Shrink Rap

A Moment Suspended in Amber

2012-01-17T19:18:00.001-08:00

Press the play icon to start the podcast. The music playing is Una Furtiva Lagrima performed by Luciano Pavarotti.

SPEAK, EVOCATIVE MEMORY

2011-12-27T15:33:00.001-08:00

My early life was a blurred succession of houses, schools and countries. The memories, as sharp and clear as they are, are both unanchored in conventional time and have the patina of memory’s reworking them, consisting of both fantasy and wish fulfillment. Talismans, transitional object and relics are all a part of this rich, highly evocative tapestry. My father’s moth eaten indigenous sarape, in a traditional pattern, is never far from my sight.

Similarly, my postage stamp collection was a magic carpet which catapulted me right out of my immediate environment. If I had a stamp with the flag of Luxemburg in front of me, I was soon hovering over the capital of Luxemburg, looking down at the little houses below. My hypothesis is that there is a little Lemuel Gulliver who lives inside all of us.

One of the saddest part of these memories is that I have no reference group to corroborate them as the witnesses are all gone. Hence, just like the Ancient Mariner I “grabeth one of three” and with him “I must share my tale.” Compelling similarities to Ishmael in “Moby Dick” (the novel, not the rock group) are somewhat comforting.

I can also walk into a room where I have never been before and, if I am particularly focused upon my external environment, something in the room will catch my attention and I will feel a strong tug of familiarity and the stimulus can be as peripheral as the wind blowing the curtains in an open window. “Wherever you go, there you are.” (Attributed to Confucius) says it all.

SPARKY GOES YOGA

2011-12-20T14:27:00.000-08:00

I am very familiar with the mind-body connection in my field and in my life, and, at this time, I have had over 100 Rolfings and currently continue them about once every six weeks. In addition, I am quite familiar with Primal Scream Therapy and have spent countless hours both participating and observing Hot Seat work as part of the Human Encounter Movement. I'm also quite enthusiastic about massages and have them as the opportunity arises.

The idea of Yoga never entered my mind as I considered it a bit ”fringy” perhaps even a bit too “New Age” for me. It was clear to me that the dress, mannerisms and energy from people who were deeply into yoga clearly stood out in my mind although I had no idea at all the connection between their discipline and their overt behavior.

Several months before I had my unfortunate hip replacement surgery, I woke up one morning (no doubt this sounds familiar) and I decided that I was going to check out this creature called Yoga. I was very fortunate in that the neighborhood where I live has what is arguably the best yoga site in Washington DC so I proceeded to quickly sign up for two gentle yoga introductory classes.

Leaving aside all the mechanics of this new environment, I experienced an interesting phenomenon.

Whereas working with my personal trainer in physical rehabilitation just ended up making me physically tired, after a yoga session I literally floated through my activities for the rest of the day and never experienced any tiredness.

I work out at least four times a week for an hour, stretching, lifting weights and working on balance. I have hired a personal yoga instructor and as a result, I have completely changed my workouts.

My personal instructor, Suzie Hurley, the head of the Willow Street Yoga Center, is a woman with four grown children. She moves just like a young ballet dancer and it is magical to me to watch her demonstrate the exercises. Among her many contributions to my physical awareness, the integration of active breathing into my exercise routine has changed it enormously. My morning routine now lasts an hour and a half, but even more important than that, I feel that I'm going much more deeply into each individual exercise and the focus on breathing brings good things to both my body and my mind.

My instructor and I like each other, enjoy talking to each other, and swapping ideas very much; if we add therapeutic assists to the equation the energy exchange becomes exponential in its amplitude.

Based in part on her willingness to give and my willingness to receive, I have ended up signing up for a week at a Trappist monastery during the first week of February. The quiet, contemplative life of a monk has always been very appealing to me and while I have no idea what to expect I'm very open to whatever happens. I'm sure what I experience will end up being discussed on my blog.

Simply writing this way about a course modification in my life brings a sense of quiet repose to me and somehow, in an unknown manner, it is all connected to the nature of my journey.

Namastasye,

Sparky

IS SPARKY AN ALPHA-MALE? FOR THE ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION, READ ON.

2011-11-14T16:11:00.001-08:00

A dear friend of mine, whose opinion I value highly, told me, in a general discussion, that I was an Alpha male. No one ever told me this as directly before and I double clutched. I did not say anything at the time other than take careful note of her comment but went away and started my traditional graduate school ritual of reading about the term, thinking about it deeply, and then, of course, writing about it.

Most so-called experts in the field seem to feel that there are seven characteristics that can be used to classify

Alpha male behavior. They are:

1-One of the Alpha male characteristics, a very important one, is that he displays confidence and dominance. He leads others and is ahead of the game all time. He doesn't ask, he TELLS.

2-An Alpha male doesn't care about what other people think and doesn't need others' approval. What he wants comes first. He has confidence and is mature enough to know when to put his ego aside and those that only insecure men need to protect their egos at the expense of learning and growing.

3-Another alpha male trait is that he knows that women are secondary goal, never a primary goal. Women and sex are important but not the focus of his life. Women will be the side benefit of life that is fully lived and confidently navigated. The alpha male never does favors or buys things for woman in order to earn her approval.

4-Another one of the Alpha male’s characteristics is that he isn’t possessive or jealous, because he isn't needy. He doesn’t smother women and he doesn't put them on a pedestal. He believes that any woman would be lucky to have him and if he gets rejected, it's her loss, not his.

5-An important Alpha male trait is a sense of humor. An alpha male has a well-developed sense of humor. He knows how to laugh at the rest of the world as well as himself. He makes others laugh, and feel good about themselves. People around the alpha male tend to get sucked into his reality because he's interesting and makes them feel comfortable.

6-For an Alpha male, he has places to go and people to see. He doesn't have time to wait for woman more than 15 min. when she's late and doesn't wait on the phone if she puts him on hold. He knows that time is a valuable asset and never wastes it.

7-The Alpha male forgives himself for his failures and he knows that failure is a part of life. The only men who do not fail are those not try. Success is just a few failures away.

Out of the seven criteria listed above, I can easily say that numbers 1, 2, 4 and 5 do somewhat apply to me although the differences are very important.

Numbers 3 and 6 are complete test misses and criterion number 7 needs extensive revision in order for it to make any sense to me.

I have always been aware that my large physical size and my considerable athletic ability have had a great deal to do with how people perceive me. Is very important to state that the last time I struck another human being in anger was when I was 14 years old, 62 years ago. The very idea of raising my fist in anger against my brother or my sister is a total anathema to me.

