captaincliff

In what seems like a rather unusual act of vengeance and unnecessary hot-dogging by Yahweh, aka the Divine One, the Lord Our God, etc., a dramatic display of hellfire and brimstone was recently reported in Australia. Terrified citizens and Aboriginal tribe members managed to videotape a “fire tornado” (see web story below) in between babbling incoherently, repenting for their earthly sins and running for their lives. Those who were stupid enough to look back at the horrible sight were turned into a pillar of Kosher salt, which is at least good for cooking and certainly useful in divinely inspired ice-storms. The nearly impossible to imagine meteorological event, also called a “fire devil” touched down in the Australian Outback and lasted at least 30 minutes before disappearing into a large cloud, followed by a golden chariot adorned with Cherubim (Holy Angels).

Despite the presence of multiple high quality video images and digital cell phone photos depicting God’s wrath and displeasure with the way modern humans are conducting their lives, the Australian military and various government officials are calling the occurrence a “normal variation of Australia’s unpredictable weather” and do not endorse the event as an unmistakable sign of eternal damnation for mankind.

http://www.aol.com/video/caught-on-tape-fire-tornado-rips-through-australia/517481898/?icid=maing-grid9|maing6-video|popular-videos-5min|sec2_lnk2|126987

Therapy Secret Revealed:  I know that mindful meditation is all in vogue today, but here’s another simple suggestion. When life gets too weird, chaotic, ironic or unpredictable, try turning on Law and Order to regain ones composure and sense of stability. Fortunately, there is ALWAYS a Law and Order episode playing 24/7 in every part of the known universe. I watch Law and Order in bed, on the treadmill, on the computer and if I have to go to the bathroom, always leave the door open so I can hear when the recognizable “Ta-Dum” sound occurs signaling the start of the show. Someone somewhere in the black trash bag piled streets of NYC has been killed or victimized and we the vicarious “living through others” people of Earth seek justice, and maybe some violent retribution. In fact, I’m pretty sure there are  tribes in remote jungles somewhere in Brazil or New Guinea who hunt, forage and dig for wild yam during the day and at night gather together in a smoky communal hut to watch Law and Order SVU. It’s not inconceivable, especially with Satellite and Dish TV.  Like me, the pygmies and loin cloth wearing Cannibals wonder why the police and the SVU team never see the enraged female gunman or family member on the courthouse steps who predictably guns down the smug rapist or child killer (who just got off on some obscure legal technicality). Of course the difference is that the Cannibals would celebrate the episodes oh-so-predictable ending by dismembering the bad guy, eating his body and ingesting his soul while I’m satisfied that karmic justice has been served and that Nancy Grace will likely be in a less hysterical mood. I may or may not also celebrate the fact by going downstairs to the kitchen and eating a turkey sandwich on rye bread with Durkees Dressing….

Why do I think the world is so weird and filled with irony? Most of us are too busy to notice and as human beings we swim in ironic circumstances like zebra fish in a large murky aquarium. We dont see the great irony until it’s brought to our attention. One small example from my life may suffice.

I was trained as a sex therapist under the auspices of a particular pre-Viagra time and place (San Francisco circa 1976) which worshiped the pioneers of the burgeoning field of sexology. The big Kahunas were Masters and Johnson, a team of Washington University, St. Louis researchers who also happened to have written a 1966 best seller called Human Sexual Response. In 1971, William Masters divorced his wife and married Virginia Johnson, his research partner.  Maybe all that steamy stuff in the lab went to their heads, or maybe they just fell in love. At UCSF we learned to use the Masters and Johnson method of treating sexual dysfunction and helping struggling couples improve their physical intimacy. Trust me there were alot of “take home” assignments given to individual clients and couples back then including specialized reading, watching certain “movies”, sensate focus and self-stimulation exercises (aka, “jerking off”), back-rubs, and, well, body rubs of all kinds. You didnt just see people for a few minutes and tell them to “get out there and do it, dammit”. Nor did we have magic blue pills to throw at them and say, “This ought to do it…just call me in the morning”.

