Solanum tuberocephalus

2011-04-04T09:17:00.003-04:00

I can attest unequivocally that the shot of Laphroaig I had yesterday, finishing a bottle I started almost seven years ago, was the most gratifying drink I've had in my life, on all dimensions including taste, meaningfulness, and company. I would say it was transformative, but I'd already changed. This was a celebration. Thank you Yoni for sharing such a poignant toast.

He who seeks truth

2011-03-27T11:57:00.000-04:00

I heard Moshe Safdie speak on TED and he concluded with this profound poem:

He who seeks truth shall find beauty
He who seeks beauty shall find vanity

He who seeks order shall find gratification
He who seeks gratification shall be disappointed
He who considers himself the servant of his fellow beings shall find the joy of self-expression
He who seeks self-expression shall fall into the pit of arrogance
Arrogance is incompatible with nature
Through nature, the nature of the universe and the nature of man, we shall seek truth
If we seek truth we shall find beauty

-Moshe Safdie, 1982

Smile today, it's good for you!

2011-03-16T18:28:00.001-04:00

I just came across this video today and wanted to share it. 98.038% guaranteed to put a smile on your face. I recommend turning the sound up and viewing it fullscreen (which means you'll have to leave to see it on YouTube, but that's ok- I'll still be here when you get back).

See www.wherethehellismatt.com for his story and more videos.

orig. 1/19/09

20 Albums

2011-02-04T21:14:00.000-05:00

The Rules: don't take too much time to think. Name 20 albums you've heard that you can't get out of your system. List the first 20 you can remember in 15 minutes. Tag 20 friends including me because I'm interested in my friends' choices. If you break this chain, you'll produce eight generations of Celine Dion, Michael Bolton, and Avril Lavigne fans.

John Williams - The Guitarist
Eric Clapton - From the Cradle
Mumford and Sons - Sigh No More
Andy Statman & David Grisman - Songs of Our Fathers
Eddie Vedder - Into the Wild (Soundtrack)
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals - Nothing But the Water
Franz Schubert - Symphony No. 8 in B minor (Unfinished; D.759)
HaBanot Nechama - HaBanot Nechama (הבנות נחמה)
Orchestre Andalou d'Israel - Maghreb (المغرب)
David Broza - It's All or Nothing (זה הכל או כלום)
Squirrel Nut Zippers - Perennial Favorites
Neil Young - Mirror Ball
Buena Vista Social Club - Buena Vista Social Club
Miles Davis - Sketches of Spain
Eden MiQedem - Eden MiQedem (عدن من قديم)
Pearl Jam - Ten
The Felice Brothers – Yonder is the Clock
Girafot - Misochecah im Kise (ג'ירפות - משוחח עם כסא)
The Low Anthem - Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
Etnix - Welcome to Israel (ברוכים הבאים לישראל

Coming Home: A Love Story

2011-01-28T11:28:00.000-05:00

This 50 sheqel note was in my wallet when I left Israel on August 15, 2001 and resided there until January 1, 2008. I had kept it for those 2,331 days in חוץ לארץ as a sign for myself, a comfort and palpable assurance that I would return to Israel to spend it. (To satisfy your curiosity, I spent those 50 sheqels on a bus ticket from Jerusalem to Eilat- a sojourn through the beautiful Negev must be a worthy expenditure for this worn, weighty bill to complete its own journey.)

Because of jet lag, I wasn't able to sleep our first night, in Jerusalem. So I arose at 4 AM and left the hotel (before the buses started running) to walk to the Kotel for prayers at sunrise (vatikin). The streets were empty, dark, and quiet. The world was so still, it felt like walking through a photograph. I had a decent memory of the 3.5 km route and set out with my old map in my backpack, for backup.

Walking around is like déjà vu, only I've really been here before, these places, these streets. Sights I haven't seen in years and I have forgotten, or those that have faded, trigger in an instant a flood of memories. It's like carrying a Geiger counter through a hot area; pockets of some potent, invisible radiation set off flurries of activity.

It absolutely does not seem real- It just doesn't make sense that I'm in Israel. And yet, I am.

I spent the first half of our trip in euphoric disbelief that I was actually back. Standing, seeing, conversing, being on Israeli soil reawakened feelings that had lain dormant, atrophied from disuse with time spent in America. During the second half of our trip, my struggle was coming to terms with the fact that I'd be leaving again.

This time around, we spent the last of our sheqalim in the airport on chocolate and chips (no, not that kind). We aimed to contribute as much as we could to stimulate Israel's economy, and we knew we'd be back to spend more.

Earlier, back in the States, a fellow extern at Creedmoor, a Jamaican Christian, was excited to tell me about her mother's Christmas trip to Israel. She asked me, "Do you have a lot of family still in Israel?" People assume we came from there and left family behind. Jamaican = from Jamaica; Dominican = from the Dominican Republic; so Jewish = from Israel, right?

They don't quite get the distinction among scales of history, but in a sense, they're right. It is we Jews who artificially, inappropriately cleave the awareness of recent generations in Europe and America from the resonance of our millennial history and our homeland.

Eyes shut tight

2011-01-19T21:06:00.000-05:00

We in the Israeli and international Jewish communities are continually astounded by the extremes of the double standard to which terrorist Islamic extremists and the State of Israel are held. The world media, and of course the UN, condemn Israel and remain blind to the IDF's efforts to preserve all human life, at the cost of time, money, resources, security, and the lives of its own soldiers and citizens. The Arab terrorists seeking Israel's annihilation play dirty. In more formal terms, they violate international laws of warfare as a matter of tactic. Such repudiation of moral conduct alone should cause people to cease referring to them as "militants." They are not soldiers, they are not combatants, they are terrorists. Their priorities should be clear from their operations. They endanger their own civilians to protect their own lives and to provoke an Israeli response that can be vilified by the world.

The violence and deaths are tragic, the strife is saddening, but the absurd politics are frustrating and astounding. This goes beyond exclusion, selection, and confirmatory biases. This is distortion and self-delusion.

Here an IDF spokesperson shows some of the difference between Hamas and IDF tactics, and demonstrates how Hamas violates international and Islamic law.

Hibernation

2010-12-28T19:16:00.000-05:00

I took a short walk outside today. It was the first time I'd stepped out of my building in seven days. I normally have a couple free days during the week, plus my assorted clinical responsibilities were suspended for the federal holiday, so I had a lot of days with nowhere to be. The beginning of the week, I was working on my Master's thesis, and I'm generally a homebody anyway, so I didn't feel the need to get out. I started coming down with a bad cold on Wednesday night and was sick the end of the week, so I didn't go out (I had externship on Friday, but called in sick).

By Shabbos morning, I was getting cabin fever and really needed to get out of my apartment, but I was still feeling sick and miserable. I'm feeling a lot better today, but less cooped up and still tired. However, I thought its probably not a good idea to be so homebound for so long, so I went for a short walk before dusk. It felt good to break the cycle, especially because this coming week bodes the same schedule for me- nowhere to be until Friday. I just have to make sure to get out again before then.

The Purple Frog

2010-12-22T20:19:00.001-05:00

First told 3/5/05

There once was a purple frog. There are such things as other purple frogs, but he was the only purple frog in his town. The green frogs made fun of him and otherwise ignored him.

He also had a burgeoning gambling addiction. Every weekend he would go to the local froggy casino and spend his paycheck, distracting himself from his purple otherness.

One weekend at the casino, after losing a day’s pay at the blackjack table and not doing much better at roulette, he approached the poker table. The dealer, a cute chameleon, was having trouble dealing the cards because her hands were sticky, as all chameleons’ are (that's what makes them such great climbers).

He won the first hand and felt bad for her dealing troubles. She saw that he was empathic and decided she liked him.

“So how did you get purple?” she asked spunkily.
“That’s a personal question; I never tell on the first meeting.”
She turned purple and said, “So we’ll have to have another.”
“Really?!”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, “Really?’”
“Oh, I thought you said ‘Ribbit!’”

He went home excited, even though he usually would stay gambling into the night. He couldn’t sleep, he was so excited. He hadn’t seen her at the casino before and realized that he didn’t know her name or number, and they hadn’t set up a time or place to meet. He started worrying about how he would meet her again. Now, he was a worrier, but not a pessimist, so he thought things would just work out.

On Monday, he put on his froggy overalls and froggy hardhat and went to the construction site, where he worked helping put up a hi-rise office building. His construction buddies weren’t real friends, but they didn’t make fun of him. They saw how excited he was and asked what was up. Over a lunch of grilled cheese and flies, he told them what had happened, but they didn’t believe him.

Meanwhile, the chameleon was called into the manager’s office.
“Lindsay, we love you, you’ve got great energy and a great work ethic, but you’re obviously having some difficulties as a card dealer and your sticky hands didn’t help you much at the craps or roulette tables.”
“Mr. Toad, I love working here, I love the people and dealing with all the customers. Is there some way I could stay on?”
“Well, I have an idea. The main gambling hall has a high ceiling and whenever a light bulb burns out, we have to bring in a huge ladder to change it.”
“I know, people always get distracted and stop gambling.”
“Right, Lindsay, and when people stop gambling...”
“We lose money.”
“Exactly, so here’s my idea--can you climb?”
“Sure, Mr. Toad, I’m a chameleon!”
“So instead of bringing the big ladder onto the floor and disrupting the customers, you can go up and change the bulbs.”
“Well, that’s great Mr. Toad, but that doesn’t happen too often. You would pay me just for that?”
“Lindsay, that’s only half my idea. I know how great you are with the customers and how much you enjoy dealing with them. I’m going to keep you on the floor as a cocktail waitress. With your tacky hands, you’ll never drop a tray of drinks. What do you think?”

On Wednesday night, already early in the week, the purple frog went back to the casino to look for her. He went straight to the poker table, but she wasn’t there. He raced all around the casino looking for her but he didn’t recognize her because she was wearing her cocktail waitress uniform and her skin matched the plaid skirt. There were other chameleons working there too, so he couldn’t exactly ask after her in particular.

He left, dejected, and stopped at the ice cream parlor to temper his panic with a root beer float with flies on top. He’d never been able to afford such luxuries before because he always gambled his money away. At work his buddies asked him how things were going with his chick. “She’s not a chick, she’s a woman!”

On the weekend, he went back to the casino, hoping to see her, and for once pessimistic. He meandered around, not gambling, just searching for her. No luck. He went to the bar to drown his sorrows in a root beer float. The bartender saw how downtrodden he was and asked him what was going on.
“I can’t find this woman who actually seems to like me for who I am.”
“That’s tough buddy. How about I toss some sugared flies on top of your float, gratis?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever…”

Lindsay, still plaid, came up to the bar.
“Hey, Max, we need a Shirley Temple; a Reptile with Diet Dew; an Islay, neat; and a Red Frog."