It is certainly true that I don't do guilt or shame. What other people think of me is relatively unimportant but that fact depends totally on the person to whom I am relating. If I care for the person, it is clear to me that his or her impression of me is extremely important. “What will people think?” Is a generic question that bewilders me.

While it is true that I am not possessive or jealous I certainly do put women on a pedestal and I believe that in any growth oriented relationship the two people involved take turns in doing exactly that for one another. If we fail at establishing this egalitarian balance, we have a relationship based upon power with dominance and submission as the dynamic I have the scars on my soul from having been rejected by women and the net effect of that is that I've learned lessons that were completely necessary in order for me to grow.

I certainly agree that I have a sense of humor but I never laugh at people. I do, however, join people in laughter as we observe the paradoxes, flat-out contradictions and absurdities of the world around us. My laughter is never derisive but is an important method of connection. I certainly agree that the intensity of the way I express my ideas draws other people in but in addition to being a good speaker, I am also a superb listener.

It is important to note, while the discussing the subject, that my definition of self can never be a static one. It is changing all the time due in part to my own growth and the gigantic changes in the society in itself. As a result, the present portrait is nothing more than a snapshot in time.

In conclusion, I hope that the gentle reader does not feel that I am being either defensive or apologetic. The question as to whether or not I am an Alpha male is a very important one and I can only answer by providing what I hope is a fully nuanced picture rather than a two-dimensional line drawing.

I will take this post, show it to my dear friend who raised the question in the first place, and I know that she will take my reply to the event in the spirit with which it was intended and we will end up laughing hilariously together which, in the final analysis, is what this post is all about. Of course I will charge her with gender stereotyping in the third degree, but I will promise her that I will not report her to the gender police.

SPARKY'S EMPIRICAL ANALYSIS OF HIS BLOG

2011-11-08T19:17:00.001-08:00

I have been blogging since August 28, 2008, a total of 3 years and 3 months and have written approximately 130 blogs. I have summarized my activities from time to time and it seems that it is appropriate for me to do this once again. The information that I gain from this analysis is a complete surprise to me as I am not aware of any consistent pattern: the pattern however manifests itself very clearly.

I have broken the topics of my blogs into 8 different categories and each category is followed by the number of blogs dealing with that topic as follows:

Poetry, art, and music – 7
Death and physical illness - 16
Clinical mental health issues - 9
Male sexuality - 8
Gender issues - 9
Relationships - 15
Education, training, and reading - 18
Miscellaneous – 20

During the three years, three months that I have been blogging, I have had over 1600 hits. Many of you have been kind enough to give me very clear and focused reactions to what I have been writing and I am very appreciative of your efforts. I think it is very important to note that I have never had a negative comment and I appreciate your forbearance. It will be foolish for me to take your lack of negative comments as an endorsement of my many off-the-wall ideas.

I will be thinking about what the pattern represents in terms of my awareness of the world around me. Any insights that my readers have are more than welcome.

Keep in touch,

Sparky

SPARKY KNITS THE GENERATIONS TOGETHER

2011-10-31T17:23:00.001-07:00

I have just had the enormous pleasure of spending a week with my nephew Alan. He is my sister Olga’s only child and I have not spent any time with him since he was nine years old. (He is now 26)

He stayed with me in my apartment and we usually ended up talking to one another until three in the morning. In Latino cultures the oldest son in the family takes on the mantle of authority inherited from the father and that is precisely the role that I occupy in Olga's family. My professional and academic successes are held up as models for other family members to emulate. Of equal importance is the fact that I provide the living connection between and among the generations as I now have the dubious honor of being the oldest in the tribe. I gave Alan my father's 250 page autobiography to read and this document provided him with an endless source of questions. There is an appropriate African saying which goes as follows:

When an old person dies, a library burns down, and I see it as my responsibility to provide the living documentation of the family journey which will be handed down intergenerationaly.

In an understandable connection with the search for generational history, Alan, at 26 years of age, is just leaving late adolescence and entering into early adulthood with a tremendous rush. For the past three years he has been touring much of the United States and Europe as the drummer in a rock band. As a vintage “Breeskin”, music occupies a prominent place in his soul.

After his band precipitously exploded, Alan tried to find a niche in the ordinary world and has become the top real estate agent for his firm in Las Vegas. This is as far away from the music profession as possible and creates a large amount of stress in terms of where he wants to go next in his development.

After the intense week that we spent with one another it is relatively straightforward for me to reach certain conclusions about Alan both because of my professional training and the fact that we are intricately connected.

His appearance is that of someone with movie star looks. Alan is not at all aware of the effect he has on women and I watch with total admiration as women attempt to catch his attention. He is totally modest about his appearance which adds, of course, spice to his charm. He works out vigorously and has the appetite for food of a healthy young man.

Moving beyond the physical to the psychological, Alan is an exquisitely sensitive human being. All five of his senses bring a rush of information into his awareness and, at times, threaten to overwhelm him with the amount of input information.

In addition, although he doesn't know this about himself yet, he is a nurturing male and is basically androgynous while being very comfortably hetero.

He has two powerful women in his life for whom he feels totally responsible. They are his mother, Olga, my sister, and his fiancée, Tambi. Both of these women strongly depend upon him for parts of their emotional security and he sees it as his task to be their Guardian. He was also raised in a strongly Catholic environment and is dealing with issues of guilt and shame on a daily basis although he has a clearly defined operative sense of honor which he follows in a praiseworthy manner.

I hope that my words do not sound excessively clinical; I care for Alan deeply as I strongly identify with his quest for authenticity and I am honored to contribute to his journey in any way that I can.

His mother, Olga, has expressed a desire to visit me and I have been invited by Alan and Tambi to their wedding in Las Vegas next September and I will be sure to attend.

Before Alan left to return home, my dear friend Rosemary Perticari filmed a two-hour video of Alan and I talking about a wide range of subjects. Once again, I am contributing this DVD to the intergenerational library. I will attempt to make this video available to people who might be interested in it.

A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE: TEENAGE BOYS AND LOVE PART 1

2011-10-25T14:24:00.000-07:00

This article from the New York Times

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/22/fashion/seeking-to-help-boys-keep-their-friends.html

caught and riveted my attention. It brought back memories of almost 60 years and these memories are sharp and clear, yet they are unarguably modified by the soft suasions of looking backward.

My family, consisting of my mother, aunt, younger brother and I lived in an upper middle class high-rise apartment in Forest Hills on Long Island, New York. Sid Caesar from the “Show of Shows” walked through our neighborhood on his way to the subway almost every day.

We lived on the 16th floor and in the apartment directly above us lived Norman Levy. He and I were both freshpersons in Forest Hills High School and we began to walk to school together in the morning, a distance of about 10 city blocks.

