CaptCliff on Moms Side of the Circle in Bed

I assume that high traffic parental “heartstrings” blogs like, “The Hole in the Middle of the Bed” (see link below) are meant to do just that, to get all of us “sensitive” moms and dads, and assorted others to read it and go, “Awwww” and tear up. Well it worked. I got choked up big time and thought immediately about my children, my three sons now grown men in medical school, helping the world get fit and in better shape, and working with severely autistic kids while going to grad school in social work. All of them, like me, emotionally sensitive and aware human being trying in their own way to make the world a better place, even if it doesn’t make them wealthy business tycoons or billionaires. Not that there’s anything wrong with that….Of course the blog, about a mom who’s one child died of cancer and who’s other had early medical problems that required special attention also provides the kind of big picture, forest from the trees view that helps us to put our daily worries and petty feelings in perspective. Thoughts about someone slighting us at work, gypping us out of a few dollars, or failing to recognize our “specialness” kind of slink off the stage in a state of appropriate embarrassment when one reads about someone losing a child, and having the guts to talk about it. I wish I didnt have to read something like that every day to keep my nerves in check and my ego off the pedestal or the cross. My sons lost their mother in childhood. She wasn’t perfect but she always tried to make room for them in our bed, and there is something about a mothers side of the “circle” that cant be replaced. I hope they remember that and maybe tear up a little like I always do. The funny thing is as a Clinical Psychologist I was all ready to criticize the article for its seemingly open endorsement of  allowing children to occupy and dominate the parental bed and its sanctity vis a vis marriage. Ok, this shut my big, pious, pontificating mouth up but good. Thank you for that as well.   Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.

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Moral Alchemy: Order From Chaos

WARNING: DO NOT READ ON AN EMPTY STOMACH, WHILE DRIVING HEAVY MACHINERY OR ON A SMALL SCREEN iPHONE OR ELECTRONIC DEVICE. YOU WILL GO BLIND, INSANE OR DRIVE INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC.  TAKE ADEQUATE PRECAUTIONS

While working on a Daddy Lorry (Lawrence Hiken ) frame art project which I’m doing for my own personal growth and healing, a lot of sadness began to swoop over me and cast a long shadow like the colossal owl in my spiritually suggestive blog entitled “The Owl”.  Telling my personal “story” and writing out my long convoluted history and associated lunacy A.R.D (After my ex-wife Rona Died)  is not really the main point. That shadowy part of my life I still consider to be primarily a reflection of my standard issue (size XL) narcissistic ego, my overwhelming emotional pain (or pain body as Eckhart Tolle calls it) and my long subsequent period of wandering “dazed, divorced and confused” in the Moses-Lost-in-the- Desert-Wilderness period of my life. Thinking about it and remembering it makes me honestly uncomfortable and overall I cant say I am proud of it. There is craziness, instability, depression, anger and various ethical and moral lapses there. I disappointed myself and others. On the other hand I also know it’s not the whole story of my life not to mention the fact that it’s just one small itsy-bitsy life in an immense ever expanding Cosmic Universe. That scientific fact always helps to put ones emotional baggage in perspective.

I cant be sure about this but I suspect God and the Universe don’t particularly care about that kind of “lost and crazed” period of life which somewhat like being a teenager is chock full of thoughtless acts, impulsivity and lower brain acting out type behavior. One of the best and most popular books on divorce is called “Crazy Time”. Put into psychological perspective it’s fairly predictable and typically comprised of a few small successes and notable heroic moments punctuated by countless bad, embarrassing and remarkably foolish choices.  Maybe it’s also the kind of hard to imagine dichotomous conduct and temporary insanity that happens when someone with lifelong ADHD gets separated, divorced and then soon after becomes a single parent (in rapid fire succession) with three very wounded and traumatized young children. I doubt I would choose that guy as the captain of my ship either.

Attempting to remember my biological father Lorry and connecting that forgotten loss/trauma to the pain and suffering that my own children experienced when their mother died, now THAT is an eye opening mental exercise and a grief-inducing emotional experience to say the least. Who remembers and mourns for the dead? We all should. Primitive cultures are smart enough to make it a ritual practice. However, in this contemporary culture we are continually reminded and even admonished in movies, videogames and zombie apocalypse films to remain strong, to “go on”,  to “leave me here dude”, to “get over it”, or to just push the replay button when some important character in the narrative dies like Arnold Schwarzenegger jumping into a vat of molten steel in Terminator II. At least Arnold often said, “I’ll be back”.

Perhaps that was also the unspoken message when my biological father Lawrence Hiken disappeared suddenly one night in 1956 into the spectral mist of time and quantum space when I was 2 years old. The part of me that wants to remember (and commemorate) such a pivotal loss and permanent void seems to conflict with another part of me that wants to either deny it’s significance in my life or assign blame… to forget but not necessarily forgive someone or at least somebody in charge, like God). Honestly, there are times I feel the same way about my marriage, my divorce, and my own early parenting behavior, ie.  “Could I please have a “do over?”  Where is the psychological “reset” button on such things and who’s to blame?