Just then, she noticed the purple frog staring into his drink.
“Speak of the devil! So are you going tell me how you turned purple?”
“That’s a personal question; I never tell on the first- HEY! Hi!”
“It’s good to see you around here again. I can’t talk now, I have to finish serving these drinks, but I finish my shift in three hours, maybe we can go get some coffee and cricket biscotti.”
The purple frog, easily excitable but usually clearheaded, said “That’s great, but I don’t want to risk losing you again. Would you mind writing down your name and number?”
She laughed and wrote down her information on a napkin.

Epilogue:
Over coffee our fuchsia frog told her how he turned purple. His mother had been swimming around her little pond, doing her pregnant froggy water yoga. An inordinately lost octopus, in its stress and confusion, let loose a cloud of ink just as the mother was laying her eggs. Octopus ink isn’t very good for froggy eggs and she lost most of them. Instead of thousands, only a few hundred survived, including our purple protagonist, all indelibly violet-hued.

All the purple brothers and sisters went there separate ways, the purple population explosion having disrupted the sensitive politics of the little pond. Every ten years, they had a reunion. At the next one, our froggy brought his chameleon bride.

Sunday in the park without George

2010-10-27T16:38:00.000-04:00

Now that the chagim are over, I'd been hoping to get back in the saddle, but it's hard to get motivated, so T. offered to borrow her friend's bike and come along for a jaunt. It was my longest ride yet, all the way down to 120th St. and back up to Dyckman, and a great day on the river. We keep grabbing the nice-weather days because winter's coming and we think it'll be the last one for a while, but they keep coming. Go Global Warming!

&amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/ride/united-states/ny/new-york/447212771637"&amp;amp;amp;gt;Hudson Greenway with T.&amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/find-ride/united-states/ny/new-york"&amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in New York, New York&amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;gt;

Why is everyone wearing...

2010-09-04T12:46:00.000-04:00

Why is everyone wearing yellow today, I mean I know you're not supposed to wear white right after Labor day but there are other choices you know.

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Measure twice, cut once

2008-08-28T22:17:00.005-04:00

So after consulting with my supervisor about a patient, he recommended administering the Criminogenic Thinking Profile, and he emailed me the test. Naturally, after printing the test, I took it myself and put my results in my Gmail status (40th percentile overall, if you care or if it means anything to you).

Because Gmail does not allow you to annotate emails, I often reply to myself and include relevant comments. Because the email from my supervisor only said CTP, and not the full name of the test, I posted my Gmail status message with the test's full name into a new reply to send to myself, so it would be included in the conversation and I could search for it in the future. Of course, as you'd so intuitively gathered by now, I sent my results to my supervisor. Lucky for me he's got a sense of humor and a natural curiosity. His response- "Not too bad. Any high [subscale] scores?"

This are trying times...

2008-08-28T12:57:00.001-04:00

This are trying times my friend when I and my patients begin to feel irredeemable but there is hope, yes there is. listen

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More psychosis in the news

2008-08-19T14:58:00.006-04:00

See my original post on psychosis here.

I've been following the sad story that unfolded July 29th on a Greyhound bus traveling in western Canada. Without any apparent provocation, Vince Weiguang Li calmly and repeatedly stabbed Tim McLean to death before decapitating him, displaying his head to other passengers (who had fled the bus), and eating parts of his body.

When arrested on the bus, Mr. Li said "I have to stay on the bus forever." Since his arrest, Mr. Li has declined to speak; aside from acknowledging his guilt, he only spoke when asked by the judge if he wanted a lawyer. Mr. Li shook his head and quietly said, "please kill me." Mr. Li was ordered to undergo a psychiatric evaluation and has since been admitted to a secure forensic psychiatric ward. Though he declines legal assistance, Legal Aid Manitoba stepped up to represent Mr. Li.

Following the case, I've encountered many comments on blogs and news sites condemning Mr. Li's actions and calling for Canada to reinstate the death penalty in his case. Many are dismissive of "this mental illness BS" and point to the fact that Mr. Li knew what he was doing. (Of course he knew what he was doing, but he was not doing it in the reality we experience- he acted according to the demands of another world entirely.) They think he should be thrown in a hole or deported back to China after revoking his Canadian citizenship. There are also those who recognize that Mr. Li cannot be considered fully (or at least criminally) responsible for his actions and that we should reserve judgment until more facts come to light.

In my last post on this topic, I expressed sadness at the horrors that can befall the mentally ill, their families, and bystanders. This time around, I'm saddened by the intolerance and misunderstanding still prevalent in many people's perceptions of mental illness.

Pedalling in the rain

2008-08-11T13:12:00.004-04:00

Soon after starting off (without having checked the weather, of course), I saw heavy clouds and lightning over New Jersey, but I decided not to head back. I like to change my routes, because they're tracking me, I mean, to explore new areas of my neighborhood I couldn't (or wouldn't) on foot, and to get some variety. Here's today's ride:

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/ride/united-states/ny/new-york/470286288257"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Aug 11 2008 Storm's Brewin'&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/find-ride/united-states/ny/new-york"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in New York, New York&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

It started to rain on the last leg of my trip, and I put my legs to work (uphill) to get home. I had my bike safely in the vestibule and sat in the rain on my stoop, guzzling water and waiting for my heart to slow down a little (and for my jelly muscles to get it together, man!). Tough workout, but good to get moving. Also nice to finally get inside and plop down listening to the thunder.

Words for the Wise #4

2008-08-06T15:50:00.004-04:00

Today's word comes from the newest book on my wishlist, "Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages" by Ammon Shea.

acnestis (n.) The area of an animal's skin where it cannot reach to scratch itself.

From the Greek, using the negative prefix /a/, it literally means "unscratched." Consider yourself that much more enlightened for having clicked your way here

The other words in this series can always be found here.

Today's Ride

2008-08-01T13:28:00.004-04:00

I had to drop off the dry cleaning up the hill, so I thought I'd go into the park to practice mounting and dismounting my bike. See, with the saddle properly adjusted, the knee is only slightly bent when the pedal is at the 6 o'clock position. This maximizes pedaling efficiency and prevents injury. Problem is, that makes the saddle really high up, and your toes only graze the ground.

During my last ride, I realized I needed to figure out the proper way to get on and off if I don't look like a flailing platypus trying to get on and I don't end up unsafe and fraught each time I want to stop. I was headed to the park to get the hang of these basics on the grass so I could avoid showing up to my sister-in-law's wedding with embossed asphalt on my face (and having it preserved for posterity in her album). Turns out these techniques are really rather simple, and I got the hang of them by the time I got to the park, so I enjoyed my ride and got back in time to move back from alternate side parking.

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/ride/united-states/ny/new-york/773708362"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;08/01/2008 Fort Tryon Park(w/ dry cleaning drop off)&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/find-ride/united-states/ny/new-york"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in New York, New York&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

On the Velocipede (or, with apologies, Zen and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance)

2008-07-23T16:14:00.008-04:00

So I bought a used bike on Craigslist. My last bike was stolen when I was in 11th grade and I've been wanting a new one more and more in recent years. I could use the exercise, and I could use the activity to help with the doldrums of an isolated summer at home trying to make progress on my Master's thesis (more on that another time, maybe).

When I want to buy something, I research it to death. On Craigslist, my options are more limited, but I ended up buying a really good used hybrid bike I wouldn't otherwise be able to afford new. Of course, I also had to research to death a helmet, multi-tool set, mirror, bell, kickstand, lock, cyclometer, etc.

There's a hole-in-the-wall bike shop down the street from me where I went to pick up some parts. My experience corroborated the refutation of the fallacy of of of of of... HELP! I'M MIXING UP ACADEMIA AND MY BLOG!

Well, what I was trying to say was that some people believe that abundant options are an indicator of happiness, or freedom, or fresh breath or something. We talk about "Freedom of Choice" and about not being constrained by limited options. In America, one can choose to do or be anything they want! In actuality, people are easily overwhelmend by an abundance of choice, it causes anxiety, panic, and uncertainty (a source of anxiety).

So I realized that though Amazon might make available 218 types of bike lubricant, I can be much happier and at ease deciding between the two brands in my local bike shop (LBS). What's more, I can be out on my way that much sooner.

Using the awesome videos at bicycletutor.com (including one on "How to Choose the Right Lubricants" - I guess that guy would be the Lube Guru, helping anxious, confused, unhappy people make the right choice), I quickly learned my way around the morphology (uh-oh, it's happening again!) and maintenance of my bike. I got my hands dirty and felt like a real bike mechanic. So, I was ready to ride. Today, after the thunderstorms cleared up, I climbed in the saddle and took off to the Hudson River Greenway. Here's the round-trip route I took:

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/ride/united-states/ny/new-york/152224903"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;07/23/2008 Hudson River Greenway&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/find-ride/united-states/ny/new-york"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in New York, New York&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Now, early on I came to realize what starting off a ride in Washington Heights means- you better be sure your brakes work for the initial steep downhills, and that your knees and thighs don't give out on the return's uphills. Here's an elevation map of my trip:

I'm proud of myself, but also realized I have a lot yet to re-learn about biking.
Any suggestions for saddle-soreness? I'm hurtin!

Words for the Wise #3

2008-06-06T09:57:00.002-04:00

Well, I am guilty of profound cunctation in my philological series, so to make up for it, here's a doozy:

deipnosophist \dyp-NOS-uh-fist\ (n.): One who is skilled in table talk.

At the age of six his future as a deipnosophist seemed certain. Guzzling filched apples he loved to prattle. Hogging the pie he invariably piped up and rattled on.
- Ellis Sharp, 'The Bloating of Nellcock

Deipnosophist comes from the title of a work written by the Greek Athenaeus in about 228 AD, Deipnosophistai, in which a number of wise men sit at a dinner table and discuss a wide range of topics. It is derived from deipnon (dinner) + sophistes (a wise or clever man).

Unfortunately, in the Jewish world, rampant deipnosophistry (and pseudodeipnosophistry) is responsible for many a cunctative and thus curtailed Shabbos nap.

The other words in this series can always be found here.

More Fire Safety

2008-05-29T21:44:00.000-04:00

Sometime after my earlier fire-safety post, I received an email with this video about how to properly extinguish a grease fire. I'm posting it here (and yes, I vet all email forwards on Snopes or similar) for further dissemination.

Here's what happens when you try to extinguish such a fire with water- the water, being denser than the oil, sinks to the bottom of the pot where it instantly becomes superheated and vaporized. This newly created steam rises up with intense pressure, blowing the burning oil up and out, filling an enclosed space with a fireball. Different but similar results occur when trying to use sugar or flour to extinguish the flames.

(courtesy of Lisa S.)

Aural Fixation

2008-05-23T15:33:00.015-04:00

I've been pining after these computer speakers for some time. I splurged and bought them on sale (a wee sale, but a sale nonetheless). They arrived this week and I had them set up in time for ל"ג בעומר (Lag Ba'omer), when we bring back the music sweet music. I have to say, I've owned some serious music equipment before (or at least gear that took itself seriously), but I've never owned anything like these. One of the first tracks I queued up was this one:

It's from "New Shabbos Waltz," Andy Statman and David Grisman's awesome follow-up to their stupendous "Songs of Our Fathers." (Please don't mistake my enthusiastic endorsements for hyperbole.) With these speakers, I feel like I'm in the studio with these bearded Yidden. No, scratch that- it sounds like the studio is in my head. With such clarity and fidelity of sound, I'm enjoying my music on another level. (I haven't heard with such sensitivity since an ear-wax-removal incident I won't further elaborate in your polite company.)