Norman's parents owned a small, very busy bookstore in Times Square across the River in Manhattan. The bookstore was open into the wee hours of the night and when I stopped by either Norman’s mother or father was behind the cash register.

During the summer the windows of the two apartments were open and through the open windows Mrs. Levy could easily be heard screaming at her tiny, passive husband and her movie star, good-looking son, threatening to jump off the balcony to her death in the street below.

I am sure that Norman knew that I knew of his mother's fulminations but that information remained unspoken between us.

I would typically leave for school in the morning about an hour before the school opened. I was good friends with Otto, the school maintenance person and he would let me through the door to my empty classroom where I would do my homework (I never brought schoolbooks home) read the New York News and the New York Times and leave the newspapers for Mr. Bovin, a shop teacher, who was our home- room guardian.

Norman and I were very close. Our relationship was a calm oasis in a turbulent sea. We were, as the New York Times article sensitivity says, best friends, and were “both repositories and guards for our most private feelings.” While young teen-age girls would have spoken to each other about feelings and emotions, the code between young boys is altogether different. We respected our silences and saw them as nonjudgmental and soothing. If we had spoken our feelings toward one another it would've come across as awkward even clumsy. Norman’s support of me was unspoken but I knew it was there.

Mrs. Levy strongly objected to my ringing the buzzer downstairs to their apartment as I left early for school and forbid Norman to hang out with me. I felt both betrayal and sadness over what happened.

Norman did very well in high school although we ignored each other when we crossed paths in the school corridors. He went on to Bowdoin College, a well known small Liberal Arts College in Maine, where he majored in acting and ended up as an understudy in Leonard Bernstein's Broadway production of West Side Story and proceeded to fall madly in unrequited love with Chita Rivera, the star of the show. This information was passed on to me by Norman as we kept in contact with one another as the years passed. I remember that I asked him for a favor and that he invited me to his wedding.

As for me, I experienced a sharp break in friendship bonds and experienced both sadness and loneliness until girls discovered me one half years later and filled in the gap.

Brolove has definitely been a development for me and I firmly believe that these emotions of loss are directly related to my deep love for my younger brother who died suddenly at 44 years of age the day after we had our only quarrel.

I trust that this story represents my belated gratitude for what Norman gave me.

A TRIP STILL DEEPER INTO THE PAST PART 2

2011-10-18T14:25:00.000-07:00

An event just happened that I find so incredible that I can scarcely believe it. I am writing a blog about my dear old friend Norman Levy and since I am writing the blog in part to honor our friendship, I thought it best that I call up Norman and run the blog by him before I post it. My dear friends Heidi and Rachel were very supportive of this idea and Rachel proceeded to find his phone number through his Bowdin College graduation date of 1957, which was the same year that I graduated from Columbia College.

The next thing I knew we were talking on the phone and it is pure conjecture as to which one of us was more surprised. Norman sounded warm, welcoming and I quickly remembered why I felt so comfortable with him. There was a strong connection of energy that flowed effortlessly between us and we took turns in bringing each other up to date and we began starting sentences with “Do you remember the time……….?”

He told me many things that I had forgotten and it was obvious that these memories were still very present in his mind. He said he would be pleased to read my post and comment on whether he felt comfortable with the material in it. I had many of the details twisted around and I am sure that together we can straighten them out into the correct chronological order but that is not the point.

We were successful in recapturing a very meaningful part of our lives and we each were witnesses to the other so we were never alone. I felt that I was reclaiming an important part of the fundamental development of my identity. My son always tells me that I am reinventing myself as I go through developmental changes. His point is accurate but there is still continuity or history.

Norman and I are thinking of visiting each other and I cannot even think of what that would be like. I cannot predict at all where this is going but I know that at the end of this process I will end up sadder and wiser in that order.

I have been thinking long and hard as to the reasons that these events have had such a profound emotional effect upon me. It is clear that I am attempting to gain some sort of resolution or understanding of formative events in my past life. It also helps me remember that friendships made in times of great transition are bonded by epoxy glue. I have always considered myself a friend for life; there is no such thing as a meaningful transitory relationship for me. Even though a person's life may have diverted sharply from mine, we still can go back to the time that we shared together and re-create the importance of that moment. In a specific sense, Norman is a carrier of a past self of mine and I honor him for that.

It turns out that Norman’s relationship with his mother was much more complicated than I originally knew. Norman proceeded to bring me up to date and tell me that the mom that I knew was really his step-mom. His biological mother had died suddenly when Norman was nine and his father remarried. It turned out that Norman’s step-mom attacked him in a fit of rage with a butcher knife. At that point, Norman’s father took Norman out of the house and sent him to a private boy’s school and he never lived under the same roof with his father and step-mom again. He had left Forest Hill High School in the middle of his sophomore year which is why there was a break in our relationship.

The reason why I am so clear about these details is that Norman has been generous enough to send me an autographed copy of a book that he has published. The book is “Our Deal,” 1983. It was an extremely strange experience to read this book since I was reading it simultaneously at three different levels: (1) I was reading it as a novel and taking in the scenes, (2) I personally knew the protagonist, (3) in addition, I was extremely knowledgeable about many of the scenes in the novel and I could see that the writing of the book must have been incredibly therapeutic for Norman. I think it is fascinating that I have embarked on the same journey that he has taken and my book dealing very much with my childhood experiences will be published at the end of the year 2011.

I have sent Norman a copy of my father’s 250 page autobiography in return for his gift to me. I know he will read it with care and favor me with his reaction.

Norman and I have continued to talk and write back and forth. We are making plans for one of us to visit the other and both of us are looking forward to that with enormous enthusiasm.

I do not know what will become of this reconnection but I do know that it nurtures me at a very important level.

SPARKY IS VERY SAD AND ANGRY!

2011-10-11T13:09:00.000-07:00

Let me start this post with the source of the trouble. In common with many evocative events in my life it starts with a book. No Safe Haven: Male Violence Against Women At Home, At Work, and in the Community by Mary Ross et al. APA. 1995

This book has had a powerful effect on both my thinking and my emotions. Every single page catches me by the throat and my marginal notes look like chickenpox.

The idea that physical violence would be done to a woman and that her very physical being would be violated against her will makes me shudder with deep sympathy and even possible empathy although my body has never been physically violated with anger and threat. Perhaps it is fair to ask the question as to how I can empathize with something that I have never experienced myself. If this is a legitimate question, (and I seriously doubt it) we are truly cut off from one another since we cannot conceivably share the same communality of events. I think there is a communality of humanity that transcends the details but that point is certainly open to discussion.

