How I Spoiled My New Dog and Turned Her Into a JAPP (Jewish American Puppy Princess)

Posted on June 13, 2014 by captaincliff

photo-22
As a Clinical Psychologist and marriage therapist you get to see and deal with all kinds of interesting family problems and relationship issues. Early in my career I saw a young Jewish couple who claimed their biggest problem was conflict over what kind of dog food to feed their Schnauzer Skippy. I helped them to negotiate their dietary differences but thought to myself at the time, “is that really such a big deal?” Well, apparently it is for some people. Now almost thirty years later I can better appreciate how our pet problems often mirror and reflect issues we struggle with as individuals and as parents. Let’s face it. When people refer to their dogs, cats, and squawking parrots as “family members” they really mean it. So Ok, that’s my professional side taIking…. Personally, I’m a prime example of “do as I say and not as I do” and if you dont believe me just ask any of my three twenty-something sons, their lovely girlfriends or their five cohabiting canines. By outing myself as a case study in “doggie donts”  I’m taking a conscious, albeit self-deprecating step in the direction of what I usually encourage my clients to do, to aspire toward total transparency and emotional honesty right down to the well, “bone”. Here’s my dog story:

 Recently I added a black labrador pup to my empty nest. Everybody who knows me gave me the following explicit warning: “Dont turn your new puppy into a spoiled brat or food whore”, they said. ‘Dont give her human food scraps. She will be just fine with dry dog food”. Even my little sister in Colorado opined, “You’re not a Jewish mother. You’re a dog owner. Try to remember that.” Of course I nodded…with mock sincerity. I know what I’m doing, I thought. I’ve got a Ph.D. I have taken grad school courses in animal behavior and cognition. However, maybe they felt obliged to tell me this for a good reason. One of my former dogs, Lucy the dachshund waddled like a failed contestant on Biggest Loser and looked more like a stuffed sausage or rump roast from Kroger than something that was bred to hunt badgers. Hana, my Scottish Terrier and co-therapist in San Francisco would go out at nite and successfully beg Italian meatballs off the kitchen staff at the pizza place next door. I had to retire her from active duty in my private practice due to her non-stop farting during my psychotherapy sessions. Worse yet was Huck the Chow puppy who went rogue during an Epstein School carpool pick-up, attacking all of the kids in the back of my Chevy Suburban for their leftover Lunchables and kashrut school snacks. I’ve never seen a small dog lock onto a juice box before (or since) and then refuse to let go even as it was being beaten senseless with a Ninja Turtle backpack. I wont elaborate any further other then to mention the time Simon the ill-tempered mini dachshund levitated using some unknown form of yoga or extraterrestrial technology and deftly nabbed a humongous filet mignon off a dining room table. The point is I probably should have known better after all these years of dog ownership. Did I mention that I specialize in eating disorders?
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After I got Harmony the Black Lab from the Labrador Rescue people, I easily rationalized giving her small bits of string cheese and an occasional bite of Black Forest Ham due to her emaciated physical condition. She was a true rescue dog barely rescued from a kill shelter in Alabama. I dont know why but Alabama is like the canine equivalent of Auschwitz. Dogs disappear there in droves and are never seen again. So, I felt immediately sorry for Harmony and I didn’t listen to reason. Now I know better. Her sweetness and gentle nature belies her supreme cunning. I already detailed on my Facebook page the incident several weeks ago in which she stole my chicken breast from Publix, took it upstairs to one of my kids bedroom, ravaged it like a ferocious she-wolf and then hid the remains under a dresser by pushing it with her nose. I know this for a fact because I saw it with my own eyes and could hardly believe it. I guess in retrospect I was still in deep new dog owner denial. By the way, Harmony lies about her food crimes like a seasoned psychopath. Her soft eyes, cocked head and happy slightly-drooling smile show absolutely no sign of the conduct disorder and character issues lurking within. I want to believe her. I really do. But then this just happened today. Around dinner time I fed Harmony her “dog food only” meal. Then I decided to grill myself some turkey burgers on the barbie. I thought I heard her sigh when I put down her food bowl full of Iams Premium dry bits. The quick furtive glance she gave me seemed to say, “Um, what’s this?” or “Hey, how about some rotisserie chicken or lamb gravy, baby?” Of course I wrote it off as just my imagination or free-floating Jewish guilt. I proceeded to season my turkey patties and flame-broiled them to perfection. Unfortunately, when they were done i put them on a large serving platter on my granite kitchen counter thinking to myself, “I need to keep in mind this dog is no mini dachshund. Sure, she has those long beautiful Labrador legs and amazing sense of smell but surely she could NEVER get up THIS high to nab these burgers while I go plug in my cell phone upstairs…right?” Again, Harmony looked at me with her radiant angelic face and seemed to say, “Certainly not!”  Well, guess what.  Two or three minutes later I heard a big crash and when I yelled her name and screamed, “What was that?!” (as if she would answer me…duh), all I saw was a black blur as she went bounding out of the kitchen area while smacking her lips. By the time I got there all that was left was a broken plate from Target. The pound and a half of grilled turkey burgers was gone like a bad magic trick. I didnt even get a T-shirt. Now i dont know if I will ever trust her again. I would say I feel violated but I know alot of this is my fault as I clearly enabled her doggie narcissism, inappropriate sense of entitlement, and foodie-like sensibilities.
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Maybe I should  go to a 12-step program but I dont know which one is best suited to dog owners who spoil their pets rotten and then pay the price in poo and pooches who are unusually picky eaters. Hell, with all the garlic powder, Monterrey steak seasoning, and liquid smoke I put on those turkeyburgers I’ll be lucky if I dont end up scrubbing carpets all nite. Perhaps I should just consider it a valuable life lesson and act of penance regarding helicopter parenting a new puppy. Still, I’m crazy about her and hope she enjoys the seasonal tasting menu and food pairing experience I’m currently working on for her….

Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. is a Clinical Psychologist and eating disorders specialist living and working in Sandy Springs, Georgia.  Contact: 404-932-7193

 

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On Blue Dogs and Warm Hearts

Posted on June 4, 2014 by captaincliff

bluedog 


“George (Rodrigue) said the reason the Blue Dog enjoyed such popularity was because everyone could see something different, something uniquely personal in the flashing yellow eyes of the ubiquitous canine. He later revealed in one of his books…..that the Blue Dog and the artist had somehow become one. In life, the model for the Blue Dog was his beloved pet Tiffany, who patiently sat by his side while he painted. In his art, Tiffany (since departed) and George were on an artistic journey together, traveling through time and space. They made quite a pair.”   (Clancy Dubos, Farewell, Blue Dog Man)


.I notice my blogs of late have been almost exclusively dog and cat related. Is this because I have become a social media lemming and sucker for cute animal videos?  I dont think so. More likely its because as modern living gets more complicated and stressful there is an even greater need for simple pleasures and interests that stimulate our heart chakra and cause our blood pressure to go down rather than up for a change. Also, our pets dont live as long as we do, unless you happen to own a Galapagos tortoise or have an oak tree named Fido in your backyard. As a result, our individual experience and family life are marked by distinct time periods that we often associate with our beloved pets growing up. As we continue to learn, grow and age, so do our dogs, cats, ferrets and parrots. These loyal loving creatures bear “witness” to our relatively brief time on Earth and they are crazy about us regardless of our wrinkles, epic failures, and inevitable flaws. 
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The quote in the first paragraph above was from an article about George Rodrigue, the artist who became famous for painting the Blue Dog. Originally I felt annoyed that somebody could get wealthy just by painting simplistic and/or derivative art that somehow attracts the attention of people with money but no taste….sort of like Thomas Kinkade and his “light-filled landscape” shopping mall shlock. Hey, if anybody deserves to be perceived (mistakenly)  as a famous cultural innovator and iconic “artiste” by drawing blue, green or yellow dogs on canvas I think it should have been me. However, I have to admit there was something endearing about the Blue Dog. I figured at least Rodrigue never called himself a “Great Master” or pretended to be painting the Mona Lisa over and over. It was what it was… a strangely hypnotic blue dog. I would perhaps call it a kind of “mini-icon” and a visual “meme” of sorts, one well before many other self-replicating cultural concepts became de rigueur.
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However, from a different dog or cat lovers perspective the Blue Dog represents something more important and maybe even somewhat profound. We humans, the so-called “masters” of our beloved pets do have a certain responsibility to be good stewards to all forms of life that depend on us. When someone abuses an animal it violates our deep rooted social values and our instinctively protective parenting reflexes. These are fundamental parts of being human. Good parents generally (but not always) make good people and visa versa. Furthermore, unlike many people, our pets arent very shy about giving and receiving love. Wagging tails, sloppy kisses, and full body licks after we step out of the bath or shower, while not always hygienically recommended, are extremely emotionally validating. In other words, our pets make us feel good and are great company even when we dont feel so great. While we struggle to learn and train ourselves to be more body-centered, more mindful, more empathic, and more compassionate, our dogs and cats seem to do it all already without even breaking a sweat. As a result, love, respect and caring for our animals is not just a vague intellectual concept, a bible verse in Genesis, or a trending topic on Reddit.  Rather, they describe human traits that help to define our humanity and what it means to be “humane”. We are closer to being our best selves and reaching our highest potential when we remember to return the favor and “bear witness” to our wonderful pets and their remarkable capacity to love us unconditionally. It is something we never ever forget and just the kind of fond memories that open up our too often closed hearts  while also bringing bittersweet tears to our eyes…particularly when they pass away.
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As the article above stated, George Rodrigue died several years ago, only to be met on the other side by Tiffany, his blue muse with the large expressive yellow eyes. In the end, we are all unique….and yet really the same. Inventors or artists, accountants or soldiers, we are no better and no worse than our furry friends. We live. We love. We die. So do they. At the very least we can choose to travel that long winding road together and take the journey called life with an open heart and full appreciation for our closest comrades, the ones with four legs and a waggity tail.

 

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Harmony the Spoiled Brat

Posted on May 31, 2014 by captaincliff

 
photo-22
As a Clinical Psychologist and marriage therapist you get to see and deal with all kinds of interesting family problems and relationship issues. Early in my career I saw a young Jewish couple who claimed their biggest problem was conflict over what kind of dog food to feed their Schnauzer Skippy. I helped them to negotiate their dietary differences but thought to myself at the time, “is that really such a big deal?” Well, apparently it is for some people and now almost thirty years later I can better appreciate how our pet problems often mirror and reflect issues we struggle with as individuals and as parents of human beings. Let’s face it. When people refer to their dogs, cats, and squawking parrots as “family members” they really mean it. So Ok, that’s my professional side taIking…. Personally, I’m a prime example of “do as I say and not as I do” and if you dont believe me just ask any of my three twenty-something sons, their lovely girlfriends or their five cohabiting canines. By outing myself as a case study in “doggie donts”  I’m taking a conscious, albeit self-deprecating step in the direction of what I usually encourage my clients to do, to aspire toward total transparency and emotional honesty right down to the well, “bone”. Here’s my dog story:

