Just … can’t … help … yourself, … can … you? … See … below.

helpful tips from your uncle clyde

I have always wondered about obsessive behavior. I don’t mean the good kind – like washing your hands 50 times or watching the clock tick second-by-second for 47 minutes (that’s 2,820 seconds; I know, I’ve sat with someone that did it because someone said they’d be home and weren’t). I mean the Einstein statement of insanity – doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result – type of obsession.

A person returns time and again to a rock. The rock is lifted, and perhaps the viewer expects to be comforted or, worse yet, knows he or she will be repulsed. Yet that person cannot stop him- or herself. Wherever their sojourn, they walk to the rock, lift it, and peer downward intently. They even know the burrows of the ground and what lay within them. Yet they cannot stop. Soon, they realize that the sojourn from which they deviated was designed to be sure that the rock was a part of it.

That is the bad kind of obsession.

If a person has the bad kind of obsession, it is time to stop looking at other people as the problem or the source of their ills. It is time to look inward. Yes, such an obsessed person really is that fucked up. Yes, those around him or her are right.

When that person can walk past the rock without even realizing it was there, then they are on the road to recovery. That’s a long way from present-day obsession. It is even further when one realizes that a rock so easily found cannot be every rock. There must be (and are) other rocks. And if the other rocks are not so easily found, it must be for a reason. The burrows under those rocks must be repulsive indeed! Bad obsession leads to paranoid delusions.

But never, ever forget: just because a person is certified “paranoid” (stamped ticket and all) has absolutely no bearing on the accuracy or inaccuracy of the assertion that people are, in fact, watching him or her.

If you think the former applies to you, jot down these DSM IV references: 300.3 Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and 301.4 Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder.

Here’s your diagnostic criteria:

Marked inflexibility and preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, and mental / interpersonal control, as indicated by at least four of the following:

Marked preoccupation with details, lists, order, organization, rules, or schedules.

Marked perfectionism that interferes with the completion of the task.

Excessive devotion to work.

Excessive devotion and inflexible when it comes to ethics, morals, or values.

Can not throw out worn-out, useless, or worthless objects, with no sentimental value.

Insist others work or do task exactly as they would.

View money as something to hoarded.

Stubborn and rigid.

If you think that the latter also applies, also write down: 301 Paranoid Personality Disorder.

Here are your diagnostic criteria for this, um, situation:

Marked distrust of others, as indicated by at least four of the following:

Believes without reason that others are exploiting, harming, or trying to deceive her / him.

Unjustified doubts about a friends / associates loyalty or trustworthiness.

Believes with out reason that if she / he confides in others, this information somehow be used against her / him.

Finds hidden demeaning or threatening meanings in harmless remarks or events.

Unforgiving and bears grudges.

Believes with out reason that people are out to attack his / her character or reputation and is quick to react with anger.

Believes with out reason in the fidelity of their sexual partner.

When it comes to treating 301-PPD, I am fond of a transactional approach.

Specifically, transactional analysis focuses on the clients cognitive and behavior functioning. The therapist helps the client evaluate their past decisions and how those decisions affect their present life. They believe self-defeating behavior and feelings can be overcome by an awareness of them.

The therapist believes that the client’s personality is made up of the parent, adult, and child. They believe that it is important for the client to examine past decisions to help their make new and better decisions.

The transactional approach is also available for treatment of the OCs, but I personally prefer pharmacotherapy (better living through chemistry).

I hope this has been helpful.

idjit 4 wrent

When I was in Philadelphia the other day, and we were having lunch, someone mentioned about the fires in Greece being suspected terrorism. I don’t read the news. I shun every news source. I actively avoid learning anything about the news. It is a shame about the fires. I hope not too many people suffered. I surprised they didn’t blame it on the Turks. There historically has been such a complex hatred between the Turks and the Greeks.

“D-dd-d-do-ddo-o-o-d-doo.” Slow down. Form lips like an “O” with straight sides. “Do-ddo-ddooo-og—ga-e. Doggie! L-l-l-o-oo-k-ee at t-th-the pret-tee dogg-gie!”, whereupon having said that successfully, I am given an ice cream cone.

My kids and the live-in started K12 today. Seems like a well-structured program, although they are not fully organized yet – missing some books and a computer, the online assembly crashed, and a whole course is missing (being the one needed to explain online learning!). Besides that, running smoothly. 2,104 students in Pennsylvania. That’s a lot. Where’s my boy’s IEP?

