CaptCliff on Eat Shit and Whaaat?

Posted on January 18, 2013 by captaincliff

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

Posted on January 18, 2013 by captaincliff

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

Posted on January 17, 2013 by captaincliff

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

Posted on January 12, 2013 by captaincliff
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.

Posted on January 11, 2013 by captaincliff

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)

Posted on January 7, 2013 by captaincliff

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

Posted on January 3, 2013 by captaincliff

 

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

Posted on December 31, 2012 by captaincliff

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!”
.
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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Riddle Me This: About Soldier Suicide and PTSD

Posted on December 28, 2012 by captaincliff

(Unfinished Draft)

Riddle me this:  How is the Pentagon and the military top brass like Psychiatrists and the AMA (American Medical Association)?

Tough one, right? Here’s the answer. They both think that there is a physical, mechanical or biochemical solution to what essential is a spiritual or soul-based problem. I’m talking about PTSD and especially the epidemic of soldier suicides occurring among our combat forces returning from Iraq, Afghanistan, and to a lesser degree from any theater of war since man started hitting each other over the head with rocks, clubs, arrows, spears, guns and atomic bombs.  Without doubt the problem has gotten worse, and the reasons for this are highly debatable. Certainly the length of military deployment and the severity of physical violence and psychological trauma suffered in combat are significant factors. Research backs that up as the more intense and frequent a soldier experiences life-threatening episodes and the longer they are deployed in such unusually stressful horrific conditions, the more likely they will later suffer from Post Trauma Stress Disorder.  However, the question of why so many soldiers are returning home from active duty and later taking their own life is not the same question, altho there may be a correlation between the two.  I believe this is one of the first “knotty” issues that needs to be more fully investigated, empirically untied, and essentially deconstructed. Why do some combat veterans come home from war and become symptom free business leaders, senators and congressmen, some become alcoholics, drug addicts, homeless bums or cave dwelling hermits, while other tortured souls eventually commit suicide?
It is too easy to assume the obvious: that they are men and women trained to kill and to use lethal force, that they had access to and competence in using firearms and other sophisticated weaponry, that they returned to lives of economic hardship, monotony, loose or non-existent social bonds (unlike their highly supportive Band of Brothers), that they lacked or lost (due to their wartime experiences) normal social skills or the ability to give or receive love, comfort and intimacy,,,,the list could go on and on. Each could be true in one case but absolutely untrue in another. Regardless of circumstances, a growing number of veterans, in a state of desperation and emotional pain we cannot conceive of and/or loss of faith in living, tragically end their lives.

Unfortunately, just like the well trained and highly efficient soldiers they are, when they attempt such an act, they are usually successful.

The “glasses” we wear, rose colored or otherwise, and the “lenses” we see through morally and instrumentally often bias our conclusions.  Religious people tend to conclude that these lost souls and wounded warriors failed to maintain a life-affirming connection to God, Christ, and the numerous faith-based institutions that reinforce fellowship and community. Certainly that could play a major role in some cases and represent an important mitigating factor. Again, such a theory still does not address the real question of “Why?” as in: Why did they do it and why do some choose to take the most extreme, most final form of “treatment” for their psychological and emotional pain?  Can death ever be considered a reasonable solution to human suffering? Even on this most fundamental question there is much debate. However, recent findings about PTSD in combat veterans may provide us with some intriguing clues to help explain the growing number of suicides among service members, both active and retired.

 

To Be Continued….. High Tech Drones and Psychoactive Drugs will not keep our Combat Veterans Safe From Suicide on Their Return Home (Part 2)

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CaptCliff on the New Year

Posted on December 26, 2012 by captaincliff

As you know I love to give my pompous overeducated opinion on numerous topics, mostly to show just how nimble my mind is compared to my rapidly aging and deteriorating body. The verb “to shrivel” does not do justice to the physical changes that have ensued over the past few years.  Besides having no hair on my head and copious amounts of thick grey fur-hair on my back, shoulders and chest, my sons love to call attention to how the top half of my body is like a “wine barrel” and that my limbs seem like skinny “chicken parts” in comparison. They apparently marvel at the asymmetry.

I can only hope that the barrel they refer to carries a quality vintage and one known to mellow and deepen”with age. I’m not sure if I really have. I seem more to be just an old bald guy with ADHD….and a consistent tendency to embarrass myself and my grown children publicly and especially on social media.

In keeping with the past, I will attempt to answer another complex question drawn from  recent news reports and contemporary society. The Question: What is it with all these goddamn lunatics randomly shooting people with high powered automatic weapons? Why is this happening and more importantly, what does it all mean?? Lastly, are there powerful psychiatric medications that would help these people?
Answer:  I have no fricking clue. It’s really fucked up. Some effective gun control for lunatics would probably help some. As far as medications are concerned, possibly but the really severely deranged  lunatics have a tendency to isolate, under-medicate, go off medications suddenly, and/or fail to maintain regular psychiatric follow-up appointments.  Frankly, however, I’m currently concerned about my own blood chemistry and hormone levels as I think I may no longer be producing serotonin, melatonin, dopamine or sperm in any appreciable quantity.  I may in fact  have less free testosterone/male hormone circulating through my body than my son’s old, blind neutered mongrel, Cesar.  Luckily Cesar doesn’t have to deal with the psychological ramifications of knowing he is growing asymmetrical tufts of hair out of his ears, nose, back, chest and ass. He just sheds constantly and bumps into walls. Like I said before, it’s all fucked up.  Happy New Year.
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