Constructing a Personality

"I am just a bundle of reaction formation responses."

I don't know if I love my friends because they are my friends or if they are my friends because I love them. But I do know I love the wonderful things they say. So much laughter, learning and blog fodder.

Reaction formation refers to a coping mechanism (Freudian defense mechanism) by which we replace unacceptable or anxiety producing behaviors and emotions with their direct opposite. Or at least what is perceived to be the opposite. Different flip-sides for different folks as it were.

Of course, as with all psychological theory it all gets much more diffuse and complicated as applied to various personas and personalities. For instance, if you are reacting to a parent who is often angry then you might avoid anger yourself by overly compensating, being always agreeable, never oppositional. Perhaps trading one dysfunctional behavior for another. How then does someone express an emotion like anger when reacting to a pathological use of that same emotion in parents or peers?

Well fortunately we are not just a bundle of reaction formations. We really do have free will; we actually can break free of whatever traits our childhood imposed upon us. Our maturation allows us options other than reaction formation. Still buried down deep or not buried at all lurks the remanent of all we have been and might have been. All twisty and turny (psychological terms) yet changeable, malleable and unique.

All my friends are nearly normal and I love them for exactly those qualities.

Knowledge & Ignorance

"What did he know and when did he know it."

For those who may have forgotten or who are too young to remember; that question was bantered about during the Nixon/Watergate fiasco. The question was - did Tricky Dick know about the break-in; if he knew, when did he know. The same question was asked about the subsequent cover-up.

"Sometimes it's better not to know."

Now there's an adage that drives pragmatists crazy, until they are themselves in a morally ambiguous situation where it's ... well, better not to know. I think plausible deniability begins with this concept.

So when is it better to know and when not? Today's story is one of my own, a real event that happened to me over twenty years ago. I have written once before about the death of my best friend, this story unfolds three or four weeks after his death. He died of complications from AIDS, during the last year I went to Tom's various appointments with him. Sometimes I took notes, other times I asked the medical questions that weren't being asked; I kept track of things.

This was 1989, there was no internet to provide everyone with reams of information but we were in L.A. so there were resources. At some point Tom started getting a monthly AIDS update newsletter, he would read it and then pass it on to me. At some point in the final months he lost interest and the newsletters went unopened. 

Several months after his death I was cleaning out his home office and came across the newsletters including the last three or four still unopened. I was going to donate them to a local information and support program but for some reason I decided to open the last few. On the back page of one was an article titled: Progression of Disease for those with Pneumocystis Pneumonia and T-Cells under Fifty. Exactly Tom's condition so I read the article. 

I can remember sitting there in amazement as the article mirrored his last six months almost precisely. What drugs would be prescribed. What side effects to expect. What opportunistic other disease attacks to watch for. It was a retrospective telling of the end of his life. I even said out loud: "Well now you tell me." Yet I wonder...

A decade later while my mother was failing, friends and family would ask about her prognosis. What to do about estate planning, finances, bring the grandkids to see her and when? I always had the same 'lighten the mood' answer - "I could answer that question if someone could just tell me how long this play runs." Tell me when this will be over and I'll tell you how to make those type of plans.

But, of course, this is not what life or death is about. That's not how it works. But 20 years ago, if I had opened that newsletter; I would have know. How might those final weeks have been different. What might we have done or not done, if we had known. For me, not much would have changed; but there were others who delayed or denied - perhaps I could have given them better advice but who would have believed that I had a day planner for the end of days.

Fractals of the Past

Fractals of My Past: Serial Cerebral Eruptions in Both Hypnagogic 

and Hypnopompic States of Consciousness.

Sometimes the olde academic creeps out and we must have long titles with a strategically placed colon. What that jumble of mumble title refers to is a series of events I encountered not long ago, in which I experienced for several days a recurring pattern of thought. These thoughts occurred just as I was falling asleep, that transitional phase between wakefulness and sleep is called the hypnagogic state. They also happened in the early morning as I transitioned back from sleep to wakefulness or what is labeled the hypnopompic state.


Now we all experience some fairly jumbled mind-space imagery at times in the spaces between sleep and not-sleep. This is not unusual at all. But for two days, both morning and night I had a series of remembrances that were all of a very similar content. I vividly recalled incidents from my life in which I was either guilty of a social faux pas or some form of minor embarrassment. All of these events I regret but only in the incrementally smallest manner possible; anything less and I would not even be able to recall them. They were what are known clinically in the psychological profession as minor oopsies.