Well, that was then and this is now. Masters and Johnson, the gurus of sex therapy and intimacy got divorced in 1992. William Masters died in 2001. So is that the irony? No there is more. Earlier this year William Masters III, the son of the esteemed sex therapist was arrested for exposing himself in New York’s Central Park. You might say it was an accident or a unfortunate fluke, but this week he was busted again for showing off his sex-related junk to two female undercover police officers posing as kayakers in rural Michigan. I guess they skip the Bait Car and To Catch a Predator routine up there and go right to the Bait Kayak maneuver. He is, as the links below shows, a dead ringer for his dear old dad. Now that’s irony. If you don’t mind I’ll stop right there and turn on another Law and Order. I think it’s the one where Stabler goes bananas on a perp and Olivia is working on her PTSD issues. God bless them.

Picture of the Old Man and Pioneer Sex Researcher:
http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.biografiasyvidas.com/biografia/m/fotos/masters.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.biografiasyvidas.com/biografia/m/masters.htm&h=162&w=188&sz=6&tbnid=xM7Ot5amiB8VwM&tbnh=0&tbnw=0&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dwilliam%2BMasters,wiki%26tbm%3Disch%26tbo%3Du&zoom=1&q=william+Masters,wiki&usg=__AIPVamUlmCHDxw5GsLMfusva9fk=&docid=EVSgyIvjG9wgoM&sa=X&ei=ySZJUL7eBoHI9QSwioDoAw&ved=0CF8Q1Rc

Picture and Story about Sonny boy and his recent “Northern Exposure” problem:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/06/william-h-masters-iii-exposing-exposure_n_1860616.html

The Agony

Have you ever gone on a Florida vacation and had one “nightmare” dining day and night followed by the best and most wonderful meal the very next night? How about the other way around? We stayed in Longboat Key and thanks to free accommodations figured we would “splurge” and try out the finest that LBK and Sarasota could offer food-wise. When I say finest I mean best tasting and highest quality, not necessarily the most expensive. My AMEX isn’t Black, Platinum, Gold or any other precious material that I know of, unless you consider battleship grey plastic to be a semi-precious substance.

All in all, it was a perfect trip minus a small glancing hurricane and an inexplicable swarm of tiny and relentless biting sand flies called “noseeum”, which are almost impossible to see until they have taken their microscopic, vampire-like pound of flesh and liter of blood. Google it, I swear I’m not making them up!! They are the unseen “bedbugs of the beach” and they prefer certain people whom they descend upon like a plague of locusts and then leave their victims itching and scratching for days like Mississippi hound-dogs with a bad case of fleas. I know. I know. Next time bring “Skin So Soft”. Now the Florida residents tell me. Why dont they just post a large sign at the beach that said, “Forget the Sharks, Watch Out for the Noseeum”?

After layering ourselves in three coats of Calamine lotion and popping a  handful of Benedryls we decided to mellow out at  the Mar Vista Grill on the North end of Longboat Key. Mar Vista is right next to Moores, the famously overpriced but popular Stone Crab and seafood restaurant. We wanted more privacy, less waiting and didnt want to hear, “Bernstein, party of 12″ all nite and throughout our meal. Plus, the admittedly delicious Stone crab claws were not in season. Believe me, if I could have caught a fresh Stone crab myself I would have cornered one, stabbed it multiple times with a sharpened stick, clobbered it with a large boulder ala Survivorman and parboiled it over a campfire with or without the necessary permits.

Mar Vista is more an intimate “pub” like atmosphere than Moores and recently has added a nice outdoor area to it’s fishing shack/bar dining decor. We should have noticed there were few customers outside and those who were dining “al fresco” were scratching themselves vigorously and rubbing their ankles against each other in between looking around for missing wait staff. You know that “craning neck” gesture and half raised index finger and hand motion that means, “Im trying to be laid back and relaxed on my vacation but if I dont get some service soon I might either start a fire by rubbing my itchy ankles together or go POSTAL on someone” look?  Well, now imagine six or eight tables doing that simultaneously. It became ridiculous at one point and, perhaps due to an allergic reaction to sand flies and the Benedryl (in addition to a pretty watery but potent Long Island Ice Tea) I began to fantasize that beach zombies had eaten the entire Mar Vista kitchen staff and both bartenders. Worse yet, I figured the servers, if not at the restaurant, must be somewhere on the beach by now faceless, horribly maimed and covered in a Tsunami sized swarm of noseeum.