Ultimately, with this and some other recent acquisitions, I hope to begin recording this summer some of the music I've written in the past eight years. In honor of these plans, I've added a new guitar tuner to my blog page (check it out on the lower right).

Playing with fire

2008-04-23T14:29:00.005-04:00

מועדים לשמחה
Last week, I went to burn our chametz behind a local shul where, as every year, they have set up a couple garbage can bonfires. (When I used to work near the UN, I just threw my chametz into the East River.) I hung around after tossing my 10 rye bread cubes into the inferno because it wasn't much of a conflagration and needed some help. The fires were so confined and so many people's chametz just choked the flames.

I understand people throwing in their dried out lulavim as kindling, but last year's afikomen? A few people tossed in the remains of their Chanukah paraphernalia, wick holders and wax candles. Most infuriating was the person who threw in moist, raw dough. All that does is put out the fire, it'll never burn. Most perplexing, though, was the pair of BVDs. Huh?

So I stayed around to try to keep the flames alive and keep people safe (leave the plastic bags out of the flames, please!). Maybe we Jews are just pyromaniacs at heart. I conclude with a cautionary video of a biur chametz from two years ago. Thank God, no one was hurt, but those in attendance learned that water sometimes spreads fuel rather than extinguishing the flames. Be careful out there.

Black, it's the new piety

2008-04-11T17:21:00.017-04:00

In very religious neighborhoods in Israel, you will see signs posted in the street requesting that women honor the sanctity of the community and dress modestly. This sign (pashkevil) was seen posted in Ramat Aviv Gimmel, a very high end secular neighborhood of North Tel Aviv. It was posted anonymously to an Israeli forum. (You can click on the picture for a larger, more legible version.)

With the help of the blessed brand name,

To those who pass through our neighborhood! We emphatically request: Do not pass through our neighborhood if you are not dressed stunningly.

Stunning dress includes: A Dolce & Gabbana poncho; touches of pink on the collar; a short, asymmetrical Gucci jacket with fur; Chanel high heeled shoes.

Please do not disturb the sanctity of our neighborhood and our lifestyle as dedicated consumers of the holy brand names!

-Neighborhood Salespeople, Institutes of Shopping and Kindness, Community Council

(courtesy of A Time of the Signs)

Spring fever

2008-04-09T10:57:00.002-04:00

Well, the weather is finally warming up, and we're all feeling a little restless. I just had to share this one. Enjoy!

(courtesy of Mom)

BYOManischewitz

2008-03-05T14:59:00.004-05:00

If you should find yourself below the Mason-Dixon you may want to check out these events. The Anti-Defamation League compiles a list of upcoming extremist events coming soon to a trailer park near you (I'd call 'em white trash, but am refraining out of respect for the ADL's mission).

Don't forget to RSVP for the National Klonvocation, White Christian Heritage Festival, Adolf Hitler Memorial and BBQ, and Passover Gathering 2008(?!) - I'll see you there.

(courtesy of Padmini I.)

Tragically neglected

2008-02-27T11:11:00.005-05:00

I know it's been a while, and things are still busy, but I just wanted to give y'all a quick update of what's been going on (some of them atavistic to this time last year).

First off, our trip to Israel (with a jaunt to Jordan) was awesome and successful. I hope to write more on that later.

The day before we left, T.'s back went out again, though not as bad as last year. The El Al agent was able to give us a three-seat row with an empty seat so T could stretch out during the long flight home. Thankfully, her back much better now.

I went through the externship application rigmarole again (including a more compassionate, less stressful version of last year's bird-in-the-hand/two-in-the-bush dilemma). I ended up accepting an position (which was offered on the spot!) at a geriatric outpatient/partial hospitalization clinic. Who knew there'd be so many elderly people there?

Last week, I developed an intensely painful infection in one of my wisdom teeth. Long story short, I lost several night's sleep, had all three wisdom teeth extracted, and am recovering decently, having just returned to eating solid foods (mostly). I will miss the pizza smoothie, though.

More to come, I promise!

P.S. It's actually not rigamarole. Go know...

Birthday Manifesto 1999

2007-12-05T17:55:00.000-05:00

Though Russell provides an explanation below, here's a more recent preface. Wow- nostalgia can really make you wince sometimes, but I'm not one for (much) revision of history.

Well, here I am. I've come upon yet another birthday. In the past year I've made some new friends and, unfortunately, lost others. But the world abides to spin 'round, regardless. For the newbies, I'll let my associate Russell fill you in:

Hi there. My real name's not Russell, but I thought a pseudonym would be appropriate for this occasion, as I don't wish to shame my family name or myself. For the past several years, [PH] (or Case # 6655321, as he may be known to some of you) has followed a tradition of issuing a bombast-laden proclamation to the inhabitants of his world at large on the occasion of his birthday. If you did not hap to receive any of the previous ones, do not fret. Please don't take your exclusion as an expression of [P]'s feelings towards you, he wasn't fortunate enough to know you at those times. If he did, I apologize for him; he's just a little slow. Unfortunately, most of [P]'s ramblings from the past were consumed in the Great Brine Shrimp Fire of '97. Only that year's proclamation survived, joined by last year's. These promulgations are available to view on the World Wide Web. Future issuances will be added as they occur. The address is as follows:
http://members.aol.com/rugachover/bday.html

Thank you for that, Russell, I sincerely appreciate it. Now that everything is in order, I would like to address the issue of competition, as well as righteous pride. I realize that it's a bit of a diversion from the usual focus of this letter, but I was made all too aware of its caustic, disruptive invasion into our lives by a dream I had one stormy night, several weeks ago. I dreamt that Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders were fighting over my soul. Now that in and of it would not be particularly disturbing, but what really shocked me was that this affray took place in the courtyard of a dilapidated building in downtown Omaha.

It became painfully obvious to my therapist and me that something would have to be changed, as far as my bedtime snack was concerned. We cannot be certain if it was the pickled blueberries, the imitation poppy extract, or the aged tandoori, but I was not going to risk future slumbers (and possible somnambulations) on continuing any part of this reprehensible diet.

That is how I came to calm myself before bed and temper my jangled nerves by reading or composing poetry. But do I read William Wordsworth's "Lines" (Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798)? Or perhaps "The Æolian Harp" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge? You can see my dilemma. I became so distraught by Wordsworth and Coleridge's incessant bickering in my head that to teach them both a lesson they wouldn't soon forget, I soothed my nerves with a dog-eared issue of Casper the Friendly Ghost.
There is a lesson to be learned for us all from my quasi-deranged rambling. It may well serve you in the future. Please, when you are entangled in an argument, forgo pride and think of the greater good.
You'll be glad you did.
Peace be with you.

_p

-------------------------------
perambulate through the door
retrogress to the future before

Blink and ya missed it

2007-11-28T10:34:00.001-05:00

This past summer, traveling along Route 50 between Lake Tahoe and Sacramento, we passed the town of Kyburz, CA. I suppose you can call it a town, I mean it is on the map.

A few indicators of how small this municipality is:

It was named after the postmaster (Mr. Kyburz, I presume).

To get from Kyburz Drive to Kyburz Drive, you take Hillbilly Lane.

But the best sign of how small the place is, well, a sign. A single sign on a store on Route 50 proclaimed:

ENTERING KYBURZ
NOW LEAVING KYBURZ

View Larger Map

STREET VIEW UPDATE:

View Larger Map

Thoughts on psychosis

2007-11-13T18:50:00.002-05:00

Some details have been changed to protect the confidentiality of protected patient information (Thanks Ariel for the consult).

Leaving the hospital right after my session with a remarkably insightful young man who some time ago, in a psychotic and drug-intoxicated state, shot and wounded several police officers, I heard a report on the radio about the developing case of Khiel Coppin. I'm sure news reports will be more comprehensive by the time you read this, but for now you can check out the story here (be sure to read the transcript of the 911 call) and here.

Basically, Khiel, an 18-year-old living in Brooklyn, was killed in a confrontation with police. He had stopped taking his anti-psychotic meds and decompensated. His mother called 911 because of his threatening behavior. He can be heard in the background saying he had a gun. The police responded and Kyle ignored their orders to stand down and surrender. He threatened them with a knife and then brandished something from under his shirt. It was a hairbrush.

People will blame the police for firing 20 shots at him (10 hit their mark). I don't blame the police. I don't blame Khiel. I don't blame his mother. It's just so sad when this happens. No one is directly responsible. There are only victims: the ill, the police, or in the case of other patients on my ward, a father perceived to be a robot sent by the CIA, a great-aunt who was believed to be turning into a witch.

I work with people who've committed horrific, violent crimes with incomprehensible intensity and purpose. Were these people not psychotic, they would be tried, vilified, and incarcerated. Thankfully, the law recognizes their impairments and commits them (usually) under Article 330.20 of the Criminal Procedure Law (CPL), otherwise known as "not responsible by reason of mental disease or defect."

In the short time I've served on my externship, I've come to understand two major concepts:

First, when you encounter in the news someone who is arrested after committing or attempting an exceptionally violent act (like this recent case), you can usually count on reading the words "motive unknown." You can also expect that person to fade from the media's eyes. But he (or she, though usually he) doesn't disappear. He gets swept under the rug. I work at that rug. They appear on the news radar when their actions are salient and shocking, but they often get better with medication and therapy. I often encounter incredulity when I relate the story of a given patient who committed any given -cide, who is doing really well and is heading towards discharge.

Which leads me to my second discovery. These are regular people, though ill. They are not hell-spawn or terrorists and they are not sociopaths (usually, though some of our patients are). They see and hear and experience as real things we only encounter in horror movies, and worse. When psychotic, they can feel terrified, entirely overwhelmed, with no one to turn to, and especially, no one to trust. If I were seeing demons all around me, my grandmother were the devil and angels were telling me to kill her to save my life and the world, why wouldn't I follow through?

When they are treated and come out from within the delusions and hallucinations, they can realize what they've done and they express a remorse that can be existential and eternal. One patient is reconciling with his mother for killing her mother. He is working to stay healthy and lead a productive and fulfilling life in the community. He says, "I realize what I've done. I'm horrified at what I did, I'm angry at myself, and I pray for her soul everyday. I have two choices- I can kill myself or try to move forward with my life. I choose to live. I don't want that ever to happen again and I'll never go off my meds." And he means it.

When talking about the kind of people I work with, I'm often asked
whether we rehabilitate them to the point that they can then begin serving the appropriate jail time. That would be a terrible thing. The law recognizes that their crimes were not committed with an intact mind and thankfully does not punish them for being sick; it tries to ensure they are helped to heal and to cease being a danger to themselves and others. When a person like that becomes well, he is not the same person who committed the crime and doesn't deserve to suffer the criminal consequences of the act.

