captaincliff

Simply put, this essay is one mans attempt to praise those plucky Australians, otherwise known as Aussies. They are without doubt the bravest people on Earth. How do I know this? Because I watch Animal Planet….quite often. Nearly every episode is about the plethora of poisonous species that inhabit Australia. Other shows about the “most dangerous” animals and the creatures “most likely” to tear you limb from limb are also more often then not unique to the dusty continent Down Under. Speaking of dust, they apparently only have two weather patterns in Australia; Biblical Flood-Deluge and Mad Max Apocalyptic Drought-Famine. I learned this on the Weather Channel. When it rains in Australia there are crocodiles and Great White Sharks circling the Opera House in Sydney and when its bone dry there are hordes of rabbits and koala bears soliciting Japanese tourists for bottled water and bento boxes. It’s that bad. How they even manage to still scoop up shrimp for the barbies without losing a hand is beyond me. I’m not done. Even the shrimp are vicious and are called “tiger” shrimp because of their large teeth and predatory nature. Luckily, by the time they get to us they are already defanged as well as deveined and frozen in plastic bags

As a result of their god forsaken, unforgiving geography the people of Australia have evolved over time to a kind of super race of humans. The average Aussie male looks like Dolph Lundgren in Rocky IV and the average female is Kate Upton or Miranda Kerr. The ugly ones either get eaten by wild beasts or become politicians. I know what you are thinking. You think I am exaggerating. I’m not. These are tough people. They are so tough they apparently wash their kids clothes while the tykes are still fully dressed. That’s why they are such amazing swimmers. Regarding two recent stories out of Australia, one about a baby in a washing machine and the other about zillions of wolf spiders in Wagawaga and in the flood ravaged area known as……….(no frickin’ way I can pronounce it): 1) wtf?, I have misplaced my keys and wallet many times but that’s ridiculous and 2) are you kidding me? How do you even leave your home without putting on full body armor and a beekeepers helmet? The Aussies are a special breed indeed. Nothing seems to stop them from living their life of eating those gigantic man eating shrimp and drinking themselves into oblivion by hoisting oversized bottles of Foster’s lager beer followed by a brisk swim in shark infested water. Apparently living and working among man eating amphibians, deadly jellyfish and dozens of poisonous snakes and other yucky creatures that breed incessantly is part and parcel of Australia’s appeal to its hardy inhabitants.

Normally daily news about dust storms, record breaking floods and forced evacuations would be enough to make many residents breakdown in a puddle of tears and move en masse to safer environs, say like Baltimore or Boca Raton, but  these blokes laugh in the face of danger and smile bravely as their snake and spider bitten legs  blow up to twice their normal size and then are forcibly yanked from their socket by a monster sized crocodile performing a death roll. The Aussies, much like the Honey Badger just dont care. The rest of us can only admire such a plucky race of men and women who by all accounts are 95% blond and blue eyed and prone to wearing safari gear when they arent spearfishing among Great Whites. Many Australians continue to smoke cigarettes…. while scuba diving. Let the rest of us take an important lesson from these modern day Titans among men, as their strength and resilience in the face of utter hopelessness seems legendary and sets the bar quite high for far wimpier cultures, such as our own. Sure we can indiscriminately drop a couple of nuclear weapons on civilians and send a smart bomb into a terrorist’s Mercedes with our remote controlled Predator drones but none of us look anything but ridiculous holding Crocodile Dundee’s hat and hunting knife. Even the few Americans who may look the part end up whimpering in despair like Indiana Jones, “Snakes, why did it have to be snakes??”

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/14/dead-baby-washing-machine_n_1344668.html?icid=maing-grid7|main5|dl2|sec3_lnk1%26pLid%3D143497

Sample image:  Average looking Australians out for their morning walk. Their dog, a wild dingo raised from a pup by Steve Irwin was snatched away by a 20 ft. crocodile right as it was preparing to do it’s business. They barely managed to dodge a herd of wild rabbits, a plague of cane toads full of bufotoxins and several MMA trained kangaroos in boxing gloves. Even tho they are in an understandably dour mood, they will still proceed to a pub and drink a 12 pack of Foster’s Lager followed by several sets of tennis….on grass….with vintage wood racquets.