I was shaken from my horror show fantasy when a young frowning waitress came up and without so much as a smile or apology said, “Do you know what you want because I’m really busy!”  Whhhhhaaaat? I couldn’t believe my ears. I swear to you she said this in a pitch perfect “Mean Girls” tone that suggested either her father owned the restaurant or she was currently auditioning for the Sarah Michelle Gellar bitch part in Sarasota’s stage production of Cruel Intentions. She even had the bored, spoiled rich girl body language down pat. Regarding the unbelievably long wait for my drink (“What is this, Gilligan’s Island?”) the rude waitress mentioned that, “our bartenders are all backed up.” Wait, it’s now 9PM and almost everyone is gone……or in anaphylactic shock.

I realize most people would have cut their losses at this point and left, maybe to forget dinner altogether or go directly to the  dessert line at the Loft (above Euphemia Haye). Unfortunately, we had already had three straight day’s worth of Euphemia Haye’s Apple Walnut Crumble Pie, and even more sado-masochistically, I wanted to know how this epic epicurean psychodrama at Mar Vista was going to turn out. Surely the fresh seafood and famous clam chowder would counterbalance the sand flies, invisible insects and sickeningly spoiled sorority girl server. Isn’t that usually the way the Universe does it? Did I not have the reverse experience in my younger hippie days in the jungles of Palenque, Mexico where after ingesting magic mushrooms and stripped naked to emphasize my spiritual receptivity and primal innocence I experienced God in all his natural splendor….only to find out later that my whole body was covered in blood sucking jungle leeches? Leeches, I hate leeches……and noseeum too.  Luckily I wasn’t allergic to leeches, and some local farmer took pity on me and poured several cans of gasoline on my blood-sucked tush and sunburned body. Noseeum and mosquitoes are, however, a totally different story. I should have bought stock 40 years ago in Benedryl and Skin So Soft, but who knew?

Allow me to cut to the chase as you probably know where I’m going. EVERYTHING at Mar Vista was horrible as in horrendous, haphazard, and hideous. The tuna “fusion” appetizer was stringy and “sushi-grade” ONLY if you happen to be in grade school and dont know anything about sushi. The clam chowder tasted neither of clams or vegetables and the “authentic award winning” creamy broth tasted artificial. Better to have called it Potato Filler Soup. I tried to doctor it up with the sherry-soy dipping sauce that came with the Cat-grade tuna appetizer but to no avail. The fresh Gulf coast mussels were overcooked, chewy and Dead on Arrival and so was my patience. Adding insult to injury we had moved our table inside in an attempt to survive both the rainy remnants of Hurricane Isaac and the biblical plague of insects but STILL could not find our waitress, a restaurant manager, a standing bartender, or any signs of life whatsoever besides one older couple who appeared to be on an E-Harmony or Christian Mingle inspired first date. May the Good Lord be with them because he certainly wasn’t with us that cursed night. Aargh!

Next blog: The Ecstasy

Are (both) my blog readers bored yet with my “weird sex news” updates?  As a sexologist there is so much weirdness in this world but “so little time”, as they say. Forget Furry sex and  turn the page on the Dinosaur sex blog entry. That’s old news, especially in the case of the dinosaurs doing “it”, which is about 65 million years old. Imagine the giant comet/asteroid hitting the Earth while some T-rex couple are mating. Talk about “seeing stars”!  Anyway, you might think nobody could top these kind of orgasmic extinction events (OEEs) but apparently there are an endless supply of “WHhhhattt???” sex related stories on the nonsense/worthless knowledge ridden Internet. Case in point:  A British lady (see link below) who is sexually addicted to “objects” rather then people…. and her current sex obsession is the Statue of Liberty. Yes, Lady Liberty turns her on and gives her orgasms. She has filled her home with replicas purchased online and visits the real deal in New York whenever she is able. I’m sure she is a fun fellow tourist on the Statue tour up to the Observation deck and leaves many a sightseer repeating the old line, “I’ll have whatever she’s having” from When Harry Met Sally. To me, a Corned Beef or Reuben sandwich from Katz’s Deli (like in the movie) is a much more likely scenario for a climax, epicurean or otherwise, but what do I know?