Yet time after time I would wake or drift towards sleep and find myself reliving yet another such memory. After several such incidents, I shook myself and began to consciously imprint a mental suggestion to avoid such cerebral cobwebs; a little shrink trick you can use when you start thinking about snakes or spiders or old girlfriends. But I stopped myself and decided to let the silly string play out on this one.


There was that too flippant comeback to the nice married lady at the Manhattan Beach party.


The rude slip of the tongue to the nun on the playground in third grade.


The unintentional sexual innuendo to that redhead and instead of politely withdrawing I followed-up, I wonder if she ever forgave me.


That tiny white lie that exploded in West Hollywood, how was I to know she had been to that motel?


I estimate that over two days there were at least ten or twelve of these mental machinations that welled up from the depths of my subconscious. The last was so vivid it awoke me at 3 a.m. but it was the last. The parade of mortification was gone as suddenly as it had begun and I was left with run of the mill prurient fantasies to lull me to sleep.


Strange what goes bump in the near night and dark mornings.

Conscious Control of Emotions

Here's the scenario, the scene and the set-up: 


Someone I knew and was voluntarily interacting with had the potential to really mess with my life. History told me this person could easily do something selfish, nasty, even evil. I knew this. When it inevitably happened I reacted as if I knew it were coming . . . because I did - snakes do not change their nature. I had consciously armored myself for this eventuality and dealt with it without emotional upset. I calmly made other plans and moved on.


Then I went to sleep . . . 


We really can learn to control our emotions consciously. We really can't or shouldn't learn to do that with our subconscious. I experienced a night of anxiety, anger and abandonment. It was ever so fascinating because each time I awoke I knew exactly what was going on - my subconscious was processing the selfish betrayal of someone who just isn't worth the price of warm spit to me. That doesn't mean the deep animal brain of my paleolithic ancestors did not want to hack him or her to shreds with a blunt stone axe. But no, I am civilized - I would use a well-honed blade and get the carnage over with quickly.


But no, I am civilized and evolved and I did what properly matured and restrained humanoids do -- triple scoop, hot fudge, no sprinkles.

M&M Monday - OCD

One of the comment traits of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is the need to have items in straight rows or consistent groupings. I clearly am not OCD because when I offered this picture as a joking example to two of my moderately OCD friends, I received the following responses:

"The yellow are too high and completely out of square, have you considering using a straight edge to get them right?"

"When you enlarge the photo you can clearly see that there has been no effort to align the embossed M's on the individual candies."

Also I can now attest that cats are seldom OCD or at least Midnight is not because just after I took the picture above his paw snaked up from the dining room chair to this result.

"Before there was Prozac, we had purring cats."

--

M&M Art by me and Midnight

Star 80

I 've had this post lingering in the queue for several months or more. Then last night it came up again "the scariest movie I have ever seen was . . . " For me the scariest film  is derived from the scariest character ever. If you have seen Star 80 you probably agree with me and very possibly you are not going to finish reading this post because you don't want to be reminded.

Star 80 is the story of Playboy playmate of the year (1979) Dorothy Stratten, played in the movie by Mariel Hemingway. Eric Roberts plays her boyfriend and low life Svengali. The story plays out in Hollywood and in particular at the Playboy Mansion. It ends when Paul Snider (the real life character) murders the real Dorothy Stratten and then kills himself. Now the story itself is not that unusual. What is compelling is acting of Eric Roberts.

If you have ever known a person, probably a man, who could literally go from love to hate in an instant, then you know Paul Snider. The mercurial explosions of anger, hate and the fear such behavior engenders has never been depicted as frighteningly as it is in Star 80.

The film came out in 1983, it was not a big success; too close to the truth apparently. But still today Roberts is often asked about the film and finds people still reacting to the brilliant fearfulness of this character.

I highly recommend the film and I strongly suggest you see it with the lights on.

M&M Monday - BiPolar Disorder

I mentioned that my M&Ms series was prompted by some psychologically based art I saw on the web. I was struck by how some psychology terms could be graphically represented. Today three images of what we might visually imagine as bipolar disorder, which used to be manic-depression and before that schizophrenia.

Sometimes we think of bi-polar disorder as being an A or B state of mind (below); when, in fact, it is very often more like AcdefghizyxwvutsrqwnkthvydhskB multi-stated state of mind (above).