It is important to know that a very small percentage of people with psychosis are violent or act violently, but when I work with these cases or hear about them on the news (and I feel like I've been hearing more and more of them), it makes me so sad.

UPDATE: A follow up post on another tragic case.

Just another day on the road

2007-11-04T17:06:00.000-05:00

I've never experienced another human being willfully and intentionally try to cause me grave physical harm and quite possibly death. Until last Wednesday.

I was doing one of my usual commutes (school, externship, and research take me different places every day) that morning and was driving over the bridge at 9:45, in the right-most lane. Because of construction, the lane was closed ahead of me and I had to merge left. I was running out of road, but found space in front of the blue dump truck to my left. I signaled and merged in, and he HONKED. He had been going pretty fast and was right on my tail, so I jerked back into the right lane. I sped up to make some more clearance, and merged in again. He sped up. I brake-checked him to slow him down (until about 20 seconds later, I thought one of the scariest things was to have an 11-ton dump truck bearing down on you), and he got mad.

The lane to the right had opened up again, and he passed me- dangerously. I had to brake hard to avoid him smashing the front passenger side of my car. So now I'm behind him in the middle lane and starting to realize that he's a little nuts. I went into the left lane and tried to pass him, but as I sped up, he jerked his wheel into my lane. I had to slam on the brakes to avoid being crushed into the concrete divider or flipping over it into oncoming traffic.

Like a faucet opening full throat, adrenaline carried a primal, existential fear to every cell of my body. Thankfully, I've been driving long enough that I'm able to hold my own in tight situations and remained (behaviorally) calm. He had slowed down to antagonize me and I had a patient to see at the clinic, so I didn't want to trail off behind him. He was watching me intently in his driver's-side mirror, so I picked up my cell phone and pantomimed a phone call to the police, hoping to maybe intimidate him enough that he would back off. I should have actually called. He picked up his phone and I didn't want him to see my license plate, so I moved behind him again, in the middle lane.

I followed him this way off the bridge and onto the expressway, waiting for an opportunity. After another mile or so, the road curved sharply to the left, and there was no one in the left lane. I put my accelerator to the floor and passed him on the inside of the turn- barely. Again he tried to slam me into the divider. I got by with my car 1/4 in the left lane and 3/4 on a rough, narrow shoulder, riding up right against the divider.

I zoomed ahead, keeping sight of him in my rearview mirror and scanning the side of the road ahead for police or highway patrol. Where are they when you need them? I got off at my exit and was stopped at a light with a view of the expressway behind me. I saw him coming and got a quick glimpse of the side his truck as he passed:

S S C
8 9 3 9 3 0 8

I had dealt successfully with the situation, or at least survived, but only afterwards when the thought crossed my mind, "He tried to kill me!" did I get really shaken. I was glad my patient didn't show up, because it would have been very difficult for me to function in that session (though not as difficult as the session I had with a patient 30 seconds after receiving a call that a friend died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm), and I was also mad at the patient for an additional no-show/no-call. I had left earlier and had to deal with this dump truck to see him and he didn't even meet his commitment.

I searched online, trying to find the company that operates that truck, but came up with nothing. PLEASE CONTACT ME IF YOU CAN PROVIDE MORE INFORMATION.

By the end of the day, the memory seemed so surreal that it provided a functional emotional remove, for the time being. On Friday, I went to my local police precinct to inquire about the utility of filing a report. The desk agent told me it was just road rage and there was nothing to do unless our vehicles had made contact. When I told her that this isn't about a motor vehicle accident, but that this person should not be allowed on the road, she said that he might say the same about me.

In the eyes of the law, this was a benign, everyday occurrence. I now have a greater appreciation of all the "unreported" incidents that qualify statistical presentations. In my eyes, I chanced to meet a psychopath (and I know- I work with his type and worse at the psychiatric hospital) who clearly had no concern for causing a serious accident, and apparently not much more concern for causing my death.

This story is not the truth, it is my defended representation of what happened that day. I know that I played a role in provoking this person and I don't hide from that, at least within myself. But I can also be honest with myself and realize that his reactions were unconscionable and disproportionate.

Attempting to file a police report was one step towards finding closure. This post is another. But the one that affected me most profoundly and unexpectedly was in shul this past Shabbos morning, when I recited the bracha of gomel.

In the times of the בית המקדש, those who survived peril offered a sacrifice, a קרבן תודה, in thanksgiving to HaShem. In our time, we cannot offer korbanot and instead recite this blessing before a minyan (preferably including two wise men, as it is written, וירוממוהו בקהל-עם ובמושב זקנים יהללוהו):

ברוך אתה ה' אל-נו מלך העולם
הגומל לחייבים טובות
שגמלני כל טוב

Blessed are You, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe,

who remunerates the culpable with good,
so You have repaid me with all good.

I thought I had been doing better three days after the incident, but as I stood before the whole shul and clearly recited the bracha, I was swept up in the emotions again. A couple people were sensitive enough to notice that I was not discharging my obligation after flying back from overseas, and they asked me about it.

Ultimately, processing the experience with others (repeatedly) has been a boon to my getting back on track. Thank you, everyone.

Addendum: As you may have discovered in the gomel document linked above that only someone who was in a serious, life-threatening accident makes the bracha. Someone who was almost in an accident does not make the bracha (with 'שם ה).

As Rav Bick [sick [sic]] told someone who came to him asking if he should make the bracha after a large tree branch fell right where he had been standing a minute before, "This morning my wife ironed my pants. If I had been in them..." Ergo, I should not have bentched gomel with God's name. I did so based on my interpretation of an otherwise murky threshold of danger the bracha requires.

Words for the Wise #2

2007-10-18T18:58:00.001-04:00

...and we're back.

I've been laggardly in updating the blog, so here's a new word (courtesy of T) to keep you chomping:

resistentialism (n.)

Conceived in satirical reference to existentialism, Paul Jennings posited the the belief that inanimate objects have a natural antipathy toward human beings. (Terry Pratchett refers to this in Discworld as "malignity.")

Lost your keys? It's not a memory problem. Closed the car door on your hand? Don't worry about your coordination. THINGS ARE OUT TO GET YOU!

A long standing problem in the scientific community, researchers at the Centre for Epidemiology and Population Health Research in Melbourne, Australia sought to conclusively establish, "Where have all the bloody teaspoons gone?"

May all your days be minimally resistential,
PH

The other words in this series can always be found here.

Building up our future, one map at a time

2007-09-03T14:52:00.000-04:00

I guess when they were handing out coherent speech and attention span she went back on line for doubles of blonde (no offense to blondes, especially the really smart ones I know :-)

Well, she had a chance to explain, but I personally believe she didn't make things any better, such as.

On the abortion debate

2007-07-30T15:41:00.000-04:00

The video below asks a simple question and reveals that the single-mindedness of some anti-abortion activists (these in Libertyville, IL) has prevented them from thinking beyond their immediate goals and considering the implications of their platform.

They demand that abortion be instituted an illegal act. The reporter asks them what should the penalty be for a woman who has an abortion under such a legal prohibition.

CAUTION: Visible in the video briefly are graphic pictures of aborted fetuses.

Well, the submitter of the video requested that embedding in blog posts be disabled, so here's a link.

I thought this only happened in email forwards...

2007-07-27T11:44:00.000-04:00

So my university's IT people are upgrading some marginally important who-knows-what and had to shut down some systems to do it for a few days. One of these systems allows off-campus access to library databases, which I need to continue moving forward with my master's thesis and get articles for class, etc.

To accommodate people like me, they said we could ask for a temporary login and password that would permit off-campus access. I sent an email requesting these and got this reply:

Hello. The best way to obtain a password for remote access is to contact the computer service desk in S_____ Hall. The number is 3768. They may not be able to help today but they can on Monday. The computer systems are expected to be down until Monday.

I dunno, what do you call this? Technoratic idiocy? Institutional oblivion?

Location Location Location

2007-07-17T10:37:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, my brother helped me install air conditioner support brackets to appease the landlord, who apparently didn't know (or didn't care to let me know) that it's a moot endeavor.

For a while, I've heard chirping from outside our kitchen window. We couldn't see where it was coming from because the AC unit blocked the view, but I thought a bird had built its nest on our sill. Indeed, when we removed the monstrous AC from the window, we found a bird's nest on the original wooden AC support. It was a struggle to extricate the AC from the nest from the support, but we managed to preserve the nest and its eggs (save for one unfortunate egg that was cracked). We installed the new AC support and gingerly placed the nest, eggs and all back on the windowsill (it had previously been on the wooden support, so it took more maneuvering to make sure it was steady) and put the AC back in the window.

Job well done!

Except for that one egg we missed, still on the kitchen floor. It was late and we were tired, so we had omelettes. Just kidding- we took out the AC unit, which is HEAVY, and put the egg back in the nest.

A few people told me that if you touch a hatchling in the nest, its parents will not return. I don't know the veracity of this phenomenon, but I wondered whether it applied to the eggs as well. A few days later, though, I heard chirping again, unmistakably adult. Score one for ornithology!

The Sephardic Pirate (or, Oy Vey, Matey!)

2007-07-11T12:31:00.000-04:00

I was at a sheva brachot a few months ago and the chattan's grandfather fascinated me with stories about the Jewish pirate, Jean Lafitte. I'm going to leave you to explore this one on your own and won't expound on it other than to provide some food for thought: How did Lafitte's family history in the Inquisition influence his dealings with the Spain?

P.S. I know the title is incorrect- Sephardim would say Wai Wai, but cut me some slack.

Kudos

2007-06-28T16:00:00.000-04:00

With Americans becoming ever more clueless about the world in which we live, I applaud MSNBC's Mika Brzezinski, who refused to report a "lead story" about Paris Hilton. See for yourself (courtesy of M.Bieler):

Prophecy

2007-06-27T09:52:00.001-04:00

I was driving along this morning to clinic for practicum, like any other Wednesday morning, amidst throngs of other commuters in the urban haze of summer. I certainly hadn't been preparing myself for the moment, but out of nowhere, a vision appeared before me. I was surprised and scared, but also rapturous.

I never really expected to merit prophetic endowments, let alone to perceive the image with such clarity. I reproduce it here:

When the vision presented itself, the world went on around me. Traffic continued to ebb, and I continued to drive while experiencing this epiphany, lest someone crash into me.

Though the image was clear and persisted for the duration of my journey (until I parked and turned off the car), I realize that gleaning its interpretation for myself or mankind is the challenge. What do I make of it? How am I to understand the word "CHECK?" Should I skip dessert and get the bill? Is it time to reorder my Donald Duck checks? Am I about to be slammed up against the glass? The numerical value of CHECK is 30 or 3 (3+8+5+3+11 = 30 = 3+0 = 3), but what does that mean?!

