We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
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Saturday, January 20. 2007
Yesterday was excellent.
Dr. John Meyer did a plenary speech on re-analysis which was very fine. He particularly noted the limitations of training analyses, and the common desire of analysts to do it again, and to go further. General point: Second analyses are better than first.
Overheard in a research poster session between a Belgian analytic researcher and an American attendee, Dr. Y:
Dr Y: Have you read the work of Dr. A in France, and Dr. B. in Sweden, which are closely related to your research?
A thought clarified during a presentation by Dr. Catherine Lee on Romantic Mirroring and Erotic Transference in the Female Analytic Dyad: How come analysts tend to call it homoerotic transference when analyst and patient are the same gender, and erotic when they aren't? That's silly - it's all ordinary human love-seeking in the transference.
A new concept, generated while kidding around waiting for a discussion group to begin: We need to come up with a new diagnosis, called Normal Personality Disorder, with a DSM 4 code, for all of the people who can benefit from psychoanalysis.
Observation: From conversations, more and more analysts are doing couples work. They like it.
More later. Last night, though, dinner with Bird Dog and daughter, and some other folks, at one of my favorite NYC restaurants, Cafe des Artistes - always a special treat - and then to Spamalot, which is a vaudeville-style Bway thing which was constantly hilarious with mindless, adolescent humor with an irreverence which does not spare gays, Jews, Les Miserables, Brits, kings, heros, Vegas, Camelot, Broadway, theatrical cliches, and everything else Eric Idle could think of.
The theatrical talent available in NYC is always utterly mind-boggling - and deeply humbling. I always wonder, Who are these amazing people who can act, dance, tap-dance, sing up a storm, ham it up, and produce laughter with a single eye movement? A perfect ending to the day. "Tis only a flesh wound. Come back here, you filthy coward."
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"A new concept, generated while kidding around waiting for a discussion group to begin: We need to come up with a new diagnosis, called Normal Personality Disorder, with a DSM 4 code, for all of the people who can benefit from psychoanalysis."
If concept ^2x/> and the invert mass >-/+y+gaSS would follow. Both myself and the equally dead Alfred Whithead agree with this formulation.
If you can disprove the proof then we have others even more somnambulent enducing.
Sounds like the perfect day...especially the Monty Python. And Cleese so multi-talented, check this out...
"Who are these amazing people who can act, dance, tap-dance, sing up a storm, ham it up, and produce laughter with a single eye movement?"
One of the more delightful sentences I've stumbled luckily acrost lately.
"Normal Personality Disorder, with a DSM 4 code, for all of the people who can benefit from psychoanalysis"
LOL--if you're a barber, EVERYone needs a haircut!
Go to bed with the DSM and you'll find a description of yourself somewhere...got troubles in bed, eat too much, drink too much, fight with your relatives, get fired from work, suffer from vague but persistent feelings of angst and general irritability, even just the sneaking suspicion that you're an ***hole, there's a label for you somewhere. All those labels are applesauce, anyways, chiefly useful for chiselling money out of ever-more reluctant insurance companies...
Also, people are ashamed of needing to go to the witch doctor, so they feel less guilty about it if they can come up with some fancy description for their heart-sickness.
I am curious to know if any of the august personages at this week's gathering were ever vulgar enough to discuss the subject of how people are to pay for their services. You get what you pay for, but only millionaires or people with near-socialist health plans can afford decent shrinks these days.
Our family (dysfunction stretching back to the Mayflower) has seen every type of em, and only trusts the M.Ds. and one or two psychologists, and steers clear of all social workers and others who call themselves therapists. Of course we are all mad as hatters and clever to boot, so it takes a clever shrink to best us...Social workers throw up their hands and suggest we see a specialist (ie: a real doctor)
Ha--very intricate, Sybil--if you're still Sybil by the time you read this.
I like Abe Lincoln on happiness: "Most folks are about as happy as they want to be."
Lordy, there's a world of facets twinkling off that little phrase.
Tell me one thing the analytic profession has done for us really...for a hint, go to this learned site http://www.epicure.demon.co.uk/whattheromans.html
Very difficult to quantify negatives, Sybil. How many people thitherto incapable of introspection would've gone off the deep end sans a shrink to lead 'em to a recognition of the universality of distress?
People need good shrinks more now than ever before, Buddy, partly because of what you described abourt their needing to recognize the universality of distress. Misery loves company.
