and address difficult situations and moments in my life. I strongly encourage everyone to express their conflicts and pain through creative expression; whether by creating art, movement, music, writing, poetry, exercise or just talking about what’s going on in your life. Help others by volunteering and find out that as much as you think you are helping someone else the fact is, that person or act of doing for others is what is going to help you. Everyone’s soul can be healed and making connections with others is a first step in the process. “Creative Expression is the Healing of the Soul” “When we expose our hurts to the light of creativity we have a chance at recovery.”

I love this quote by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “As my sufferings mounted I soon realized that there were two ways in which I could respond to my situation – either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force. I decided to follow the latter course.”

Joede Berman

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Trauma, Repression, and Depression

Posted on February 5, 2013 by captaincliff

Perhaps one of the saddest and most tragic aspects of PTSD is the warped soul energy created by denied and suppressed trauma. In the effort to repress something horrific, human beings create a kind of psychological and emotional vacuum or void in their spiritual life and a “walled-off” area in their personal life story. Like soldiers returning from combat and Holocaust survivors, they often dont want to think about “it” or talk about it either. Many trauma survivors do not believe that others will truly understand what they went through, and they might just be right.

Just like in books and in many of my favorite movies, ie. Planet of the Apes, Apocalypse Now, Name of the Rose, etc., traumatized people and subsequent generations after them (think Children and Grandchildren of Holocaust survivors) learn to associate these unexplored, avoided and sometimes meticulously erased life experiences and personal histories with something “taboo”.  Early trauma becomes akin to a radioactive wasteland or Area 51 type psychological zone….not to be trespassed.  Either through social modeling/osmosis learned from others or from their own necessary coping under unimaginable circumstances, ie. sex abuse victims, combat related PTSD, etc., many trauma survivors struggle with bouts of anxiety, depression, and anger for years and surmise that their horrific experiences are something to deny, not talk about, and to generally fear.

Over time the human psyche is prone to either minimizing or exaggerating such life changing events and cloaks them in a kind of confused imagery and creepy jungle emotional ambiance. At worst it is a place full of monsters, blood lust and physical threats to survival. Ironically, another extreme is nearly the exact opposite….denial and minimization whereby the life trauma essentially becomes a distorted lie as wide and long as a river in Egypt. Victims sometimes create absurd stories to help replace their horrible losses and lessen their painful memories. My ex-father-in-law, a Holocaust survivor said “Auschwitz wasn’t that bad. I was 17 years old and there were no real rules”. Now that’s crazy because I know for a fact that his father died in his arms two weeks before the camp was liberated. My mother’s first reported memory (to me) about my biological father, who died of a cerebral hemorrhage in the middle of the night at age 31, was, “I remember he made me wash and scrub his mother’s kitchen floor”. That’s nearly as crazy and emotionally distorted as the concentration camp story. There must be more to the story and to the overall narrative.

Lacking the distinct emotional memories a clear chronology or unable to block the intrusive thoughts and anxious feelings in a safe or secure manner (to better understand and process them), the mind is left to interpret stress, trauma and forbidden feelings on its own and may even create substitute fears, irrational phobias, and symbolic “feared objects”. An out of proportion fear of the dark, bogey men under the bed, snakes on the plane, sharks in the shower and the “Beast” in Lord of the Flies comes to mind. Minor and temporary childhood fears are perfectly normal, but ongoing emotional reactivity, physiological arousal, and startle responses in adulthood are not. For a soldier returning home it may only take the sound of a backfiring car or an airplane  flying overhead. One feels immediate anxiety and panic to such triggers and is usually uncomfortable to even begin to think about repressed/ forbidden/forgotten traumatic events in their past.

Sometimes such habitual avoidance and denial is wholly reinforced by other family members and relatives who would similarly prefer to not remember, either out of overconcern or guilt. Frightened financially insecure mothers and emotionally distant fathers (either of whom may have had a pattern of drinking, yelling, or fighting too much) may communicate just as powerful a negative message to a child and their needed sense of security as an unanticipated IED explosion does to a professional soldier in Afghanistan or Iraq. To summarize, without processing traumatic events many myths, misconceptions (about self) and fears can end up replacing psychological discovery, needed insight and eventual integration of body,mind, heart and soul. Ongoing depression, mood swings, nightmares and recurrent anxiety can result because the heart and soul of a person (and what they used to believe in) is deeply damaged/violated and cries out desperately for repair.