And what of the glyph? Maybe it's a four-winged seraph trying to convey a divine message. Is it a map or schematic? Of what? Which way is north? Maybe it's a studio with walk-in closet and two balconies.

My intuition, my gut sense, takes this as an ominous portent of things to come. I'm still not sure, but it fills me with foreboding. I can do naught but sit and wait for another sign to appear and guide me. Maybe it's on YouTube.

Update (or, The Oracle)- So AutoZone will check your car's diagnostic codes for free with a scanner that plugs into a port in your car (in my car the port is on the steering column- who knew?). What was the problem with mine? Code P0442- a small fuel vapor leak in the Evaporative Emission Control System. Most common cause? Loose gas cap. Indeed, care of the gas station attendant in NJ (where competent self-service is illegal), my gas cap was not fastened tightly.

A satisfying solution to a perplexing mystery.

לא תקלל חרש ולפני עור, לא תתן מכשל

2007-06-18T14:19:00.000-04:00

Last semester, I took a course in Cultural Diversity as it relates to psychological and clinical practice. It was enlightening, though remarkably biased. You see, the instructor is black and virtually all the case studies presented were of black people who had achieved great success despite backgrounds of poverty, abuse, neglect, and/or discrimination. These were all great and inspirational stories, but the curriculum seems to have gotten swept up in the mistaken notion that diversity=minority. (If you think this is racist, get an education, see the world, and have a neurologist check out that knee-jerk.)

Anyway, we had a guest speaker one day, a hearing psychologist who had worked for many years in the deaf community. The presentation was fascinating and enlightening, but I learned one thing that greatly disturbed me.

Because they cannot hear, deaf people often miss out on a lot of background information. Think about it; how much useful information do you collect every day by overhearing (not eavesdropping)? Because of this information deficit that leaves them out of the loop, deaf culture tries to glean the information directly and places a great value on information. The consequence of that is that deaf people are very self-disclosing and will ask very personal, intimate, and private questions (e.g., "How much do you make?" "Were you always overweight?" and the like). When communicating with a deaf person, it is considered an affront to deny them information; it says you don't trust them.

The guest speaker related a conversation she had with a supervisor about how to respond to these probing inquiries if disclosing the information made her uncomfortable. Her supervisor told her that there is a practice that has arisen among interlocutors of the deaf. The solution is to simply lie. That way you're not disclosing and not insulting.

Personally, I find that even more insulting and disrespectful. I learned growing up and in my professional, clinical development that the way to demonstrate your respect for someone (and indeed, to actually respect them) is to be honest with them. Sometimes the truth is scary, painful, or inconvenient. You don't have to deliver it with a sledgehammer, but you don't sugarcoat it, beat around the bush, or lie about it. The truth with compassion is the ideal.

This earth is blessed with myriad overlapping cultures. It is inevitable that many of them will clash. The mature, productive reaction should be to address the clash and reconcile differences; it doesn't mean everyone will walk away happy, but they should feel respected. Shirking away from this responsibility by misleading or misinforming the deaf, in this case, is a twisted, selfish, and cowardly response to personal discomfort.

Now that I've expressed my criticism, what solution do I have, what would I do? I would consider the nature of the question asked of me. I may find that though I am unaccustomed to disclosing the requested information, I may not really take that much issue with it and wouldn't really mind that much answering the question.

If I truly don't want to reveal the information, I would tell the deaf person that I understand their culture's value of self-disclosure and that while they are not lacking for my trust, my cultural background makes me uncomfortable answering the question. If the deaf person is sufficiently mature and culturally responsible, he or she would endeavor to understand or at least respect my culture (which Randy Cohen failed to do) while accepting that I am not being insulting.

This may not occur, and the deaf person may adopt a view that hearing/male/Jewish/etc. people are culturally obtuse and offensive. That would be sad, but at least I would have met my responsibilities.

Words for the wise

2007-06-14T12:02:00.001-04:00

I'm introducing a new feature today that I hope will improve your vocabulary and/or social mobility & life-long financial security. Every once in a while, I will present a word I find interesting, one you probably hadn't known before, but can now use with abandon in small-talk, doctoral dissertations, amortization calculations, marriage proposals, challenges to duel, and pet care. Who knows how far you can go if you introduce these incredible words into your life.
So without further ado, the first word:

arachibutyrophobia (n.) - the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth

Sufferers of this devastating condition can be helped and often look to the most famous recovered arachibutyrophobe, George Washington Carver, for inspiration.

This inaugural post is dedicated in honor of my friend Daniyel's recent dissertation abstract submission and proposal acceptance.

The other words in this series can always be found here.

Birthday Manifesto 2000

2007-06-04T10:33:00.000-04:00

In 1997, I wrote my first birthday manifesto, an epistle I sent out in a mass email on my birthday. I continued the tradition for a number of years until life got too busy (READ: lazy) to compose new ones. For those of you who did not have the pleasure of knowing me in those days or the privilege of being in my address book, I am posting them here, not necessarily in order.

This particular one, from 2000, received the most vocal and appreciative responses. Friends said it helped jar their perspective a bit, enough to regroup and pursue their goals with renewed purpose and vinegar- um, vigor.

Well, the year 2000 has come. I remember thinking years ago, "Man, I'm going to turn 21 in the year 2000." It seemed so far away, so foreign. What was once the future is now here, and will soon be past. Time is a funny thing, it can seem to resist our wishes to just move along or it can slip through our fingers in blatant disregard of our need for it to slow down and give us pause for rest. Sometimes though, things are simply perfect. But that passes, too. As human beings, we are fickle, and the world changes around us. This is not pessimism, it is fact. So we must learn to deal with it.

I once made a sign that I posted on my desk to motivate me to work when I was slacking off or got distracted. It said, "Lost seconds count." It was meant to remind me that as a conscious entity, I am aware of the passage of time, on a scale of seconds to years. I can count seconds as they pass by. One, two, three, four... These very seconds can be spent working productively or they can be wastefully squandered. Whichever seconds I spend "playing" are lost forever, I never again have the opportunity to spend them more wisely. These lost seconds count as part of the sum total of my allotted time on this planet (before they call me back to my home planet). I can't disqualify them and say, "Those don't count, I didn't mean them. Let me do them over." The sign worked. I would look at it, realize how foolish wasted seconds are, and get back to work. What was once future is now here, and will soon be past. What is now future will soon be here...

There are intrinsic elements to my life now that I could not have possibly imagined in the past. That is another property of time and our place in it: we only know the past (one would hope), occasionally the present, but never the future. The future will bring what you make of it, what you make for yourself, with an added dose of FATE thrown in for good measure. I see people I know and care about get frustrated by the pace of their lives, saddened at the absence of certain things that they feel should have been achieved, granted, or found by now. To these people I say, there is a "before", a "during", and an "after", nothing else. If you are at the "before" part of your life, there will be a "during". It will come. It just hasn't yet. If it is not yet to be, there is nothing you can do about it. But if it will be, it will be. Effect change when you can, but accept when you cannot.

Patience is a virtue. It is an elevation past the base state of "I want it now, it's not fair." You can't change the passage of time, but you can change your perception of it. The old adage, "A watched pot never boils" comes to mind, as does "Time flies when you're having fun." When you can relax and let go of your need for a premature future, things happen smoothly. They happen in what feels to be (because it actually is) their right time. Things have a tendency to fall into place with a perfection that can't be anything but divine.

What is now future will soon be here...

Which brings me to the closing.
Thank you, everyone, for your love, your friendship, your support, help, and good wishes.
Zei gezunt.

Flip your lid redux

2007-05-18T14:12:00.000-04:00

As T. and I look towards August and start planning our vacation, I am reminded of an intensely meaningful interfaith encounter we had last summer. We traveled through central and western New York (the banner on top of my blog is from a picture I took of a sculpture at the Corning Museum of Glass), entered Canada in Niagara, and drove up to Niagara-on-the-Lake (a jaunt Winston Churchill rightly called the prettiest Sunday drive in the world), a pretty, quaint town with shops, bed & breakfasts, and three theaters, all surrounded by orchards and vineyards.

We caught a play, The Magic Fire, at the annual Shaw Festival (as in George Bernard), and stayed at a B&B. We like staying at B&Bs on our travels- prices can be comparable to the cloned hotel rooms you'll find in any city, but they are so much more cozy and interesting. (Explaining kashrut to the hosts is a separate story.) The one we stayed at in NOTL was actually the hosts' house. The family of four lived in the basement and the upstairs was for (paying) guests. The hostess is Sri Lankan and had worked for many years in Dubai at Jumeirah's Burj-Al-'Arab, the best hotel in the world. There she met her husband, who is also in the hospitality industry.

They decided to semi-retire and moved to NOTL, opening up her B&B. She is a Muslima (but is not an Arab) and over the course of our stay, she kept wondering why the Jews and Muslims have such conflict if we can all get along under her roof. She knew about kashrut because she keeps halal. She told us how she wakes up at 3:30 every morning to pray and prepare a scrumptious breakfast. In the afternoon, I told her we also pray and asked her which direction is East. She directed me towards the Kaaba. Close enough.

As we checked out out the next morning after breakfast, she stopped us and turned to me. With great anticipation and trepidation she inquired whether she could ask me something about Judaism. I always welcome opportunities for us to learn about each other and I acquiesced. She asked me, with all the serious curiosity of a seven-year-old, "How do you keep that little hat on your head?"

If you don't have your health...

2007-05-04T13:06:00.000-04:00

...at least you'll have good grades.

So I've been more or less sick since חול המועד, the worst symptom being a horrible cough (words cannot describe how the magma in my chest has been affecting me). I tried two different inhalers, but they didn't really do anything for me. What I really needed to do was to see a doctor, but this was the last week of the semester. For the past three weeks or so, I've been using all my free time to write papers, reports, and a presentation.

So now I'm done with the deadline stuff and will finally get to a pulmonologist on Monday.
Here's to breathing again soon!
-PH

Flip your lid

2007-04-22T00:31:00.003-04:00

Who says scientists don't have a sense of humor?

Some of the problems are so pervasive in research that one can almost always be sure to point them out. For example, when a student comes into my office to discuss a study, I usually start the conversation by rubbing my fingers through my toupee and shaking my head back and forth as if I were saying "no" to convey signs of deep frustration and despair. I usually have my student's riveted attention (not counting the time my toupee fell to the floor). Then, before he or she speaks, I begin the back-and-forth head shaking; continue that for at least two seconds of silence; and then say, "Oh- no, no, no- your sample is much too small." (I have been wrong on a few occasions, such as the time the student entered my office merely to ask where the bathroom was.)

Kazdin, A. E. (2004). Methodology: What it is and why it is so important. In A. E. Kazdin (Ed.), Methodological Issues & Strategies in Clinical Research, Third Edition (pp. 5-22). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association

Update: Kazdin is the American Psychological Association's President for 2008, minus toupee.