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't.

--

Art by: me

Did the Suicidal Nut Job Change Your Day?

I apologize for that headline, the man being referenced is officially "mentally unstable," it was cruel and heartless of me to refer to him as a nut job. It seems in response to family issues he took his SUV, armed with red flashing lights (security guard) onto the Bay Bridge early this morning. He then stopped in traffic, got out with a handgun and a cell phone and proceeded to call police and a radio station, his actions caused the bridge traffic to be shut down for several hours. He eventually threw the gun into the bay and surrendered to police.

Tens of thousands of commuters had their days changed. Workers were late to the office, students missed classes, dentist appointments had to be rescheduled, someone leaving San Francisco in a U-Haul truck intent on moving back to the midwest felt the hand of the god of traffic telling them not to go. I missed breakfast with my friend M who was coming over from the City, she eventually just gave up and turned back. I took an uncommonly early shower but I got the text message while still dripping and nekkid, so at least I didn't waste a change of clean underwear. I just put on a just laundered cotton writing outfit and went back to my current story and vowed once again to have my big mental break with reality while out in the forest alone. 

If you have an existential crisis in the woods, does anyone hear your soul searching?

Two notes for locals and architectural historians:

Note #1: Yes this did happen Thursday morning, not actually today. But I already had a post up on Thursday and I really hate to double-dip.

Note #2: Did you take a close look at the photo up there at the top? Notice anything missing? The shot is from 1935 during the construction of the Bay Bridge and not only are there still a few lights to be installed, the double deck of the bridge itself had not yet been bolted into place. And commuters thought Thursday morning was a tough ride.

Dis-Ease

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.

-Albert Camus

Today a little vignette to illustrate my point. About twenty years ago, I knew a lady, perhaps she was a client. Marnie was 36, had three kids and a husband who traveled for work often. She worked full time, kids were in school - 9th, 6th and 3rd grade; family planning don't you know. Big comfortable house that came with a big uncomfortable mortgage. The office where she worked was about fifteen miles from home, not a long commute but not right around the corner either. Dean, the husband, worked in the city a solid 40 miles one way and he was out of town two weeks a month though not always for the full week each time. Enough frequent flyer mileage that airport travel and big winter weather patterns were a family concern, at least for the adults.

Money was not tight but they did spend what they made. They did not want for the stuff their social standing required but without any real savings they were precariously perched on the lowest rung of the upper middle class. There was no marital cheating, no heavy drinking except perhaps at the two or three major social events of the year. Sometimes they had sex but mostly they were too tired. The kids were everything and as Marnie said at our first meeting: "Our family is everything and that's not enough."

I had scribbled in my notes: "middle class malaise" - a pithy but accurate diagnosis.

A couple of months into our conversation I had a vacation coming up and Marnie joked about patient abandonment. When I returned there was a cancellation for her next appointment, so we had a interlude of nearly a month between sessions. When we met again, she had a new plan for her family. There had been an accident, four of the neighborhood boys were in the car and one was killed. He was the son of one of Marnie's neighborhood friends. He was one of her son's friends but David, her son, had been at a weekend soccer meet and not in the fatal car. 

Marnie and her family were past the trauma, it had been over three weeks since the accident. But her plan came out of the realizations of that loss so close to home. She and her husband were about to tell the children that they were going "slow down the treadmill" -their imagery not mine. No more designer clothes, no more new gadgets, more home cooked meals, more family time. Eventually, dad was going to cut back on travel. Basically, they were going to stop living up to some ideal that Madison Avenue was promoting, again their language. Oh and -- no more therapy.

If you will, try to put yourself inside Marnie's body before the life changing accident. Feel the pressure of keeping up, get a sense of the frustration that comes out as "it's just not enough." Imagine the stress of each child, not one not two but three, the husband, job, bills, the future and the path that stretches in front of you. Got it?

Now take all of that angst, pack in all into one big amorphous blob; detach the family, the job, the entire external world. All you have left is the feeling of dis-ease, of not being calm or content or quiet or relaxed or at ease. Now stuff that big gob of unsatisfactorness into your body, your heart, your spirit, your soul. And wake up every morning feeling without ease. Nothing to attach the feeling to, not a job or a bad relationship or too many bills. The feeling of dis-ease exists as an entity unto itself and unto yourself.

There are people who have that experience every day of their life.