That said i do realize there’s always going to be a push and pull between the inner and outer forces of light and dark, between animalistic desire (lust) and rational (ethical) mind, morality (conscience) and immorality (sin) and even the human ego’s need to remember and need to forget or disregard (or unconscious repress). In fact, the biblical Israelites did it pretty much every time Moses turned around or shlepped up Mt Sinai to get better spiritual cell reception with Yahweh the Supreme God of Israel. The people waved goodbye, wished him well and then immediately forgot and began sinning and fornicating like feral dogs. They also started re-worshipping the earlier idols and deities like Astarte the sexy and plump fertility goddess and Ba’al, the Golden Calf statue. Of course compared to the Roman Empire later on with it’s ubiquitous sex and phallus obsession and general penchant for excess in practically everything, the fledgling Israelites were relatively well behaved.

Basically they (the early Hebrews) acted like I did at age 12 when my parents went away on vacation to Nassau and I “accidentally” cut off part of my sister Julie’s lower lip with a pair of orange scissors from the kitchen. My grandparents were babysitting and my sister was around six years old I think but I kinda forget, ha. I really thought I could do what the macho cowboy guy on Bozo’s Circus did with a leather bullwhip and a young circus lady who was instructed to “stay absolutely still” and hold a long unlit cigarette in her mouth …but I missed, even tho it was pretty damn close….but no cigar. God I felt horrible!! I still do. To be fair (to myself) I really despised cigarettes altogether and once also put an exploding trick pellet in my mother’s pack of Virginia Slims. She (my mom) liked to remind me quite often that it blew up and almost lit her satin and lace negligee on fire.  Let’s look at it this way. Either “when the cats away the mice will play”, “idle hands are the devil’s playground”, or when somebody tells you “dont push the red button” or “be careful this plate is really really hot”….alot of people are going to go crazy pushing that exact bright red button over and over or burn the living shit out of themselves touching the forbidden magma hot item. Dont ask me why. They just do… especially people with ADHD. Either way, I really wish that didn’t happen. Again, there is no do-over for such a thing, and I still regret it.

Any way you cut it (pun intended), the Israelites in their long road to becoming observant Jews and stand-up comedians messed up, screwed around and broke a lot of established rules that God said quite clearly to keep sacred. Moses, like a frustrated overwhelmed single parent with multiple young children with ADHD also lost his cool completely and angrily threw down the sacred stone tablets with the Ten Commandments inscribed on them breaking them into many pieces.  Jesus, if there was EVER a time for industrial strength super-glu, a nearby Home Depot and/or a really good stone-mason with a chisel that can keep a secret, that was it. In a sense that could be conceived of as a monumental spiritual crisis as well as biblical Humpty Dumpty moment. Putting the 10 Commandment pieces back together again was not going to be easy, but let’s keep going.  King David did it too. He coveted, blasphemed and temporarily lost his moral compass and he did it in plain sight of God no less!  At least Adam and Eve knew to try to hide their holy transgressions and even attempted like a first graders to make up a good story, ie. let’s blame it all on the snake, even tho Yahweh was omnipotent, omnipresent and certainly no fool.  Obviously there’s no way King David got holier-than-thou bonus points for messing around with somebody else’s wife and then sending her husband Uriah to his death just to get him out of the cheating picture. I love that old TV show Cheaters. Can you imagine if Joey Greco showed up in a van with video cameras and sound mikes to ambush interview King David while he was shtupping Bathsheba? Something tells me Joey would have ended up without his head and/or with a large round slingshot stone embedded in his forehead, not to mention a pretty awesome viral video on You Tube or Ogrish.com.

AND YET KING DAVID STILL RETAINED THE FAVOR AND BLESSING OF HIS GOD.

Either King David played the golden lyre like BB King, Jimmy Hendrix and Jimmy Page combined (to please his God) sang like Pavarotti, and composed songs like Bob Dylan and Irving Berlin or there’s something else involved here that is incomprehensible to most mortal men and women of today. Bottomline: people go astray, lose their way, and break fundamental rules and societal laws, including some of the basic moral principles and religious commandments that God, Allah, Jesus Christ, Buddha, the Boss, and Big Daddy in the Sky all would agree are vitally important. Yet, these same imperfect people also can and often do eventually find their way back to personal redemption, forgiveness and God, as in their “higher power”.