Just look at the monitor and smile

2007-04-20T12:40:00.000-04:00

I just saw this ad on my Gmail, promising "Life-changing makeovers- Professional Teeth Whitening Online" and was profoundly amazed at what they can do with technology these days.

But what if you lose your internet connection in the middle?

Our reputation precedes us

2007-04-18T18:36:00.000-04:00

What is it about this world, or maybe the Germans in particular, or Europe somewhat less particularly, that they have these caricatured notions of other cultures? Too much Hollywood? I don't know, I just don't know. I'll just let the facts speak for themselves.
The NYTimes reports:

A German Army instructor ordered a soldier to envision himself in the Bronx facing hostile African-Americans while firing his machine gun, a video that aired on Saturday on national television showed. “We are currently investigating the incident,” said Florian Naggies, a spokesman for the army and the Defense Ministry.
The clip shows an instructor and a soldier in camouflage uniforms in a forest. The instructor tells the soldier, “You are in the Bronx. A black van is stopping in front of you. Three African-Americans are getting out and they are insulting your mother in the worst ways. Act.” The soldier fires his machine gun several times and yells an obscenity several times in English. The instructor then tells the soldier to curse even louder.

You can see the video here (I'm not embedding it in my post because of the obscenities). And by the way, you can rest assured that Al Sharpton got in on this act, too, demanding that President Bush intervene. Hey Al, why don't you go over there yourself and personally shove some sauerbraten down their- oh yeah, right, I was talking about this intercultural respect thing. Well, you get the point.

Practice makes perfect

2007-04-11T10:09:00.000-04:00

In these sad days where parents need to check www.mapsexoffenders.com before moving to a new neighborhood (or letting their kids out in their current neighborhood), many are teaching their children explicitly how to respond to molestation attempts.

My sister recently taught her toddler son how to respond to such a situation:

Don't touch me!
That's private!
I'm going to tell my Abba!

My nephew, thus armed, was later quizzed by his aunt how to respond to someone who touches him inappropriately. He confidently recited:

Don't touch me!
That's private!
I'm going to sing you a song!

He needs some work, it's true, but he'll get there.

My two cents in WH

2007-03-28T20:58:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to share my thoughts, as I commented on another blog about a controversy I think has become a great embarrassment.

I don’t care to comment on my personal opinion regarding whether the shul’s announcer may be a woman (other than to applaud Sharon for stirring things up), but I would like to comment on Rabbi Schnaidman.

I’ve known him for four years. Not a lot, but significantly longer than many of the current mitpallelim/ot at our shul (I’m one of the geezers of the younger cohort). I’ve had many personal and private discussions with him over this time regarding life in general as well as nuanced halakhic issues pertaining both to bein adam l’chavero and laMakom (sometimes both at once). These were usually not black or white, yes/no, muttar/assur issues.

Sadly, many figures of religious authority I’ve encountered in the past have withdrawn from taking an unequivocal stance and accepting responsibility for their answers, or they have so diluted the matter with superficial hashkafic platitudes.

Rabbi Schnaidman never backed down from tough issues and sought, with great sensitivity and gravity, to find appropriate solutions that would maintain people’s dignity and rights, and especially his commitment to halakha. I have been repeated impressed by the creativity he draws upon to reach such solutions.

That many of you were not satisfied with his logic does not mean he is old-fashioned, inconsiderate, or obdurate. He recognizes the inherent challenges in leading a shul comprised of very different populations and has taken great pains to foster the spiritual & personal devlopment, comfort, and acceptance of each, though such effort has often been fraught with conflict.

He is not perfect, but he is sincere and sensitive to the individuals that comprise the kehillah. I know first-hand the angst he experiences when he feels that someone may have been slighted or excluded within the context of his shul (and the hospital to which he devotes so much of his energy).

My only disappointment with the recent influx of new members of this community (of which I am part) is that so many see him only as “the old guy who gives really long drashot and seems kinda out of touch with us” and don’t appreciate the opportunity they have to be part of his flock.

I know I probably got a little too worshipful of the good Rabbi, but I guess I had a point to emphasize. This incident has been very upsetting to me, and people don't seem to have any הכרת הטוב for what has been accomplished in this community, much of it with the support of Rabbi Schnaidman. Of course, before recognition, one must be aware of the good that was done.

How many of the מתלוננים were even in this community to remember when the young people had their own minyan in the basement, once a month? How many of them appreciate how far out on a limb the Rabbi went to make the eruv a reality, how much indignation from others in the community he will have to still absorb even after we've moved on in two or three years?

Someone commented to me cynically that these dissatisfied youth should seek a younger, more progressive Rabbi and go to the Bridge Shul. Of course, no one really goes there anymore because the shul was not willing to make the accomodations Mt. Sinai and its leader have made.

These events have reinforced for me how alienated by the younger community I feel here. T and I have been talking about moving for a while, but never got our act together. It's time to move on.

What life asks of us

2007-03-28T20:55:00.003-04:00

As stressful as life can be, we usually have a good handle on what we're supposed to do. I know I have to pick up my dry-cleaning or I won't have anything to wear for Shabbos. I know I have to use a pot holder or I'll seriously burn myself. Some decisions may be nagging, but ultimately don't invoke much responsibility because their consequences are not significantly influential for our future. Should I order the pasta or the fish? (The pasta- I don't like fish.)

And then there are times where life asks more of us, times where our impotence to really control our destiny becomes painfully obvious. During January/February, I was applying for externship positions for next year. I sent out five applications and was called in for three interviews. Awesome.

The first interview was on a Wednesday with my last choice hospital site (my fall-back). I considered it a practice interview. At the end of the interview with the training director, she offered me a spot for next year and asked me to let her know my decision within a week. My other two interviews were the following Tuesday. I told each interviewer about my offer and the pressure for a decision and asked them if they could let me know, in a non-binding way, where I stand. They understood my predicament and explained their predicament, which was basically that they couldn't really tell me because they weren't finished interviewing and would contact me the following week. One advised me to go ahead and "make [my] decisions."

Tough situation, right? It was literally "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." So what do I do? Take the ho-hum sure thing and feel I didn't get the exciting, prestigious placement or hold out hope but risk ending up with nothing for next year? What would you do? This was one situation where I wished I could just know one relevant piece of information from the future. That would ease my decision and give me the serenity of certainty.

So many times we ask life for its meaning, what it expects of us. Viktor Frankl, in his seminal work, Man's Search for Meaning (an explication of his experiences during the Holocaust and how they contributed to his theories of Logotherapy and Existential Analysis, which posit that our greatest drive is not towards pleasure (as per Freud) or power (as per Adler and Nietzsche), but toward meaning- buy and read this book!) informs that it's the other way around.

"Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible... [In the concentration camps] we needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life - daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual"
-Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

The responsibility is upon us to discover, define, and pursue our meaning. So, my friends, where does this leave us? Well, I'll tell you what I did.

I called the director of the first site on Wednesday and blubbered a request for more time to decide. I tried to frame it in a way that didn't convey that "I don't really want to go here, but you may be my only hope." It's like this- T. pointed out that people tend to respond more positively to requests based on a principle than just a סתם request because "I want/need it." I told her that I try to make my decisions with knowledge of all my options, that if I didn't want to go there, I would tell her, but I wanted to find the placement I would gain most from and could contribute most to. She very tactfully did not point out to me how full of it I was and graciously offered me a couple more days to decide, as they expected to fill all positions by Friday. She said she'd call me when they'd all been filled (not, of course, when there was one spot left I could still accept). That bought me more time, but not enough.

I let Friday come and go (along with the phone call that all positions had been filled) and hoped for the best the next week. Monday I received a call from one of the other two places, rejecting me. I should have seen it coming. The director told me that it wasn't becasue of any lack of qualification, but that they generally seek externs with more experience. As such, they usually interview applicants for 4th year externship poistions, a preference the director informed me of during the interview. I was applying for 3rd year externship. They called me in for an interview because they were impressed with my CV and wanted to see what I 'm about. In the end, they went with 4th years across the board. I should have put the pieces together earlier. 20/20 hindsight, right?

Later that day, I got a call from my last hope. The director asked if I'd accepted the other offer I told her about at the interview. I responded cooly and calmly that I hadn't and in fact preferred a placement at her site (READ: I reallyreallyreallyreallyreally want you to take me because I have nowhere else to go). She said she'd let me know their decision on Wednesday. On Wednesay, I got the good news. I'm really excited to extern next year on two MICA wards with ex-convicts and oodles of psychopathology. In addition to the experience, this institution's name on my CV will help take me places in the future.

Does this mean I made the right decision? Not necessarily. As much as I got the outcome I'd desired at the time, I still have no way of knowing what the consequences of my decision may ultimately be.

When I called the director to accept her offer, she told me that they were very impressed with me when we met (on Tuesday the week before), but that they had to finish all the other interviews [as a formality]. So it turns out that at the very time I was troubled by uncertainty and the decision required, the conclusion was already there (she could have saved me a lot of stress had she told me then!). Of course, I could have chosen the fall back.

I'm curious to hear your about your throughts and experiences.

Update 12/28/08:
At the end of the following year's application process, I was in a similar bind. I had an offer from one place I thought I'd have been very happy with, but still had another interview, with another place I also thought I'd be happy with. At the end of the interview, I frankly told the interviewer my dilemma and empathized with her position (having come to understand it from last year's process). This time around, she offered me a position on the spot! She didn't make me accept right away, but I did ultimately accept the position and am very happy there.

Hey Al, your slip is showing

2007-03-23T12:04:00.003-04:00

Injustice in the world? Al Sharpton to the rescue. Well, let me emend that.

Injustice for the black community? Al Sharpton to the rescue. Wait, wait- one more time.

Injustice or actual justice for the black community? Al Sharpton to the rescue.

If you couldn't already tell, he really irks me. He is an opportunistic, oratorical tornado of righteous indignation who touches down wherever something unfortunate happens to people of minority communities as a result of some action or inaction by the majority community or authority (two of the NYPD officers involved in the Sean Bell shooting case are black) that he perceives as unjust. He takes advantage of grieving families to further his own public exposure and political ambitions, claiming to represent their views and their furor, while often slipping into first person ("I will not tolerate..." vs. "they" or even "we").

What infuriates me more than this clown and his traveling circus is when he or others like him, when interviewed or holding a press conference before a verdict, hope or demand that "justice will be served." Now, correct me if I'm wrong (you can comment below), but the justice system generally performs justice whenever it gives a verdict (of course, I acknowledge exceptions).
What these people are really saying is, "I demand a judgment in my favor" and vesting this selfish, biased demand in the sheep's clothing of impartial, uniformly desired "justice."

AARGH!

Anyway, here's a clip of Rev. Sharpton (I will not refer to him as Dr., as he sometimes calls himself, because he never earned a doctorate or equivalent) recently speaking his true mind.

City Gripe #956

2007-03-19T14:29:00.000-04:00

I suppose this one really doesn't have to do with living in the city, although alternate-side parking rules add to the anxiety. So it snowed over the weekend. Well first it rained, then it hailed, then it snowed, hail again, then back to rain. The long and short of it is that my car was blocked in by a foot of what used to be snow on Shabbos but later froze into one massive ice shelf.