Sure there are degrees, sometimes you can control the darkness with strength of will. Pharmaceuticals work sometimes too, of course, what suppresses the anxiety also damps down the joy. Then you get to add in life, you remember this dis-ease comes fully formed without the everyday anchors of work, money, relationship, health care, Iraq, hurricanes or oil spills. No you get to start your day already burdened by the grey of greys, now stir in what the "normal people" call life and prepare for the big overwhelm.

The point? 

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.

Don't be a nobody [or be a nobody, wait reverse that].

Catastrophizing

I have a couple of issues today. First of all -- catastrophizing is not a word. I am normally not against adverbializing, gerunding, adjectivization, participlization, izing, ising and generally expanding the language. But some of it just comes out as lazy language. Prime example: "Are you disrespecting me?"

No, I am not! I am, however, showing disrespect towards your behavior because you have not made the effort to learn how to speak. Back to catastrophizing, according to some lame brain academics. Catastrophizing is an irrational thought wherein we believe something is far worse than it actually is. This is apparently treatable and therefore can be billed to your HMO.

Now I don't want to be a cynic here, nor do I want to dismiss what for some individuals might be a disrupting influence in their life. Mental health issues comes in a wide variety of shapes, forms, sizes and phobias; just about as many as there are mental beings walking the planet. Here is my real issue.

You might have heard the term: catastrophizing in the last month or so, as it relates to U.S. combat troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. It seems that some of our soldiers are having thoughts that they are really in danger and that nothing good will come of their service in these foreign lands. Or what some mental health professionals would label -- rational thinking.

But, as far as the military is concerned, not correct thinking. These soldiers apparently do not have their heads on straight, so the U.S. Department of Defense has turned to psychology to combat this less than optimal mindset of its minions. The U.S. Army is planning to require that all 1.1 million of its soldiers take intensive training in positive psychology and emotional resiliency. Or what psychology professionals call Positive Psychology.

You should know that Positive Psychology is very controversial within the world of professional psychology. In particular, the idea that clearly dangerous or negative life situations should somehow be given a positive spin is viewed as the equivalent of brainwashing by some highly respected mental health professionals; particularly when such wisdom is dispenses along with psychiatric medication as is apparently the case for over one in six serving members of the U.S. Army.

Adding flavor to this mish-mash of military policy, the army has suggested that they have "40,000 teachers" able to train or retrain their 1.1 million soldiers. Those teachers would be the drill sergeants, always known for taking a deep interest in their students and imbuing them with a positive outlook on life and their future prospects. I am reminded of Jerry Della Femina's book -- From Those Wonderful Folks Who Gave You Pearl Harbor.

To read the full article on this bit of military brilliance, go here. And remember, it is always darkest before the dawn, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel and catastrophizing circumstances may cause carbuncles, cankers, consumption and constipation; however, it is often also a sign of sanity and therefore something apparently to be avoided.

A Walk in the Neighborhood

I was out for a walk in the neighborhood the other day, not on my way to the library or Mettina for lunch, just a walk. I heard the raised voices about a block away -- a couple arguing. The tones sounded young, not unlikely living as close as I do to the university. Another eruption -- voices of vituperation, but I would be beyond their vortex in about a minute and out of earshot in one or two more. They were really no more annoying than the diesel belching recycling trucks.

Then she shot out the front door, down the steps, trailing a string of accusations. She whirled on the sidewalk and stared back at the house. He swung open they screen door and hurled a one word invective. "Bitch!"

The word must have stung, she backed across the sidewalk to the grassy apron before the street. I was only thirty feet from her and now I would be walking between the young combatants. Clearly it was just a lover's spat, no firearms, probably no real offense; but I was either going to awkwardly detour around her into the street or just walk on directly through the demilitarized zone. 

I walk straight through, only three feet from her. I felt the tension but no hate, nothing real just a lover's quarrel, they would be back in the same bed tonight or sooner. She sat down on the strip of apron grass as I passed and I heard her tears begin. A few steps later I was about to cross the property line and be officially beyond the tableau, when I sensed a question. I slowed but did not stop and turned to the young man on the porch. Certainly he could have spit out a "what are you looking at" but he quietly said: "What would you do?"

I pointed at the porch, "I'd sit down on the steps and breathe a bit."

As he folded his lanky body down, my walk continued through the neighborhood and I wondered why those recycling trucks were not converted to solar.

Gotta a Good Reason?

