captaincliff

Forget anything and everything I have written previously. All else pales in comparison to the headline news I have to share. A declassified secret report and psychological profile has recently come to light about Adolf Hitler. This confidential record about Hitler’s personal habits had been stored somewhere in a dusty attic in Great Britain for over 60 years. The papers have been authenticated and are due to be put up for private auction. I will not keep you in suspense due to their historical importance and sheer educational value. Once you read the document, 20th century world history and geopolitics will make a lot more sense, even to us laypersons, amateur history buffs and armchair observers.

Apparently Hitler was a vegetarian who also ate “prodigious” amount of cake and other high lactose dairy products. As a result he suffered from chronic, unremitting and completely uncontrolled flatulence. In fact, he farted so often and so “forcefully” that his table mates and dinner guests were regularly disgusted and appalled. Worse yet, they couldn’t say anything. How do you tell a fascist megalomaniac madman and homicidal tyrant, “Dude, could you cut that farting out? You’re making us sick.” You just cant. He would have had you summarily shot or sent to the Eastern front.

You might ask why this is so important? I’ll tell you why. Many respected historians continue to ponder why after years of tremendous military success, the Third Reich’s final demise was so swift and seemingly chaotic. Many of his closest advisors and trusted confidantes abandoned him in the end. In one of his last statements he called the German people, “cowards, traitors, and unworthy of their destiny”. Now stop and think about the last time you had really really bad gas, diarrhea, and farted like a pirate on Cinco de Mayo (like at my house last nite). Then think about watching your personal plans for world domination crumble around you while you are stuck in a poorly ventilated concrete bunker dozens of feet below the bombed out burning ruins of Berlin. Even with state of the art German engineering and scientific know how, the toilet facilities in the Fuhrer bunker were considered primitive at best. Ironically, the Nazis were much better at using gas to kill others than getting rid of their own. There isn’t enough Gas-X and Imodium on planet Earth to cure that severe a GI problem in that limited subterranean space and the Fuhrer’s flatus could have only led the rest of Hitler’s formerly loyal staff and military advisors to want to “abandon ship” or take cyanide capsules as a quick way out and “final solution”… so to speak. All together it was a deadly combination of fearless leader fumes as well as olfactory induced stress that explains why Hitler’s Third Reich state meant to last a thousand years crumbled like moldy limburger cheese in the spring of 1945….and probably stunk just as bad. Regarding Hitler’s propensity for broccoli, cake, cocaine, and occasional injections of bull semen on the advice of his personal physician Dr. Morell, we can only speculate on their collective synergistic as well as psychoactive side effects. Just imagining it makes me want to run to the bathroom. With this written report coming to light I believe we can call this baffling military mystery finally solved and flush this previously unanswered “up in the air” question down the poopenfarten for good.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/4678840/Adolf-Hitler-had-poor-table-manners-and-suffered-flatulence.html

Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. is a humorist and Clinical Psychologist living and working in Atlanta, Georgia. He loves pirates and blogs under the pseudonym CaptCliff at: https://captaincliff.wordpress.com/       Contact: 404-932-7193

Every so often I check my CaptCliff web blog to see if there are reader comments. Usually there are few to none. Nothing unusual there. I recognize that, for the most part, we who blog are pissing into the proverbial wind. We who write, whittle, draw, sculpt, paint, compose or collect rare endangered ferns do it for ourselves, not so much for public recognition. I mean, let’s be honest, we all fantasize about being famous and having a national fan club that rivals Elvis Presley, but the fact remains…..our thoughts and perspectives are usually too idiosyncratic to matter much to the other 5 or 6 billion people on the planet. Everybody is understandably busy…with their own lives. It is the social irony and existential futility that makes art so precious. Most, but certainly not all writers or painters or so called starving artists get recognized and/or become famous only after they stick their head in an oven, drink themselves to death or have their memoirs found in a dusty trunk long after their body was found… floating down the Seine.  We do it for our own pleasure and creativity, but, like every other child of God and child of Man, we sometimes wish to cry out, “Look at me! Look at what I created!!” I guess that is one reason I am always tempted to buy something at art fairs, even tho I might not completely like the work or cant afford it. At the very least I like to say to the sweaty artist sitting in the uncomfortable looking director’s chair at the back of the tent-booth, “Pretty cool stuff dude!” or “Very very nice.” You can see it means alot to them to say something and actually pay attention to their individual creations, unlike most people who are stuffing their faces with funnel cakes and walking right by every exhibit.

