captaincliff

Again with the testicle squeezing?? What is with people? A previous CaptCliff blogpost (see below) addressed this scourge that appears to be on the rise, so to speak. Now we have another woman utilizing this highly effective form of martial arts in an attempt to secure a parking space in China. I thought the traffic in Atlanta was bad…. Imagine if every angry or frustrated female driver decided to use deadly force upon men and their most vulnerable appendages? Do we need to pass a new law or post signs specifically stating NO BALL SQUEEZING ZONE ? How would we enforce such restrictions and make sure such a law has teeth……..no pun intended.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/26/woman-squeezed-mans-testicles-kills-parking-china_n_1457487.html
https://captaincliff.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/dr-cliff-on-extremely-angry-girlfriends/

I know that the world is generally a beautiful place and that it is an extraordinary gift to be alive. It definitely beats the heck out of being dead. However, there are times when one stops to ponder our particular culture and the things we are currently taught to value. Just pick up the TV remote control and surf the cable channel from one to one thousand. Given that there used to be only four channels (all in grainy black and white) that alone would seem to be a blessing. It is not. With the exception of PBS and Law and Order, the choices range from sick to sickening to revolting. I dont think I need to enumerate the shallow, superficial, celebrity obsessed programs millions watch every day. They dont call it the “boob tube” for nothing. What about all the games people play on their “gaming consoles”, iPads and smartphones? It’s difficult to imagine how slaughtering people, dismembering aliens, or stacking up colored boxes makes a person smarter or contributes to our collective intelligence. Still, there may be some distinct advantage in having convenient methods to distract ourselves….from ourselves.

Dont get me wrong. The trees and the animals and nature and some stand-up comedy is still enjoyable and a pleasure to behold. I’m just saying alot of things that are supposed to be entertaining, fun, or funny really are not. I think it’s because we live in a basically “toxic culture” that is making us sick, physically and mentally. Then, when we do get sick, as a result of our vacuous society, skewed values and technologically top heavy lives, we get funneled into a depressing and impersonal healthcare system. We dont need medical robots in the future because most doctors are already that way due to economic and administrative pressures nowadays. The last time I saw my primary care physician, I had to literally block the door to keep him from leaving after five minutes. It’s not really his fault. He had dozens of other patients to see and even tho I might imagine him to be Dr. House or Dr. Oz, he’s just a busy doctor trying to pay his bills and not get sued like everyone else.

Folks, I’m not trying to poop on the parade. I’m just trying to remind myself and anyone else that might care… to remember……to care. Caring takes just a second, but does require a certain degree of focus, attention, and well, sincerity. How often do we stop and not just “smell the roses” as they say, but say hello, give a hug, look into someones eyes (not in a creepy way) and remember to be truly human?  I’m guessing it’s because of all the bad news and random violence we read about 24/7 that we have trained ourselves to be interpersonally bi-polar. Either we wave superficially and say, “How you doin’?” to people we dont know (without waiting for an answer) or we keep our heads down and avoid anything that might attract a random sex offender or road raging citizen with an Uzi. I realize there’s no easy cure for all the social ills of a New millennia society with a humongous carbon footprint. I just think we should consider changing what we watch and how we feel and think FIRST and get to the mercury in our teeth later. Not that there’s anything wrong with fixing our teeth. I’m just saying how about we start by smiling with whatever is in our mouth and really mean it.

Headline: Newt Gingrich to bow out of presidential race and have scaled back Secret Service protection. Newly reassigned agent fresh from Cartegena Columbia and Arizona sex addiction clinic, still somewhat easily distracted….Ok, I made some of that up. Not the part about Gingrich, but the part about the new secret service agent, altho who really knows? It’s hard to believe what is fact and what is fiction nowadays. Young people I notice, accept the absurdity of the news and what is reported by the media with greater ease and less incredulity. I spend half my time reading and the rest of the time thinking, “No fucking way!! That cant possibly be true…can it??”  I think it’s all the reality TV they watch including the ghost hunters and alien abduction shows which are presented as if they are scientifically valid. The ghost hunters always carry “scientific equipment” with lots of dials, digital devices and readouts to indicate the presence of “paranormal energy”. What the heck is paranormal energy anyway? If somebody farts does that count? If a ghost farts could they detect it? These are the kind of absurd conjectures that sometimes make me long for the ’70s, well before smart phones, iPads, Kardashians and Gingriches, both the original and 2.0 versions.