Finally, and I believe this story deserves a certain amount of genuine sympathy as it could conceivably happen, physiologically speaking. To be honest, it’s difficult to imagine that the loony lady from Great Britain is suffering terribly from an actual disorder in need of specialized medical care and counseling. She (the Statue stalker)  falls into the “what ever turns you on” category, as long as one doesn’t impose the sharp end of their sexual obsession on other people and their delicate body parts, that is. In the second story (see doubly absurd link below) a nurse who lives in New Jersey (of course) fell down a flight of stairs 10 years ago and since that time has been “plagued” by PGAD, otherwise known as Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder. She cant STOP having orgasms. Most of us havent suffered from anything similar to that since gym class right after reaching puberty. Unfortunately this poor lady not only cant stop having multiple orgasms but also experiences climax from simple physical movements like turning on the coffeemaker or pushing the button on the toaster in the morning. If I had this problem, in particular, I would probably be drinking gallons of coffee and eating several loaves of toast every morning. Of course one can also imagine the untoward side effects of such habit forming behaviors. Somewhat like eating disorders which are real afflictions not to make light of, PGAD is something that a casual observer might just wonder, “Hey, how can a acquire a slight case of that?” My professional answer is'”You cant, so dont bother”, and plus, most of us couldn’t afford the calories or the caffeine that comes with the sexual fireworks. Just like the dinosaurs we might want to leave well enough alone and be especially careful what we wish upon a star for. Enough said.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/4442556/Statue-of-Liberty-gave-me-an-orgasm.html
http://blog.sfgate.com/hottopics/2012/08/28/nurse-plagued-by-up-to-100-orgasms-a-day/

Extra Credit: The closest thing to PGAD in men put to music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4&feature=related

Blogging is different from writing. I bet you knew that already. First, if you really want a ton of traffic and a gazillion hits, especially from young/younger people (which is about everybody) you have to write with BIG WORDS. When I say BIG I really mean small words in a large font. People today dont like to read. Hey, that’s not a criticism, bro!!  Most peeps are way more used to a text or tweet or something short and sweet, so that they dont get totally bored!! Kinda like TMZ or Grindr only shorter, dumber, and if it’s at all possible, more superficial. Also, you have to use alot of exclamation points because it WAKES PEOPLE UP and keeps their interest! Yay!! Woo Hoo!!  It’s also really important to use contemporary phrases (see Urban Dictionary below) and idiomatic expressions that are fresh and all pimped out, yo, so remember to talk straight up Gangsta not geekspeak. Old is so yesterday, and today is the new ..well, present tense.

At the end of the day, in this 24/7 world, you gotta give it all you got and be FIERCE!!  It’s hella good to throw in and throw down what you know about indie music and the kind of E Hollywood TV shows that really rock. When I say rock I dont mean the Beatles and I’m not talking brick and mortar. In fact, if you want to BUILD AWESOME COMMUNITIES and be all about GREEN TECHNOLOGIES, you have to go offline and bucketize whats REALLY important TODAY!! But hey, it’s all good!!  Basically, if you want to attract (Law of Attraction) some wicked tight readership, meaning more BFFs and bromances and less fantards or trolls you gotta suck it up and get REAL! When I say real, I dont mean Kim Kardashian phony real. I mean Anderson Cooper, I’m cool AND I’m GAY real but its not even about that. And it’s not all about YOU or ME either! It’s about keeping it real, even if you get breast cancer, then recover and finally get pregnant real, like Guliana Rancic and US magazine, or Perez Hilton, “we are THIN (now) and RICH and do PILATES” real. Last but not least, you gotta be ghetto real, that is if you want to be gettin’ bitches, booty and Benjamins. Aight?? You know what I’m sayin’? Dont be punking out MOFO. Otherwise you be all by your lonesome. Word!!

http://www.urbandictionary.com/

Really? Is this what social media and web journalism have finally come to? How pathetic is it, and how desperate for user “hits” and internet “traffic” is the Huffington Post anyway?