Anyway, I find it interesting that occasionally I do get a comment on my blog but usually the spam filter identifies it as garbage-spam. How do they find me? So I write a blog piece about Stendra the new Viagra, and some foreign company with a bot program writes, “Great article. Keep up the good standing!!” What? What does that mean? It probably means someone in the Philippines doesn’t have a complete grasp of the English language and uses idiomatic expressions incorrectly when trying to sell me their black market version of Viagra. Still I appreciate their comment and will definitely keep up my standing.

Um yeah, most of man’s sex related knowledge was not handed down to us from ancient scrolls miraculously rescued from the fire and burning of the Great Library of Alexandria, Egypt in 48 B.C.  Nor was it culled from the peer reviewed Journal of Sex and Marital Therapy. Today, people get their sex facts online, from scholarly websites like “Frisky”, The Huffington Post and Oddee.com, all pretty much entertainment oriented news sites. No wonder we are falling so far behind in science and just about everything else. To wit, a recent article titled “7 Amazing Penis facts” or “7 Amazing Facts About the Penis” (no difference) purports to tell us all everything we need to know about man’s actual best friend. The article doesn’t waste time getting to the nitty gritty and after initially telling us useless knowledge about sperm motility and the speed of ejaculate (28 mpg) they move immediately to what every sexual consumer really wants to know….what mammal and weird guy in New York have the biggest one. Wait, back up. Somebody measured the speed of sperm coming out? How did they do that and with what kind of teeny tiny police laser gun? Do guys care or compete over who’s sperm is the “fastest”?  In my world, sex therapy, that isn’t always a good thing. Ok, I know you really want to hear about blue whales and their 8 foot self articulating penises and the shy, nerdy guy who comes closest to a whale in Homo Sapien form. I saw a documentary about him on cable TV. He doesn’t date all that much and wants to find a women who cares about his personality too……. Right, that’s not gonna happen now. Not after announcing he has a 13 inch penis to the world anyway. I would tell you as a liberated, free thinking man that I feel sorry for him….but I dont. If he wants to “hand over” his dubious crown and Guinness certified record to someone else, say myself, I might oblige him, at least on paper. Imagine his TSA pat-down at security when he travels through any airport……We told you, no leafblowers or containers bearing liquids over the specified size. What a shmuck!

http://www.oddee.com/item_98166.aspx

Folks, it’s one thing to cheat on your wife or girlfriend, but in Clearwater, Florida, there is a guy who is competing for the immorality Trifecta. When the cops broke into his apartment they found evidence that the dude was also into child pornography and was committing adultery on the gf with her dog. Yes…I said dog, so pause, take a deep cleansing breath and imagine the level of twistedness involved, not to mention the bad publicity.

How does he return to work the next day and engage in normal conversations with co-workers around the proverbial water cooler, “Uh, hey Jim, I saw online that viral video about you and the dog…..and the little kids. Bummer dude…”  Even more daunting is imagining what he could possibly say back given he was dumb enough to take pictures of everything he violated and intended to sexually abuse. Maybe he could use a simple decoy maneuver like pointing the finger elsewhere, ie. “Man, that John Edwards sure is a slimeball, isn’t he? I mean his wife was sick with cancer and everything. MY girlfriend is healthy as a mule..er, a Rottweiler….er, nevermind.” Let’s face it, there are some things and some behaviors that we cant chalk up to diversity and evolutionary adaptation. I know there are countries, like somewhere in South America where men practice their adolescent sexuality on burros before moving on to higher primates, like human females. I saw the documentary on National Geographic. Riveting…so to speak. I just draw the line on children and man’s best friend. I’m sure Fido and the Humane Society would agree.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/02/eric-antunes-dog-sex_n_1471714.html?icid=maing-grid7|main5|dl6|sec3_lnk3%26pLid%3D157353

Kvetching as Therapy

kvetch  (kvch) Slang
intr.v. kvetched, kvetch·ing, kvetch·es
To complain persistently and whiningly.
n.
1. A chronic, whining complainer.
2. A nagging complaint: “a rambling kvetch against the system” (Leonard Ross).
[Yiddish kvetshn, to squeeze, complain, from Middle High German quetzen, quetschen, to squeeze.]