Just one more example of those bold and brass Aussies and their “can do” (without limbs) national persona. By one US report, nearly half of Australians under 35 years of age have lost an arm or leg to either a shark, crocodile, poisonous snake or rabid marsupial. Amputations are nearly as common as permanent make-up. As this video clip shows, Aussies carry on and continue to perform and excel no matter what they do, altho for most of them that simply means excessive drinking, engaging in race riots, and dressing up as Santa while intoxicated and cursing the police.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/19/deborah-roach-pole-dancer-one-arm_n_1363807.html?ref=topbar

Recently I remembered that I had signed up to go to my 40th high school reunion in Highland Park, Illinois in less then a month. As a Clinical Psychologist I am often called on to represent reality and constructive thinking over denial, repression and procrastination. Apparently I had denied, repressed and procrastinated the reality of this blessed event for around…forty years.  I had to accept the fact that at age 57, I now more closely resemble an aging bald man with sleep apnea  than a muscled Adonis with an Armani wardrobe and warlock fangs.

Once the reality of my high school reunion hit, I realized I needed to swing into action, make a new plan, Sam, and take stock of my current life and lifestyle. In other words, I had to actually get off my butt and do some of things I normally get paid to remind others to do. First I had to admit to myself that some of my current behaviors are not conducive to healthy living or to an ego gratifying high school reunion. Like everyone else in Atlanta in the summer, I enjoy being outdoors, but mostly just to chargrill the shit out of my enormous meat-laden meals and then scamper back inside to wolf it all down… really fast. It’s too damn hot out there!! Maybe I learned that from growing up in Chicago, where steaks, ribs and deep dish pizza are considered appetizers and August often resembles the blowtorch they use on the creme brule I love way too much.

Anyway, healthy moderation seems to be only a vague theoretical concept to me, sort of like black holes and anti-matter. Part of my “action plan” involved going to my family doctor and letting him poke and prod me in all the vulnerable middle aged places.  After hearing my laundry list of complaints, my internist, a very healthy and fit looking man around my age told me I needed to “generally cut back”. No wonder he gets the big bucks. However, I knew what he meant. Too much salt, too much sugar, too many carbs and calories, and too few push-ups.  I cannot seem to keep what goes in or out of my mouth lean enough or “to the bone” as real writers like to say.  In fact, usually I prefer to eat the bones too, crunching down on them caveman style and enthusiastically sucking out the fatty marrow, whether it is a T-bone steak, rack of southern style barbecued ribs, or a juicy rotisserie chicken. The following day I dutifully make an appointment to see my dentist to fix the gold filling I broke in the process.

I now realize that “too much” is my personal theme song and my hidden vice in life. I try to hide it in isolated instances of understatement. My cars are usually clean and my home is tastefully decorated, sort of. However, dont go into my basement….. Let’s just say my TV show, if I ever had one, would be called Hoarders Meets Not Ever Gonna Flip This House. I actually had a dream, not that long ago that my sons called up the producers of Hoarders and convinced them to send a busload of camera men, OCD specialists and “organizational consultants” to my house for a new episode…….on the same weekend as my high school reunion…

Whether it is parsimony or parsley, I cant seem to just “Let it Be” as the Beatles put it in 1970, a scant year before I graduated from Highland Park High School. Somehow, over time, my inner mantra somehow must have changed from ,”Be Here Now” to  “While less is more, Way too much is better”. Even when attempting to cook “healthy”, I feel the presence of other epic purveyors of excess, (eg. Julia Child, Emeril, etc.) who inhabit my body and urge me to add “more spice”, throw in a little “lard”, or just “take it up a notch”…. The phrase “everything but the kitchen sink” is perceived by my hypomanic mind to be a kind of rare complement, rather than what it really is, a euphemism for intemperance.