What words or concepts are vital to recovery from an eating disorder or psychological disorder like depression? How about ENJOY and HAVINF FUN? What about FEELING EXCITED and FULFILLED or PASSIONATE?  As helping professionals we often tell patients and their families how important it is to have good medical care and high self-esteem, but do we tell or teach them that HAPPINESS, ENJOYING LIFE, having a PASSION for something (other then dieting or being thin), and finding a way to HELP OTHERS (that is more direct and engaging then sending an email or even a check to a worthy cause) is also extremely therapeutic and beneficial to ones health and continued recovery? Do therapists take the time or have the time to help patients design a future life  (aftercare and recovery) that is pleasurable, self-fulfilling, individualized and not just a stressful climb to the top of the social ladder or the pinnacle of their chosen profession? Who’s job is it really to model the commonly talked about (but less frequently executed) concepts of joy, laughter, self-acceptance, emotional “authenticity”, “serenity” and having “inner peace”.

As a parent and a therapist, I would be the first to admit I have not always practiced what I preach, and it would be good to validate my childrens perceptions and let them know they can be qualitatively different and “better” in many more ways then just making money, having alot of Facebook “friends” or getting perfect grades. It would be good to have a place to talk about THAT with other parents and families too. None of us are perfect and its a good thing to admit it to one another…. and quite relieving. “Letting go and letting God” might be a good idea for some people (12 step programs) but its a little vague for many of us. I’d like to talk about it face to face with others, have more fun together, play more non-competitive games, and do so in ways that allow people to be themselves and not so clinically “different”.  Cliff Mazer, Ph.D.

You know that Capital One TV commercial that uses the tagline, “What’s in Your Wallet”? It’s pretty funny the way they use Alec Baldwin and random unruly Vikings to promote their credit card and associated line of credit. Most of us are understandably concerned with how much money we have and what we can afford, with or without the plastic cards that we proudly display when purchasing something. The black Amex card, the one they call “The Centurion” is supposed to be reserved for the wealthiest and most “elite” members of society, hence the ultimate sign of affluence and “deep pockets”.

As usual, this got me thinking in the opposite direction, about what we DONT like to display and instead of what we buy, what we tend to HIDE, or at least what others dont see. Something tells me I’m not the only person with a basement full of crap and a storage space littered with the flotsam and jetsam of a failed first marriage. Storage Wars is a big hit for many different reasons. Sure we all like a good bargain, but just like going to estate sales there is something ghostly and almost morbid about looking through somebody’s lifetime of acquired objects and wondering, “What happened? Were they happy? How did they die? What kind of problems did they struggle with as a couple and family? Did they love someone deeply or was their life an ongoing tragedy out of Gone With the Wind or Sophie’s Choice?” I always end up wondering what people picking through my closets and my household possessions would say besides, “Hmmm, these must be his skinny clothes….” or “Why in the world would he have a mint collection of Ron Popiel’s As Seen On TV products?? What a tool!”

Once I think about it, I also recognize that there is something sad about the way I have clung to material “stuff”, almost as proof of my existence and perceived self-importance. Like in Planet of The Apes, I dont want some future civilization digging into the sediment layers of my by then completely demolished home only to find superfluous objects like a broken battery powered book light with its patented velcro clip or a shredded scrap of my leopard skin Snuggie. Maybe that’s why I have so many more books then I could ever read in a lifetime, including ones I dont really understand like Finnegan’s Wake by James Joyce and The New Physics and Cosmology. I want people to think I am an intellectual, not a foolish consumer. I dont want some Harvard based archeology team in the distant future to only find my Ronco Pocket Fisherman and Baconator, still in their boxes with their lifetime guarantees. Finally, I believe some of us hang onto “things” as subconscious symbols of ones guilt and shame about not knowing better when one was young and far more stupid. It’s not always easy to forgive oneself and break free of our many past mistakes. Like Robert DiNiro in the 1986 film The Mission, we shlep our material things behind us as necessary reminders of our youthful indiscretions, relationship failures and even memories of what once was, a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away. Like the war weary Conquistador that DiNiro played so well, we must eventually let go of our baggage and our protective armor. Obviously letting go of stuff is not easy, but letting go of emotional baggage may be essential to moving on and living life fully today and tomorrow. So instead of asking, “What’s in your wallet?”, maybe we should be asking ourselves, “What’s in that big invisible bag I drag behind me?”