Payoff Pitch:  I believe the most important psychological point is the following: what makes or breaks human beings is whether they transgress against and/or fail to live up to the very things that THEY themselves believe in and see as crucial elements and critical aspects of their personal moral code of conduct and core beliefs. The Chosen people may or may not have been actually chosen by God but they at the very least had to choose themselves whether to go along for the much longer than expected Exodus from Egypt (like give or take forty years) There’s really nothing like a 40 year shlep in the desert to clear out the old cobwebs and superfluous clutter in ones head. Since that time Jews have chosen to be observant (or not) and what exactly to embrace as their core values, spiritual beliefs and religious practices. Hooked up to a lie detector, I would assume many Jewish people today vary a great deal in their individual definition and belief about what constitutes a sin, a moral transgression, reincarnation, God, and even what (if any) religious belief or holy commandment is perceived as most important to uphold. The point is that a person’s central values in life and spiritual beliefs are highly individual, self defined and unlikely to be confined to some nation building document like the Declaration of Independence or the Bill of Rights. Nor are these internalized beliefs and core values necessarily the same ones espoused by an organized religion, a political party or a college fraternity. Instead they represent the structural supports and weight bearing walls of ones personal identity and “sense of self”. You can knock out a window of a house or even a minor wall or two, but you cant mess with the basic foundation, and especially critical points in the overall structural design or what civil and structural engineers call it’s structural “integrity”. The results of doing so are…well, either catastrophic or “corrosive” to the building’s sustained strength and stability or in this case a person’s longterm emotional well-being, sanity and health (mental,physical and spiritual). Again, I’m referring to someone’s deepest personal beliefs and most central values, their SELF-DEFINED inner sanctum, their internalized Holy of Holies, their personal Ark of the Covenant that all together helps to give a person’s life necessary meaning and positive purpose. Even dyed in the wool atheists, secular humanists, Wikkans and cultish worshippers of Christopher Hitchens or Carl Sagan have deep convictions and core values. This goes back to a previous discussion and blog I posted about “moral injury” and what makes somebody (often a person with PTSD) become suicidal or just not want to live after going through extraordinary hellish experiences such as surviving military combat, suffering physical and sexual abuse as a child, being sent to a Russian gulag or a Nazi concentration camp. Said another way, what makes some people’s body and soul shrivel up over time and their zest for life wane under terrible unrelenting stress while others remain exuberantly alive even if they have been kept in solitary confinement and have three times the normal cholesterol level for their height and weight. The riveting and popular cable show, “I Shouldn’t Be Alive” is counter-posed with it’s unpopular mirror opposite, “I Wish I Were Dead”. Of course that show doesn’t exist because nobody wants to pay to sponsor or produce the latter and there are no companies or corporate entities that would want to advertise their products on such a program. Hollywood executives would no doubt agree considering it to be, “Way too much of a downer and too boring to market commercially”.

This is also possibly why the so called emotionally “sensitive” and empathic people in society often appear to suffer the most and are afflicted more often with depression and anxiety and, in reverse, why bloggers are now writing absurd but intriguing articles like,”What We Can Learn From Psychopaths”. Because true psychopaths feel no guilt, regret or remorse, and because they operate pretty much 24/7 by their own selfish gene and self centered  “code of conduct” (which basically means, “the person that matters the most is ME”) they generally proceed in life in accordance with their own warped principles, just like Dexter, the charismatic serial killer does on TV. MY kids love that show. Psychopaths are pretty much the opposite of  guilt-prone, highly emotional, sensitive and empathic people. I would guess the majority of people operate in the middle somewhere. The psychopaths wearing spiffy Nazi SS uniforms in war and the sociopaths in society who commit unspeakable crimes like murder, rape, torture and serial killing pretty much believe they “had” to do what they did’and they dont feel bad about it.

So going back to my favorite person, me (not really, I’m actually a closet masochist) what are my deeply held beliefs, core convictions, and what are the structural supports of my personal code and/or my spirituality? What are yours? Notice I never said religion once because a religion is a different thing even tho for many people some of what Im talking about might overlap. We only have a finite number of what Joseph Campbell called “creation myths and mythologies” to believe in and give our relatively short lives psychological, cosmological and existential order and meaning.  The same is true of our central notions about “existence” (our own purpose for living). Victor Frankl, a concentration camp survivor himself also was keenly aware of this in his seminal book, Mans Search For Meaning and in his humanistically derived logotherapy.  If I remember correctly it was all about human will, choice and especially personal MEANING.  I think I’m saying that alot of things can suck on your soul, your life energy, your Chi, your passionate emotional nature, your creativity, etc. but that the most harmful moral injury is when one believes they have commited serious violations to their personal logos, and to their very core beliefs they carry in their heart about human existence and about ones life and its fundamental purpose. Purpose goes even farther when one is asked to define their individual reasons for being alive.

Most people will just think I am asking if they are “gainfully employed” at a job that uses their specific talents and “God given” abilities, and Im sure NOT doing so can lead to depression and lower self-esteem.  But most former professional athletes (and professional soldiers who survive combat) dont kill themselves, just certain ones do. As usual we are now chasing down the medical model rabbit hole to see if their brain injuries and repeated concussions are a primary reason, and again, it might well be a contributing factor. But the much better question, now supported by some clinical findings and research is……..did the one who killed themselves also come back home and carry (or develop over time) inordinate guilt, shame, anger, grief, and a general sense of having let God Almighty down, as well as their fellow soldiers, teammates, squad, platoon, family, etc.and were they more often the kind of person that was highly sensitive to that kind of “perceived failure” and moral injury? As an example, if a trained professional soldier deeply believes that all children are innocents in war and to be protected, did they see, witness or participate in the wounding, maiming or killing of children during their deployment?  Of course people who are severely depressed, authors who have serious writer block, poets who’s husbands cheat on them (can you say Sylvia Plath) are at a higher risk for suicide too, but Im referring to a kind of typically NON-IMPULSIVE, progressively building process of losing ones faith, meaning, life purpose and also having internalized strong negative feelings that they had broken some extremely important personal code and fundamental life-affirming principles/beliefs. Moreover, do they feel that there is no way, no ritual, no therapy to recover, to fix it, to make amends, to correct it, to take it back or maybe more to the point, “clease the stain on their soul”.