 Recently I added a black labrador to my empty nest. Everybody who knows me gave me the following explicit warning: “Dont turn your new dog into a spoiled brat or food whore”, they said. ‘Dont give her human food scraps. She will be just fine with dry dog food”. Even my little sister in Colorado opined, “You’re not a Jewish mother. You’re a dog owner. Try to remember that.” Of course I nodded…with mock sincerity. I know what I’m doing, I thought. I’ve got a Ph.D. However, maybe they felt obliged to tell me this for a good reason. One of my former dogs, Lucy the dachshund waddled like a failed contestant on Biggest Loser and looked more like a stuffed sausage or Kroger rump roast than something that was bred to hunt badgers. Hana, my Scottish Terrier and co-therapist in San Francisco would go out at nite and beg Italian meatballs off the kitchen staff at the pizza place next door. I had to retire her from active duty in my private practice due to her non-stop farting during my psychotherapy sessions. Worse yet was Huck the Chow puppy who went rogue during an Epstein School carpool pick-up, attacking all of the kids in the back of the Chevy Suburban for their leftover Lunchables and kashrut school snacks. I’ve never seen a small dog lock onto a juice box before (or since) and then refuse to let go even as it was being beaten senseless with a Ninja Turtle backpack. I wont elaborate any further other then to mention the time Simon the sneaky and ill-tempered mini-dachshund levitated using some unknown form of yoga or extraterrestrial technology and deftly nabbed a humongous filet mignon off a dining room table. The point is I probably should have known better after all these years of dog ownership. Did I mention that I specialize in eating disorders?
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After I got Harmony the Black Lab from the Labrador Rescue people, I easily rationalized giving her small bits of string cheese and an occasional bite of Black Forest Ham due to her emaciated physical condition. She was a true rescue dog barely rescued from a kill shelter in Alabama. I dont know why but Alabama is like the canine equivalent of Auschwitz. Dogs disappear there in droves and are never seen again. So, I felt immediately sorry for Harmony and I didn’t listen to reason. Now I know better. Her sweetness and gentle nature belies her supreme cunning. I already detailed on my Facebook page the incident several weeks ago in which she stole my chicken breast from Publix, took it upstairs to one of my kids bedroom, ravaged it like a ferocious she-wolf and then hid the remains under a dresser by pushing it with her nose. I know this for a fact because I saw it with my own eyes and could hardly believe it. I guess in retrospect I was still in deep new dog owner denial. By the way, Harmony lies about her food crimes like a seasoned psychopath. Her soft eyes, cocked head and happy slightly-drooling smile show absolutely no sign of the conduct disorder and character issues lurking within. I want to believe her. I really do. But then this just happened today. Around dinner time I fed Harmony her “dog food only” meal. Then I decided to grill myself some turkey burgers on the barbie. I thought I heard her sigh when I put down her food bowl full of Iams Premium dry bits. The quick furtive glance she gave me seemed to say, “Um, what’s this?” or “Hey, how about some rotisserie chicken or lamb gravy, baby?” Of course I wrote it off as just my imagination or free-floating Jewish guilt. I proceeded to season my turkey patties and flame-broiled them to perfection. Unfortunately, when they were done i put them on a large serving platter on my granite kitchen counter thinking to myself, “I need to keep in mind this dog is no dachshund. Sure, she has those long beautiful Labrador legs and amazing sense of smell but surely she could NEVER get up THIS high to nab these burgers while I go plug in my cell phone upstairs…right?” Again, Harmony looked at me with her radiant angelic face and seemed to say, “Certainly not!”  Well, guess what.  Two or three minutes later I heard a big crash and when I yelled her name and screamed, “What was that?!” (as if she would answer me…duh), all I saw was a black blur as she went bounding out of the kitchen area while smacking her lips. By the time I got there all that was left was a broken plate from Target. The pound and a half of grilled turkey burgers was gone like a bad magic trick. I didnt even get a T-shirt. Now i dont know if I will ever trust her again. I would say I feel violated but I know alot of this is my fault as I clearly enabled her doggie narcissism, inappropriate sense of entitlement, and foodie-like sensibility. Maybe I should  go to a 12-step program but I dont know which one is best suited to dog owners who spoil their pets rotten and then pay the price in poo and pooches who are unusually picky eaters. Hell, with all the garlic powder, Monterrey steak seasoning, and liquid smoke I put on those burgers I’ll be lucky if I dont end up scrubbing carpets all nite. Perhaps I should just consider it a valuable life lesson or act of penance regarding helicopter parenting a new puppy. Still, I’m crazy about her and hope she likes the seasonal tasting menu and food pairing experience I’m currently working on for her….
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World War III Against Bacteria….Ewww