More important, a narcissist cannot be cured by labelling and abuse, but by being shown others who suffer, and by discovering that they want to help them.
At a time when mainstream churches proffer PC pablum, and more and more people waffle around with no genuine faith of any kind, let alone a decent minister to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable, only a shrink is in a position to hear the truth about a person or help them puzzle it out for themselves.
Personally, I think that at least 50% of most other medical visits and ailments could be got rid of if the miserable patients had ever had a halfway skilled shrink help them figure out where their head was. Troubled minds make for unhealthy bodies...
Shrinks have basked in the reflected glory of our insight that the main erogenous zone is that between the ears. But the less celebrated part of their powers is the impact their success or failures have on the health of the body.
Also, if the economic issues are ever to be resolved, shrinks cannot leave it to patients who come to them in great distress usually to lobby and advocate with skinflint insurance companies. The way to get reimbursement is not to try and poach on ministers' spiritual territory (tho the two missions are in many ways similar, both seeking to heal the soul) but to emphasize the interconnectedness of body and mind. Shrinks, for example should be as interested in their patients' diets and exercise and other health habits as their thoughts, feelings and relationships.
Sybil, if only you didn't call yourself "Sybil"!
Guess I'm the only one here who disagrees about the need for (unexceptional) people to seek professional/ ministerial guidance as relates to their Distress and its Universality. Lordie, we're so self-absorbed and dependent on external assistance/ opinion.
Whatever works, anonymous. Of course we're so self-absorbed and dependent, etc. We're miserable sinners. Augustine described how "our hearts are restless until they rest in thee, O Lord." And Donne reminded us that no man is an island.
Minister, shrink, sponsor, devoted friend, loving spouse, mentor, whatever, most of us can benefit from help. Personally, I always loved the image in Bunyan's Progress where Christian is wailing afraid drowing in the Slough of Despond, spots Help a burly soul by the side and asks for his aid. Help's response is not to drag him out, but to tell him to feel for the stones in the swamp, near his panicked half-drowned feet. Help is not always about making us passive recipient, but about pointing us in the right direction to save ourselves, with renewed hope and energy and knowledge.
Well, I may be self-absorbed, but I sure don't burden the medicos--it's the main point of contention amongst the family gals and me that I don't get checkups & whatnot. I just don't go, for any reason--no news would be good, so I say screw it, let the chips fall as they may.
Buddy, you are not stupid at all. Salt of the earth, more like. I am the same way about physical stuff, hate hypochondriacs, and agree that "no news would be good." But,the older I get, the more I remind myself that we are not our own. We are God's first, then our family's. Main reason to use the medics is to stay alive longer with our families.
No one called you stupid, BL. That you're so smart makes people like me who believe in your genius feel all the more whupped.
And, btw, Buddy,PLEASE do get a medical check-up. Listen to the gals in your family. (But, lol, I refuse, too! Hate doctors and dia-prognoses)
If you're not in top-top shape, however can you finish sharpening and using your edged tools?
Y'all are both very nice to say, thanks. I didn't mean to veer the thread to "hey, enough about me, what about YOU, what do YOU think about me?" Heh--yes, old & corny. The joke, i mean, not me. Oh, ok, me. Anyway--i think the shrinks get a bum rap sometimes because there's no definite end-point to their treatments. And even a person who has been helped tremendously is apt to look back, and say, "hey, I did all that on my own, what the heck was that therapist for?" You know, the old thing from childhood--never to be beholden. Or, better put, always have plausible deniability that you were ever defenceless, busted up, down & out, needy.
SO! Re 'edged tools', "anonymous" is no longer anonymous, but rather, Anonymous. Heh heh. I thought that Shakespeare comment from "really anonymous" was hilarious. The appellation, not the comment per se.
The seminary version of that story is "Enough about me, what did you think about my sermon..."
I agree about the bum rap for shrinks...
For an entertaining change from being nagged about health, watching Elektra with the family. Asinine plot, good scenery and fights. Funny watching the adolescent kid pondering "Is this deep or stupid?" as he watches...
That's sort of like pondering the shrink business...it's either very deep and important or just plain stupid navel-gazing and a waste of everyone's time and money. Or both. Or neither, grasshopper...Back to another engrossing fight buildup...ninjas scaling the house walls, gorgeous female assassin..-truly nasty bad guys...
