Passover Science: Those Pesky Plagues

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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)


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

 
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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

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

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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.
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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Justin Bieber in the Hood

 

Justin-Bieber-image-justin-bieber-36174433-2000-1872

Some of you are probably aware that Justin Bieber was in Sandy Springs a few days ago. Actually, he’s apparently living here for a couple of months if not longer. The house he is renting looks like a spaceship (see web link below)  which really makes it fit in nicely with the traditional Georgian brick style residences in the surrounding neighborhood…not. This also helps explain why my Pirate house with a full-sized poop deck in the backyard is not exactly going to be an easy sell…ever.  Anyway, the other day JB rented out an arcade on Roswell Road 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 has a serious celebrity sleep problem. His nights are 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) have not helped JB hit the hay. Practically every night this week Justin’s Cadillac Escalades could be seen cruising by Yogli Mogli, doing donuts in the parking lot at Big Lots, and finally stopping for a late night /early morning snack at Steak and Shake. The poor kid would trade all his fame and fortune for a good night’s sleep, a blow job (without a bogus paternity suit) and a half decent banana milk shake. It’s amazing he doesnt weigh 300 lbs.



I gotta tell you I feel bad for this kid and, as a result, I am offering my clinical services to him, not for the blow job, mind you, but instead, as a therapist and sleep disorder consultant. It’s a little like Dr. Conrad Murray was for Michael Jackson but without the giant tanks of laughing gas, suitcase full of xanax bars and truckload of IV Propofol. Instead, I intend to instruct Justin in the art and science of “progressive relaxation”, mindful meditation, and finally, if necessary, taking a big ass 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 FUPA or face full of zits from binging on a three-pack of Oreos from Costco while simultaneously tripping on Cherry Tussin would be the equivalent of career suicide for JB at this point. 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 will regret” but now only their parents (and I quote) “cant fucking believe how dumb and disrespecful they are” For this reason, I feel compelled to take on this case, both for Justin’s sake and for the sake of his lunatic fans who expect him to  stay alive and remain “cute” regardless of his polydrug issues, criminal record and/or possible emerging mental illness. The point is that for a small phenomenal fee and perhaps a hefty per-diem just shy of what Dr. Murray the incompetent cardiologist got for sexting his gfs while the King of Pop expired, I , Cliff Mazer, Ph.D. 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 off Riverside Drive. I’m very close to the SS Funhouse where all the “fun” happened the other day and there are all kinds of other interesting games to play and distractions to indulge in locally including finding and beating the crap out of the lanky hoodie-wearing Peeping Tom who the Sandy Springs Police have somehow failed to catch (even tho the Creepy Peeper is as regular as rain and stands out like a sore thumb in the Riverside area subdivisions). Meanwhile, the SS police have never ONCE missed stopping ME for going 5 miles over the speed limit or, God forbid, not wearing a 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, a bratty 19 years old and a raging stoner insomniac, your parents love you and want you to grow up and enjoy the unique and enlightening experience of parenting a teenager someday yourself. Better yet..call me and please please wear your seatbelt.
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CaptCliff on Aging Gracefully

joan-rivers-facelift-080231-400x300tom-looking-in-the-mirror-jackass 

One of the keys to aging gracefully and maintaining a positive body-image is to NOT look at yourself too often or too directly in the bathroom mirror. In today’s selfie-obsessed world this is not as easy as it might seem and involves training oneself in a powerful form of mindful meditation I call “temporary blindness” as well as a whole lot of selective squinting. Many people ask, “How is this possible? Life, work and love are comprised of many situations that confront us with our own sad reflection and what some would call “reality”. Luckily, reality is what you make of it and pretending that you are younger looking and less droopy than most of your Facebook friends is a viable part of coping and one which encompasses Freud’s most primitive defense mechanisms, ie. lying to yourself on a daily basis, erasing from your computer hard drive and cell phone 99 out of 100 photos taken of yourself at the beach, etc.. In addition, continuing to see yourself as part of the youthful “Pepsi Generation” is especially challenging when the various doctors, dentists, and physical therapists you go to begin to look like 7th or 8th graders and picking up coins on the sidewalk is considered “no longer worth the trouble”.