I trust that the above paragraphs have hinted at the reason for my sadness: now let us pick up on my anger. It seems to me that a woman who has experienced male violence toward her operates, understandably, with active suspicion and guardedness as the default mechanism. I hope I am not exaggerating when I greet a woman entering an elevator with a “Good Morning” and a smile I am running the risk of being charged with sexual harassment. Yes, in answer to your next question, I greet men in exactly the same way.

I will readily grant the fact that my educational background in sexuality was atypical. Sex was always glorious fun and was never associated with guilt and shame. I have never even come close to clinching my fist at a woman: I would cut off my arm before I did such a thing.

Make no mistake; I enjoy sharp differences of opinion in my interaction with women as I consider the ability to respectfully differ as a powerful exchange of energy which leads to mutual understanding and a sense of connection and comfort.

If a woman responds to me as if I am a potential creep, that fact registers with me very strongly. I feel that I'm being judged as guilty just on the social construct that we label “gender.” It is dehumanizing and it hurts. I know that the reaction is overdetermined by past events and the need to dominate and control is seen as a traditional masculine role.

Given this perspective, events which registered with me, but not fully, now take on a very different meaning. When I last taught a course on the ”Psychology of Gender”, the students, on their own initiative, voted me, rather than a “Dirty Old Man”, the title of “Sexy Senior Citizen” and awarded me a T-shirt with that designation which I proudly wear. Not bad for someone who is approaching 77 years of age.

There is a very serious point embedded in this discussion. I thoroughly enjoy flirting with women. It disturbs me enormously that anyone would see my flirting as aggressive. While I readily agree that the behavior has a sexual component with the biological basis being one of reproduction and survival of the race, my wish is my behavior be seen as similar to a large puppy dog that is wagging his tail and just wants to play because it speaks to a powerful life force.

I hope what I have just written makes sense to you. Please favor me with your reactions as I value them greatly.

Spike and Sparky, Chapter Two

2011-10-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

Spike has arrived at the advanced age of 28 in people years. In cat years, he was born on December 24, 2008, almost three years ago. His behavior is very predictable: he sleeps up to twenty hours a day in a secluded high spot, and spends four hours a day in the cat Olympics, where he hurls himself from room to room, and up and down various pieces of furniture. He dislikes the cold weather and has taken to sleeping underneath the electric blanket with me for most of the night.

He is completely fascinated by my Bose music machine and loves to sit on top of it, as you can see:

This photo reminds me, and many of you are too young to remember this, of the dog looking into the old Victrola:

In addition, Spike has not grown to be a larger cat, but he has grown to be a LONGER cat. This metamorphosis is nothing short of amazing and I have no idea how long a grown cat can possibly be. Please see the graphic evidence of his longitudinal development:

-Spike and Sparky

2011-09-23T17:00:00.001-07:00

Seeking To Help Boys Keep Their Friends

SPARKY’S WEEKLY DRESS CHART AND PHILOSOPHICAL MIND SET.

2011-09-13T15:00:00.001-07:00

It is probably safe to say that none of you have spent much time thinking about the correlation between the nature and color of the costume you choose to wear each day of the week and the appropriate philosophical orientation to go with that costume. My modest goal in this post is to alert you to the connection between what, at least on the surface, appears to be random events.

Let us begin on what; ostensibly, appears to be a foggy Monday. The only conceivable philosophical mindset for this condition is an Aristotelian appeal to empiricism. Aristotle, when asked to design the Constitution of Athens, accepted 200 drachma and told the committee to return in two years.

Aristotle thereupon proceeded to send horseback riders to every city on the Greek peninsula, collected their constitutions, and compiled a document bearing the points he wish to make from his collection. This represents a gathering of evidence directed toward a conclusion.

The only appropriate color combination to wear during this mindset is cobalt blue with interesting accessories. (A small pearl piece of jewelry for example)

You are able to catch a break on Tuesday when you have the solace of David Hume’s focus on the five senses. The appropriate progression is as follows:

1-Sensory input from all five senses at the periphery.

2-These are kicked upstairs to the limbic system where they become perceptions followed in turn by

3- Being sent upstairs to the cerebral cortex when words are attached to the sensations and thought is the output. The only possible costume that can be worn in such a state is a warm maroon, being very careful to avoid shading toward the pink.

Wednesday’s costume calls for a black-and-white ensemble of interesting design together with the dialectic mindset of Immanuel Kant, who said that Hume “woke him from his slumber.” Thesis, Antithesis, and Synthesis of both empiricism and rationality must inexorably follow you through the day until you can put your feet up and sip a crystal shot glass of Gran Marnier.

Thursday’s mindset consists of nothing less than Heisenberg's Principle of Indeterminacy which states that the observer influences every scientific measurement and, in fact, must be a part of the so-called impartial equation results. The implications of this Principle, to me, destroy pure empiricism. Cashmere, soft gray costume with maroon accessories carries the day.

Plaid (you can't go wrong with a Black Watch Tartan) or checks (quite subdued) for Friday. The mindset can only be a Stochastic Paradigm which allows for both fixed variables and random events. I guarantee you that this will add spice to your day.( Pay particular attention to random events; they may not be random at all but you have to be at least 50 years old to appreciate this since we live forward but understand backward.)

Saturday provides the heavy building blocks which gives conceptual structure to the entire week as they consist of:

1-Epistemology,

2-Ontogeny, (you must carefully learn to say, with perfect diction “Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny, cha cha cha.”)

3-And my dear friend Eschatology

Please roll these words around in your mouth so that you can deliver them smoothly and proceed to ignore the perhaps unseemly reaction of those around you. The costume calls for black with honey colored gold as an important part of the package. Appropriate jewelry of gold design works well.

This exercise consists of my attempt to design a wraparound package for you to use as you move through the universe. It obviously needs a period of field testing so your feedback comments will be extremely useful in order to tweak the overview. Thank you for your forbearance.

Sparky’s Rocky Road to Recovery

2011-09-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

Please forgive me for having been off the radar scope for almost two months. Many of you have been kind enough to say that you missed reading my posts with your morning coffee so I am hastening to patch up the hiatus in your schedule. My journey during the gap can be divided into three sections as follows:

Left hip total replacement surgery for a broken femur with a one-month convalescence on the orthopedic ward.

A one-month stay on the rehabilitation ward compromised by a serious infection from a welcome home cat- scratch from my buddy Spike which caused my already traumatized leg to swell up like a bowling pin.

I have now been home for 10 days and aside from experiencing an earthquake and a hurricane with three days without electricity, my return home has been uneventful. I hasten to grab this opportunity to publicly thank my dear friends Rosemary and Charlie who allowed me to become a member of their family. I truly felt powerfully cared for.

Much to my pleasant surprise my former wooden leg is starting to return to close to normal functioning and I can actually walk, carefully and slowly, without assistance, for short distances. I have folded up my wheelchair permanently.