Posted on May 21, 2014 by captaincliff

War_of_the_Worlds_by_ashartosimage-2starship_troopers

I’ve been thinking a lot about bacteria lately. Bacteria and viruses really bug me. For some reason these pesky pathogens just wont leave human beings alone and are always getting us sick. The War on Drugs and the War in Afghanistan are miniscule conflicts compared to the Lysol Wars which have raged on for centuries. Sure we can kill 99.9% of the sneaky little bastards but apparently, somewhat like the Taliban and the relentless waves of Chinese foot soldiers during the Korean War, they keep coming back for more.  Think about it. In the classic Sci-fi book by Jules Verne (that nobody reads today) and the crappy remake of the movie War of the World, what was it that finally wiped out the marauding space aliens? Hint: it wasn’t Tom Cruise. Our nuclear weapons arsenal and bloated military industrial complex? Nope. The Commander in Chief? Nein. Dick Cheney? Negatory.  It was the nasty viruses and yucky microscopic bacteria that hitched a ride on one of the Martians spaceships and turned them all into stinky orange goop. I’m not talking about the innocuous Nickelodeon kind of brightly colored goo, but what your internal organs look like after a soaking for a week in a bath tub full of Coca Cola and/or sulphuric acid. You think those noro-viruses on your last cruise to Mexico were bad? How about if the Carnival Triumph came back to port next time in Miami not just listing badly due to its bimonthly engine room fire and full of dehydrated diarrhea-ravaged vacationers but a literal ghost ship of dead and dying Poseidon people with plastic champagne glasses and color-coded wristbands? It could happen. Of course their surviving next of kin would still be offered 20% off a future cruise….


 I’m not even going to go into the whole antibiotic resistance thing which apparently is so bad at this point that they are handing out loaded guns in Medical school according to my youngest son Benjamin who goes to MSG (Note: It’s actually MCG, now officially GRU, Georgia Regents University in Augusta but I am guessing they will change the name again by the time this article is published and it will be renamed after the food additive and owned by Monsanto or Dow Chemical) . Along with a cheap diploma and $400,000 in student loan debt, med students are being told two critical last minute instructions: 1) If your patient dies and starts to get up or have “zombie eyes” finish them off and make sure its a “double tap” and 2) If they ALL start to get up, save the last chamber for yourself. You dont want what they have. Bottomline: Whatever little bugs infect the brains of the Undead are some mean microbial bastards and much like fire ants, the Viet Cong, and the alien bugs in Starship Troopers they all work together to achieve their ultimate goal of world domination. In other words, Hitler and Pol Pot were insignificant little pisshers compared to Ebola, MERSA and rapid spreading flesh-eating bacteria.
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I would tell you to view Dr. Oz and his terrifying apocryphal interview on Oprah about the “triangle of death” but I wont. He essentially says if you pull out a nose hair (I do) or squeeze a zit anywhere near your nose, forehead, or eyes( I do) well, you’re dead. This is apparently EXACTLY what most bacteria have been waiting for… to be set free from their encapsulated Lex Luther lairs to rock climb through your nasal passages right into your brain. Mess with that juicy whitehead right between your eyes and you might as well put your legal affairs in order and buy that Neptune Society Cremation Package deal on Groupon like I just did. While you’re at it make sure to select the Viking Style Funeral Pyre ceremony and ask that it be “magma hot” because that’s what it will take to kill all the one cell organisms feasting on your cerebellum like rabid wild jackals.
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Look, I realize this is all too much reality for many of you. Most people prefer to live in deep denial. Freud said as much. Like the Brits, the vast majority of English speakers consider themselves “Masters of the Universe” and “proper” citizens while at the same time failing to ever see a competent dental hygienist. Yep, you got it. It was Pyorrhea, H. Pylori bacteria and astonishingly bad breath that took down the proud British Empire and not rampant colonialism or Princess Diana.
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With summer approaching I want to give you one last warning which I’m quite sure will fall on deaf ears. It’s about water. Dont drink it. None of it is fit. Sure we need it to live, but do you really want to survive only to turn into the kind of zombie man-beast in “I Am Legend”? Even Will Smith couldn’t defeat them and he’s pretty damn tough. Worse yet, on top of pathogens that are naturally found in water, humans also introduce their own share of germs when they slip into a swimming pool or hot tub. “The average bather has about a tenth of a gram of feces in his gluteal fold, which is a nice way of saying butt crack.” Dr. Gerba of the CDC goes on to say, “That means with five people you have a tablespoon of poop in the hot tub.” That is correct. A super high official at the CDC and a world renowned specialist in Infectious Diseases actually says “butt crack” and “tablespoon of poop”.

 

Another big concern is people urinating in hot tubs. One poll found that one in five Americans copped to peeing in a swimming pool. Dont everybody raise their hands. Anyway, what I did not know was that, “when urine and other waste, such as sweat mixes with chlorine, it creates an irritant called Chloramine, which is what causes red stinging eyes when swimming and can also irritate your respiratory tract. It’s really important to not use the hot tub as a restroom. Chloramines are also what causes that chlorine smell, which is a red flag for contamination.” Note to CDC: Thanks for not posting this data outside the subdivision pool house.

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And all this time I thought that smell WAS the damn chlorine…..That’s it. I’m done. I’m going to go surgically scrub out my gluteal fold if I can find it, and use my new Shark Steam cleaner to eradicate and irradiate whatever else is already infecting my skin. If I could fit myself into my microwave I would. I feel so dirty….eww.