I am interested to watch how they do things since I am knee-deep in designing a distance-learning school. The requirements are different for post-secondaries, but there should be something to learn. I want to see how they handle student services. Any idiot can design a course and keep a student occupied, but keeping the cats herded when they are restless can be more demanding. I think I will wait a week, and then raise hell over the lack of an IEP to see what structures they have in place. I’ll bring up the GED issue after that, but I’ll wait a month. It’s like probing an enemy’s defenses to find its weakness, but in a benevolent way.

My twin told me today that if I were a parent of one of her students, she would pass me off onto another teacher. I was somewhat taken aback by that comment. I thought she would be more dedicated to doing a good job. Hmphf!

I got a brochure in the mail today from Rent Mother Nature. I am not quite sure what to make of it. The concept is that you “lease” a cow or maple tree or lobster trap, etc., and you get to receive the cheese, syrup, or lobsters produced therefrom. (NOTE: “Therefrom” is not a word, but it should be) For example, for $49.95 you lease a branch on a cocoa tree. They harvest about three pounds, process it as either baking or drinking cocoa (your choice), and they mail you your product. Three pounds for $50. That’s $16 a pound. Is that a good price? You get a whole tree for only $59.95, but it only yields about five pounds. Must be not quite two producing branches on a tree. Didn’t know that.

So here’s the lobster trap deal: The Lease program includes: / A beautifully designed & personalized (parchment-look) lease document that is sent to your recipient. / An announcement folder (inscribed with your gift message) that describes the many benefits of your gift. / An entertaining & informative progress report (& an optional photo) to keep them up-to-date on aquaculture. / The Lobsters are delivered to the recipient's door on the date they request. / Satisfaction & bountiful yields are guaranteed. / We do all the work and you get all the raves (while helping support America's fishermen).

For $200, you get the above happy shit and at least 7-1/2 pounds of lobster. For $200. $200. $100 + $100 = $200. For $200, I could – literally – drive the eight hours to Maine, find some roadside stand, buy 10 pounds, and drive home. And still have enough money left over for a case of beer.

Better yet! For $170 you can get four dozen oysters. Man.

Nice concept. Woefully yuppie. But I could rent a sheep! Now, that co--- … oh. You get the fleece. I thought you got t---, and then you could say to the sheep, “who’s your daddy?” and then, well, um ... Nevermind.

I got a yard someone could lease. I would send pics to people in NYC. $69 a season. If I sell a bunch I will mow, then rake, then shovel, and whatever I am supposed to do in the spring. Maybe I could lease my dog, and I will be contractually bound to walk it. That’s an idea. I wonder if the National Association for the Blind would sell their membership list? I betcha there are a lot of guys that would love to help support my car as I drive around. They can’t anymore, and it seems to be the least I could do (in fact, it is the least I could do – seems pretty frickin’ cold, actually). I do all the docs in Braille. I could narrate a video. $69 a season. $169 if they want me to drive with the windows down. I think we might have something here – niche markets for leases.

You in prison or otherwise out of the Yankees marketplace? Send me $10 and you can lease me to watch the game for you! I’ll send you a quick note afterward, along with some press clippings. You’ll have the pleasure of knowing that someone is watching the game live on your behalf. I’ll put your name along with the rest of the f’g idiots that sent me $10 on a sheet of paper next to me. I’ll occasional insert your name in sentences like, “Wow, {you}, did you see that play?” and “Yo, {you}, wanna a beer? Good, get me one while you’re up.”

You shake your head. I’m telling you, if you packaged that idea right, there are enough idiots in this world to make you rich. Ten to fifteen people per game, $10 a game, 162 games – that’s upwards of $24,000 a year. You can watch 5 or 6 games in a day with MLB and multiple sets. That’s over $120,000 a year. Grow it to 100 people a game, and you crack $1,000,000. A hundred people out of 300,000,000 in the US alone. I haven’t met everyone in the United States, but I have met a hundred people stupid enough to buy into this idea. Imagine if you tapped into … oh, I better stop here. This is a gold mine! I better not publish this until I investigate it further. OK. [Ctrl]-A, [del]. Whew! Almost gave away the farm!

I better go before someone reads my mind. I left my tinfoil downstairs. I thought I wouldn’t need it anymore today since the voices quieted down.

crossing the unarmed

What an interesting evening! Naw, no details. Best kept close. Suffice to say that I got to exercise my deepest cross-examination skills. Sometimes I really miss the courtroom.