Leaving aside the physical changes which were large in themselves, I want to smoothly move across the corpus callosum to my right hemisphere and access the emotional changes that these physical changes have initiated. They are easy to enumerate:

My relationship with my son Davyd has significantly changed in incredibly positive direction. He could not have been more patient and supportive and it is easy to say that I can look upon him with fresh new eyes.

I guess that my concept of him as my son may have blocked me from seeing him as an independent person in his own right. Well, that dynamic is now ancient history.

The support of my friends, in thousands of ways, has been a revelation to me. My stainless steel model has always led me to be self-contained and I functioned with the unfortunate motto,” Just suck it up.”

Three examples will suffice:

A. My x-wife with whom I maintain a cordial adult relationship based upon our shared guardianship of our granddaughter was thoughtful enough to visit me in the hospital and bring me a thermos filled with homemade borscht. This, of course, represents soul food for me and the generosity of her act will stay with me permanently.

B. A dear friend whom I have known for almost 20 years came to visit me and gave me an incredible foot massage which, in addition to its physical comfort had an additional spiritual component as well.

C. A very dear friend and her husband came to visit me and sat with me as I picked at my hospital dinner. It was hard to concentrate on the conversation since this Mozart quartet from Don Giovanni kept playing in my head due to the pleasure of the company.

In order to celebrate all that has happened to me, I am inviting 50 of my dear friends to ride with me on a bus to Fallingwater, in western Pennsylvania. I have visited this house on many occasions and to me, it is my church. Rest assured that I will post a blog dealing with that glorious experience. To be continued…………….

The emotional changes that these physical changes have initiated.

I cannot pass by this important point without expressing my great debt of gratitude to my Equadorian cyber- pal Larry T. After hearing me on the topic of body image changes he was generous enough to call my attention to a book by Oliver Sacks called “A Leg to Stand On.” This is truly an amazing book and I read it in one gulp. I was able to strongly identify with much of the details that the author had to go through when he had a similar injury and it gave me very important new insights into the connection between my injury and my emotional state. I strongly recommend it to anyone who is faced with a body dysmorphic injury.

MICRO-MACRO THINKING AND CIRCLES OF COMPASSION: AN ATTEMPT AT A SYNTHISIS.

2011-08-11T09:43:00.001-07:00

I am sorry that there has been a one month break in my posts. I have just gotten out of the hospital where I had a total hip replacement and it will take me some time to find my groove. I will discuss this event in my life in future posts.

I've long considered myself as having a micro-analytic mindset when working as a psychotherapist. By this I mean that I am fully engaged with the person in front of me and my toolkit consists of microsurgery, bone grafts and sutures necessary to repair the psychic injuries on an individual basis. In this context, I call myself a “lapidarian reconstructionist.”

This precludes, of course, any standard treatment format as each approach is unique to the client in front of me. In fact, the client and I must develop a vocabulary and a language between us before anything begins to make sense. This is, of course, a joint process. In addition to me needing to learn the client’s idiom, the client is equally challenged to learn mine.

This interaction is directly related to the fact that I cannot see children as clients. They are simply too vulnerable and are dependent on the big people in their environment for nurturance and security. Since I have little, if any, control over those external parameters, I choose not to engage.

While I deeply respect people who have a macro orientation and are able to think of mass movements and social advocacy, I don't even think in those terms. I cannot, for example, look at pictures of children starving to death in a refugee camp but have to look away to protect myself and my feelings of helplessness. I have functioned with this orientation for many years and have only recently come to see and appreciate a somewhat different perspective. I have stumbled upon a conceptual framework that I call “circles of compassion.”

This allows me to shift from a single micro-focus to a psychotherapeutic group seeking to put together an intentional family for mutual support and growth. I have realized, given this new perspective, that I constantly monitor this circle of compassion and am very careful with inclusionary or exclusionary criteria before I will allow people into what I consider to be sacred space.

I have no idea what took me so long to get to this enlightened state. Maybe it was there all along but I was not able to find the words to describe the phenomenon. This in no way changes my concept of myself as a wounded healer but enables me to expand upon my definition and I humbly offer it for your consideration.

SPARKY GETS RECYCLED

2011-07-11T16:45:00.001-07:00

This post is an update to the voyage through the perilous seas that I have been cast upon. My surgery has been postponed until Tuesday, 12 June, since the levels of my blood thinner medication are still too elevated.

In order to cope with my disappointment as to the delay, I have found an old coping skill that has served me well in the past. Essentially, I have gone inside myself and I focus on self nurture and self compassion.

This style of coping was very characteristic of me from junior high school until my sophomore year in high school. I would spend most of my time in the library and I toured the entire world in my imagination with Sir Galahad always at my side as my guide. As I have said before, I did not have a single friend other than my brother, Gene, although I had many dozens of acquaintances.

It was not until the middle of my sophomore year when Nancy Shafer (May her tribe increase) found me in the library and since it was Sadie Hawkins Day she asked me out on a date. I quickly agreed and the course of my life changed dramatically. Having a pretty young woman at my side has been a consistent theme throughout my life and while the age of the woman involved has increased, the rush of energy has not diminished.

In some mysterious way my ability to connect with Nancy has morphed into an ability to connect with the multitudes around me. (Thank you, Walt Whitman)

While the similarities between where I am now and where I was then are compelling, there are very important differences. In my earlier stage, in addition to being alone, I had no clue as to my future journey. That is very different from today's situation. I am still withdrawn into the cocoon of myself but the atmosphere around me is permeated by a golden glow contributed to by all the people whom I love and am loved by in return.

The other major coping skill that I am relying upon is the prosaic concept of work. (Thank you Sigmund Freud for Arbite und Leben) This dynamic can easily be conceptualized in the poem “Work” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

WORK

What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil;
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines
For all the heat o' the day, till it declines,
And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil.
God did anoint thee with his odorous oil,
To wrestle, not to reign; and He assigns
All thy tears over, like pure crystallines,
For younger fellow-workers of the soil
To wear for amulets. So others shall
Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand
From thy hand and thy heart and thy brave cheer,
And God's grace fructify through thee to
The least flower with a brimming cup may stand,
And share its dew-drop with another near.?

To Be Continued in Some Unpredictable Manner,

Sparky

Sparky Goes into Surgery

2011-07-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

By the time some of you will be reading this blog I will have been in surgery in order to replace my left hip which apparently has an old fracture that was exacerbated by my fall off my trike. Looking backwards I am aware that my gait had been steadily getting worse over the past three years: from walking with a limp to walking with a cane to walking with a walker. Using my ever present system of denial the idea of what this represented never crossed my conscious mind. It was only when a CAT scan revealed that the circulatory synovial fluid and the cartilage was badly worn out that the whole picture became clear. (osteroporosis) The top of the femoral bone or thighbone is fractured and a prosthesis must be put in its place. This involves removing and replacing both the ball and the socket.