I havent been writing much lately. Frankly the news, even what they call “weird news” is mostly mundane and uninteresting. I have tried to keep my readers informed about gay penguins, insane castration prone girlfriends, and any and all manner of shenanigans that enlarge ones perspective and make a person glad to be alive…. and still attached to their major appendages. A story I watched last night on “I Shouldn’t Have Survived” involved a farmer who got caught in his moving grain combine/tractor and had to voluntarily remove his clothes and left hand to escape being turned completely into breakfast cereal. He was glad to do it (sacrifice a mere limb) given the alternative and was a bit embarrassed at his gaffe, which was not getting wrapped up in his razor sharp farming equipment but losing nearly all his clothes in the process. Lucky he still had one thumb left to hitch a ride to the hospital. That’s human courage.

However, another story hits closer to home. I live in a quiet subdued (or so I thought) suburb of Atlanta known as Sandy Springs. There’s not a whole lot of wild “action” around, unless you call the early bird special at Applebees wild or think that crossing Roswell Road at dusk on a Friday afternoon constitutes a legitimate form of playing Russian Roulette. Our little village is run like a tight ship with police cruisers on every other street corner and plenty of friendly neighbors waving hello even tho I dont remember hardly any of them by name. I just wave back in a certain way that means, “Aint it great to live in safe, secure, well manicured Sandy Springs? Hiya back and your lawn is looking great!” Well, an article I noticed today in the local news patch suggests there are a few activities going on that I wasn’t aware of before, which is good because going to a movie theater and out to get frozen yogurt and/or ice cream is starting to get old, like many of the residents who live here, including myself. Choosing a new undiscovered flavor at Baskin Robbins does not exactly equate to going bungee jumping in New Zealand or zip-lining in Costa Rica.

So, what is this new enterprise, activity, risky business?  Well….it seems we in Sandy Springs have been playing host to our own transgender dominatrix who for $250 an hour is willing to provide sadomasochistic sessions in his/her private dungeon apartment. Who knew?? While the price is definitely out of my league for the average weekend leisure activity or social pursuit, it definitely qualifies for a certain type of persons ultimate bucket list. Dont ask me to specify the type of person because there are alot of different ways to butter our bread and people do the craziest things, even for $250 bucks an hour. Actually, at that price point I wonder if they are hiring? I would be happy to spank somebody’s tush and wear a rubber mask for about the same amount my attorney makes. At least the right person gets spanked and there is pleasure in the pain at Mistress Regina’s fun house. Hey, I wonder if there’s a Groupon for that?

http://sandysprings.patch.com/articles/transgender-dominatrix-cited-in-sandy-springs?ncid=txtlnkuspatc00000003

As you know, I have a certain obligation to report news that is both weird and sex related, on account of my professional license and expertise. Legitimately, some may question how being a psychologist and sex therapist entitles me to write a blog about an angry ex-girlfriend attempting to castrate a man with her bare hands. I have no answer except to say that people do funny things when they are pissed off and in this case there are some interesting coincidences that give the story added oomph, shall we say. At least hear me out and try not to wince too much. An angry jilted lover in Indiana stormed into her boyfriend’s apartment and found him “busy” on the computer. We dont know what he was doing exactly but we do know exactly what she did. She grabbed his scrotum and refused to let go. Apparently this was a woman with considerable hand strength as she nearly pulled off his entire package minus his “Anthony Weiner”. Here comes the coincidence part. The man was rushed to the nearest hospital which was……Ball Memorial Hospital.  I kid you not. I doubt that the man could appreciate the irony, but we can, as well as wish him a complete recovery….of all his parts. Moral of the story? Lock your door when seeking privacy and never go out with a crazy jealous woman who has perfected the Uma Thurman snatch and grab ninja move in Kill Bill. Sometimes an “eye for an eye” is more like a “nut for a nut” .