I read Welling’s Cross-Examination, a classic from the 1940s, and Cornelius’ Trial Tactics from the same era. Good books, but such structure! Trial work is meant to evolve in front of you as an artist uses color – you don’t use red here to balance the yellow other there. That’s an insult to the creation. Ask a sculptor what that slab is going to be, and she will tell you, “I don’t know yet. It hasn’t revealed itself to me.”

That is trial work. All the preparation is just to ensure that you have a full palette with which to create. Let the trial reveal itself. DAs and USAs are asking questions and getting answers, but the infliction in the witness’ voice, the cast of the eyes, the involuntary body movements are what give depth to the testimony. Who cares if the poor bastard has hemorrhoids? He looks uncomfortable in the witness chair, so turn that to undermine his credibility. Such physical unease surely belies a moral unease with his words given under oath. Primary colors are for pussies.

I recall a trial where a cop knew she was looking bad. I had her original report, her previous testimony, and a map. I saved the map, didn’t even show it for the first half of cross. Then I brought it out. She looked at it with disdain, as if it were a prop. I loved that map. I took her step by step through everything she wrote and said. Little tiny itzy bitzy piece by little tiny itzy bitzy piece. I knew before I set her up during the first part of cross that I had her nailed. As the map came out, and I started to pull the threads together of everything she had committed to into this wonderful mosaic, she knew she was looking bad. So bad, in fact, that she began to make stuff up. I smiled sooo big!

I didn’t have to call a recess. I looked at the DA and he did! By the end of the day, the DA had withdrawn the charges and referred the issue of the cop’s testimony to the AG’s Office for a perjury investigation. A week later, the jurisdiction that employed the cop had issued a check to my client for all of my legal fees, including the cost of the map.

My client – who I knew from high school – was clearly guilty. No doubt in anyone’s mind. He walked to recidivate on another day! What a great country! I still have that map somewhere.

I remember a story, a true story, about Abraham Lincoln from his trial days. He represented a railroad in a wrongful death case. He had the night watchman on the stand – a friendly witness. He asked him if he had seen the soon-to-be decedent on the tracks. He agreed that he had seen the man walking towards and then on the tracks. He was asked if he shouted to him. He said that he had shouted to him, but that the noise of the trains cloaked his screams. Did he try to get the man’s attention in any other manner, came the next inquiry. Yes, the night guy said, he waved the lantern to and fro – it was the only other means available. The train was reversing and it was not possible to get the horn to sound in time. It seems the man did not respond to the waving lantern and was promptly made one with the tracks underneath the train. The night watchman’s testimony stood well under cross.

Outside the courtroom, after a verdict for his client, Lincoln was asked about the night guy’s testimony. “It’s a good thing that on cross-examination,” Lincoln said, “that opposing counsel did not ask if the lantern was lit.” Gotta love Abe.

Cross is just the coolest thing. I should read some of Gerry Spence’s books. Good man, great attorney.

reva

Thoughts run deeply on Saturday mornings. Always have. As soon as I let that first sentence find its home, it drifts back to Nicholson and sometime in high school during the school year. Five days of classes and getting up before seven. The pattern takes hold and I am up early.

Times at home were rarely filled with any semblance of family. It seems that it was all individual relationships. Reva, my maternal grandmother, lived with us since I was in about the 3rd grade. By the time I am picturing, she and I were good friends. We always had an easy relationship. With others, her ties were filled with negative emotions. I could never understand why people would act in such a way. Reva just wanted to exist. She expected little but her tea and toast in the mornings, which she always made herself, and to just sit and talk with whoever made themselves available.

She loved the gossip magazines. Hollywood was her thing. Loved going to the movies. It always made me cringe when her daughter would make a point of telling me that every time she purchased People or the National Enquirer at the grocery store that she made a point of telling the clerk that it wasn’t for herself. Like a grocery store jockey cares? Why on Earth would someone be so concerned about their self-image that they would speak such things to strangers?

I remember Reva aging, and a magnifying glass hovering over the magazines, then large print and a glass, and, finally, no magazines at all. She would sit there for hours. I should have given her a day in which I did whatever she desired, but I never did. Her days became increasingly filled with television. Morning game shows added to her always present evening dramas. Her rocker moved closer and closer to the screen, and the volume increased. I wish she lived in this time with hundreds of channels, big flat-screens, and home theaters – and the audio version of People Magazine. She died ugly and confused.

I don’t want to write anymore.