 

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Justin Bieber and the Singularity

Posted on May 7, 2014 by captaincliff

Cosmicmiraclejustinbiebertoothbrush 

    singularity

  1. 1.
    the state, fact, quality, or condition of being singular.
    “he believed in the singularity of all cultures and people”
    synonyms: uniqueness, distinctiveness More

    “the singularity of their concerns”
  2. 2.
    PhysicsMathematics
    a point at which a function takes an infinite value, especially in space-time when matter is infinitely dense, as at the center of a black hole.
Sandy Springs, Georgia. Star Date 2014: A Cosmic Singularity (CS) may have occurred yesterday in the checkout line at Big Lots on Roswell Road. Unshaven after a full day of yard work and dressed like a total shlub in dirty khaki shorts and a vintage black “Katz NYC Delicatessen” T-shirt, I approached the cashier determined to get my full discount on two clearance priced Justin Bieber singing toothbrushes and a heavily marked down memory foam bath mat. I fully expected some kind of last minute foul-up or computer glitch to ruin my triumphant shoppers moment. A rather large sweaty older lady in front of me was busy slowly unloading her shopping cart, carefully counting out and purchasing 23 travel sample sized jars of Vaseline petroleum jelly for 70 cents apiece (i kid you not). I immediately used my training in mindful meditation and Radical Acceptance to envision the “bright side” of such a challenging emotional moment, one in which I first thought of bludgeoning her to death with a large clawhammer and instead chose to feel “immense gratitude” that 1) she didn’t ask to have each item individually wrapped and 2) thanked God, Yahweh, and Baby Jesus that she also didnt pull out another item from her cart that lacked a price tag necessitating a total shutdown of Big Lots corporate operations in the Western Hemisphere until a similar tagged item could be found. We all know from being in such situations that another matching bar-coded product doesnt exist in the store or the known universe….at least not until my turn in line is over.  My mental preparation and emotional resilience paid off as no such complication ensued.  l then stepped forward and announced in a loud, clear and purposely likeable voice tone, “These were in the CLEARANCE aisle and are marked 50 cents each down from $6.50…right?” Again, miracle of miracles, my bounty-booty set off no alarms and I felt a wave of gleeful exuberance run through my body knowing that I had somehow successfully purchased three ridiculously cheap items that I incidentally had no earthly use for. More important, however was the fact that I had done “it”. I had managed to avoid Murphy’s Law of Cheapskate Shopping that clearly states: “Ones ability to buy something they really want at a great price is always matched or exceeded by the number of annoying problems thrown randomly in your way to make you miserable by the time you are finished.”


Ok, so stay with me now because here comes the good part. As I finished paying I turned around and almost went blind from shock and awe. It was as if the Universe wanted to show me its wondrous truth about who really runs this Broadway stage show called life. An even bigger shlub right behind me was carrying a couple of nondescript food items that no other self-respecting grocery store would think of stocking let alone selling as edible, ie. Jeff Foxworthy brand Beef Jerky, Deion Sanders Kettle Style potato chips, etc. As I looked up at him it hit me like a bolt of lightning of the non-ordinary reality kind. The guy was standing there wearing THE EXACT SAME VINTAGE BLACK KATZ NYC DELI T-SHIRT AND FILTHY KHAKI SHORTS!! When our eyes met it was as if I had seen and nearly touched my younger big geek spiritual doppelganger. I was him and he was me. Both of us were cheap ass Big Lots customers and, in fact, we WERE Big Lots. All was ONE and all was in perfect unity. For a brief moment I wondered if I shook his hand if it would set off some kind of weird Cosmic chain reaction or Big Bang. I actually felt like hugging the big sweaty older lady who was initially in front of me…but she had already left the store albeit it very very slowly. Bottomline: There are times in life and in our mundane existence on Planet Earth when we are given a rare chance to see through the veil of illusion and suffering. There are many “burning bushes” so to speak. We are here for a reason. No, I dont mean I was given birth at this time to buy Justin Bieber toothbrushes…although at 50 cents each (batteries included) that is quite a shopping coup. I really mean we should pay attention to those so called “coincidences” when God (or Zeus, etc.) wants us to see “ourselves in others”, to listen, to appreciate, and to love others unconditionally….even if they are slow moving sweaty enormous people who you would normally prefer to avoid, honk our car horns at, curse, run over, or judge in a prejudicial manner.  Namaste.  P.S. On the other hand, If these damn toothbrushes dont sing, vibrate, or do what they say they’re supposed to do I’m skipping right over the step of taking them back to Big Lots and driving over to Biebs crib and complaining directly to him until I get my dollar back. Word.

 

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Passover Science: Those Pesky Plagues

Posted on April 14, 2014 by captaincliff
mr_krabs_by_ireprincess-d4flnovcrab_louse 


Apparently there is a new creepy critter projected to end up on the endangered species list and it isn’t some cuddly kind of cat or cute canine that would make you want to weep and run out to PetSmart on Sunday morning to adopt a dozen of them. Also, since its Passover it might be wise to keep abreast of the coming and goings of various modern day Plagues and annoying pestilences.

If you look at Phthirus pubis also known as the “crab louse” under the microscope he looks a bit like a mutant Florida stone crab, Sponge Bob’s boss Mr. Krabs, or maybe a gnarly disfigured octopus. However, I’m actually talking about genital lice, people. Seriously, they’re slowly disappearing, so says certain authorities. Other itchy scientists vociferously disagree. The next time you feel the need to procrastinate or put off doing something actually important  (like finishing your TAXES) consider looking up this hideous pest  online. Just Google it under the keyword phrase “Omg…EEEWW!” Honestly, this thing looks like something from the SyFy channel only way way smaller. So why-oh-why is this ubiquitous bloodsucking scourge disappearing after thousands of years of symbiotic success living in the pubic hair of hirsute mankind? The surprising answer is “bikini waxing” and the current tribal trend, nay, cultural obsession with shaving, waxing, and plucking ourselves hairless “down there”. It’s now estimated that 80% of college students in the U.S. remove all or part of their genital hair.  If you dont count Berkeley, California, Santa Cruz County, Brown University and Hampshire College the small but elite hippie college in Western Massachusetts, that figure might have been closer to 90%.