Who knew that the Yiddish word “kvetch” came from the High German term quetzen which means to “squeeze”?  I didnt know that. I only knew that one of my guilty pleasures is complaining and squeezing out my various nagging complaints to anyone willing to listen. Not everyone is willing. I notice that very positive, upbeat people have less patience and overall tolerance with kvetchers. That’s understandable since they tend to see the positive side of life and believe in maintaining a “glass half full” perspective. On a good day I agree with them completely. On another day I want to whine like a little girl and have others say things like, “Oy, you think you have a benign tumor the size of a walnut? I think I have a melanoma the size of a grapefruit!” I feel better in both complaining and knowing that their fruit or vegetable sized fictitious growth is larger than mine is… Today I woke up with a cold sore and severe ringing in my left ear. Somedays I feel like a walking symptom checklist. The older one gets the longer the checklist, and of course the more fatal one imagines it to be. Of course the worst thing to do at that point is look it up online. Immediately one realizes they have idiots for doctors and have a rare mitochondrial  gene malformation that manifests as a cold sore and ringing in the left ear. Instead of going to urgent care one thinks about cemetery plots and how expensive they are to purchase, especially at the last minute and without a Groupon.

My friend Amy called me while I was busy misdiagnosing myself and said, “Why dont you take some Musinex? I would think there are alot of allergies and minor ear infections in places like Atlanta around the month of May.” That kind of took the wind out of my hypochondriacal sails, but I made sure she stayed on long enough to squeeze out a couple dozen good kvetches. I felt somewhat better afterwards, even tho it was a pain to keep switching the phone over to my right ear. Somebody should study if sustained, mindful, concentrated kvetching is therapeutic, although I imagine it might kill the therapists over time or at least make them start itching and wondering what that vague looking rash on their thigh might be.

Ginormous 13 inch Asian tiger shrimp (see video below) have shown up in the waters off Texas and the Gulf Coast. These cannibalistic prawns are so large they are eating the native shrimp population which they dwarf in size and weight. Civil defense teams, all wearing plastic lobster bibs and carrying drawn butter, forks and spicy cocktail sauce are taking up positions on the beaches in defense of the Homeland. I want all my readers to know I am willing to take up the cause along with my mother’s Scampi recipe and am preparing an emergency ration of pureed garlic with lemon and capers……

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/upshot/cannibal-shrimp-invasion-begun-165542739.html

Sometimes I wonder how my life would have been different if I didnt have kids. My three sons are now young men ranging in age between 22 and 26 years old. One of the “age old” questions is how many kids is too many? It certainly seems like there is a significant difference between the parental demands of those with one child and those with anything over two. Men and women, mothers and fathers all differ in their opinion about which gender, daughters or sons is more “difficult”. Predictably most parents with daughters say girls are a bigger challenge and more likely to test their patience and emotional stability. Those with sons just raise an eyebrow and think to themselves, “Riiiight…did you ever have to pick up your drunk kid at midnite from the go cart track at the high school’s “lock in” dance?

Let’s face it, there is no such thing as a perfect kid and there are always going to be stories about another son or daughter who was a nightmare to raise. As a psychologist I have heard a million stories about kids with online gambling addictions, drinking problems, public intoxication arrests, disorderly conduct, convictions for selling marijuana, identity fraud and using a fake ID, as well as failure to attend college classes even tho it is costing the parents a literal fortune to send them to school out of state. Then I have heard another million horror stories about somebody elses kids besides my own…………..

Most of us have been through the figurative mill in realizing that every child is going to face personal challenges that cost us nearly all our money and much of our sanity. Perhaps we did the same thing to our parents but somehow we dont remember because we were too drunk, too stoned or just have convenient amnesia. Bottomline: If you ever start to feel bad about the “parent trap” that we all got ourselves into and yet few of us really regret because of how much we love and adore our kids, think about Lindsey Lohan or just watch this slide show of Octomom’s house. She’s the single mom who had six small children and then decided to have eight more all at one time. I believe that totals 14. I just heard she signed up to do a “self-pleasuring video” to pay for all their expenses…….. A self-pleasuring video? I wish it would be that easy. Sounds like a great job, with or without the pension plan and health benefits.
http://photos.tmz.com/galleries/octomom_nadya_suleman_kids_living_conditions_toilet_photos#tab=most_recent

I’m so ahead of my time that I cant even catch up….with myself. Twenty years ago I wrote articles about happiness and how important it is for mental and physical health. Twenty years later I am taking an anti-depressant and suffering from a laundry list of physical complaints, most of which are either age or stress-related. We could term this extreme hypocrisy or call it a life lesson in the plumber needs to fix his own leaky commode. The good news is I’m pretty handy and do know how to replace a broken toilet, as long as its not too complicated. There is something “manly” about marching into Home Depot or Lowes,  strutting to the plumbing section, brushing the perky sales associate aside and grabbing a toilet valve and trip lever. One slightly gloats as they head to the cashier past other men and women with confused looks on their faces, scratching their heads as they ponder the vast plethora of parts in various sizes and shapes……some in European metric to make matters worse.