It’s not that I dont appreciate the idea of Zen like simplicity, it’s just that some other part of me sneaks in like a stealthy but unhealthy Samurai to throw in some perceived “added value”… or to further “accessorize” the setting, the situation or the deli sandwich. How normal is to go on vacation and still be thinking about going shopping for accent pillows and better paintings for the hotel room? Look, I know the problem and the compulsive feelings that accompany it. I’m a Psychologist dammit!!  I watch Hoarders. Everybody, including myself is clearly thinking, “Get rid of all that worthless junk!!”  Let’s face it, those people need alot of love, support and thick leather restraints to hold them down while a caravan of 1-800-JUNK trucks come to load up all their piles  of dreck. I can relate…to both sides.

They say every solution begins by first acknowledging the problem. Personally I’m not yet ready to cut back completely or do the whole “admitting to ones powerlessness” thing, at least not when it comes to my calories, my cable channels or even my consonants. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go where no Charlie Sheen has gone before and hand over my engorged Ego to my Higher Power. Right now, I just want to make a simple omelet for lunch-brunch. Just a nice healthy organic turkey bacon omelet with a little avocado and Monterrey Jack cheese…and maybe a dash of Mrs. Dash and black pepper..and perhaps a dollop of fat free sour cream….  I guess I’ll hold on the bad sodium nitrates, curb some of the carbs, nix the artificial sweeteners, and refrain from unwarranted shopping sprees and garage sales until further notice. Maybe I’ll even go for a few short and sweaty walks, or climb on a treadmill while watching Hoarders, Ace of Cakes or Cake Boss. I will try to mindfully meditate and see myself in a more realistic light, regardless of how much frickin money my high school classmates made selling Pork futures and Soybeans at the Chicago Board of Trade.  Still, I doubt anybody at the reunion is going to get me to shut up or successfully take a vow of silence.

I realize I’m way more Wizard of Oz than Dr. Oz, but I’m gonna give it my best shot anyway. May Julia Child, Mike Ditka, and Open Pit Barbecue Sauce forgive me…..

Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. is a Clinical Psychologist in Private Practice. He specializes in sex therapy and eating disorders. He resides in Atlanta, Georgia and has an inexplicable thing for Pirates.   He plans to attend his 40th high school reunion in Highland Park, Ill. in August, 2011    Contact 404-932-7193

Letter to my Wonderful and Crazy cousin Donna: Donna, thanks so much for the beautiful knife set from Macy’s. I feel like Jack the Ripper on his birthday. Do you think Jack’s family and everyone (who really knew him) got him razors, straight edge blades and surgical instruments on his birthday?  There are so many strange and ironic coincidences in the world that people are blithely unaware of. Its a the kind of “useless trivia” permeating the universe that most scallywags think is stupid, but in my mind is alot better than invading the wrong fricken’ country and leading other countries into protracted wars on foreign soil where people there have nothing to do except wait for the next “infidel” to come and give their lives meaning (as a suicide bomber or blessed martyr). To me THAT is really stupid, ironic and horribly tragic. Cutlery trivia off the top of my competely bald head: A prime suspect in the knife wielding Jack the Ripper case was a certain James Maybrick. He later died at the hands of his wife, Florence Maybrick, who was found guilty for poisoning him with arsenic and imprisoned for it in Great Britain. Later again, she was released and came to the United States. She stayed for a season and wrote a book while staying at the Moraine Hotel in Highland Park Illinois on Lake Michigan……the same hotel my mother and father were married at. If you walk down to the lake in Highland Park at the location of the old now long gone Moraine Hotel, right along the ravine path you can still see bits and pieces of shattered china, broken glass and an occasional  knife or fork from the kitchen of the old Moraine Hotel. Shades of The Shining………….  Thanks again Donna. I love you very much.  Love, Cliff   PS  You outdid yourself with the oversized stainless steel Chinese meat cleaver. Just call me Beaver Cleaver……