You know that look. Yep, that look! The good news is we are genetically encoded to recognize it and get the hell out of the way. The bad news is sometimes there is no way out. There are times when we just have to deal without someone who is carrying around a big, bad, nasty attitude. But what if they have a good reason . . .

I am not talking about Mr. Roarke the neighbor, who everyone knows is just an downright cranky bastard. Neither are we excusing Aunt Martha, who is just a walking, talking, nasty, meddling, controlling bitch. These people have some long-held issues and, unless you are getting paid, your life should not be wasted trying to rescue them from the pit they have made of their own existence.

Sometimes circumstances are such that we do have to deal with a boss, co-worker or relative who just seems to want to make today a slog through the muck for everyone. If you know the person and they are acting contrary to their usual manner, well then you can either give them some space or try to help. Being a trained professional, may I strongly recommend the space option. In fact, in the course of modern life, I take it as almost axiomatic that when faced with a myriad of potential courses of action selecting "space" is usually the safest course of inaction.

Reflect for a moment on the countenance of the cougar at the top of this post. No really, take another look. . . Go ahead. . . Is not your first reaction to slowly back away from the screen? See what I mean about genetically encoded. Follow your instincts and avoid the psychic scar tissue.

But what if they have a good reason . . .

What prompted my post today was this quote from the NYTimes. See if you can guess the missing words.

"Let me level with you -- sure, I'm grumpy and miserable and anti-social, but the rest of you are unbearable. I can't listen to you talk about your issues because [BLANK] makes me selfish. Your jealousy issues? Boo-hoo. I haven't [BLANK] in I don't know how many days and all of your yammering sounds like noise. You know when the adults talk to Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang? That's what it's like to listen to you.


I used to be so optimistic. Even now if I try really, really hard, I can see the upside to most things. But I have nothing good to say about being a miserable, [BLANK] lunatic. So if you're waiting for me to impart some delicious morsel of hope -- like how I find inspiration in my [BLANK] because, hey, I do my best writing when I'm angry, for example. Well, sorry -- this doesn't really end well for you or me. Try as I might, I can't think of how to go out on a happy note today."


Did you get it? Spoiler alert in one paragraph down.

Consider for a moment the difference between this person being a co-worker or friend as opposed to just someone you need to interact with, such as a sales clerk, bureaucrat behind the desk, police officer, judge  in your case. If you don't know them and will never see them again, you can either assume this is their normal state of gloom or you might select instead the more empathetic interpretation and assume they are being adversely affected today and just cut them some slack.

The missing words in the quote above are: insomnia, slept, sleep-deprived, restlessness. The author is a chronic insomniac. By the way, if you have such issues the NYTimes is running a whole series of pieces on insomnia this week.

Today's point: Sometimes people are having a bad day for a good reason. Allowing for that interpretation instead of the 'evil bastard' explanation gives both them and you the space to avoid conflict and confrontation. Sometimes people are going to be in a dark place, why volunteer to join them? Give 'em a break. I wish I did more often.

One Interpretation or Another

I was reminded today of a story I heard back in the mid-70s when I was in grad school studying for a degree in psychological counseling. One of my instructors back then was a fifty-something woman, who had been practicing clinical therapy for over twenty years. That meant that she was a psychologist back in the mid-50s when most of America though psychology was either witchcraft or outright fraud. Her main thesis in teaching therapeutic technique was to continually remind us that there were many sources of psychological dis-ease and just as many interpretations of the what, when, why and how of a client's issues. Our task, she would remind us, was first to uncover the actual problem and then to assist the client in discovering tools to ease their pain and anxiety.

Here is her story that I was reminded of today.

As a young therapist she was interested in dream interpretation and used a dictionary of dream images to interpret any dreams a client might bring up in a session. At some point she had a 50-something business man coming in for counseling. After a few sessions she asked about his dreams and over the next several weeks, he told her of two what he called dream vignettes.

In the first, he was on a camping trip that he and his now wife had taken while they were dating. The scene was precisely the campground where they had been in Michigan's upper peninsula. In the dream, he was sitting out by the dying campfire, his wife-to-be was already in the tent but he was having trouble with the stem on his air mattress. The mattress was not fully inflated but he could not pull the stem out to add more air. His fingers were not nimble enough to grasp the retracted stem valve.

In a second dream, he was playing basketball with his intramural team from college. Again the scene was just as it had been in real life except that in the dream there was a small group of co-eds in the stands watching the game and the basketball was under-inflated so it was difficult to dribble the ball.