It took me two hours using the shovel and ice plunger/breaker/thingamajig I borrowed from my super to get to a point I could pull the car out. Along the way, I discovered that it wasn't ice all the way down. If I cleared out the hard packed snow underneath, I could break the ice with less difficulty into chunks. I carried/threw/shoveled these chunks (the larger ones weighing 30-40 lbs) onto the sidewalk. It was long, arduous work, and I almost gave up a few times, but I stuck with it. As the sun began to fill our little valley of a street, it made the ice a littler easier to break.

As I was nearing the back of the car (after discovering and partially dismantling the solid ice shelf that also ran underneath my car, blocking the rear tires' path), a man came up to me. He said very politely and articulately that he wasn't going to take my time and beg, but would like to do some honest work for a few bucks, not even 5 or 10. So I let him finish the job and instruct me to take a breather. He made sure I could pull into the street and I gave him $8. I asked him where he lives, but he said he doesn't have a home. I told him to come say hello if he sees me around.

Laplap slurpslurp glubglub lub dub

2007-03-15T15:30:00.000-04:00

So there was this really tall guy who bent down to drink from the water fountain in the hall just now. It struck me in a funny way and reminded me of something...

Actually, the giraffe's circulatory system is one of the wonders of ~~Creation~~ ~~intelligent design~~ ~~evolution~~ whatever. Because its head (and the brain within) is so far above its heart, the giraffe must maintain a blood pressure much higher than other mammals (about 240/160), and has a very large (~24 lbs) and powerful heart to accomplish this.

Because of their hard-working hearts and high blood pressure, giraffes are very susceptible to heart attacks when frightened or experiencing prolonged exertion, so when catching a giraffe, be sure not to chase it too long. Zoo-keepers also blindfold giraffes sometimes to avoid stressing them too much.

And finally, a mystery solved:

"...researchers explain that most other mammals, including humans, elephants, and mice, have similar blood pressures, because all of them have a similarly proportional distance between the head and the heart. Because of its long neck, a giraffe's blood pressure is twice as high as a human's blood pressure, yet it doesn't suffer from blood pressure-related diseases or dizziness -- despite an extraordinary rush of blood from the head in the two seconds it takes to lift its head 15 feet from a drinking position to a standing one.

The model reveals nature's evolutionary solution, which prevents giraffes from becoming dizzy in their predator-studded environment. A muscular cuff, which acts much like the device used to constrict a human arm during blood-pressure tests, surrounds the jugular vein. It regulates blood flow while the giraffe lifts its head, until the animal's powerful heart can pump blood up its long neck to the brain."

Distasteful

2007-03-14T17:48:00.000-04:00

Today I had to do something I feel is wrong.

In my clinical training, I perform psychological assessments. I was finishing up one such assessment process today, and met with the examinee for a feedback session to discuss the results. The assessment report can be very technical and difficult to interpret (or interpret correctly) for the lay-public (hence the feedback session to explain in everyday language).

Of course, at this point it's entirely appropriate to reference Simspons episode 9F09 (Homer's Triple Bypass):
Dr. Hibbert: Homer, I'm afraid you'll have to undergo a coronary bypass operation.
Homer: Say it in English, Doc.
Hibbert: You're going to need open heart surgery.
Homer: Spare me your medical mumbo jumbo.
Hibbert: We're going to cut you open, and tinker with your ticker.
Homer: Could you dumb it down a shade?

For this reason, my supervisor does not like to give examinees their reports after testing and, when requested, sends the report to the proper audience (e.g. a school or other doctor). When asked for a report during a feedback session, he tells the examinee that it's not "his policy" to release the report. If they continue to ask for it, he gives it to them. After all, they have a right to it- he just doesn't like to give it to them. This is not a unversal practice (even within our clinic, other supervisors don't subscribe to this policy), but it's his, and I think it's pretty deceptive.

As his supervisee, I am expected to practice this habit. Today, after doing a good job explaining to my examinee what I'd found, she asked for the report. I told her, "It's our policy not to release the report." I told her we would send it wherever she needed it sent. She asked if there was any way to get the report for her records, to facilitate sending the report in the future, to have it for her records. All I could do was repeat, "It's out policy not to release the report."

It went on, but I feel dirty enough already. I need a shower.

Update (3/15/07): The clinic's policy is, in fact, to release reports to patients, but to make them jump through minor hurdles to get it (submitting a written request and signing consent to release their report to.. themselves- huh?). So, this examinee will get her report. I feel better now, but it's yet another strike against my supervisor, with whom we already have some major issues.
At times like this, it's important to remember advice my old alte-supervisor gave me when I left work before returning to school to start my graduate studies- "תזהר מחמור נושא ספרים" (Beware of donkeys carrying books)

Update to the update: My aforementioned alte-supervisor is a secular Israeli with contempt for the practice of religious Jews (a tradition in which he was raised; in his youth, he attended an elite yeshiva, possibly qualifying him as an authentic apikores. His advice to me suddenly takes on new meaning.

תפילה אחרי משחק ספורט

2007-03-05T13:55:00.000-05:00

דחוף לקום בבוקר בשביל לראות משחק ספורט
תוכן השאלה: האם מותר לקום בבוקר מוקדם בשביל לצפות במשחק ספורט ולהתפלל אח``כ? מדובר במשחק של פעם בשנה. אם אני אקום לראות את המשחק ואתפלל אח``כ, זה יהיה הרבה יותר מוקדם מאשר זמן התפילה הרגיל שלי

So apparently there's this website about Judaism, where people ask questions, presumably for psak. This particular question was from January (click on the post title for the link) and seems to be referring to the Super Bowl. Those in Israel would have to get up pretty early to watch the game. This guy wants to know if it's ok to get up early, watch the game, and then daven (at a time that would be earlier than usual for him).

The response questions why a sports game can motivate this guy to wake up so early, but the Shulchan Arukh cannot. He goes on to hope that this fellow will begin the practice of arising early for the game, but make a habit of it for tefillah.

What do you think? Was this question serious or just baiting for a too frum response?

City Living Gripe #483

2007-02-25T00:05:00.000-05:00

As my friend Arona already noted, we city folk don't always have it easy. Urban dwelling brings with it some surreal protocols and implications we must confront. Here's one that bothers me.

We are lucky enough to have a laundry room in our building (the fact that we don't have to schlep to the laundromat makes this a distinctly NY type of luck) that has five washing machines. Our building has 60 apartments. You do the math.

We're vigilant enough to catch a machine when its wash is done. The washes' owners, however, are not always so vigilant. What this means is that, as per building's consenual, tacit etiquette, we take the other person's clean laundry out of the machine and put it into an empty dryer (if there are no empty dryers, the wash goes on a table in the room). Now I know that these are freshly cleaned clothes we're talking about, but still- I don't want to be handling someone else unmentionables! There must be some evolutionary advantage to being repulsed by others' clothes (a.k.a. xenovestiphobia), but what could it possibly be if we're even disgusted by clean clothing? I'm open to hearing all forms of conjecture, speculation, and MAS on the topic.

We also had to deal with an urban laundry excursion when we were in San Francisco for vacation. Being soon after the 9 Days, we packed dirty laundry to wash at the beginning of our trip. We asked at our hotel and they directed us to the Brain Wash Cafe & Laundromat. We realized we weren't in the tourist part of town anymore when every storefront was a body shop- alternating car's and women's bodies (if ya know what I mean ;). I've never seen such a trendy laundromat; I guess that's the point. Our load was way under the minimum weight, but the heavy-lidded hipster behind the counter, apathetic and detesting of her bosses anyway, didn't even to try and make us pay the higher fee to meet the minimum.

Muslims excel in Jewish day school!

2007-02-23T10:11:00.000-05:00

The Jewish school where half the pupils are Muslim
Some might call this article inspirational- I don't know if I'd go that far, but it is somewhat astounding. The two levels that get me are first, that the Muslim parents are so into enrolling their kids in a Jewish school and second, that other members of their community seem to be ok with it. Presumably, the Birmingham (UK) Muslim community is more moderate.

Thanks to Avi Z. for the link.

Wear Red Day 2007

2007-02-02T10:53:00.000-05:00

I didn't think about my decision to wear a red sweater on February 2nd, I just pulled it out of the closet. I'm working Fridays doing research in a cardiovascular department of a major hospital. Someone popped her head in the room I was working in and, noting that I was wearing red, asked if I was wearing "for the cause."

Indeed, I wasn't, but what cause? Apparently, it was Wear Red Day, in support of women's heart disease awareness. Being a cardiology department, everyone's for this cause. We took a staff picture with all of us Redcoats. Afterwards, I got a red dress pin (aka a זונה* pin)

What was I doing that day? Proofreading my professor's chapter galleys, punctuation and all. Sound familiar? I present to you the Maestro, Victor Borge!

דרב אדא בר אהבה חזייה לההיא כותית דהות לבישא כרבלתא בשוקא סבר דבת ישראל היא קם קרעיה מינה אגלאי מילתא דכותית היא שיימוה בארבע מאה זוזי א"ל מה שמך אמרה ליה מתון אמר לה מתון מתון ארבע מאה זוזי שויא -ברכות דף כ,א

...with a little help from my friends

2007-01-23T13:59:00.000-05:00

American עולה Harry, of The View From Here, reports on a blog of blacks who are friends of Israel. A small sampling includes Mike Tyson, P. Diddy, Mr. T, and Condoleeza Rice.

Good for the Jews?

Well we love you, too

Gesundheit!

2006-12-27T11:58:00.000-05:00

We went to T's family for Shabbos, expecting to return sometime over the long weekend. It wasn't to be. Motza"sh, T sneezed and her back went out. The MRI on Sunday (try getting any medical care on a holiday weekend!) showed a herniated disc.

Here's where the Gushers come in, bear with me. You see, in between each vertebra in the spinal column is a disc that serves as a joint (to allow slight movement of the vertebrae), a ligament (to hold the vertebrae together), and a shock absorber (protecting each vertebra from everyday trauma).
The disc is like a jelly doughnut or a Gusher- it has a tough outside composed of several layers of fibrocartilage, and a viscous inside. When there's a tear in the outer layer, the inner gel prolapses, it slides out from its usual position and presses on a nerve root.

The result? Intense back and leg pain. So T's been in bed since then, except for the trip to the MRI and to go to the bathroom. I've been helping her all along (throwing out my back a bit in the process). She's getting better, ever so slowly. It's really tough for her, but she's reading her third book of the week and she's watched a few movies, so she manages to pass the time.

As for me, I'm going a bit stir crazy living here at my in-laws' for the week. Everyone asks how T is, what would she like, can they make her some food, etc. No one really asks about me, I sort of fade into the background. It'll be nice to have our life back.

Get it, back? Oy vey...

Turophiles, unite!

2006-12-21T15:26:00.001-05:00

Behold
the
power
of
cheese!