I ferget to upper case, BL. Have been lower "a' these days and certainly disheartened if only my appellations are amusing --- :)
Please remind me not to try to sneak really good deals past Latin American despots in front of you. You're quicker than the regular commenters and just can't help pointing out--- :)
"it's either very deep and important or just plain stupid navel-gazing"
can I have that for my autobio title?
yes, Little a, I have my eye on your shenanigans. Twas ye who stirred up the Wilfred Owen thread, so when the same (*cough*) topic presented on the WS sonnet, it was not enough to be anonymous, you had to be REALLY anonymous. Har--that was right up my humor mainline.
Well, matters not much who we are (and didn't want to risk another Christmas tree being considered gay). As Will says,
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name?
Ok, I'm freshly humbled. I had you mixed up with another "C". I couldn't figure out the jangling dissimilarities, unless you were just really moody. I guessed somebody's birth sign once, and thereafter until thousands of wrong guesses had built up, thought myself a demi-god with a giant Third Eye.
Um, don't understand. How many C's are there? I was the C on your Castaneda thread, but if a C and anon did or said something moody, let me be the first to disavow, (although I am stopping commentary here tonight, as promised elsewhere :))
Carter's the "demi-god", but your self-description still sounds interesting.
Yes, behind all these disembodied glyphic phantasms there are flesh & blood fingers, hopefully attached to arms, then to torsos, then heads with eyes behind which churns that Event, that few pounds of gray miracle Universe-comprehending matter that matters.
As the great Bard also said (via Shylock)
"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"
Sometimes shortened/misquoted as, "You wanna bleed, you prick?"
Oh, there was a "C" long ago writing on the Roger Simon site. She was an excellent limerac...limeracys...she was real good at making up limericks.
She knew Houston. The city, not the Father of the Lone Star state.
Gosh, you sound (most poetically) upset... Was it something I said?
My fingers most assuredly, dear sir, do bleed, as does my heart. No need to prick. We are only virtual on the monitor.
And too much so.
Yes, I am that C and know Houston (soon to move there, again), but lol, not ever having "known" its namesake. And you have always been the best/ most shameless punster/ serious mega commenter on the net. But we all knew that!
Yippee! I got one thing right, anyway! No, I wasn't atall offended, not by anything. Just striving to somehow segue to that Shylock thing.
But see, you must be very distinctive, to have others ID you thru all those initials and anonymi, over such a stretch of time. It's like handwriting. No, more like a fingerprint. The meanderings of expression, I mean.
You're dead on, Buddy. "Meanderings of expression" is so me. Really!
Re names: I only gave up my name "Charlotte" at that site long ago (didn't like it there, btw) when someone kept writing me, inappropriately so, and I couldn't get him to stop. I changed to an earlier tag of "C" to throw him off and it worked until someone at RS "outed" me as if I were trying to trick the pack. And then this guy's emails started up, again.
Of course, I've always loved silly names for certain posts, but missed being able to use real name on account of this person... From time to time I'd try and only recently have been able to get away with using "Charlotte" or "C" w/o his contacting and asking me to marry him. He's not my type, and I'll be married until this summer, anyway :)
Taught me a lesson never to post an email address on the Internet using a real name. How amazingly, meanderingly dumb was that of me?
I think the 80/20 rule applies to jerkdom. As in, we're all jerks 20% of the time, and 20% of us are jerks 80% of the time, and 20% of full-time jerks are REAL jerks. I'm 80% sure of that. So, being trusting wasn't as much dumb as it was unlucky? Maybe?
Anyway, my sympathies for the domestic upset, if i read that phrase right. Pretty wrenching. Been there--ouch. Sunshine on the far side, maybe, if you can grab it.
Nice math, Buddy. And, thanks, for the rest. My decision and a good one, I think- it was just not a good choice from the beginning. Kid’s grown and there’s a lot of life yet to live without it being dictated or downwardly defined. Sunshine, yes, back in Texas fer sure. All’s good, will be done well for all involved. Sorry you’ve been through it, too, but, IIRC from some of your comments, you’ve raised some fantastic kids, even so.
Have become more aware of that “friend” over the shoulder and how we’re responsible to live our lives responsibly for others and then for ourselves. That last part is clearly more daunting than the first, I think!
I always wanted to be an astronaut, well not really but it's a cool beginning sentence.
But don't forget there's better living through chemistry. A little pill for this, a bigger pill for that. Load up the bong and hit it a few times, eat schrooms and horny goat weed. A few drams of red wine.
Plus it will give you parity with the rest of America and with pill containers that now hold a months supply it makes "getting away from it all" much easier.