Our young therapist consulted her dream interpretation dictionary and found this entry:

Air:
1. If the air is clear and sunny, success lies ahead.
2. If the air is cloudy, foggy, misty or stormy, then you're not in a clear frame of mind. Perhaps you should postpone making important decisions for a few days.
3. Pumping air into a tire or air mattress implies that your support system (family, friends, colleagues) is weak and needs to be strengthened.

She offered the third interpretation to her client as an clinical intervention. The following day, she was informed by her supervisor that the client had requested another therapist. In particular, he had asked for someone male and more experienced. Being that her supervisor was the only older male in the practice, he offered to take over the client and also to share with her any insights he gained through the therapy about her work with the client.

Several weeks later, while discussing cases, her supervisor asked if she had taken note of the women in her patients dreams. The girlfriend in the tent in the first dream and the co-eds watching the intramural game in the second. She acknowledged that she had made the link with the "air" aspect in both dreams but had not gone any further.

It was then that our young therapist heard for the first time a diagnosis we are all familiar with today and one that you may have already made yourself -- erectile dysfunction.

The point of today's story is simply that there are generally many possible interpretations for images and symbols that substitute in our psyches for the actual cause of our fears and anxieties. Remaining open to possible explanations that lie beyond your own experience is a revealing practice that will potentially tell you more about yourself than you may already know.

Sleeping Through Insomnia

It has been a very, very long time since I have had a bout with insomnia. If fact, one of the true pleasures of my life is the adoring relationship I enjoy with sleep. Which is why last night was so strange. Around midnight I decided that the novel I am reading was not to lure me for a third straight night, its a bit too dark. So I just tucked myself under the blue flannel comforters and assumed the position. Instead of my ever faithful fall into the realm of Morpheus, I lingered in a hypnogogic limbo for over an hour. There were no entertaining fantasies or story boards dancing like sugar plums, just tedious processing of the old mundane business of life.

There really are no pressing issues emotionally or and other -ally for me right now. I just had a long night of struggle with what for me is generally pleasurable and easy. I woke perhaps half a dozen times during the night and finally fell into a deep sleep less than an hour before I needed to be up and at the world again.

I felt post-downer dull when I heard the early stirring of my friend and knew we had to be off to Berkeley to meet with the remodeling contractor. A solid half day of errands and consultations awaited us. Fortunately for me, unfortunately for her, she had had a similar night to mine, so we shared a scone and grumped our way to the other side of San Francisco Bay to put in our time in the real world.

This evening, I am going to bundle up in some heavy cotton, curl up with a good, if mindless book and grab the very first train to the land of Nod. Got no needs to do, no promises to keep.

p.s. late today I noticed an item I was reading on the web last night, a NYTimes book review on, of all things, insomnia.

In-attentive-ness

As I have said before in this space, one of the clarion calls of my existence is the phrase: pay attention. Notice it is not written Pay Attention! nor Pay Attention! or even Pay Attention!!! I simply and quietly attempt in my life to attend to those thoughts, words and actions that present themselves to me during the course of my day. In particular, I try very hard to practice close attention when I am speaking with someone I like, love and/or treasure.

I do admit that some part of this attending fervor of mine is a learned behavior from my years of training as a psychologist. But clinical techniques are really not necessary in the ordinary course of going about one's life; what is required is a desire and a commitment to really paying attention to what is presented in hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting, touching and other.

One of my current writing projects is thematically all about this topic, the plot and story build on attending to the tiniest of motes of action and information that pass before the eyes, ears and heart of my protagonist. Think of the word "attend" not in the sense of attending a performance but of attending to a person. Being in service to them, to look after, to minister to. The exact oppose of ignoring or dismissing. This is the quality I am speaking of and fostering moment-to-moment in my interaction with others.

Which brings me to an observation about the variety of my acquaintances. Once again I refer to my recently ended journey on which I saw and interacted with so many friends both old and new. Now I am back in the Bay Area and once again in the midst of my academic cohorts. I noticed in my travels that while my friends were busy with their full and active lives, they had time or we could make time for intense, meaningful, in-depth conversation and friendship. If I attended to them, they were able to reciprocate, even if generally speaking such interactions were not the norm in their everyday life.