Yesterday, I was surfing the internet for basic information about dinosaurs in a futile but game attempt to avoid important life decisions and adult responsibilities. There was some generic dinosaur story posted (dont ask me what it was about because that was nearly 24 hours ago) and when I clicked on it I was IMMEDIATELY sent to a slide show link (see below) on “dinosaur sex”.  Yes, DINOSAUR SEX. I didn’t even ask to see or preview the shocking and hellacious depictions of Jurassic Park creatures copulating before the graphic multi- image “show” began flashing before my eyes automatically, leaving literally NOTHING to ones imagination or to natural history’s private desk drawer. Once I regained my composure and realized I was now probably on a secret FBI database as a life long dedicated dinosaur porn user, I surrendered to my innate curiosity and learned a thing or two.

For example, I learned that dinosaurs do it from behind, like all domestic farm animals and Jenna Jameson. I also learned that most dinosaurs didnt even have penises. Instead, both male and females had “cloacas”, best described as all-purpose body cavities that were used for copulation, urination, and defecation. Um, ewww…

You could have blown me over with a Pteradactyl feather, if they indeed did have feathers, which they probably did not. This was all incredible new information, even for myself, CaptCliff, Dr. Mazer, the licensed sexologist and certified sex therapist and possible now unintentional dinosaur pervert. For some reason, and I say this with great shame and embarrassment, I figured that almost all of those enormous dog bone shaped fossils they find in Utah or Uganda were either Brontosaurus femurs or random prehistoric penises left for posterity, so to speak.

As a boy, around age ten or eleven, I distinctly remember going to the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago and standing agog beneath “Sue” the largest, most complete and best-preserved Tyrannosaurus rex in the world. My next thought back then was, “If she’s that big, how big was her boyfriend, and….how big was his dino dong??!!   At 13-foot-tall and 42-feet-long not counting her razor-sharp teeth and massive legs, the mental image of Mr. Sue and his Triassic shlong was “daunting”, especially to a boy my age, with or without a fledgling sized Portnoy’s Complaint complex….. Talk about penis envy. I guess what I really learned is that we need more dinosaur sex education for human beings, and the scholarly Huffington Post intends to teach us all the down and dirty about dinosaurs, whether we like it or not.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/09/dinosaur-sex_n_1659391.html

Boomer Rants: Part Dieu, by Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.

I dont really care what famous people like Tom Brokaw, Alan Rosenberg or Morgan Fairchild have to say about Baby Boomers. Sure, there are some undeniable truths and pithy observations to be made in various PBS specials and television programs that aim to define this noteworthy generation (those born between 1946 and 1964) of which I am a proud member.

However, several important less publicized facts remain:  1) Baby Boomers, in general, dont particularly like being called Baby Boomers all that much. We know what it means sociologically and demographically, but too often it makes us sound like two things we dont see ourselves as: people getting older and being characterized as “homogeneous”. Homosexual is just fine and so are descriptions like “young at heart” but homogeneous, as in “all alike” and not unique is a total bummer.

2) Not only do Boomers not appreciate efforts by the media or various celebrities to typecast our place in history (either as naive idealistic fools or as game changers as far as music, sex, drugs, and societal values/ morality are concerned) but such broad brush strokes and generalizations often dont apply.

To be sure, Woodstock was a defining musical event and the 1967 Summer of Love in San Francisco did capture the essence of a certain cultural imperative and movement for social change, but many of us either plain missed it, caught only the tail end, or more striking, were simply not inclined to do as Timothy Leary suggested by “tuning in, turning on and dropping out.”  Furthermore, older Baby Boomers and younger ones bear relatively few similarities and display rather significant differences. Think about it. Kids born in 1946 are pretty obviously different from people born in 1963. They danced to music as wildly disparate as the Platters or Bobby Vinton versus The Bee Gees and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

Mid-generation Boomers, such as myself, born in 1953, epitomize more of the stereotypical Rock and Roll turned hippie turned disenchanted investment banker (or psychologist) trajectory….while still clinging to an annoying social conscience and latent fantasies about tropical islands and Utopian communities (with nice amenities of course). The older Boomers are generally less spoiled and narcissistic and felt blessed to just survive the War in Viet Nam. They lived through the historic events comically portrayed in the movie Forrest Gump. The younger generation of Baby Boomers, in contrast, know how to use their iPhones and digital devices instinctively. Baby baby boomers grew up watching the Breakfast Club and personally related to the Brat Pack “coming of age” movies in the 1980s.  Collectively, all of us spoiled the crap out of our kids, got our butts kicked by the lousy economy and are fully responsible for the latest wave of teenagers and young adults who have over-sized, unusually dexterous thumbs, text each other constantly, cannot sustain a real conversation and immediately call a plumber when the toilet clogs, even just a little bit.