So you would think this is a good thing, right? Who really needs genital lice or genital hair for that matter? Of course in the broad over-arching “web of life” there might be some other kind of even smaller and uglier microorganism that clings tenaciously to the spiny antennae or feet of genital crabs… but hey, who really gives a shit about them? Most of us would agree if we cant see them or if its super gross-looking and “bad” as far as humanity is concerned it can just go to hell along with Saddam Hussein, Jason, Leatherface…and the nasty pigeons that poop on my car windshield. Personally, if you also want to include mosquitoes, beach-dwelling Noseum, and the vast majority of the flying insects that bite or sting that’s alright by me too. Of course I’m not talking about bees because like Winnie the Pooh, we need the honey. I also know that somewhere in Holistic Health Land there are probably people who love and cherish their lice and cultivate organic breeding farms on top of their heads, in their armpits and, God forbid, in their private “junk yards”. Like the singing sages (no, not King David…I meant Sonny and Cher) I would say to them, ” That Aint Me Babe”. You can take the lice, the flies, the locusts, the deer fly, the hornet, the ringworm, and any other animal or plant phylum that require me to use topical ointment and go straight to you-know-where.
Oh yeah, one more thing. I almost forgot to mention that in true Lion King “Circle of Life” fashion, the growing trend with shaving ones love nest is also causing more tiny cuts and skin abrasions that are  leading to OTHER new antibiotic resistant infections, STDs, and parasitic problems in ye olde pubic region. Isn’t that special? Hey, maybe that’s what is meant by the biblical phrase, “the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away”..or perhaps its the other way around. Either way, if this keeps up maybe we should think about adding a new yucky plague to the Passover service. Dayenu.

http://www.everydayhealth.com/skin-and-beauty/craze-for-hairless-genitals-accompanies-rise-in-infections.aspx

 

Urban Dictionary:  Eazy-E sez: “She had more crabs than a seafood platter”.

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You Aint Hip (But I’m Not Either)

Posted on March 13, 2014 by captaincliff


Since Justin Bieber has failed to call me and take me up on my offer to act as his private therapist on call, I felt like perhaps I should study up on pop culture. Maybe I’ve gotten rusty and become some kind of vestigial organ of modern society. Maybe I just dont get it anymore and have become not only NOT hip and far removed from hippie but also much more likely to break my hip than be considered a hipster. Skinny jeans are certainly out of the question at this point and skinny vodka seems like an absolute abomination of the real thing. So I determined to challenge myself.

To test this theory I decided to randomly spin the TV dial (also a anachronistic term)  and watch the first program I would typically NEVER watch. The idea itself was intriguing, like a cable television version of “spin the bottle”. So guess what? It landed on a show called “Bad Girls All-Star Battle”. It’s been two days since I forced myself to watch this human spectacle and I still have a headache. Even tho I am no stranger to strange lands or unusual culture-bound phenomena, I feel so disgusted and violated by the very premise of the show that my first instinct was to send “all dem bitches” home and firebomb the Topanga Canyon residence of the executive producer…or whoever is responsible for this steroidal version of 2014 “survivor” programming.  If I was forced to choose between this and hardcore pornography as a compulsory form of education for our nations youth I would say “two girls one cup please”.  Not to belabor the point but  being hog-tied and forced to watch this might be an effective alternative to waterboarding for interrogating terrorists. Words and phrases like insulting, vile, dehumanizing, and a “pox upon thee and thine” dont even do it justice.  Oops, I guess I forgot to tell you what BGAB is about. You know what?  I dont even know. All I know is it made me sick and I came close to throwing a brick at my flat screen TV just to end my suffering.

Bottomline: What the hell is up with this current obsession with nonsensical competition and faux-entertainment akin to watching Christians and Jews being thrown to the lions in the Coliseum while the audience ate grapes and roared their blood-lust approval? Of course in this particular show you want EVERYONE to die a horrible death including the judges, the camera crew, the caterer, the assistant grips and the clean up crew. The only thing that saved me from going blind, deaf and insane was the fact that the dialogue is so in-bred and colloquial that I literally didnt understand ONE word the contestants were saying. All I can say after this recent foray into current television is that I really need an immunity card from this particular show and a long hot shower to cleanse my soul of all the bad vibe/bad girl cooties. Personally, I’m going back to Funkytown where I belong and much better entertainment like How Things Are Made, Law and Order, and maybe Psych. I guess I’m closer in taste and preference to Stardate generation 1984 than 2014 which I am sure George Orwell would have considered weirdly ironic.