http://news.yahoo.com/angry-ex-girlfriend-goes-ballistic-rips-off-man-192805232.html

I thought I was obsessed with toilets. Go figure. In Taipei they have a growing chain of popular theme restaurants called Modern Toilet. Every food item and every patron is served in a bathroom related fixture filled setting. When I say the food is crappy I mean it only metaphorically, as they are quite fond of “producing” gourmet menu items that have scatological significance and sculptural form. Instead of Ronald McDonald they have…….ewww, I cant even imagine. I’m hesitant to speculate what the sociological meaning behind a culture absolutely giddy with excitement to eat out of replica toilets and order mixed drinks out of plastic hospital urinal containers. I realize we have our share of stupid themed Pirates of the Caribbean places and Jekyll and Hyde Clubs for faux spooky horror and drunken buccaneer dining, all designed to entertain whilst serving you and the kiddies crappy food for a high price. This however takes the restroom themery to a new level of morbid that even I with my IBD cannot fathom. The pictures in this case are worth a thousand words and for the chronically constipated I suppose there is inspiration aplenty.

http://omgowned.wordpress.com/2008/05/30/modern-toilet-restaurant-eat-there-and-feel-like-a-shit/

Folks, there is more then a little wrong with society. I am all for product re-branding and reinvention and even recycling, but when we are reselling wall stud finders from Home Depot as devices to measure a man’s erection, we have gone a technological centimeter too far. This “handy” device called a EQM supposedly measures penile rigidity in some international unit I am unfamiliar with, ie. cubits, boners, Johnsons, etc. It should have been a clue for consumers that their companion item, called Fast Size is a “traction” apparatus intended to stretch and extend the male member to Guinness like proportions in one or two easy “sessions”. Sounds more like Penis Pilates to me. These are difficult devices to explain not only to the spouse and children who happen to find them beside the bed, but also set a bad example, of extreme stupidity. I know we are living in the age of automation. I realize pretty soon they will have a smart phone app for this in which you can not only measure your genitalia  with your phone, sort of like Anthony Weiner, but also probably talk to it as well using a Siri like voice activated tool, excuse the pun. I can imagine the conversation now with the app aptly named “Peter”: “Peter, what is my length and girth currently, and hurry up, she’s still in the bathroom.” Peter: “Sir, you are huge, as always”. Did that really take years of research and development? Footnote: A follow-up article notes that zillions of these devices were confiscated from their distribution warehouses by the FDA for failing to ask for or pass mandatory government testing and review. Look for them instead on ebay, Storage Wars, or in your Easter basket today. I hear they work better as stud finders anyway, and not the male kind either.

http://www.malesvue.com/enlargement/fastsize/erectile-quality-monitor/

Restaurant Review of Baskin Robbins Ice Cream, Sandy Springs

I know it’s kind of weird to do a restaurant review of Baskin Robbins Ice Cream. It’s like rating McDonalds or the restrooms at TJ Maxx. Aren’t they all exactly alike? Actually no, they are not. Sure, everyone has their own dessert preferences. One son of mine is a self-professed Yogli Mogli Man and craves going there just to ask the same quasi- rhetorical question. While picking up the extra large serving bowl which rivals a large popcorn container in size and diameter, he intones, ” Who the heck is going to use this? This would cost more then filling my car up!” He also points out how Yogli Mogli cleverly stations its extra employee near the highly proprietary ice cream machines to “assist” people in selecting free samples, which is about the same thing as posting a large sign saying, “Dont steal. We are watching you.” Since the place is owned and operated by Israelis it’s surprising they dont have a Predator drone flying overhead to reinforce the point. Still, I happen to like their version of soft serve and their large selection of fresh toppings which almost always add enough paying weight to take the bill well over $20 for a family of four…… Anyway, I digress as usual.