Fortunately, there is also a certain kind of psychological trick I can teach others that involves the use of ones “peripheral vision” to accomplish basic tasks of living such as washing your face, brushing your teeth and taking ones truckload of prescription medications and vitamin supplements. By alternating your gaze rapidly from far left to far right (somewhat like EMDR but far more narcissistic) you can continue to live freely and remain in complete denial, obscuring from view any nasty looking liver spots, double chins, wrinkles, beer guts or other unmistakeable signs of advancing age and final entropy. I also believe I have learned to master the ancient art of “seeing without seeing” in a way that Carlos Castaneda never imagined possible in the original Teachings of Don Juan. Thus, by creating a kind of “fuzzy logic” spot similar to the one they use on television to block out naked titties and other private parts, I can now stare directly into a well-lit bathroom mirror and basically see nothing…which is very Zen.  Plus, as one continues to seek wisdom and spiritual enlightenment remember that the Buddha had it pretty damn easy by comparison. He didn’t have to deal with make-up mirrors, cellphone cameras, Face-time, polished glass elevators or random reflective surfaces other than maybe an occasional placid flowing river or still pond in the forest. There were no halogen bulbs, hideous florescent lights or infomercials running 24/7 to remind him how horrible he looked or how bad he smelled. Selective vision and temporary blindness are thus handy techniques for our modern age, particularly when one needs to purposely deny, avoid, or erase the negative effects of age, sloth, weight gain, skin damage, cellulite, bad hair, or in my case…no hair at all. Not only that but it’s cheaper than plastic surgery and it wont make you look like a terrifying alien life form… like the majority of older women in Los Angeles. But hey, I’m not going to just give away all my secrets. If you want to know more then send me a big boatload of money or, in this uncertain economy, any leftover gold coins you might have laying around the house. If you cant remember where you put them, check in your top dresser drawer. When I have my senior moments I usually find the missing object crammed in there. Bottomline: Selective blindness, its alot like that bogus brain-training product on TV, only way more effective.

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Tikkun Olam:  Repair the World and Keep it Holy (Whole)

When it comes to the Jewish concept of “tikkun olam” translated as “repairing the world”, traditional Judaism and Kabbalah differ only in how much emphasis is placed on the inner versus the outer, the oral teachings versus the written, and the hidden versus the revealed. In Kabbalah an effort is made towards using potent symbols, metaphors and meaning to explain the esoteric and manifest holiness (wholeness) including how to cultivate it in our daily living. It is the Gestalt therapy of mystical traditions. To repair and keep “it” holy means to usher in an ever-present divine unity into the world by learning to contribute a strong (and persistent) sense of personal joy-beauty-awe-meaning-purpose-authenticity and universal truth that helps others while also benefiting self, the world at large and all the living beings in it. How that is done is by gathering and manifesting the divine sparks of Holiness-Godliness. These divine sparks or emanations are both integral and interdependent aspects of God, what some might call fundamental expressions of a ultimately unknowable deity through a divinely inspired and enlightened mind, both on a spiritual and material level. It sounds like a rather complex mystical discipline but little kids seem to do it naturally and without over-thinking it. In the end it is all about love.