I have been thoroughly briefed by the anesthesiologist, the cardiologist, the physical therapist, the occupational therapist and various and sundry other personnel. They have been unfailingly courteous and informative. Since my denial system is so rapid, I politely ignored many of their cautionary comments as to the risks of the operation itself. Fortunately I had my Mouthy Medical Mouthpiece with me (dear Rosemary) and she filled in the information that I had unsuccessfully tried to ignore. I am now face up against the fact that I will be undergoing major medical surgery and what that has done is to increase my eagerness to get the task done and over with since I have come to terms with the need for the operation itself.

My surgery will take place at the Washington DC Veterans Hospital just off North Capital Street. The first three days I will be in recovery and then I may continue in the hospital for up to 3 to 4 weeks of physical therapy. I will have available to me my Nook, NotePad, Bose Speakers and my cell phone so I will set up my own high-tech communication base. My son Davyd will act as the contact point as will my Care Calender web site.

As a number of you have told me, this event has provided me with a fecund source of new information about myself and the world around me. Central to this new knowledge is the fact that I am blessed with a plethora of Guardian Angels who have come to my side in a vast company and I have a great need to tell you their names and publicly share the gifts that they have bestowed upon me in terms of their support and concern.

The honor roll in my head and my heart consists of the following good souls: Susan, Davyd, Andi, Bhagwhan, Bill, Christiane, Christopher and Rachel, Carolivia, Crystal, Dakota, David, Debbe, Debbie, Debra, Donna, Ester, Heidi, Irv, Jay, Jerry, Jo, Juan Carlos, Julie, Junior and Tanya, Kamila and George, Larry G,Larry T., Lew, Marcia, M-----, Michael (x2), Mike, Nadine, Patti, Raj, Rosemary, Roy, Michelle, Starr, Steve and Rose, Mark,

Thomas and Jennifer, and Zeb (and Xander). If I have left anyone out please accept my humble apologies and I will be eager to correct the record.

Making this list has been a powerful emotional experience for me and for once, words do not suffice. To all of the above, thank you for being in my life and being the people that you are. I carry you inside me and you represent the best parts of me. I both share them and have them reflected back at me, tenfold.

Thank you,

Sparky

THE VAST DUSTY CHAMBERS IN SPARKY’S HEAD

2011-07-05T14:44:00.001-07:00

There are two vast dusty chambers in my head and I have only gradually become aware of them. The first one contains all the tears that are issued to us when we are born. It is a fixed quantity and we have three options in dealing with it:

1-We can store them up inside, never let them show, and run the risk that they will rust up the machinery in other parts of our head.

2- We can allow ourselves to cry, in appropriate or perhaps even inappropriate settings without shame or embarrassment. (I never fail to cry when I am standing in formation with my right hand on my heart and hearing the sounds of our National Anthem. My years in the military contribute significantly to this.)

I'm afraid, in my generation, men were taught not to cry. This applies very strongly to Super Macho Fools. Typically, when men are Rolfed,

the trigeminal muscles which are at the point of the jawbone are in chronic tension. When this tension is relieved, the men, to their great surprise find themselves weeping copious tears; as if a reservoir has been breached.

3- Tears are often used for dramatic and manipulative reasons and they seem to be instantly available to serve any imaginable exploitive action.

Since I was raised in the” stiff upper lip” tradition and only gradually grew comfortable with the idea of being able to cry openly, I have that large reservoir of tears in my head to tap into and I take great comfort in my newfound ability to shed tears, many times to the puzzlement of my friends until they begin to understand my journey.

The next section is much harder to even write about. My therapist, in a divine moment of inspiration, asked me about the last time I had told my children that I loved them.

I swallowed a great gulp of air and whispered to her, “Never.”

Thereupon followed a silent interval for both of us while the power of my word slowly settled. I proceeded to babble some nonsense or the other to the effect that men of my generation simply did not say such things to their children. Rightfully so, my therapist ignored my lame explanation and suggested that I begin to tell my children what was in my heart but up till now has been proscribed by that archaic code.

That powerful conversation has had an enormous effect upon me and it is very much as if a dam has broken and a healing river of water has been released upon the dry land.

When I told my son, Davyd, who is almost 50 years old, that I loved him, he did not, at least on the surface, show any surprise. He simply looked at me directly and said “likewise.” I could clearly hear old taboos breaking in my head.

I have taken this shining new tool and have applied it liberally. When I say goodbye to friends that I deeply care about I say to them “I love you” and it is a trade-off as to which of the two of us is more surprised; myself as the initiator or the other person as the recipient. Most of them, bless their hearts, simply pick up on my efforts, do not comment as to any context, and simply respond,”I love you too.”

Since the journey to arrive at this point has been so torturous, I can never take these words for granted; they have so much profound meaning for me. I find them incredibly liberating and they induce a profound rush of neuropeptides in my system.

I am so grateful that I have had the time left in my life where I can allow these words to come out freely. It is truly a gift to me from the Great Spirit and I am pleased to share the details of this journey with my readers.

SPARKY AND HIS SOUP LADIES

2011-06-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

Gradually, over the past many years, through a mysterious process of aggregation, I have gathered to my side a company of stalwart women who have earned the epigraph of “Sparky's Soup Ladies.”

These are women whom I could call up at two in the morning and say,"Rachel, I am bummed out, can you please come over and bring me some hot vegetable soup?” These women would say, “I'll be there within an hour.” They know, to a certainty, that if the positions were reversed I would be equally responding with alacrity to their request.

The reaction of these women to being in my cohort is as different as the women themselves. Many of them network with each other to provide support for me, sometimes even without my knowledge. Other women want to be exclusive and do not bother to hide their feelings.

It is straightforward, from a psychological point of view, to hypothesize the mutual attraction among these women and myself. Of course a strong component of the dynamic is the search for maternal nurturance. I maintain that maternal feelings toward a woman are healthy part of any male-female relationship and there is absolutely no guilt attached to this. Nor do I feel that I will be infantilized or controlled in any manner whatsoever. In addition to this maternal component, these women are precious sisters to me. My brother and I grew up together and I was always envious of friends of mine who had sisters. It seems to me that they were given special insight and experience that was denied to me.

There is also a strong erotic component between myself and these women which serves to provide a delightful form of energy exchange between us. The boundaries, although not spoken, are precisely clear and a violation of the boundaries would cost me my sense of honor and would constitute a betrayal of the relationship.