So eventually I will tell you how this idea came to mind when I was fumbling with a few old pictures of my biological father Lawrence, including his by now faded wedding picture with my mother, his sister Bernice, my cousin Donna and my aunt Bobby. In terms of forgetting and failing to remember and commemorate pivotal losses, I’m thinking there is also a stain on the soul of certain families too, and the question is how do they live with it? I suppose in the end, and after all the intellectualizing is done, it all comes down to forgiveness and loving oneself as is. Once that occurs, a person can eventually regain their self-regard, their will to live, and their respective place in the human race…..an evolutionary process that is as much spiritual, personal and psychological as it is anthropological, cultural and collective. Talk about a Lion King moment….

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CaptCliff on Eat Shit and Whaaat?

From the deep and real (last blog) to the sick and twisted. Welcome to my world. Readers, I know you are busy but just take a minute to link, open and read this HuffPo Weird article (see below). Dont be alarmed by the content. Dont worry that it’s about a self-proclaimed “shock porn artist”, Ira Isaacs, who might go to jail for producing, directing and starring in a filth-ridden porno film involving himself having sex with two women and eating his own shit. That’s right. You read it correctly. First, what is “shock art”?  You may assume it is just art that is so shockingly bad that your first thought is, “WTF, are you kidding me? Why is that hanging in here with Picasso and Renoir? Or, if it’s art film, say like The Tree of Life, you might just conclude that it’s over your head and meant only to be seen and interpreted by wise rabbinical Sages, reincarnated Tibetan Lamas and paranoid schizophrenics.

Shock art is defined as follows: Shock art is contemporary art that incorporates disturbing imagery, sound or scents to create a shocking experience. It is a way to disturb smugs, complacent and hypocritical people. Strangely, the younger generation appear barely fazed by a film narrative and plot involving a guy eating shit and having sex, and then calling it shock porn art. In fact they are more likely to respond, “Oh yeah, I saw something like that online…no big deal. Kinda stupid”.  Right. No big deal. In contrast, older Jewish audience members are more inclined to react viscerally and then, as is their inclination, with a certain amount of circumspect intellectual interest, ie., “Oy, that’s disgusting! Wait, is he Jewish (he was, of course…)? Does his mother know? and finally, “How do you make a living eating your own dreck and shtupping shiksas?? Is he successful? Oy Veh ist mir…”

Finally, there are always the outliers. I’m referring to the various subgroups of people who 1) have a vested interest in legal interpretations of obscenity (can you spell attorneys?) 2) live in Boulder Colorado or Berkeley California and have found that eating your own fecal matter is not only good for the environment but replenishes ones gut flora and intestinal health 3) are performance artists who are all about “pushing the shit envelope” and breaking the bonds of social and sexual oppression and cultural prejudice against poop-eaters, and finally 4)  compulsive masturbators  (not that there’s anything wrong with masturbation) who have nearly exhausted their endless pornographic/fetishistic thirst for novel forms of auto-arousal, ie. “Dude, Two Girls One Cup is so yesterday. I cant even get morning wood from it….”, etc. 

Well, I’ll leave it up to your discretion as to what is going too far. I said it before and I’ll say it again… right up until they bring me a Hemlock smoothie and a court order to shut up. We are in Rome (in decline) and we have for the most part all drunken the Roman cool-aid. Sure, its rather unusual and stimulating to live in a world so free, open and “bendy” when it comes to what is normal, but I still think something stinks like poo. If this guy gets off it better be because some guy in Boulder or Berkeley ends up proving that eating your own shit cures cancer, not to mention constipation. On the other hand (the one he doesn’t wipe with), what is the purpose of incarcerating such a man and having the government pay to house, clothes and…well, feed him in jail?  I can imagine the jail house conversation: “Hey man, what are you in for?” Mumble mumble…”eat shit”.  Silence followed by the sound of a hand-made shank being pulled and wedged repeated into Ira’s stomach. I hope at least for Ira’s sake and high art that he gets that on camera. It will definitely go viral.

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In the Time of Instant Everything: I Miss My Father

Dear World,

A friend of mine from high school named Judy died today. She was 60 years old. I just feel very sad…and kind of confused. Judy was not the first person I know to pass away and I was by no means a very close or intimate friend of hers, but I got to see her at a 40th high school reunion and she was as sweet and kind hearted as I remembered her back in 1971.  It’s not easy to process something as final and as inevitable as a death. There is still a kind of mental denial and social taboo about it like, “wait, that’s impossible..she’s my age” and “no, that’s not possible, she’s my Facebook friend and I saw she just had her 60th birthday!” I feel tears inside my eyes but my head is having trouble grasping this kind of raw emotion and new reality. Judy Levey Stein passed away. I almost feel like I have to slow down, repeat it and let my mind catch up to my feelings.

In this the time of instant everything as in instant coffee, instant fast food, instant matzoh ball soup, and instant communication, it’s important to realize that not only are there many good things to come from “slow”…like slow cooking, slow roasting, and Bubbe’s crock pot brisket, but also alot of deeper meaning and significance that comes from slowly (or suddenly) emerging and often painful processes, liking losing a friend, losing a job, getting a divorce or having a baby.