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There is a general principle in physics called the “observer effect” which asserts that trying to objectively measure something cant really be done without it affecting the system or object to be measured. That sounds like a very frustrating scientific principle to me (like trying to shoot arrows at a moving target that appears, disappears, and then morphs into different shapes when you attempt to focus in on it). I suspect the observer effect applies to talking about or trying to measure this crazy thing called love.
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After 35 years as a Clinical Psychologist and certified sex and marriage therapist, I can attest to the elusiveness of love as a scientific concept. So to is the difficulty involved in measuring or mathematically capturing love’s fundamental “essence”. I have referred to love as the “Bigfoot” of empirical constructs. In fact, trying to nail down a concise or all-inclusive definition for love (something that we all seem to know and desire but very few people ever fully master or perfect) is probably futile. ON a personal note I find it ironic and somewhat embarrassing that I’ve given dozens of lectures on the subject, counseled hundreds of people in sex and marital therapy and yet must admit to being a 60 year old divorced guy who still puzzles at how some people do it (manage to both feel and express love) and continue to do so throughout their lives. This is especially true about extraordinary compassionate and loving individuals like the Dalai Lama. Therapeutically speaking, sex problems are usually a piece of cake compared to love problems.
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As for the “observer effect”, just by being asked to think about and share my perspective on love I assume it will alter my viewpoint and change my thinking, maybe even my innermost feelings. Like listening to music or reading a poem, talking about love has a way of calling forth deeper emotions, old memories, and a symphony of images, smells, tastes, and romantic and/or erotic personal experiences…. particularly if you are over 14 years old and have a beating heart. For example, most of us can remember the specific music or songs we associate with being in love for the first time. Speaking of beating hearts, there has always been an intimate connection even in vastly different cultures between feeling “in love” and ones rapidly beating heart (that is not due to some preexisting cardiac condition or generalized anxiety disorder). True to its dualistic nature, getting ones heart “broken” by someone you love is similarly viewed by many cultures at various times in history as part of love’s ubiquitous and bittersweet legacy. Thus, to lose love is almost as potent and wholly unforgettable as realizing that one has fallen in love. To not talk about love in a passionate and personal way is to take reductionism and scientific empiricism to an absurd level, like what the pioneer sex therapists Masters and Johnson first attempted to do with human sexuality with their bright white lab coats and measuring instruments. If you know anything about it or watched the popular HBO series then you know what it got them… divorced like me.
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The point is that when it comes to love, I’m more interested in whole systems and synergy among its transacting parts not pure statistics. I care more about useful notions with everyday applications and not complex psychiatric diagnoses or research concepts that nobody can relate to. The real point and the critical question is what does it take to open ones passionate and vulnerable heart to another passionate and vulnerable human being and then generate (and continue to generate in reciprocal fashion) authentic love towards self and “other”? Ironically, to a child it may take no real effort or conscious thought process as many children seem capable of feeling and expressing love spontaneously. How and why then have so many of us “adults” forgotten how to do what we once did naturally and without having to read a dozen books about it? Unlike sex, I doubt there will ever be a little blue Viagra pill for love or phone app for that.
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One Interesting Approach: Based on a popular series of talks given by renowned Kabbalist Yehuda Berg, Kabbalah on Love offers a simple yet profound message: love is not something that is primarily learned or acquired, but an essence within, waiting to be revealed. Buried by layers of personal ego, fear, shame, self-doubt, low self-esteem, and other ingrained limitations, mature love can only be activated by sharing self fully (including ones vulnerable parts) and serving others unconditionally. Only then will the outside layers fall away and the essence of love reveal itself. Berg makes the distinction between love and emotional neediness, overdependence, or relationship addiction — which he sees as more self-centered byproducts of human ego — and reminds us that only after connecting with the “greater” love within (essence of God) and learning to love our own true (whole) selves can we truly love someone else. Unfortunately, many divorces result from marriage partners who (due to their upbringing, cultural influences and unrealistic romantic ideals) sought “completion” in their spouse rather than first recognizing the need to  achieve wholeness in themselves.
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The Love Song in My Head:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QZjJU-mtFU
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Dangerous New Sex Disorder

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From the Mailbag This Week:   Dear Dr. Mazer, I have a lot of shame over what I am about to tell you. I am a 30 year old male graduate student in English Literature. I had planned on pursuing a teaching career once I finish my doctoral dissertation. I have had the same gf for four years and we are engaged to be married. I saw Michelle Bachmann on Fox News just today and I now realize I have an unnatural attraction to her, especially when she has on tons of make-up, wears tight fitting dresses, and talks about God. This has happened to me before when I saw her picture online and I found myself googling her name, looking for photos of her and wasting time abusing myself instead of working on my thesis statement. What should I do and what in holy hell is wrong with me??  Jake  (not my real name)

Dear Jake, You definitely have what we in the sex therapy business call a bizarre sexual paraphilia. Wikipedia defines a paraphilia as follows:

Paraphilia (from Greek para παρά = beside and -philia φιλία = friendship, meaning love) involves the experience of intense sexual arousal to atypical objects, situations, or individuals.[1] Paraphilic behavior (such as pedophilia, zoophilia, sexual sadism, and exhibitionism) may be illegal in some jurisdictions, but may also be tolerated in certain cultures (ie. anal sex with donkeys in certain impoverished Latin American countries lacking running water or petting zoos)  . No consensus has been found for any precise border between unusual personal sexual tastes and paraphilic ones.

Jake, regardless of the last sentence which almost suggests a certain “relativity” or culture bound quality to having such highly unusual sexual preferences or urges towards inanimate or superficial objects, we can still conclude that your sexual compulsion is not only unhealthy but likely to end in great misery and eternal damnation.  My guess is you have more skeletons in your closet and they may include keeping internet files of old high school videos and images of Sarah Palin and (God forbid) even Ann Coulter. I say this with all respect. You may have heard of the biblical injunction, “If thine eyes offend thee then pluck them out”. In your case I would surgically remove all your limbs and hanging appendages and have them bleached and sandblasted. You need professional help my friend and a high dose of Prozac or Paxil aint gonna cut it. I feel sorry for your gf as I fear it may already be too late for you and your divine soul.  With Regret and Regards,  Dr. Cliff Mazer

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