Emotional problems and mental illnesses are more complicated. As long as we feel fine and things are going good or great , we have the confidence to work and play. When things start to break down in ourselves, in our spouse, or god forbid in our children, we often dont know what to do and who to trust. We try to put up a good front to everyone including the neighbors, the friends and extended family, but inside we feel crappy and the self-confidence “valve” starts to breakdown. Lying in bed and hiding begins to sound and feel more appealing then the conference call at work, the tennis date, or the dinner party. Knowing who to see or what to do to fix the broken part(s) inside is more problematic. It’s not that we dont know enough about depression, anxiety, panic attacks, eating disorders or bipolar. It’s almost like we know too much, and feel so bad we dont know what to do first. Many people eventually do see their primary physician and end up with a handful of pills, either for depression, anxiety or both…just in case. I’m not going to directly bash physicians…just indirectly. They are very busy people who dont really have the time to look at the big picture and the “wholistic” perspective. In fact, many of them dont really believe in the so called wholistic perspective and mostly care about our heart, lungs, blood pressure, cholesterol and liver enzymes. They are, for the most part, trained to keep us alive rather then to care about keeping us happy and fulfilled. I’m sure they want us to be happy. Frankly, alot of them dont look so happy themselves and appear to be stressed out too. I dont blame them, because as I previously wrote about, it’s a toxic culture we live in today. I’m not talking about airborne pollution but more about the negative, anxiety inducing news, the bleak economy and the kind of unrelenting expectations many of us set for ourselves and our children. We all so badly want to succeed and make money and then watch TV shows about people like Snooki and Donald Trump.

Years ago when I traveled on family vacations I remember seeing the many poor people living within sight of the 5 star resorts we stayed in and wondered how they could smile all the time. I guess they didnt have TVs and cell phones then to remind them how poor and unsuccessful they were. They didnt suffer from constant “social comparison syndrome” and didn’t have 1000 cable channels telling them they werent thin enough, “ripped” enough, or equipped enough with the right clothes, handbags, jewelry, cutlery or 124 piece pocketknife and sword collection. I havent even mentioned Facebook. Who hasn’t stalked through their friends photo albums and wistfully thought, “Must be nice to go to Kauai for two weeks” or “Boy, that vertical slide at the Atlantis Casino sure looks cool…dammit!” Dont get me wrong. I want everyone to have fun. That’s my point. It’s just that many of us have either forgotten how to feel that way or life has imposed conditions on us physically, mentally, and economically that challenge our creativity to find joy and happiness today and here, not just in St. Thomas or the Bahamas.

Many of us Baby Boomers remember the best times either in high school or when our kids were very young. There is a reason for that. Those were the times when we let ourselves have fun and didnt need to compete in leagues, on ALTA teams, or at charity golf tournaments with our boss and co-workers watching. We just had fun being kids, roller-skating, dancing, biking through the neighborhood, listening to music, messing around at the beach or hanging out in somebody’s basement fortress made of cardboard boxes. We really PLAYED back then. It was real PLAY THERAPY. Nowadays, even play therapy (the real version) is a pretty serious endeavor, designed to evaluate, diagnose and treat childhood emotional problems. That’s serious, even tho the goal is to keep the kid engaged, relaxed and unaware of the gravity of the session or its potential consequences. Instead, I’m talking about the playtime and exuberance we felt when we took our kids to a playground, watched them laugh and even climbed up on the jungle gyms and play structures with them. Am I the only dad that broke the rules at McDonalds and jumped into the ball pit with their kids?? Ok, I think I did get booted out for doing that once, but even that was fun and my kids got a huge kick out of it. I wasn’t escorted out by a cop or Ronald McDonald, just some teenager with pimples and a paper hat. Funny how a paper hat, whether it is a pirate hat or a New Years Eve party hat signifies FUN and letting loose. We all need to do that more often and maybe create actual venues where we can do it together as families in spontaneous, playful, non-serious, but ultimately therapeutic ways. I’ll be the first one to bring my pirate sword and paper party hat!