Sure, I know as a guy that’s easy for me to say about pregnancy and giving birth, but still, wasn’t it worth it in the end? Actually another friend from high school’s son and daughter in law just had a baby, making my fun-crazy friend Bennett a first time Grandpa. Life and death. Quite a concept.  More to the point and less to the labor pains, we are so used to demonizing our raw emotions and deadening our anxiety and pain with drugs, drink, and addictive cultural distractions, ie. Honey Boo Boo, the internet, Facebook, videogames, etc. , that when we do feel bad, anxious, frightened, nervous, sad, “down” or just not right, many of us are conditioned to reach for another Klonopin, the Prozac, the Xanax, the Welbutrin, or the WebMD app on our iPhone for more symptom information…. rather than slowing down and asking ourselves what our inner self is trying to communicate.  In this case I’m just sad for Judy and her family and very happy for Bennett, Justin and his family. That doesnt make me crazy or bipolar, just full of different kinds of feelings.

None of us is completely crazy or stupid (well some are pretty damn close…sorry). We know we are consciously or unconsciously engaged over our lifetime (and maybe more) in an ongoing process of body-mind integration, just like our crazy dreams are trying to sort out what is important from what is mental “garbage” and emotional detritus (hint: do not leave the televangelist cable channel on when you fall asleep).
Our bodies and brains are constantly trying to help “process” our childhood traumas, our teenage angst, our adult successes and miserable Titanic-sized failures and painful losses. In a way it’s like a big psycho-spiritual jig-saw puzzle and internal “Hoarders” episode. It’s not something you can sort out in one or two sittings, a Primal scream , three therapy sessions or even a daily bus/train ride to work while feverishly trying to finish the New York Times crossword puzzle, something I personally have never ever finished. It’s a slow process and we have to allow it to occur.

So, our bodies, minds and lives in general give us various subtle (or not so subtle) “hints”, clues, and throw us  symbols, symptoms, poetic metaphors, and synchronistic coincidences. Feeling anxious, tense, having a “bad” dream, having a rumbly in the tumbly stomach ache (in absence of the flu, a definitive medical problem or a uber-spicy Indian meal the night before) or even a vague sad-ish feeling can mean that “something” important wants to be recognized and processed. For the more neurotic or imaginative among us, let me say that doesnt ALWAYS mean we have been sexually abused in childhood and we need to acknowledge it and/or go shoot the person on the courtroom steps like in Law and Order SVU to “resolve it”. Certainly child abuse and neglect happen alot and we need to remember and embrace the truth about such traumas in our early lives as well as other repressed feelings including our lingering guilt regarding our own worst NOT SEEN ON TV moments as spouses and well-meaning but overwhelmed parents. It sucks to realize and admit to having been your own most screwed up parent to your own kid(s). I really hate when that happened/happens.
Sometimes, however, it just means that you are sad about the death of a high school friend, happy for another, and, in my case also have come to realize I miss someone I never fully acknowledged as being all that important, mostly because I was only 2 years old when he died and he disappeared like the proverbial ghost in the night. That missing part, like in Shel Silverstein’s book, The Missing Piece, has rolled around in my subconscious for nearly 57 years. The wheel (of life) still goes round but when I listen closely I can hear it go “bumpity bump” when it touches that hidden “sore” spot and the symbolic as well as real void within me.

 

I dont think I need to “up” my Lexapro or start on a new mood stabilizer. Instead I want to simply allow myself to be happy for Bennett and his family, sad about Judy, thankful for life and good health, and honor all my seemingly disparate feelings. I also want to do one or two things to express and commemorate the loss of two very sweet and decent human beings, like lighting a candle, saying a prayer (Mourners Kaddish) and taking out the few dusty Polaroid pictures I have of my biological father from the bottom of my overcrowded sock drawer. I miss my father, Lawrence Hiken. I miss my ex-wife Rona Hertz Mazer. Judy, you were a good person and had a wonderful and genuine smile. Bennett, Tammy, Justin, and Crissy, a sacred blessing, a sip of wine, and as the Fiddler on the Roof shouted to the stars and heavens above when he wasn’t too busy kvetching,

” L’Chaim, To Life!”

Love, Cliff

 

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CaptCliff on Why I Really Should Write it Down Next Time


It seems like every time I think of an ingenious solution to a global problem like world poverty, mental illness, or gun control, JUST when I’m ready to write it all down and go through its simple but elegant Einstein-ish logic, I get hopelessly sidetracked by a more pressing personal matter like laundry, expired milk in the fridge, or having to answer the front door for two young Republican-Mormon looking guys wearing matching suits and clutching clipboards. Their glazed eyes and frozen smiles morph slowly into panic and terror when I answer the door wearing nothing but my fluffy robe and a 4 day unshaven look, like some mutant cross between a biker and, well, a cross-dresser. Also, it doesn’t take long for them, even without normal interpersonal skills or special training in social cues to see that my facial expression is saying, “You just interrupted my epiphany and now I have to kill you both with my fluffy winter slippers.”   Usually they dont even wait to hand me their whiny brochures or ask for a donation and instead flee for their lives while throwing dozens of their Watch Tower newsletters in my general direction, like Air Force One deploying clouds of anti-missile chaff. The problem is once I settle down to write up my earth shattering, once in a lifetime realization, I have pretty much forgotten it…..kind of like the milk. 
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Ambien Warning Update: Stay Frosty

What a surprise. There’s a new FDA warning about the sleeping pill Ambien and its tendency to leave people (especially women) “groggy” in the morning and therefore in no condition to operate heavy machinery, drive  forklifts at Home Depot or work the early morning shift at ICBM missile silos containing the launch codes to the nations nuclear weapons arsenal. With the kind of zombie night eating and unusual nocturnal behavior I’ve previously reported to you in my CaptCliff blog, I wasn’t completely surprised they decided to not chance a perfect storm of  PMS,  sleep-driving, penis envy and megalomaniacal revenge fantasies.  One is left to wonder how these powerful meds ever passed the “stringent” FDA testing and approval process in the first place (besides Big Pharma’s  Hawaiian luau lobbyist lunches, cash envelopes and Halloween bags filled with gold bullion and Superbowl tickets)?