Embracing all aspects of ourselves and our life experience, a common and noble therapy goal is unfortunately delimited and diminished when there are multiple psychological, emotional, and social/familial roadblocks in the way. Some of those roadblocks we place there ourselves to protect oneself from unwanted emotional pain. Others, however are placed there for us, to protect someone else and their need to avoid pain or take responsibility for causing emotional pain to another. A sense of betrayal by ones superiors or primary caregivers and guilt about betraying ones own cherished beliefs, life principles and personal convictions can lead to a spiritual/moral injury, an especially deep psychic wound at the soul level.

An inner conflict (severe neurosis)  is inevitable when one says to themselves, “I want to know myself. I seek full knowledge, transparency and self-acceptance” while there are still co-existing internal signs reading “Verboten”, “DO NOT TRESPASS” or “Don’t Go There” written in bold letters on intrapsychic barbed wire fences.  It can only make the inner conflict worse if these signs and symptoms are accompanied (like in Apocalypse Now) by other peoples denial, avoidance, secrecy, mixed messages, primal fear and symbolic shrunken heads propped on wooden stakes, so to speak. Psychosis and suicide is too often the result of deep depression, despair, moral injury, and a final loss of hope that ones traumatic injuries and soul wounds are repairable.

 

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CaptCliff on Tikkun Olam and Hitler’s Traveling Toilet

Posted on February 2, 2013 by captaincliff

I just read an interesting and very well written article about Hitler’s toilet. Not only was it hard core journalism involving solid empirical research, fluid prose (no pun intended) and historically relevant, it also brought home to me certain big picture biblical tenets that include 1)  “oh how the mighty have fallen” (snicker-snicker can you say schadenfreude) but suggests that 2)  the Universe itself (and not just God’s children ) seeks to repair, heal, rejuvenate and/or recycle itself, human souls but also all its various broken and unbroken component parts.

Theatrically speaking it’s as if God him or herself desires a kind of divinely inspired repair, “re-do”, “second act”, or better ending…. which after reading the Old Testament and after having been a parent myself three times over I can sort of relate to. This more Cosmic version of Tikkun Olam (hebrew for “repairing the world”) which extends well beyond humans engaging in purposeful acts of social justice and self improvement might then apply to all mankind including the most wretched as well as most blessed souls and might occur without our conscious awareness, knowledge or cooperation.

So in this case if the person cant exactly be repaired or redeemed in this lifetime then maybe their beloved shitter could be.

That’s right, the (literally) damned toilet, was salvaged out of the Fuehrer’s private yacht by unknown privateers and wandered the planet for years as a kind of orphaned unclaimed plumbing relic ending up in an unassuming auto repair shop in Florence, New Jersey.

As one would expect, the appropriately engraved and fully encrusted water closet still worked perfectly thanks to its superior German engineering. In fact it had become something of a minor tourist attraction and “destination fixture”, mostly for eccentric plumbing enthusiasts, road warriors and history junkies. Still unknown is how many people may have over the years plopped down knowingly or unknowingly on the same exact toilet seat that Adolf Hitler did in 1943? How many cell phone pics and Instagrams are there out there showing random people peeing into the same commode that Goering may have used to release his alcoholic intestinal fury and/or Hitler barfed into due to his rampant seasickness (like me he was a seagoing wimp) or simply because he became ill upon hearing that Rommel was getting his ass kicked in North Africa? We do not know, and that nearly metaphysical uncertainty is part of it’s special charm. If only toilets and his German Shepherd Blondie could have talked……. For the inside scoop…so to speak..on Hitler’s catastrophic problem with flatulence see my earlier blog entitled “Hitler’s Farts”. It’s a gas.

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