Sure most of the human contacts in my life have college educations. There are many big brains outside of my academic tribe and many more big hearts. What surprises me then, is that within the large cerebrum, fully lettered gaggle of friends there are several examples of gross non-attending. I don't just mean the stereotypical absent-minded professor. I mean fully functioning, highly educated, well-meaning friends, who just don't have a clue. They seem to talk the talk and grok the written word, but in action they simply fail. They either will not or cannot pay attention to what so many of us find important. Ideas and feelings they give lip service to, seem not to actually be of any significance in the day-to-day conduct of our friendship.

What I feel about these friendships is sadness. What I hope to communicate to them is simply nothing because I know none of these individuals will ever read this blog. To those who do, let's have lunch, I have something wonderful to tell you.

There Must Be Someway Out of Here

Confusion is the inability to think with your usual speed or clarity, including feeling disoriented and having difficulty paying attention, remembering, and making decisions; at least I think that's what it is.

Lady you bereft me of all words,

Only my blood speaks to you in my veins,

And there is such confusion in my powers.

- Shakespeare

The mystic purchases a moment of exhilaration with a lifetime of confusion; and the confusion is infectious and destructive. It is confusing and destructive to try and explain anything in terms of anything else, poetry in terms of psychology. - Basil Bunting

I'm not confused, I'm just well mixed. - Robert Frost

I have never been lost, but I will admit to being confused for several weeks. - Daniel Boone

Doldrums

dol-drums [dohl-druh-mz]

-noun (used with a plural verb)

1. a state of inactivity or stagnation, as in business or art.

2. the doldrums,

a. a belt of calms and light baffling winds north of the equator between the northern and southern trade winds in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.

b. the weather prevailing in this area.

3. a dull, listless, depressed mood; low spirits.

I can't actually say that I am in the doldrums, but I am feeling a bit becalmed. After months of travel and interaction with many people and many germ carrying poker chips, toll tickets, books, menus and the other paraphernalia of life; I have finally caught a small cold. Nothing serious and several rainy days in Austin have allowed me to take to a swaddled state supplemented with over-the-counter poultices and unguents.

I have also made two hospital visits to an old and dear friend, who had surgery this week. She of thirty-five years friendship with too long gaps in the last decade or so. Some of my feelings of becalming clearly have arisen from this reconnection.

Additionally, the final leg or legs of my circumnavigation are not falling into place as has the previous five or so months of my travels, so I guess I am just a half-a-bubble off these days. But this too shall pass.

Amy and I are taking advantage of some face-to-face time to tussle with the intricacies of the Matusow screenplay. Tis always good to share a large sectional with Amy and send email attachments back and forth with comma splices and tense corrections. Seems like olde times.

Planning on an IMAX experience this weekend (Avatar, of course) followed by some original Salt Lick Barbeque.

Next week, heading on down the western biways.

Psychoanalysis by DVD-R

Being a transient means that you can fall behind on technological advances that require one to have some form of geographic stability. Or, to put it more bluntly, you don't purchase big honking tech equipment when you live out of a car. I haven't owned a television or the up-to-date accoutrements of the visual/video medium for about five years. This doesn't mean that I don't watch the boob tube, I am not that evolved. However, when I indulge, I watch what is currently playing on any of the 200+ channels my current host's system might have available.

I know, my teenage nephew thinks I will walk into a Blockbuster and try to rent a VHS tape of Caddyshack II.

On my extended visitations over the last six months, I have noticed that nearly everyone, who is anyone, has gotten on the DVD-R bandwagon. No one but us Luddites remains a slave to the mundane scheduling of the network or cable advertising execs. At least one person in each DVD-R household as semi-mastered the intricacies of the new technology, so that now anyone can sit down day or night and view from their own pre-selected favorites list.

But beware of the technological backlash. On one of my stopovers I found weeks and weeks of The Biggest Loser and Bridezillas, not to mention enough Apprentice and American Idol to make you want to shove Donald Trump's hairpiece down Simon Cowell's throat. So here are my thoughts on committing your tv addictions to semi-public format.

First, I merely felt it might be embarrassing should your television viewing preferences become widely known, but that has been semi-true for years. Now, however, there is evidence to impeach your "only PBS and Discovery" channel lies. On deeper reflection I came up with even more potential uses for this tekkie evidence trail.

When someone comes into therapy, we need some basics about their life situation. Age, gender (if not obvious), martial status, educational level and, of course, the alleged presenting issues. I would also like some insight into a client's head, which I would like to get fast and dirty without their intervening avoidance behavior and obfuscation. And now I have it!