 
Did researchers not notice that women volunteers tended to stagger out of their double-blind Ambien studies and have trouble finding their own car keys and vehicles in the hospital parking lot the next morning ? Admittedly this is something I experience on a regular basis at Publix and Krogers but my ADD is the more logical causal factor. On the new Ambien advisory, men are also urged to “reconsider” cutting their sleeping pill threshold dose down by “half”. However, to the average Ambien user that is like saying, “Hey we’re out of those super effective migraine pills you take to quell your exploding head and murderous rage but we’re now recommending you try the Pirates of the Caribbean Melatonin gummy bears instead.  Are you kidding me? Have you ever watched the clock all nite and/or the Weather Channel praying for a major storm to break the incessant monotony of chronic insomnia?  Oh, thank God, there’s a super-volcano erupting in Malaysia and a Tsunami higher than Mt. Fuji forming. That should keep me busy until morning…….
 
Those who sleep like babies and are not strung out on Ambien have no idea what this really means. Dont think we, the Ambien Army of America have not already explored and tried chamomile tea, valerian root, warm baths, sublingual melatonin, relaxation tapes, mindful meditation, hot yoga, and enough acupuncture to closely resemble the scary dude in Hellraiser. We dont like having a dependence on a pharmaceutical product. It’s also true that many of us are not complacent pill poppers and continue to seek newer, safer and better solutions.  Let’s face it Michael Jackson was someone who pushed the envelope in his creative attempts to get a good night sleep. Somehow, however, he missed the part about not leaving hospital grade anesthetics and IV sleep meds in the hands of a gigolo doctor trying to simultaneously text four girlfriends and his accountant. Auto-correct will really mess you up and slow you down in that kind of emergency situation.
 

Finally, it is wholly legitimate to question ones dependence on a certain sleep medication like Ambien (Zolpedim) especially when attempts to goggle the manufacturer (Sanofi) return obscure and somewhat suspicious web sites that appear constructed by international PR firms to exude openness and transparency while simultaneously hiding relevant corporate data, exact locations, updated drug warnings and actual contact numbers. It’s not that web sites for pharmaceutical companies dont exist. It’s just they’re nearly impossible to figure out (due to multiple hostile corporate takeovers and repeated name changes) just who’s in charge of what. One starts to feel like Michael Moore without the baseball cap, sweaty morbidly obese body and permanently disheveled appearance trying to figure out who runs a mega enormous “French multi-national pharmaceutical maker and global healthcare provider” and more importantly, who’s front door to knock on or break down if you need to execute a Jason Statham style “I havent slept in a week. We need to talk” intervention.

Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much about it. The new FDA warning story only came out yesterday, but I already have had about 3452698 friends and acquaintances find it important enough to text me, call me and tell me in person. Maybe I’ll go to Costco and stock up on a pallet of chamomile tea and a triple pack of Valerian root. I beg you my dear friends and readers to please not tell me to drink decaf coffee in the morning. I might still get that job interview at the nuclear missile silo and I need to stay frosty.

 
Anybody remember this? : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OoQjuAyeA8Q
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Dr. Cliff on James Holmes…again.

Let me reiterate.  James Holmes has Dysphoric Mania and Agitated Depression with Psychotic Ideation/Paranoid Delusions. Nowadays it is referred to as Psychotic Mania, but is not to be confused with typical Bipolar Disorder or simple manic depression.

He was diagnosed and treated too late. The University psychiatrist who saw him was partially fooled by his ability to maintain a facade of superficial social interaction and self-insight and mistook that to mean he still had a modicum of reality testing and borderline appropriate ego functioning/mental status. She only pushed the yellow caution button and she should have pushed the big red danger button. His worsening biochemical imbalance and psychiatric illness fused with his situational stress, anger, agitation, lack of sleep and mounting feelings of hopelessness, rejection, social/sexual/academic failure and estrangement from others and lit a dangerous mania fire in his head. He “flipped out” in a controlled, relatively quiet and secretive way over several months that allowed him to formulate his personal doomsday plans and violent form of rage-revenge against society, women, the University psychiatrists, the Medical school, his professors, and a world he progressively perceived as uncaring, dark, and depressing.  He still feels that way and that is why he smirks and sees the courtroom as a “joke”, himself as the “joker”, his victims as “collateral damage”, and his current “notoriety” as fair trade for losing his previous dreams of success (as a neuroscientist), fame, prestige, wealth, and social acceptance. He is definitely nuts but he knew exactly what he was doing. He gave signs and as usual nobody took it serious enough.

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Dr, Cliff on Broken Penis Syndrome (BPS)

Notable quotes: “You know you’re getting older when you’re no longer part of your own sexual fantasies”   Rona Mazer

I know I’m expected to keep up with the current “sex news”, which at my age is starting to bore me to tears. I would rather report about amazing cheesecake and outstanding sashimi than bad sex, but hey, I’m not a licensed chef and Alton Brown hasn’t called me for my opinion, so here goes nothing substantial.