I really am writing this to lodge a specific complaint. The closest Brusters in Sandy Springs appears to have closed recently. What? Why? In the summer time Brusters is a great place to stand in line and sweat profusely behind several large families with hyperactive kids and assorted teenagers asking to try this or that, please. Their ice cream is good, their serving size plentiful and the many specials like Key Lime Pie with graham cracker crust yummy. By default I ended up escorting the ice cream craving girlfriend to Baskin Robbins on Hammond Drive for the first time.  Shlepping to Coldstone Creamery across from Target Perimeter seemed not only a stoplight with perpetual traffic too far as well as an unnecessarily long wait while they do their hocus pocus Coldstone ritual. Am I the only one that doesn’t really care that they “smash and smoosh” and knead and mix the ice cream for like 5 minutes on their supposedly microbe resistent  cold counters while I am having a major munchies attack? If I’m not busy tapping my toes at Coldstone in frustration and impatience, I’m normally obsessing about picking up some strange disease like an ice cream loving strain of MRSA or Legionnaires disease while they wave their ice cream scoops and shovels around like lower tier sous chefs at Benihana’s. At least at Benihana’s I could be slurping down a stiff tropical drink or gorging myself on an edamame appetizer or that molten lava onion volcano thing. So instead, I’m back at good old Baskin Robbins, the quaint little ice cream place of my childhood in the Chicago suburb of Highland Park, circa 1968 to 1970. Will it be the same as way back when? Will I be able to get a nice reliable cone of  average tasting ice cream, maybe strawberry or vanilla, not unlike Pat Nixon’s “perfectly respectable cloth coat” which Tricky Dick shamelessly used to sell us on his “man of the people” image. Riiiight…we now know how that turned out, and my Baskin Robbins experience wasn’t too different.

The place trades heavily on its name and brand recognition, not on it’s product. The store in Sandy Springs is lovely and has a second floor loft for no apparent reason or purpose. Maybe they have parties up there but I didnt see anybody or hear any screaming kids high on cake and cookies. The prices for what you get are too high. It’s not our fault you got sucked into the City Walk hype that has left many stores vacant or begging for business. The ice cream cakes approached $40. When I say my single scoop of ice cream was one little scoop I mean it, and it was a piddly sized ball at that, like they are possibly using the miniature plastic scoop from my sister’s 1968 Susie Homemaker Toy kitchen. In fact, I wonder if they are making the ice cream using the Retro Susie Homemaker Ice Cream maker too because: 1) they were practically out of half their ice cream selections and 2) the stuff that was left was full of ice particles and about as bland as could be. I realize if I wanted gourmet gelato I could have flown to Florence..or Whole Foods. I also admit we did arrive rather late and they could have been low on stock, but still, I was unimpressed and shed a tear for Brusters and my beloved Key Lime Pie ice cream. It takes alot to screw up strawberry ice cream, but somehow they did. Finally, the young lady with deer in the headlights eyes who served us seemed overwhelmed and over her head. Asking for a “plain” sugar cone sent her into a flurry of confused action. She appeared scared to death when her first two attempts to retrieve a cone from the bottom of the cardboard carton labeled CONES were fruitless, or cone-less to be exact. Come on honey, we arent at the bottom of the Marianas Trench in a submersible with Jacque Cousteau trying to snag rare sea life off the ocean floor…..get back in there and reach a little farther down! Finally her ungloved hand, like the robot arm on the Calypso was successful and she produced two bent looking cones, one with a slightly broken stem. All the better to drip ice cream on my trousers later. I wish I could say the price was right, but it wasn’t. We paid well over $6 for two kiddie sized cones which while I admit I can take the financial hit, at least I was hoping for a little Chicagoland blast from the part. All I got was wasted calories and a craving for someone to buck the current cultural obsession with frozen yogurt (yeah, Red Mango lasted like what 6 months?) and consider the rest of us people who prefer rich, creamy super fattening ice cream, just like the kind we had way back when, like when nobody counted calories and taste actually mattered for something.