At least get a few of the green and yellow ones and make sure the buds' are sticky with THC. A beer and schnapps and you're good to go.
I mean our best atheletes use loads of drugs and they're our role models. I even heard that Chuck Yeager was gonna endorse a hemm'roid suppository...said pull'n all those G's just prolapsed him right out.
Dupont, so a "drug problem" is when you are out of drugs? That's the way it was in my yoof, which somehow I've managed to misplace--tho with your advice maybe only temporarily.
Yep, Charlotte--there i wuz, standing in the dust with four (B,G,G,G) from teen to toddler, when momma lit out with my livestock foreman to 'find herself'. I had to put 'finding myself' so far back on the burner that by the time I get to it, there ain't gonna be much left of it. The worst is teenagers starting to drive--I really wanted momma around to share that exquisite kaliedoscope of terrors. She checks in from time to time. "how are the kids?" she asks. My mind goes blank, i forget all things, become a stone, and manage to croak "Oh, fine, how's the commune?" I want to say, woman, there ain't enough time left in the universe to say what I want to say.
But, y'know, the hell with it, how things unfold is just how they unfold. Might as well howl at the moon. I even tried those Dupont Chuck Yeager 9G suppositories, but might as well've stuck 'em up my butt for all the good they did me.
Oh, god, Buddy.
Remember you writing of this a couple of years back. You were done really wrong, so were the kids. She did herself immensely wrong, too. Maybe she couldn't handle the responsibility, but kids are a joy (even when they're not.) You were brilliant to get through all that, somehow. Now that they're mostly grown up, though, thanks to you, hope you do recover yourself- you owe that to yourself and to them.
(Btw, my issues have less to do with "finding myself" than they do with a breached trust, etc.)
But, yeah, the kids driving is the worst. My one and only recently got her license at 19 and now I'm having to use a little hair color.
But it's all been fun, don't get me wrong. Two people who are depressing or occluding each other have no bizness staying together if it is sure to lead to gunfire sooner or later. Tho my advice to others is still "Before divorce, try a couple's weekend which includes crucifixion, boiling in oil, and the Comanche therapy of hanging upside down over a slow fire until your brain boils."
Breached trust is the end alright. If i know anything at all with certitude, it's that trust is everything. Once it's gone, it's gone for good. You can paper over it--many people do, or try to--but, well, you really, really need incentive to make such a nether couplehood work. And that incentive has to come from somewhere. Where?
Yes, well that was years ago, but stayed on not to put child through custody issues. As a couple, we're fine and he's happy. But those years ago he killed it for me after sincere, fair and animated warning over something important and specific (but not an affair, I should say), and I just can't get it back.
Hilariously spot on advice about before the big D, tho'!
gallows humor--the best kind, cuz that's when ya needs it most!
Buddy, thanks for all of your advice and sharing. I really have admired how you've coped with everything thrown at you and still managed to be Father of the Year and the sanest, smartest commenter on the net.
But, I think I've said too much about my situation on an open forum. It's late here and the dang filtered water I'm drinking has impaired my better judgment. Might have to change my name, again--!
Me too, I'm embarrassed too. Oh well, so we get laughed at--that's entertainment!
and, it's a psychology thread--so we were 'in character'--
Exactly! But don't you be embarrassed, please! It's a functional consideration for me, that's all.
I'm going to crash and in the morn continue to read all the good things you and others write, but won't be commenting here, anymore. My verbiage on other subjects is just so not needed. Better to be a reader and use the extra twenty to thousand minutes per day getting projects finished.
G'nite, and thanks so much. Really!
fooey--i doofusly flushed your 'hide' and now you have to re-build it. I shoulda shaddap long time back. Call me 'oaf'.
Won't be no one laughn' after readin that BL. I'm ashamed I finished it, but couldn't stop.
(Buddy, has nothing to do with you or with being "found." I'll continue to comment from time to time elsewhere as Charlotte and look forward to reading what you have to say anywhere, anytime. Always the highest pleasure to come across your commentary! Or painfully real, as in the above. You're a champ in my book- a most generous, brilliant one.
So, get that physical, step away from the monitor at least an hour every day, and keep everything sharp- for all of our sakes, ok?! It's fine to flabbulize a little, just b/c that's such a great word. [Which reminds me, keep up that word play of yours, too. Not enough fun word warriors on the net and you need to hold down the fort.])