In retrospect, not many of us Baby Boomers, whether older or younger, were smart or prescient enough to actually consider becoming a licensed plumber who by now would have OWNED his/her own tropical island with off the grid solar energy, high tech Japanese toilets AND a well-stocked Tiki Bar. We also know we cant go back. We realize we should have bought land, any land, and especially wish we had kept our vintage toys. On the other hand, who could blame us for not knowing to keep the “mint condition” boxes they came in too? They dont call it hindsight for nothing. If there is anything every Baby Boomer has in common, it’s hindsight vision and the urge to kick ourselves for all the stuff we tossed out that is now worth a small FORTUNE. However, we dont regret all the relatively worthless cultural debris, ie. old menus, old photos, old roach clips, and Presidential campaign buttons, etc. we insist on keeping in our dresser drawers both to remind us of all the fun we had as well as what very special and unique people we are.

Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. is a licensed Clinical Psychologist living in Atlanta Georgia. He writes a boomer related blog under the psuedonym CaptainCliff at https://captaincliff.wordpress.com/
and he has an inexplicable love of all things Pirate.  Contact: 404-932-7193

I just finished watching another Shark week episode, which has pretty much convinced me to stay pool side next week when I take my once a year (if I’m lucky) vacation to Longboat Key, Florida. In fact, I may carry an automatic weapon INTO the swimming pool on account of Great White sharks and their superior intelligence as well as unrivaled capacity for surprise attacks. There is NO WAY I’m going to be taken by surprise while casually shelling on the pristine white sand beaches of either Longboat or Siesta Key by a bull shark dressed as a life guard who attempts to drag me behind a sand dune and have his way with me.

At my mid Baby Boomer age I dont have the stamina or physical strength of those buff young Aussie surfers in the TV series who manage to fend off Jaws sized sharks, killer jellyfish and man-eating crocodiles (before going out later to drink beer with their mates and eat shrimp on the barbie). The loss of a limb or two may be a “badge of courage” in Perth, but it’s a distinct disadvantage in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia.

Instead, we, the rapidly aging, must rely on our wits and stealth. For example I noticed at Starbucks this morning that I was absolutely invisible to any woman under the age of 40. Perhaps this camouflage technique could be put to good use on my upcoming beach vacation, like when it’s time to pay the bill in Florida for my perennially overpriced crab dinner at Moore’s Stone Crab Restaurant, or after stuffing my face with the last gooey remnants of my exquisite pan seared duck and garlicky Caesar salad at Euphemia Haye. Unfortunately, even if I manage to blend in like a stealthy ocean floor Cephalopod, the servers will no doubt still smell my garlic breath and unmistakable hints of “oak, berries and leather” from the house Cabernet on my invisible beard. So I will willingly surrender my AMEX card and not be offended when my AARP membership (as usual) gets me nothing off the bill.

Oh well, it’s “all good” as they say…. Plus, I just saw a brief You Tube video about a “Total Body Lift” procedure (see absurd link below). Apparently,  it wont matter how much you eat in the near future. They can just take out whole gaping sections of your body and staple you back up, thus defying advancing age, gravity, sloth and my personal favorite total gluttony. To be honest, the video looks an awful lot like what the Great White Sharks do to surfers and other idiots wearing black rubber wet suits bearing an invisible sign that says, “I look just like a yummy Seal! Bite me.”  I think I’ll just stick to being stealthy at Starbucks and gnawing on my fancy duck dinner in Longboat. Feel free to call me chicken.

http://www.5min.com/Video/Total-Body-Lift-Animation-114222996

Sometime in the future they will probably uncover and reveal a connection between Jerry Sandusky, The Second Mile Foundation that he helped establish, and a formal/informal ring of wealthy pedophiles or so called Penn State Football”boosters/supporters”.