TMZ, the younger generation’s equivalent to Wikipedia for current news involving famous nobodys just reported this: In Malaysia, an MMA fighter suffered a severely broken penis, not in the Octagon fighting another human killing machine but in bed with his gf during vigorous sex in which she “sat on him the wrong way”. You really have to read this article yourself (see link below) to get the full visceral squeemish effect. Not that anyone really cares, but penises dont exactly break like a leg or an arm does, but they can suffer minor damage or a severe “bending injury” (BPS or Broken Penis Syndrome) or even internal tearing of erectile tissue. Such an injury, while not uncommon can require stitches, minor surgery and “bedrest” without sex…for awhile.

Of course I am not talking about the same thing as when a crazed spouse discovers her husband is cheating on her and uses sharp scissors or landscaping shears to cut off the offending appendage and feed it into the kitchen garbage disposal (see earlier blog). That’s a much bigger problem requiring lawyers, psychiatrists and a surgical team with a collective look on their face that says, “Say, have you ever thought about having a vagina?” Back to the MMA fighter down for the count. Apparently the Ultimate Fighter was fine, suffered only a minor internal tear that was fixed, and was amazingly gracious  considering that excruciating pain and spurting blood out of your manhood is extremely low on most mens bucket list. Obviously the world and cultural norms about sex have changed alot since my heyday because he claimed, “In an attempt to make it up to me … [my GF] has promised me a threesome of my choice when we get to the Philippines … which usually has some solid talent.” Wow, thats really nice of her and reminds me of how my former wife, on a trip to Thailand  a zillion years ago finally relented to letting me go get a Thai massage as part of my personal as well as professional interest in local culture, but ONLY AFTER my Asian flu and associated fever spiked to 103 degrees and I was so sick and delirious I couldn’t get out of bed. So much for  fancy promises.

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On 2013, the Mayan Apocalypse, Being Jewish, and Having My Head Frozen

 

Now that it’s 2013, you dont have to be Freud to figure out what all that “Mayan Apocalypse” stuff was really about. After my recent holiday trip to Tulum (on Dec 21) and Cancun Mexico, I’ve had time to think about it. Also, I’m no longer hung over from New Years eve, sort of.

I will tell you this. It definitely wasn’t about Christ or messiahs, Biblical revelations, Meso-American astrology or numerology. It also wasn’t about 9/11, doomsday, Noah’s Ark, atomic bombs, fall-out shelters, the Cold War, flesh-eating bacteria or zombies that enjoy doing the same.

The apocalyptic “fever” that spread beyond even out own borders and led to mass chanting, hippie drum circles and a few 1%’ers buying concrete bunkers and moving into renovated nuclear missile silos in Kansas is much more likely about the ever present  challenge of being conscious human beings and sentient bipedal creatures on planet Earth. As such, we are left to ponder,confront, and interpret the importance of life and the reality of death. Other plant and animal species dont have to think about it. They certainly dont obsess about it. They just “do” as Yoda would say. Pontificating or writing about our morbidity and mortality is a relatively easy task for me, both as a psychotherapist and as a so-called humorist-blogger.  However, really thinking and feeling about the inescapable fact that we live our lives KNOWING we will expire one day and that our turn in the whole Lion King cycle of life awaits ( like an alarm clock tick-tocking away or a Mayan calendar ending and starting over at zero) is far more disturbing, unnerving and cause for  reflection, soul searching, and a large glass of red wine… or all of the above.

Those of us who have had to face a death in the family, suffered a serious illness, had a near-death experience, or lost someone near and dear know how we are forever changed by it. Both as understandably neurotic young parents with children and as middle aged parents with aging and sometimes chronically ill parents of our own, many of us cant escape the feeling that the “other shoe is going to drop” eventually. We are honestly and quite often fearful that “something bad” might happen.  Sometimes something bad has already happened and we think we cant handle any more emotional pain, loss or tsuris. However, the truth is either we embrace our losses and life traumas and find a way to give them meaning or we add to the existing denial in society and the collective dread, fear, anxiety and angst in our fast paced modern world. Some people dont think about it or just aren’t all that afraid. Historically people have used various individual or shared rituals to control their fears, ie., hop on one foot, dont step on cracks, or even rolling severed human heads down steep Mayan pyramids after first removing their still beating hearts. That last strategy seems rather drastic to me. Also kinda messy……

I’m one of the people who used to lie in bed at nite as a 10 year old boy and creep myself out thinking about “not existing” someday.  I’m not sure I’m much better today but at least I know a few things. I know we can heal our “selves” but we can’t cheat physical death. Once, around age 13, I thought about saving my allowance to have my head frozen in one of those futuristic cryogenic chambers run by companies that store dead bodies for a million dollars in hopes of one day curing their fatal illness. Now I realize that’s dumb because not only does it beg the question of who would want my nasty old frozen head with hardwired mental problems and sleep apnea, but also who’s second hand, defect-ridden body would I no doubt get stuck with?  It’s not like I could ever afford a brand new one, and if I could I  wouldn’t be driving a 2001 Ford Expedition around Atlanta now.