Market watchers and every man over 50 is anxiously awaiting FDA approval and widespread distribution of Stendra, the new 15 minute fast acting erectile dysfunction drug that hopes to compete with if not replace Viagra. Anyone who has taken Viagra, otherwise known as the “magic” blue pill knows that it takes about an hour to take “full” effect, leading many men to come up with various delay tactics such as needing to check an important phone message from the office, reading the online Sports section.. again or finishing the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle, Millenium edition. The sound of ones wife or sex partner tapping their toes impatiently and/or making a face gesture that clearly says, “So, is NASA going to launch or not?” has been one of the few untoward side-effects and limitations of the wonder drug that has made Pfizer Inc. billions of dollars. Sure, occasionally a Viagra user either goes blind or ends up with a permanent erection but most of us are willing to trade some vision for a sexual experience akin to nuclear fission. The package warning about going to the hospital if your erection lasts more then 4 hours sends more men to their doctors office to get a prescription than to any hospital ER. Nobody wants to waste that kind of God-like experience, short-lived as it might be, even if it leaves somebody with a towel bar in their trousers for a day or two. Vivus Inc., the makers of Avavanil (Stendra) are betting on the fact that most Americans hate to wait, and if anyone has tried the chewing gum version of Viagra, or God forbid bitten into a Viagra pill in a vain attempt to get a quicker response time knows it tastes only slightly better then Amoxicillin….ewww.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/27/fda-approves-vivus-viagra-rival_n_1460340.html?fb_action_ids=2060132480801%2C3247552503724%2C10150787195479313&fb_action_types=news.reads&fb_ref=type%3Aread%2Cuser%3AJHaqGJBEl8S9-_NmsSk2fdVeDIo&fb_source=other_multiline#access_token=AAAAACuIpepUBAItEqUWMuvm361HfyGlLN9ERZCeITaHKOn7TWdZCB2SXkWixiIprhX6wnsYaRw8d61qU9ZCbE1XHkaLDFIaGZA9TlZAgbQQZDZD&expires_in=6450

Bamboo Peace Pipe Art

In my opinion our modern world is too often characterized by extreme WASTE and excessive HASTE. It seems that anything that is old, slightly broken, defective or no longer state of the art is summarily deemed obsolete and “thrown away”, whether it is a broken marriage, an elderly person with Alzheimer’s or last years iPod or smart phone. Instead of taking more time to “fix” ourselves, our  relationships in conflict, or the world in moral crisis and spiritual disrepair we seek to quickly fill our unmet needs and deep wounds with something material, superficial and brand new whether it is someone new to date online or something  shiny and new at the shopping mall or car dealership. In terms of healing our individual, social and societal problems, that which represent the more ancestral , older, tribal, or slower and deeper approach is increasingly  rejected in favor of the superficial newer versions,  the faster cheaper models, or the expedient and more self-advantageous solution.

Bamboo reminds us of our ancestral roots and our interdependent relationship with the natural environment in “long time”.

The SACRED PEACE PIPE has been a symbol of healing, tribal unity-understanding, communication, and the need for spiritually powerful ceremony/ritual for thousands of years, mostly among Aboriginal peoples (and perhaps modern day hippies).  My sculptural bamboo PEACE PIPES include discarded materials, found objects, recycled junk, wire, beads, plumbing parts, textile scraps, and an occasional avocado seed. Many of my now over 400 “one of a kind” pipes, boxes and accessories are at least partly confessional, ie. expressions of my own often conflicted personality, personal interests and surreal life experiences. My lifelong interest in Native American art, history and Hawaiian culture are of particular importance. At the same time my art is meant to express a lighthearted sense of humor, irony, and self-deprecation. There is a strong humorist connotation, one that laughs at itself and reminds us to not take anything too seriously. Like all existential dilemmas we must all eventually surrender to the mystery that is life and death. However, as in the Native American and Aboriginal pipe ceremonies, we can still allow ourselves a moment in time to reflect and remember what is truly important, and to accept things as they are and on their own terms. Moreover, there is still time to symbolically pass the sacred peace pipe back and forth among us, and in so doing, offer one another love, humor, healing, appreciation, understanding, and forgiveness, all token gifts of our true humanity.
Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.  Atlanta, Georgia