Another aspect of this dynamic is the fact that the women and I can talk about absolutely anything to one another. This reciprocity is truly liberating. As my dear friend Alan was fond of saying, “We can dance naked on the table in front of each other.” Guilt and shame are simply not a part of the equation.

Some women say to me that I have a lot of women fawning over me, and they follow with the question, how bad can that be?

For the first time I'm aware of the possibility that I can have the same supportive relationship with guys. This is a new thought and I am proceeding very carefully down the road. I am not sure where it will end up but I'm willing to consider the possibility.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised at the next step. I asked four of my soup ladies to join me, with their partners, to a performance of Handel's Messiah, last Christmas. The four ladies each wore, on their wrists, as a gift from me, a Superwoman Bracelet designed to ward off bullets and the picture enclosed shows them proudly displaying their powerful talismans.

Are there any similarities among the women? The answer is yes: they are all comfortable with the masculine part of their personality and this allows me to be up front with the feminine part of my personality, so Yin and Yang are very much in the equation.

This post is a public acknowledgment of the gifts that these women have brought into my life and I am proud to share that knowledge with all my readers.

Sparky Sells His Trike

2011-06-24T12:01:00.000-07:00

After my hip injury and facing the fact of surgery with a complete hip replacement, I can no longer, in good conscience, risk further damage by riding my trike. I came to this conclusion very reluctantly but the rationale is compelling.

Symbolically, this represents to me saying good-bye to a very meaningful and rewarding part of my life: that of a long distance walker/runner.

I have walked a quarter of the Appalachian trail from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Damascus, Virginia accompanied only by my daughter Sophia and my faithful trail companion "Chessie". I was on the trail for 33 days.

I have also walked more than 300 volksmarches. These are walks in the countryside from 6 miles to 26 miles and have taken place in both Europe and in the United States.

I have climbed Mt. Washington (6600ft) several times and have walked many ultra-marathons. These consist of 100km (62.5 miles) events and are done within a 24 hr period. The last one I did, walking from the Kennedy Center to Harper's Ferry took me 22 hours and I was hallucinating by the time I reached the end.

As you can see from the above, these activities have fed my soul in many many ways and it is with both reluctance and sadness that I say goodbye to them.

My trike and I have been together for many years and I have ridden it on many trails including the Atlantic Beach at Daytona.

My bike friend came by to pick up my trike yesterday and I had to say goodbye. This the latest bulletin from Sparkyland and represents the close of one chapter in my life and the opening up of another.

Sparky's Podcast

2011-06-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

This post is a reference to my first podcast and it is accessible at:
http://johnbreeskin.com/happenings/podcast.html

I hope that you will be able to have easy access to it. The podcast itself maybe rather dry as it has to do with my definition of what it means to me to be a mental health worker. Your reactions to it are very much solicited. I apologize to those who find difficulties in accessing it.

Sparky falls down, breaks his hip and finds love among the ruins.

2011-06-21T14:46:00.000-07:00

Just about a week ago I was riding my trike in Rock Creek Park, enjoying the world around me when I came to a slight rise in the path. I stopped my trike to punch the controls to engage the lithium battery behind me. Because of my inattention, the trike rolled backwards off the path and I overcorrected by yanking the steering sharply left. I over controlled the maneuver and I fell from a considerable height onto the asphalt and struck my hip bone against the unforgiving surface. I was disoriented for a moment by the fall and a nice young man held me up and I was fully able to ride my trike back to my car, load the trike in the back and drive home. I diagnosed my injury as a hip pointer and felt that my recovery would be rather quick.

That has not proved to be the case, unfortunately. After keeping most of my responsibilities by hobbling around, my condition was getting worse and a large amount of edema turned up on the inside of my left thigh. My friends became very concerned and they got me to promise to turn myself in to the emergency room at the VA after our group meeting: I reluctantly kept my promise and ended up in the emergency room of the Veteran’s Hospital about 10 PM.

After a lengthy triage procedure I found myself, at 3 AM on a hospital ward. The next day I had a CAT scan and found, to my dismay, that I had suffered a broken hip a long time ago and the current injury had exacerbated the condition significantly. The next morning an arrogant son of a bitch chief of orthopedics with ducklings in tow talked to at me, but not with me, and told me that I would have hip replacement surgery in 2 1/2 weeks time. In my mind I rejected his suggestion out of hand. An adorable internist followed and she told me, bless her heart; I needed to think through my various options. After that I charmed my way to go home that day provided I passed various tests. I proceeded to do just this, showing the physical rehabilitation people my tricks and, via an ultrasound scan I found out that the edema was not a blood clot.

My son Davyd, who was a wondrous support, then drove me home together with a slick new wheelchair. I am now at home, gimping about with both a wheelchair and a walker to assist me. Last night, with the assistance of ice on my butt and very soporific pain medication, I slept for 14 hours. Now I find myself in front of my computer in only relative comfort.

The result of this information on my support system has brought me to tears many times. In the role of a healer I'm well accustomed to taking care of other people but the way people responded to me with genuine love and caring has been a revelation. The people around me are genuinely offering their support in keeping my freezer stocked with ice cream and running errands for sundry supplies. I have lost weight precipitously and now weigh less than I did as a high school freshman. I have dropped 12 pounds in a week and now weigh 205. I have absolutely zero appetite and eat only out of habit.

I am scheduled to see my primary care physician on Monday and my dear friend Rosemary will drive me. We are wonderful team and have learned to take support from one another. She is my mouthy Medical Advocate.

The only item on my schedule with which I will not compromise is our trip, via luxurious bus, to Falling Water together with about 30 of my dear friends. This will take place, Sunday June 26, all day.

It is no exaggeration that the lesson is I am learning from the current situation will have profound effects upon me for the rest of my life.

I'm now going straight to bed for a nap.

Hard Headed Sparky

I have, unfortunately, been taken over by the course of events. I have canceled the trip to Falling Water and my summer teaching assignment. I will be going to the hospital for pre op on Monday June 27, and am scheduled for total hip replacement on July 5. The rehabilitation will take approximately one month, so I will be out of circulation during that time. A “Care Calendar” with updates and needs and is being organized, if you would like to be included, please leave a note here in the comments and Rachel will get in touch.

Sparky Hitchhikes A One Way Ride to Mars

2011-05-31T15:40:00.000-07:00

One-way ticket to Mars

When I first read that article (click the title above to read it), I quickly made up my mind that the people who would be interested in this idea would be Death Deifiers with a strong dose of Thanatos in their personalities. After I carefully read the article I concluded that not only would I need to change my opinion but, in fact, I was strongly attracted to the idea. This may call for a bit of explanation.