There’s nothing quite like the feeling elicited by arriving home to find 12 lbs. of cheese on your doorstep. Cheese is not much more than curdled milk, but it can be oh so magical. Cabot Creamery produced a limited run, produced under OU supervision, of its award-winning sharp cheddar to test the kosher market demand. I took orders from neighbors in my building and ordered a case.

It arrived yesterday, all 18 bars of it. When people came to pick up their cheese (one person ordered 6 bars!), they were filled with joy. If you want to bring שמחה to someone’s life, give them cheese, please.

Discipline soured (check the date)

2006-03-24T10:24:00.000-05:00

The pressure’s increasing, but I’m doing (mostly) ok.  It’s sort of like a black hole, increasingly great quantities of schoolwork are being squeezed into an ever-shrinking timeframe with deadlines approaching at nearly the speed of light.  Maybe as the deadlines get closer, time will slow down.  The deadlines will get closer and closer slower and slower, so that I’ll have an infinite amount of time to do less than infinite work.

YES! That is how I will get through grad school!  Unfortunately, it also means my internet connection will be equally lentitudinous (to use a seasonally appropriate word of different etymology than the Catholic season- huh?  Well, lentus in Latin means “slow,” whereas “Lent” is short for “Lenten,” which refers to spring in Old English, probably from langez in Middle High German means “long” because in the spring the days get longer).

You know, the whole point of this post was to toot my own horn that I worked all day Wednesday (except for a three-hour nap, but I needed that) instead of procrastinating.  But what happened?  I got caught up in etymological irrelevance and procrastinated my way over to the OED.

It’s because I’m tired.  I’ve been tired since yesterday afternoon, after a busy day.  But I did go to minyan today.  Yay me.

Shabbat Shalom, y’all

A baker's life for me

2006-03-10T12:27:00.000-05:00

It’s always exciting doing a מצוה for the first time, even if it is דרבנן. Last week my mother asked me about it and I realized it hadn’t even occurred to me. I guess taking challah is not just a feminist’s mitzvah. Or maybe the fact that I’m doing it is a feminist statement. Well, a masculist statement. Well, it just means that anyone can do whatever they want to do (within reason) without defining strict roles or chores for each gender, though I believe that some of these are strictly male or female, sometimes from a social perspective (a male parent can never be a mother) or religious (some prescriptives of the תורה and הלכה are not flexible or subject to human judgement).

Anyway, it all started with this from allrecipes.com:

Best Bread Machine Bread
Submitted by: Karen K "This recipe is easy and foolproof. It makes a very soft and tasty loaf of bread with a flaky crust."
Original recipe yield: 1 - 1 1/2 pound loaf.

INGREDIENTS:

1 cup warm water (110 degrees F/45 degrees C)

2 tablespoons white sugar

1 (.25 ounce) package bread machine yeast

1/4 cup vegetable oil

3 cups bread flour

1 teaspoon salt

DIRECTIONS:
Place the water, sugar and yeast in the pan of the bread machine. Let the yeast dissolve and foam for 10 minutes. Add the oil, flour and salt to the yeast. Select Basic or White Bread setting, and press Start.

I added some chopped onion, thyme, and rosemary. We’ll see how it goes. We’re visiting friends and going to a shabbaton on Torah and environmentalism. Should be interesting.
G’bye!

Update: I goofed- the שעור for challah is 5 cups of flour. If you're baking with less than that, you don't take challah or make a bracha.

Like sand through the hourglass...

2006-03-10T11:30:00.000-05:00

I feel like I’m falling behind in school. Now, my classmates generally feel the same way, but I really am in trouble. Sure, that’s what they all say.

In actuality, I’ll probably squeeze by like I always do. You see, I’m Mr. Last-Minute. I don’t know why I am, it just makes things more stressful, but that’s what I do and that’s what I’ve always done. When I should be working, I’m doing things like this (although I think I really don’t post to my blog enough) or just generally spacing out online, making myself more tired and lethargic.

This week was a doozy. Officially it’s Spring Break, but it’s more like a reading week, since we start midterms next week. I’ve been so draggy and lethargic all week. Let’s see, what did I do?
Monday- nuthin’
Tuesday- more nuthin’ (although I forced myself out to dinner with T when her two-week
crazy-making project at work was finished)
Wednesday- a little less nuthin’ (superficially reading a few pages of my notes)
Thursday- actual studying (though not much) and going to school for a Stats review

I kept to the apartment except to move the car for alternate side parking. The weather has been getting progressively nicer this week and I always am surprised my how nice and bright it is when I step outside. Out apartment is dim and gloomy, even with the lights on. When we move, it’s got to be somewhere with more natural light. This literal valley of shadows we live in presently is too much.

Basically, I felt this week like I was devoid of resources to deal with the world. I knew it wasn’t permanent, I just wanted the world to stop for a while until I caught up. Obviously this worries me in terms of school, but as I said before, I usually come out ok. It does strike me as a negative prognostic indicator for my ability to handle my responsibilities when we have a baby, בעזרת השם.
T’s work so far has really put me in the position of homemaker and keeper. Now, I’m also supposed to be doing my schoolwork. When we have a baby and she returns to work, I will have added responsibilities. Now, I know that all the millions of parents out there have responsibilities they didn’t used to. What worries me is that this new state of affairs will mean I have to be diligent all around in all my responsibilities, no time wasted.

The long and short of it is that this week showed me I have a long way to go in terms of discipline and diligence.

No rest for the weary

2006-01-29T17:40:00.000-05:00

T. and I have been so tired today. Busy weekend, busy week before that. There’s so much to do. I don’t know how she does it, she’s been plugging away all afternoon. I’ve been trying, haven’t been procrastinating like I usually do, but haven’t made it very far. The bleary-eyed are no less bleary-eyed and still they march. Such is life.

Huh? Wuh...? Ooaaaaoooghoooohhh......

2006-01-25T11:16:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning at about 5 AM, not on purpose. I made my online reservation for the Genius Bar, to have them check out (and hopefully replace) my iPod today. I went to the 7 o’clock minyan and went to bed when I came back, around 8 AM. I was deep into my much needed sleep when the doorbell (well, not as much a bell as much as a hair-raising buzzer) buzzed. It was the cleaning lady. I was jarred as anything. There was only one of her, but I saw three when I answered the door and let her in.
It was painful. But I eventually woke up.

It ain't all free food and ID badges

2006-01-19T01:04:00.000-05:00

The bleary-eyed grad student heads for bed.
לילה טוב

משתדל בתשובה

2006-01-18T18:05:00.000-05:00

Amazing what can happen over a few hours.  I went to my first class today, behavior therapy.  It reignited my passion for what I do, and reminded me of what I used to do at work, how I used to help people.  Dr. L’s analytic streak (streak?!  that’s all he is!) has grated on me for some time now.  Freudians, neo- or otherwise, read too much into things.  Period.

Well, after that, I did a little shopping before I went home.  I fell into my old mindset and habits, victim (resigned, willing victim that I am) of תאווה.  I felt myself gravitating towards the event horizon, already saw it as my future, and felt it in my body even as my conscience tried to wrest my future back from the damaging forces of mind.  I had to try something because really, I don’t want to fall.  So I put on some Aaron Razel for my drive home.  He’s a master of inspiring music.  If you’re down, in whatever way, his music can do wonders.  I’m not saying it always, or even usually does.  But it can.

I went to shul for Mincha/Ma’ariv and the rabbi asked to be ש"ץ.  That was exactly what I needed.  Placed at the front of the minyan, their emissary and connection to God for these few moments in a drab basement the same time as thousands of other minyanim in my city.  It’s a small role, most mitpallelim mindlessly aware of the prayers unfolding before them, just as I usually pray, but it’s huge.  I feel re-oriented and re-focused.

When I got back home (after stopping off to buy T another food-related present/surprise), I found the neighbor kids singing, performing their own הכנסת תורה.  One of them had received a new paper scroll, complete with velvet deckele.  The others joined in with their paper ספרי תורה and marched off, the beaming leader holding his new prize possession aloft as his talit slipped off his shoulders.  Such sweet kinderlach, such sweet  Yiddishkeit.  How can a weak-willed sinner and struggling repentant not be moved?

May this inspiration last.

Fine feathered friends get soggy feathers when it rains

2006-01-18T11:47:00.000-05:00

I emailed some friends in Israel to say hi. They’re not doing so well. Life can be really hard even for people who aren’t “suffering.” But we all have to go on. Sometimes it’s ok to be sad or lonely, you don’t have to put on your happy face if you don’t feel like it.

I realized for myself and for them how important it is to have friends. A loving spouse is a blessing from God, but when the two of you are going through the hardships of life, it can be important to have others on whose shoulders you can cry. Sometimes you even get to let your hair down a little more with friends because you don’t have to be as strong and stable as for your spouse.

On Friday night in shul, I met an old friend of mine. We’ve been meaning to reconnect on and off for months and months. Now it’s on again. He asked me if I would be his friend. Oy, such a sweet human being as he is shouldn’t be so needful of a good friend. He was married, but his wife was not his friend. It is an honor for me to be his friend, but I have to work on staying in touch with people even though my life feels so busy (or so tiring) all the time.

כל ישראל ערבים זה לזה, I am personally responsible for my brother’s welfare and I know it’s good for myself, too.

Love someone today,
P.H.

Greetings from the future

2006-01-17T10:39:00.000-05:00

Well it's been a while, but I've been inspired to continue my blog, after a very long hiatus.

So what's happened since then? Well, you'll find out along the way, but here are the headlines:
I got my applications out, had a couple of interviews, and was accepted to a great Ph.D. program. Tomorrow I begin my second semester and am looking forward to continuing my work. School is a lot of work, but I'm growing, not feeling as stagnant as I did at work. I do miss having my own office sometimes.

T finished school and passed the Bar exam. She was offered a job on the spot at her second interview (though the job search was frustating and anxiety-ridden) and is now working at a well-known firm that is not a sweatshop. She loves what she's doing and we have an income again!!

And of course, you're all wondering- we didn't win the eBay auction but did end up buying a beautiful (not too expensive) cherry dining room table and chairs from Ethan Allen.

להתכתב,
P.H.

Get up, Stand up

2005-02-08T14:07:00.000-05:00

Well, I got my applications in. It was pretty close. Some months ago, I really thought I'd never be able to do it. But I did. I'm proud of myself and T. is too, even though she'd been frustrated by my foot-dragging.

We had a very fun, special, romantic special birthday weekend and are beginning, married now for six months, to move on to a deeper level and understanding of love.

I'm still tired, but I've been more disciplined going to minyan. She's proud of me for that, too, and helps a lot.

Things are really good and life seems more managable :-)

The bleary-eyed march on

2004-12-28T15:41:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here at work, waiting for the end of the day. I work in presitigious establishment, have my own office (pretty remarkable for entry-level), and no one looks over my shoulder. Who could ask for anything more? Throw in high-speed internet and this is what you get.
Welcome to my blog.