Luther, Charlotte, let me finish my midnight descent into bathos, then I can finally shaddup. Friday morning when the utility trucks were out fixing downed power lines (central Texas finally got a winter storm), one of 'em ran over the best dog I ever had (he thought he was defending the place, and lost). So last night, already dead-dog blue, here's an internet pal possibly driving toward a real-world cliff, so what's to do but get naked and jump up and down at the edge of the cliff hollering "Hey, slow down, get off that throttle, you don't wanna end up naked jumping up and down at the edge of a cliff!"
But now it's morning and I'm realizing the dog went down with his boots on, flying colors and all, and that it's really dumb to have imagined that someone driving toward a cliff doesn't already know it, and besides, it's really maybe not a cliff anyway, just a gully that has to be crossed whether or not it dings the fenders or even bends the frame a bit, so that it can be left behind for a better road beyond.
Ah, the difference between midnight and morning--it's like night and day ain't it--
oops--that was me--got my system messed reincarnating as Pete Hogwallop last night.
(Oh, no. So sorry about that brave dog of yours. You didn't say a syllable about it last night. Damn mortality, but bet his and your connection won't be broken by a truck.)
No, I'm already seeing him out of the corner of my eye. Still protecting. Yep, I wrote a couple of "my dog" posts but didn't use 'em. I mean--a war on, people losing human family members--if a dog loss hits you in the chest, well--y'know, unbelievably trite, keep it to yourself. But, in trying to apologize for pecking away at you last nite--well, you know.
Anyway--the sun came out today, and January leads to Spring--soon we'll back to frying sidewalks on eggs around here--
Ok, therapy--gotta get habu off narcotics, and luther off Kools. Try the nicotine patches, luther. they're easy to roll, and not so hard to light if you douse 'em with a little kerosene.
Not trite, for god’s sake. Big. Take in the winter.
“And then the marvellous hill Spring came, green-golden, with brief spurting winds, the magic and fragrance of the blossoms, warm gusts of balsam. The great wound in Oliver began to heal. His voice was heard in the land once more, there were purple flashes of the old rhetoric, the ghost of the old eagerness.” (Wolfe)
I disagree BL re the triteness of your loss. Individually, the greater world affects mostly our head, but those near and dear effect our heart. Sorry for your loss. Also sorry for intruding here, I meant that about being ashamed.
Mercy--if that guy ain't the embodiment of the last great wave of elegiac regret following the Lost Cause, the Southern Rebellion, then nobody is.
Ha--I meant Tom Wolfe, but it fits you too, Luther--as a vietnam combat vet, Lost Cause of the South and all--
Will try for a more appropriate author later. Somewhere else. Please take care :)
Sorry about your dog Buddy. Ours is the most beloved member of the family. But don't you guys ever sleep, or go to church or have Sunday lunch? No offense, just curious how you find the time to write so much...Again, very sorry about you losing your dog.
Nah Buddy, nothing elegiac here, just trudging through on my way to the promised land. But thanks for the tip on the 'patch's' :-)
Or try L&Ms--they're named after you after all.
Antigone--you're right--ought to do something larger on a Sunday. I know that--but a reminder never hurts. Well, maybe stings a little, like iodine.
I'm gonna round up the kid and get her to join me in this gymnasium behind me, that I keep adding to and never use.
("Go to church"?
Can't one love the idea of it and not care for the practice? Never felt more like Gulliver, than when in the pews looking 'round, unable to avoid the unsightly giant pores of the people in Brobdingnag, to include mine.
Buddy's having his own service with loved ones both here and passed on. Brunch is probably the last thing on his mind.)
Char, you're right, and that's the way I've always seen it, too. But we both know there'e a whole nuther side to it--that it's sacrificial, and you do it for others, to build confidence in the community via congregating. So we're basically taking the easy way out. Doesn't make us evil, but, tip of the hat to the folks who make the effort. We may all need to, before too long, if this war goes like it could. You know, praise the Lord, and keep the ammunition in the basement of the Meeting House--
Ok, the teenager has responded to my bellowing, and has appeared, if not happy about it at least not too opposed, ready to do her lat pull-downs, bench presses, etcetera. Now i gotta join in, that being the deal we've made (dangit, big mouth me).
Well, OK unflabbulize and have fun! I've been on my machines, too. Transcendental, spiritual fitness and everything. Wend your way to the chapel in town.
Looking for a start date--maybe sometime in mid-February. Some skinny bastard has snuck into my house and stolen all my suits, and left his hanging in their place.