Real Music: You Aint Hip:       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YWV2gniRrc

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Justin Bieber in the Hood

Posted on March 11, 2014 by captaincliff

 
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Here in Sandy Springs, Georgia, far removed from the madding crowd of LA or NYC, there have recently been Justin Bieber sightings. That’s right. J.B. is apparently living here for a couple of months if not longer. The house he is renting looks a lot like a spaceship (see web link below)  which really makes it fit in quite nicely with the traditional Georgian brick style residences in the surrounding area…not. Of course this may also help to explain why my newly renovated Pirate-themed house with full-sized poop deck in the backyard is not exactly going to be an easy sell…ever.  Anyway, earlier this month JB rented out a local video arcade and his bodyguard was involved in an unfortunate altercation that got him arrested. What you probably dont know is that Justin Bieber, like Michael Jackson, also may have a serious celebrity sleep problem. His nights are quite possibly a torturous time in which he and his bleary-eyed posse wander aimlessly through Atlanta’s affluent suburbs trying to occupy themselves and praying that Justin will finally just conk out and get some desperately needed ZZZs. Even high-grade medical marijuana (the cops confiscated 5 large bongs) has quite likely not helped JB hit the hay.The poor kid would probably trade all his fame and fortune for a good night’s sleep, a quiet romantic date and back rub (without a bogus paternity suit) and a half decent banana milk shake. With all the weed and late night cruising going on it’s amazing he doesnt weigh 300 lbs. I will chalk it up to a fast metabolism.


I gotta tell you, both as a father of three somewhat grown-up 20-something sons and as a somewhat grown-up Clinical psychologist (with ADHD), I feel bad for this kid. He is not living life in the normal pedestrian lanes like the rest of us and it doesn’t take binoculars from The Sharper Image to see the pretty boy train wreck “a comin”. That’s the helping professional in me talking. As a parent I found his “posture”, both physical and psychological in his recent viral video court depositions to be deplorable. I literally wanted to reach into the computer screen and slap him a few times, being careful to leave no permanent bruising on his baby face. As a result, I am offering my services to him, not for the romantic date or back rub, mind you, but instead, as an “outside the box” father figure, therapist and sleep disorder consultant. It’s a little like Dr. Conrad Murray was for Michael Jackson but without the giant tank of nitrous oxide, suitcase full of xanax bars and truckload of IV Propofol. Instead, I intend to instruct Justin in the ancient art and science of fatherly advise and balanced living, including “progressive relaxation”, mindful meditation, and finally, if necessary, taking a physician approved professionally prescribed and carefully supervised dose of Ambien (Zolpidem). Hopefully, unlike myself, he will not end up sleepwalking to the kitchen for fig newtons and a handful of mini-Snickers half a dozen times before the sun rises. His career (especially since he hasn’t had a hit song in awhile) depends on his good looks and lithe boyish frame. Developing a noticeable pot belly or face full of zits from getting stoned and binging on a three-pack of Oreos from Costco would be the equivalent of career suicide for JB at this point. Still I worry about him.
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Let’s face it, 19 years old is a critical age psychologically and one in which 98% of a national sample were found to have engaged in “unusually reckless stupid behavior that later they totally regretted” but now only their parents (and I quote) “cant f#$@%#@ believe how dumb, thoughtless and disrespecful they are”. For this reason, I feel compelled to take on this high profile case, both for Justin’s sake and for the sake of his lunatic fans who expect him to  stay alive and remain “super cute” regardless of his drug issues, shitty attitude, and criminal record. The point is that for a small fee and perhaps a per-diem just shy of what Dr. Murray the incompetent cardiologist got for sexting his gfs while the King of Pop expired, I will stay awake and frosty while Justin sleeps like a baby in his Sandy Springs crib. Hell, if he wants to he can hang out at my place. I’ve got tons of pirate games to play, I’m extremely close to the SS Funhouse where all the “fun” happened the other day, and I can suggest all kinds of other age-appropriate skills to work on such as: 1) how to avoid confrontations with police officers 2)  how to stay out of trouble 3)  how to sit up straight and answer questions directly and not come off as a douche and 4) how to use ones better judgement with paparazzi including those with family members who happen to be judges or personal injury attorneys (see My Cousin Vinnie). Meanwhile, the Sandy Springs police have never ONCE missed stopping me for going 5 miles over the speed limit or, God forbid, not wearing my seat belt.  Justin, for God sakes, please slow down, dont drag race, and dont drink and drive. Even if you are filthy rich and famous, are at your core just a normal bratty 19 years old, or even might be a stoner insomniac punk, your parents love you dearly and want you to grow up and someday come to experience the joy of parenting a rebellious teenager. Trust me, it will be very enlightening. Better yet..just call me and please wear your seat belt in the meantime.
Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. is a Clinical Psychologist and humorist living in Sandy Spring Georgia. He has survived three now grown up sons (and visa-versa) and loves everything Pirate. He blogs on Facebook and WordPress under the psuedonym, CaptCliff.  Contact: 404-932-7193
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Sleeping Sex Disorder Down Under

Posted on March 5, 2014 by captaincliff

Leave it to the Aussies to create a brand new category of sexual dysfunction. Before you get too excited, it has nothing to do with Great White sharks, koala bears, kangaroos, crocodiles, or those little poisonous jellyfish that will kill you before you can make it out of the water to pee on yourself. In fact this is an unusual sex-related phenomena that has been reported before in several countries. It’s just that no one was dumb enough (or smart enough) to believe it. In this case I will print the case as reported so you can make up your own mind. Spoiler alert: They are calling it “Sleep Sex Disorder” down there…so to speak.

Breaking News: In Australia, a middle-aged woman had a quirky habit. She would wake up in the middle of the night, leave her suburban house and engage in sex with various strangers. This proved once again that a woman doesn’t even have to be conscious to pick up dudes.

 

 


After months of her husband waking up to find their home littered with used condoms (and once finding his snoring spouse being actively penetrated by a stranger) the wife and the world’s most trusting spouse decided to get medical help.