I have long held a fantasy that if I were in a rowboat after a shipwreck and the rowboat, which was built to hold 12 people, had, in fact, 13, and the winds began to blow, shipping water over the overloaded rowboat and threatening to sink it, I would quietly, at night, slip over the side so as to not endanger the rest of the people. I have lived with this thought most of my life and I am sure that I would act upon it.

The article cited four examples of why people would be motivated to take this one way journey and I strongly identified with each one of them. The one that I will never forget is the letter written by Jessica Sloan as follows:

"First families

Jessica Sloan, 27, Rosslyn

The one-way trip would be on condition that my boyfriend and I go together.

I’ve wanted to go into space since I was 2. According to my parents, my first word after “Mom” and “Dad” was “moon.” My partner and I have something very important to offer: the fact that we come as a unit. Families have been the building blocks of any sustainable colony on Earth, and I don’t see why another planet would be any different. If Mars is the next frontier, I can’t think of any greater honor as a human being than to be among those who helped develop this frontier into a new and sustainable place for human life to continue. No one will come back, and not everyone will survive, but those who do will have great-great-great-great-grandchildren who can tell a Post reporter about how their ancestors set out one day to change mankind forever. How cool is that?"

Brava, Jessica, you are the essence of nobility, I am proud to claim you as a sister.

Star struck Sparky

Sparky's Office

2011-05-20T11:40:00.001-07:00

In my office, where I spend much soothing time, there are pictures which literally cover almost every inch of space. For some unfathomable reason, the majority of these pictures are of old men with beards. When I look at them, I’m aware of feeling enormous peace and comfort. I would like to share some of these paintings with you and tell you what they seem to represent to me.

1. El Greco’s portrait of St. Jerome
To me the painting represents everyone’s stern old grandfather. St. Jerome is shown pointing to a text in the bible since he is given credit for translating the ancient Greek Bible into what is called the Vulgate. This meant that the Bible could be read by the common people.

When I first saw the painting at the Metropolitan Museum of Art I went up to the guard to ask him to what text of the bible was St. Jerome pointing. I was guided into the office of the head curator of the Museum and when I asked him that question, he sighed and said, “You’re not the first to have asked me that question. We have looked at the text under highest magnification and cannot see anything definitive. So we have concluded that St. Jerome was making a generic statement. Thank you for your question.”

2. Ludwig Cranach the Elder’s picture of Martin Luther
This was taken when Luther was 21 and had just been ordained as a priest. He soon broke with the Catholic Church and was threatened with excommunication and even being burned at the stake. He replied when asked to recant, “Ich kann nicht anders” translated, “I cannot do otherwise.” To me, he represents the quintessential oppositional learner.

3. Walt Whitman painted by Winslow Homer
Whitman was permanently scarred by his activity during the Civil War where he was a stretcher bearer on the battlefield. It is obvious to me that he suffered from PTSD as a result.

4. This self portrait by Rembrandt was painted at the end of his life. His life was filled with tragedy but yet his humanity shines through from an inner light. This represents, to me, the Russian soul.

5. My painting of Sigmund Freud (not the same as the one shown), signifies serenity, courage, and humanity. It has hung on my walls for more than 30 years.

6. This painting of Carl Jung is a new one and shows him, once again, at the end of his life but concentrating fiercely at the task in front of him. It is clear that Jung had made up his mind not to rust out but to burn out.

I hope the viewer of this post can share some of my love for these paintings. I look at them every single day.

Sparky’s Take on Current Sexuality

2011-05-13T13:22:00.001-07:00

Change in the area of sexual attitudes and sexual practices have speeded up to such a degree that attitudes and behavior have quickly become yesterday's newspapers, blown in the wind. My clients and my students have taught me astonishing details about the current scene, and I am attempting, in this post, to delineate what I have learned. The events described are in no particular order but simply reflect the stream of information that rapidly passes in front of my startled eyes.

First of all, “hooking up” is retro- decadent. It can be called sex without intimacy. This is been replaced with astonishing speed with Internet romance which I call pseudo-intimacy without sex. Skype, IM, twitter, e-mails and Facebook are all used today and, not surprisingly, have become almost addictive in their pull. If two people, living across the continent from one another, agree to meet for three days in Muncie, Indiana, it is not hard to predict that the sex will be acrobatic and ecstatic and the people will only leave the motel for food. This will become the expectation of what it will be like to live together for any extended period of time: an expectation that is inherently doomed to failure.

In addition, there are now apps which track a person's social life and match him or her up with people who have similar interests. For example if Hootie and the Blowfish (Hold My Hand) are giving a concert locally, this app will put you in contact with everyone else who plans to attend the concert and the name of the bar where they will be gathering after the concert together with the GPS coordinates so that you can meet someone who shares this esoteric interest. We can call this app the ”Matchmaker.”

Given the developments outlined above, I am going to propose a new app called “Will you marry me?” A young person can send to his/her Internet partner a bouquet of roses, an engagement ring, a preacher intoning marriage vows, a virtual crowd of celebrants, the wedding cake, the wedding dress, including the tossing of the garter, and a virtual cruise of the Caribbean. This, of course, is quite in keeping with FarmVille.

Moving right along, it is now possible to buy vibrators at the local CVS. You will find them right between BenGay and Dr. Scholl's foot powder. I was astonished that the people who market this product did not have the vibrators come with scents. I would favor either lavender or sandalwood myself.

In a practical sense, three out of the last 10 new clients that I have interviewed have reported an addiction for Internet pornography which is seriously threatening their ongoing relationship. While I can discern no similarity among the three cases at this time, I am sure, speaking as a part-time empiricist, that the data will begin to sort itself out and help me understand the various dynamics that are involved across individual cases. Rest assured, dear reader, that this will be the substance of a future post.

Sparky's Favorite Music

2011-05-13T10:40:00.000-07:00

I have favorite pieces of music which lived within me for long periods of time and then, by a mysterious process, they shift. For a long time my all time favorite was Bach’s Mass in B Minor then it shifted to Bach’s “Easter Oratorio” by some mysterious process. It has shifted again and it is now Pergolesi’s (1710-1736, died at 26) “Stabat Mater”. While I love sacred music anyway, what makes this resonate in my ears is the fact that the lead singer is a male soprano. His voice is simply stunning: it is as if a female soprano can widen the range of harmonics which are sung. The results, in my ear, are astonishing.

This blog will consist of two parts: a link to Stabat Mater so you can listen to it and a short science fiction story by Robert Silverberg that deals with a whimsical look at bringing Pergolesi back to the present. I hope you enjoy this effort.

Ave atque freter

Sparky

Gianni Short Story download through Mediafire.com

Hardcover version of collected stories on Amazon