Bring me your DVD-R list. This will tell me more than fourteen sessions about your mother and why your spouse doesn't understand you. Your boss may be a jerk but you watch The Office. Your weight issues could have something to do with unending episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. And you seem to be getting relationship advice from the Kardashians.

This new information could revolutionize the counseling and therapy industry but for now my advice to all of you DVD-R addicts out there: Learn to erase and do it now!

Sorry but your time is up. Please pay the hermaphrodite out front. See you next week.

Tenebrous Audio

I have to thank my good friend David for this dark musical interlude. This CD compilation is justly called Going Down. I offered them as my penultimate wrap to this dark week (w/ appropriate videos where available).

1. REM Everybody Hurts

-when I saw the opening song, I knew this was going to be a great mix

2. Moody Blues Melancholy Man

-the standard rendition with some uplifting but dark winter scenes for mood(y)

3. Three Dog Night Easy To Be Hard

-1970 version with long hair and no smoothed out big band trappings

4. Police King Of Pain

-reunion tour version from Rio 2007

5. Van Morrison Melancholia

-a real hidden gem but hard to find on the net, only a thirty second snippet

6. M*A*S*H Theme Suicide Is Painless

-video is the funeral scene from the movie

7. Steppenwolf Desperation

-from the album Rest In Piece

8. Natalie Merchant Break Your Heart

-I know that it will hurt, I know that it will break your heart

9. Kansas Dust In The Wind

-with apologies, but the video is nearly the point of no return Otis

10. Sting Fragile

-listening to Sting and watching him are different experiences colored by gender

11. Peter Gabriel Don't Give Up

-if he had never left Genesis, you wouldn't know who Phil Collins is

12. The Who Behind Blue Eyes

-for something a little different, the Limp Bizkit cover

13. Van Morrison Underlying Depression

-the best I can do is the lyrics; too bad because the two Morrison songs on this list are brilliant

14. Neil Young Don't Let It Bring You Down

-a truly great cover by Annie Lennox

15. The Doors The End

-from the iconic opening of Apocalypse Now

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photo credit: archives

Main Entry: ten·e·brous

Function: adjective

Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French tenebreus, from Latin tenebrosus, from tenebrae

Date: 15th century

1 : shut off from the light : dark, murky
2 : hard to understand : obscure
3 : causing gloom

Apophenia

Apophenia is the tendency to see connections where none exist. At least that is the definition from one side of the chasm. Science holds that observation that is not done within the parameters of the scientific method is anecdotal, not replicable and therefore subjective and unscientific. There argument goes that humans will by our nature seek to make order out of chaos and at times we find signs and images that do not exist, but we use them to support a theory or belief. Seeing Jesus in a tortilla is a prime humorous example. Unless you are a believer, in which case I have just committed blasphemy. Technically, the seeing of images or the hearing of sounds where none seem to exist is called pareidolia.

Now this is where it gets complicated or where science loses its way, once again, in attempting to explain the human condition with numbers and arrows. Originally, apophenia was used to describe the distortion of reality that is found in some psychosis. Included in such diagnostic groupings are autistic savants. Such individuals clearly do hear and do see aspects of reality that normal "sane" persons do not. Yet we know via scientific observation that these gifted individuals are in fact interpreting reality through sensory inputs that are real enough to them to show skills and talents far in advance of what any "ordinary" person can achieve.

So there's the rub. Some want to classify and categorize certainly levels of insight into the structure of reality as insane or abnormal. Yet at the same time we clearly observe evidence of certain individuals who see well beyond what is considered normal. So how is it that only those savants, who by definition have psychological problems in one or more aspects of their life. How is it that they can have such superhuman insights but the same capabilities are denied to healthy, stable individuals?

Apophenia is, as are many other clinical diagnoses, fraught with the demands of science for conformity and classification. Just because you see something that others do not, does not make you crazy, nor does it mean you did not see what you saw. Life is in the eye and the perception of each individual beholder.

And why did apophenia come up in today's blog? Well because I have for a couple of months now been attempting to pay very close attention to insights and information I may be receiving from all sources; scientific and otherwise. In fact, particularly the otherwise. Yet my rationally trained mind wants to already always apply the tenets of scientific discourse to what I see, hear, touch, taste and feel. Wouldn't want a phantom or a mirage to take me down the right path; now would I?

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photo credit: Georgia O'Keefe "Ice Cave"