With my luck and my ADD (disorganized sub-type) my freeze dried head would probably get lost, repossessed for non-payment or they’d finally cure my illness and bring me back to life…. on the day before the real apocalypse. Is it really worth it being thawed out and propped up on some stainless steel desk like Robo-cop connected to a laptop and heat lamp in the year 2146 AD just so I could witness a giant meteor hit Miami Beach and turn South Florida into cinders? Actually, now that I think about it…maybe.

Being the cerebral Jewish person that I am, if I do end up like that somebody please remember to at least turn me off before going to bed and for God sakes, dont forget to give me my sleeping pill. I cant seem to live without my Ambien.  Also, I’d really be pissed if somebody in the future decided to use my head for a bowling ball or attempted to roll it down the steps of some blood-stained pyramid. I’m Jewish and we dont go in for that kind of thing. If a Jew is going to throw a ball nowadays, it’s most likely going to be a baseball. Trust me, when the time comes for me,  just light a yahrtzeit candle and say a Kaddish prayer. It’s way more civilized. Until then, “L’chaim” and  Happy 2013!


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Dunkin Donuts Night

Yesterday I learned that Dunkin Donuts intends to market and sell gluten free donuts.  This is hard to imagine given the fact that I view DD glazed donuts and chocolate munchkins as a sugar and carb-coated version of crack cocaine. Consciously I KNOW I shouldn’t go there but every so often one gives in to the intense cravings for the sweet junkie’s crystalline sugar rush. Unfortunately, like crack, the “high” doesn’t last that long and the retched downward spiral afterwards is a complete bummer. I know I’m not alone in this often secretive and unhealthy every-so-often behavior. Adolf Hitler, for example, had himself injected daily with “Vita-Multin”, his personal physician’s proprietary blend of vitamins, bull testicle extract and crystal meth. That’s right…the Fuhrer apparently needed something “extra” to help him stay up late and figure out how to kill all the Jews.

In a slightly different vein (get it?) the gf and I needed to stay up last night after a really lousy sushi dinner at Sushi Mio in Sandy Springs. I wont give you the whole hyper-critical CaptCliff restaurant review, but I will say this:  It’s not a good sign when you enter a sushi bar and there’s only one other Caucasian couple there and they both look between comatose and dead, slumped over their cold miso soup and lukewarm ginger salads. Also, once I nudged the deceased diner’s head over to the side, the ginger dressing appeared watery and store bought, another rather bad omen.

Anyway, after we ate and repeatedly sent back our tempura vegetables for being somewhere between E-coli ridden raw and undercooked, we graciously paid, bowed with mock appreciation and swiped the entire porcelain bowl of mints at the front counter in revenge. I would have taken the reproduction antique oriental wood bench in the entry foyer as well but there were too many boisterous suburban Jews right outside kibbitzing with one another after having an excellent albeit predictable meal at the Brickery next door. How would I have explained the intricately carved dark wood stained waiting bench under my arm? “Hey, look it’s Martin and Cindy, how’s it going?? Oh yeah, right…I, uh brought my own seating to dinner. Yes, I always do that…. bad arthritis you know. It’s hereditary on my mother’s side…Shabbat Shalom y’all, say hi to everybody. Nitey Nite! Buh bye!”
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So we had almost a full hour left before the movie started at 10:00 PM at Lefont Cinema, which means we had about a 5% chance of actually going due to elder fatigue, exhaustion, and the wear and tear of living in the affluent suburbs. We needed a wake-up “hit” of something and “da kine” (as they say in Hawaii) would have had the opposite effect on my delicate Baby Boomer physiology. Suddenly I remembered the Dunkin Donuts news story in the paper. What if,  just what if… they really DO now have amazingly tasty gluten-free chocolate donut holes that would be a “dieter’s dream” come true not to mention a godsend to celiac patients and all the other hypochondriacs who think they have celiac disease? We drove over to the Roswell Road location and entered the drive-in line. Random question: Why is the drive-in lanes at my Dunkin Donuts this dark, cramped, “back of the shack” alley way that make you feel like you are a Vicodin addict in the shitty parts of Florida buying painkillers or sex toys in brown paper bags?  In contrast, the triple wide drive-in lanes at McDonalds across the street are lit up like a drag racing venue with ballpark floodlights and circus clowns.  Maybe this was just my overly vivid imagination and my mixed feelings of guilt and desire talking. It turns out the Indian guy at DD had never heard of the so-called incredibly delicious gluten-free donuts and to make matters worse they were, “all out of chocolate donut holes”.  They could have told me a Delta jumbo jet had just hit the King and Queen buildings in Sandy Springs. I felt that taken aback and crest fallen. However, because psychological “resilience” is supposed to be one of my professional specialties, I used a mindful meditation technique and quantum coping (radical acceptance) to turn my deep disappointment and grief into an order of one dozen red velvet munchkins and two large coffees with French vanilla and a half-kilo of Splenda with cream. Of course we felt so “wired” afterwards there was no way we could sit quietly in any theater seat until well after midnite. At that point going home and popping  Ambien and a bottle of Melatonin from Whole Foods seemed the best possible cinematic ending.

PS  After waking up the next day with a sugar migraine and red velvet crumbs stuck to my hairy back and chest, I did manage to go to the movie, Silver Linings Playbook. A very kooky bipolar love story and I loved it. I highly recommend it to any quasi-bipolar person such as myself, along with the occasional glazed donut and mood stabilizer as needed.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/28/dunkin-donuts-gluten-free_n_2377202.html

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