 

Doctors were no doubt reluctant to believe the story, most likely thinking instead that the husband was suffering from one of the world’s worst cases of gullibility. But the couple’s anxiety over the incidents paired with a detailed medical/psychiatric examination proved that, sure enough, her actions were completely involuntary and a strange mixture of hot and weird.

 


The condition, called Sleep Sex because doctors aren’t the most creative people in the world, is caused by an REM behavioral disorder. The part of your mind that is supposed to stop you from moving when you’re dreaming doesn’t kick in, thus allowing you to actually act out your dreams.

 

Why that seems to only manifest itself in the form of screwing strangers in this particular instance is anyone’s guess.


Yeah, well….what can I say? I just sleepwalk into the kitchen and eat mass quantities of carbohydrates. Even as a confirmed sleepwalker myself, the idea of going out and finding a random sexual partner seems like an awful lot of work. Plus, after sex I would still end up at the kitchen pantry rustling around for a post-coitus Snickers bar or bag of potato chips. Who needs to end up with a bigger problem and another diagnosis on their medical record such as Sex and Snickers Sleepwalking Syndrome (SSSS)? Regardless, I’m sure this case will end up as a storyline for an On Demand Adult Movie. Along with the other garbage and reprehensible titles like “Virgin Masturbators” look for something soon under the title, Sleeping Beauty Down Under: The Walking Sex Machine.…or some similar sounding carnal nonsense. Crikey!

 

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My Dog the Food Whore

Posted on March 2, 2014 by captaincliff

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Everybody warned me but I didn’t listen. “Dont turn your new dog into a food whore”. ‘Dont give her any human food scraps. She will be fine with just dog food”. Of course I nodded… One of my last dogs, Lucy the dachshund waddles like an early contestant on Biggest Loser and looks more like a stuffed sausage or rump roast than something that was bred to hunt badgers. Hana, my Scottish Terrier and co-therapist in San Francisco would go out at nite and beg Italian meatballs off the kitchen staff at the pizza place next door. I had to retire her from active duty in my private practice due to her non-stop farting during my psychotherapy sessions with clients. Worse yet was Huck the Chow puppy who went rogue during a school carpool pick-up attacking all of the kids in the back of the Suburban for their leftover Lunchables and after-school snacks. I’ve never seen a small dog lock onto a Hi-C juice box before and then refuse to let go even as it was being beaten senseless with a Ninja Turtle backpack. I wont elaborate any further by mentioning the time sneaky Simon the mini-dachshund levitated himself using some unknown form of spiritual practice or extraterrestrial technology and nabbed a perfectly cooked filet mignon off a patio table. The point is I should have known better after all these years of dog ownership.
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Recently, after I got Harmony, the Black Lab puppy, I rationalized giving her bits of string cheese and an occasional bite of Black Forest Ham due to her emaciated condition. She was a rescue dog barely rescued from a “kill shelter” in Alabama. I dont know why but Alabama is apparently like the canine equivalent of Auschwitz. Dogs disappear there in droves and are never seen again. So, I felt sorry for Harmony and I didn’t listen to reason. Her sweetness and gentle nature belies her cunning. I already detailed on Facebook the incident last week in which she stole my fried chicken breast from Kroger, took it upstairs to one of my kids bedroom, ate it like a ferocious she-wolf and then hid the remains under a dresser by pushing it with her nose. I know this because I saw it with my own eyes and could hardly believe it. I guess in retrospect I was still in deep denial. By the way, Harmony lies about her food crimes like a seasoned psychopath. Her soft eyes, cocked head and happy slightly-drooling smile show no sign of the conduct disorder and character issues lurking within. I want to believe her. I really do. But then this just happened today. Around noon time I fed her a “dog food only” meal. Then I decided to grill myself some turkey burgers on the barbie. I thought I heard her sigh when I put down her bowl full of Iams Premium dry bits. The quick look she gave me seemed to say, “Ummm, what’s this dude?” or “Hey, how about some turkey or lamb gravy, baby?” Of course I wrote it off as just my imagination and/or free-floating Jewish guilt. I proceeded to season my patties and flame-broiled them. Unfortunately, when they were done i put them on a plate on my granite kitchen counter thinking to myself, “This dog is no dachshund. Sure, she has those long beautiful Labrador legs and amazing sense of smell but surely she could never get up THIS high to nab these burgers while I plug in my phone upstairs…right?” Again, Harmony looked at me with her radiant angelic face said, “Certainly not!”  Well, guess what.  Two or three minutes later I heard a big crash and when I yelled for her and screamed, “What was that?!” (as if she would answer…duh), all I saw was a black blur as she went bounding out of the kitchen area while smacking her lips. By the time I got there all that was left was a broken dinner plate from Target. The pound and a half of grilled turkey burgers was gone like a magic trick. I didnt even get a T-shirt. Now i dont know if I will ever trust her again. I would say I feel violated but I know alot of this is my fault as I clearly enabled her unhealthy sense of doggie narcissism and entitlement. Maybe I should  go to a 12-step program but I dont know which one is best suited to dog owners who spoil their pets rotten and then pay the price in poo-poo. Hell, with all the garlic powder, Monterrey steak seasoning, and liquid smoke I put on those burgers I’ll be lucky if I dont end up scrubbing carpets all nite. Perhaps I should just consider it an act of helicopter puppy parenting penance.
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