I’m not saying that the Second Mile was nothing but a bogus sham, but that Sandusky used it purposely to find and groom young, vulnerable victims.  He may have also had knowledge and contact with a select number of other adults with similar proclivities. People want to know exactly what Penn State and Joe Paterno wanted so badly to “cover-up” by remaining so passive for so long, and for allowing Sandusky so much freedom from earlier prosecution and/or a more in depth criminal investigation.

This (below) is one of the possible people/connections they didn’t want revealed or investigated because its as BAD or WORSE than Sandusky himself. It is so weird and disgusting in its specific details that Penn State Athletics, especially given it’s squeaky clean reputation, may have just hoped it would all go away when this guy died of AIDS in 1993 and when the Tickle Monster officially retired. Personally I dont believe that Joe Paterno understood the magnitude of the problem and that his particular background (personality, age, ethnicity, and religion) precluded him from grasping what was really going on in those showers between Sandusky and those young boys. I dont think he (Paterno) believed grown men or former athletes could ever do something like that.

This is a case of psychological DENIAL and rationalization at the highest institutional levels. People dont see what they dont WANT to see and others, like the janitors, say nothing for fear of losing their jobs and their livelihoods. Penn State was worried about its sterling reputation…..and all the money that goes with it. The connection between Edward Savitz and a recent report of an eye witness on a private airplane with Sandusky and a “wealthy Penn State booster/businessman” both committing acts of child sex abuse is unknown at present.  Bottomline: It’s not just Dottie Sandusky who needs to open her eyes and recognize how there is often a dark side to life, to the historical narratives, and to people in general. We can do that without becoming completely paranoid and/or pessimistic, just more realistic.

Cliff Mazer. Ph.D.

FROM WIKIPEDIA:  Ed Savitz

Ed Savitz
Born    Edward Isadore Savitz
February 22, 1942
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S.
Died    March 27, 1993 (aged 51)
Occupation    Actuary, Accountant
Edward Isadore Savitz (also known as Uncle Eddie, Fast Eddie and Dr. Feel Good) (February 22, 1942 – March 27, 1993) was an American businessman who was arrested for paying thousands of young men for either engaging in anal and oral sex or for giving him dirty underwear and feces, which he kept in pizza boxes in his Philadelphia apartment.

Biography

Early life

Ed Savitz was one of four sons by Jewish Russian immigrants Paul and Ann Gechman Savitz. The Savitzes ran an amusement arcade in downtown Philadelphia. Ed ranked first in his class of 278 students, and voted most likely to succeed. He won a full scholarship to study economics at the University of Pennsylvania, but dropped out after two years. In 1967, also after two years’ study, he quit Temple University’s graduate school of music. In 1963, he married his high school girlfriend Judith Widman, who later became a lawyer, specializing in family law. They were divorced 10 years later. In 1981, his brother, Joseph, a lawyer who once served as a Deputy Pennsylvania Attorney General, used barbiturates to commit suicide. In 1968, his brother Samuel founded The Savitz Organization, an actuarial consulting firm specializing in retirement plans and other employee benefit programs. Ed later became the vice president.

[edit] Sexual Abuse

Ed Savitz had an apartment on Rittenhouse Square and for years was known by the male youth of the area through word of mouth as a quick source of cash. From as far back as 1975, he offered teenage boys money, concert tickets and football tickets for their soiled underwear, and various sexual acts including: oral and anal sex, slamming his penis in a door, penis sword fights, urinating on him, vomiting in his mouth and defecating in his mouth through a potty chair. reportedly kept the feces in pizza boxes in his apartment. He told the boys to eat cheese to make the feces taste better.

Savitz mostly targeted boys from the Grays Ferry neighborhood and even had a St. John Neumann High School yearbook, which he used like a catalogue, circling the pictures of boys he wanted to see and promising referral fees for bringing them to him.

Arrest

Savitz was first arrested in 1978 on an indecent assault charge. His record was expunged after completed a rehabilitation program. In 1990, he was found not guilty on charges relating to the purchase of a minor’s soiled underwear.

The neighbors in his high-rise apartment building complained of young boys entering and leaving his apartment at all hours of the day and night. One neighbor described the boys she saw as mostly “heavy metal types,” who wore black leather clothes and chains and had long hair. Savitz told neighbors that he was a social worker, helping the boys.

Savitz’s third arrest followed a six-month investigation by the city’s sex-crime unit. By early March 1992, investigators had gathered enough evidence to install a wiretap and hidden video camera in his home. On March 25, detectives watched as Savitz offered to pay two 15-year-old boys for oral sex. Police burst into the apartment and took him into custody. Savitz was charged with crimes of involuntary deviate sexual intercourse, sexual abuse of children, indecent assault and corrupting the morals of a minor.

Police found 5,000 photographs of boys and 312 bags of soiled boy’s underwear at Savitz’s apartment and a rented storage center nearby. His arrest also caused an AIDS scare in the Philadelphia area due to the large number of individuals that he had sexual contact with. AIDS hotlines were flooded with calls after his photo was released.

Bail was set for three million dollars, and Savitz was released. He was arrested again the next day when bail was raised to twenty million dollars after complaints involving two teenagers were verified.

Although Savitz tested HIV-positive about a year before his arrest, he continued to have unprotected sex with boys until his arrest.

The trial was set to begin April 5, 1993, but Savitz died of AIDS in a prison hospice a week before on March 27.

[edit] Alleged Connection to Jerry Sandusky

After the Penn State sex abuse scandal, an article in the New York Daily News (cited below) featured allegations by one of Savitz’s alleged molestation victims that in 1979 Savitz brought the boy to a fundraiser near Harrisburg for the Second Mile Foundation, which had recently been established by Penn State Defensive Coordinator Jerry Sandusky. Savitz’s former attorney claims he is “unaware” of any communication Savitz ever had with Sandusky.[1]

[edit] References

^ http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/i-team/sex-abuse-victim-recalls-horrid-encounter-edward-savitz-associate-jerry-sandusky-article-1.1115909

Boomerangs and Boomer Rants

 I dont think of myself as mature. My parents are mature. Often, with a combination of horror and humor we Baby Boomers realize how we have screwed up as well as what we have possibly succeeded at. With the benefit of age and adversity we can look back and recognize how we too in our youth lacked a balanced understanding of “both sides”  and may have been at times both rude and reckless. But that is also why we have some great stories to tell around the collective campfire! Furthermore, that same admixture of grandiosity and self-deprecation is one of our defining Boomer traits. We (most often) dont regret our stumbling, bumbling, anti-authority, rock and roll, Beatle mania, Led Zeppelin drug induced journeys to aduIthood. The paradox however, lies in our conscious awareness of our now obvious hypocrisy, a human weakness we once railed against yet now are forced to accept as we struggle to keep our kids in line and off drugs, etc. Growing up for Baby Boomers has been a Karmic form of purpose and penance, one part narcissistic validation (which we love) and one part sad-sarcastic confessional for our unique brand of “hindsight wisdom”. We like to make fun of the world and we dont mind making fun of ourselves. That is our gift, and why many of us enjoy The Daily Show as much as our college kids.
 

Why the blog title Boomerangs? Because a lot of stuff we “threw out” into the world came back to bite us in the ass (and other places)…and we know it. Now we can laugh about it and still remain the unrepentant fools who came up with flawed mantras like, “Dont trust Anyone over 30!!” Now is the time to celebrate our many blunders as well as our irrepressible joy and optimism. We really wanted the world to be a better place with more Peace and Love and Rock and Roll. Through Facebook and other new-fangled forms of social media that we barely understand, we continue to connect and  share our common ground, a Mad Magazine inspired way of seeing all things using our generation’s warped lens and twisted sense of humor (think Mystery Science Theater crossed with Beany and Cecil). Let’s be honest, those indelible parts of our formative years and everything we smoked, ingested, and especially listened to on our stereos have never really left us and continues to haunt us like a beautiful, magical dream that is still not quite over. Indeed, some stuff we see today is clearly not of our generation, like Reality TV, but it still cracks us up because of what it represents. The world is still inhabited by mad tyrants, bombastic fools, snake oil salesmen, poor shlubs, egomaniacs, schlemiels and schlimazels.  The good news is that Show and Tell is not over yet and we still have a few good years before we have to circle the scooter chairs and fend off the Geritol salesmen. I for one would rather laugh, laugh until the dying of the light, and to accompany the light show there is an endless amount of awesome music.