Bob Newhart’s Quick, Inexpensive Psychiatric Advice

Suicide Is NOT Painless

Caveat: This article does not apply to death with dignity – “Kevorkian-type” suicide. Death with dignity is wholly different in every aspect.

This past Sunday morning, the husband of a good friend shot himself in the chest with a shotgun in the garage of their suburban home.


To take one’s own life requires something extraordinary. May none of us ever know personally what that something is. I picture someone at the bottom of a well so deep as to be in total darkness. One knows where the light is but cannot even fathom the possibility of ever reaching it. As long as there is a glimmer of light all is not lost. When that goes, so does the last thread of survival.


Suicide is all about the needs of the person ending his life. That person is taking action to resolve the issues in his life by the only means of which he is capable. It is his resolution – the one that works for him. Its effects on others are secondary if even considered. Even those superficially motivated to by “I’ll show them” or “now they’ll pay attention to me” are satisfying solely personal needs.


Suicide may be the painless way out of a seemingly bottomless pit but it is always self-centered. The devastation left in its wake is known only to those who have been affected by the suicide of a friend or family member. The initial shock is stultifying. The death scene is forever etched in too many minds. “Why” is the first question. Maybe a note will shed light. Sometimes there is no note. The question of why is turned over and over a hundredfold in every waking and trying-to-sleep hour. Why didn’t we see this coming? Sometimes you do; most of the time you don’t. Then there’s guilt. We could have, should have done something to prevent this. I’m responsible for this. It’s my fault. This is guilt that stays with one for a lifetime. Anger. Yes, lots of anger at the suicide. How could you do this to us?!


Got all that? Now take all that and add it to the suffering of those losing a loved one by any other means of death.


Add on to all that the extraordinary suffering of one choosing death over life.


Suicide is the cruelest of deaths.

How to Post a Comment

Please see the August 9 2008 post for detailed instructions on how to post a comment

http://aboutnothing-doug.blogspot.com/2008/08/how-to-post-comment.html

A Story of the Pronunciation of Wachovia

In the 1880’s Heinz Wachovia lived at Funfundzwanzig Zweitewienerwald Strasse in the town of Emmendingaling in the Schwartz Wald (Black Forest) area of southwest Germany (Deutschland). The surname “Wachovia” was, in the Schwartz Wald, pronounced with a deep, prolonged guttural “CCHH-H-H”. The Schwartz Wald was and remains today a very popular tourist destination. Being a creative entrepreneur, Heinz made a small fortune betting American tourists they couldn’t say his full name and address 3 times fast with stumbling or laughing. Yes, Heinz did well.

With that small fortune Heinz persuaded others to invest in a venture to open a small bank in Emmendingaling. Fearing his bank wouldn’t be taken seriously by anyone outside of Emmendingaling and having a sizeable ego, he chose not to name it Bank of Emmendingaling, instead naming it “Wachovia Bank”, pronounced of course with the deep, prolonged, guttural “CH”. Heinz’s bank did well, in part due the first promotional gimmick by a German bank in the history of Deutschland. Customers were promised 10 marks (back when 10 marks really meant something) if every employee of his bank did not greet them with “Welcome to Wachovia” with the now characteristic pronunciation of “Wachovia”.

The Kaiser Incident. In the waning days of WW I, Kaiser Wilhelm himself came to the main Emmendingaling branch of what was now a multi-branch banking corporation. The branch manager, Otto von Tuchas snapped to attention, saluted the Kaiser and just when the Kaiser stepped forward to congratulate him gave the Kaiser his best, full throated “Welcome to Wachovia”. A gigantic ball of phlegm rocketed out of von Tuchas’s mouth landing smack dab in the Kaiser’s eye. The story ran as a rare amusing sidebar to the otherwise grim war news around Germany, even being picked up by the international press. The bank and its name became dreck in Germany. A public company, its stock plummeted making it ripe pickings for a buyer. Otto von Tuchas was fired but later picked up by MGM to work with Buster Keaton.

Ripe for the pickings, Wa”cchhhh”ovia Bank was bought up by a small cadre of powerful US bankers seeking a bank to make high risk loans. In partnership with Heinz Wachovia the bankers opened branches in New York City, beginning on East 86th Street, the heart of NYC’s German-American community – Yorkville. To put the fear of God into its borrowers, the pronunciation of Wachovia Bank was immediately changed to “Watch Ovuh Ya”. And watch over you it did. Even borrowers up to their ears were never in arrears.

As the Great Depression took hold in the US, FDR took tighter control of banks; laws against usury were passed and aggressively prosecuted on the state and federal levels. Due to their official fear mongering, “Watch Ovuh Ya” bank officials were successfully forced by a little known footnote to New Deal legislation to change the pronunciation to what we know it as today: “Wok ovya”. A proposed promotional deal after WW II involving the wielding of woks when greeting customers was nixed by its insurance company. Those with Wachovia Bank loans know the pronunciation as “Watch Ovuh Ya”.

[Studiously researched in the recesses of a twisted mind.]

An Obscure Gem of Evolution

Yes, folks – a little known tidbit rarely if ever discussed in the study of evolution. Certain low level mammals have poor depth perception never having improved its acuity over time. Instead these mammals developed a unique ability to instantly recognize their predators’ asses. If they see an ass they know the predator is leaving and they’re safe. If they don’t recognize the ass it’s time to run and hide.

Not all that surprisingly, this trait appears related to what scientists are calling the “gay gene”. When the gay gene is found scientists also expect to see the ass recognition gene. While not used to defend against predators (in fact it sometimes attracts predators) this evolutionary trait in gay men has mutated to suit a higher mammal. In its current mutated form scientists believe it allows the recognition of both retreating and oncoming asses.

Video Slideshow – Beijing Opening Ceremonies

Quite taken with the Opening Ceremonies, aren’t I? 300+ pics from the ceremonies and a well known classical piece. Created with Windows Movie Maker.

Download the full size (640 x 480) WMV file at Media Fire:

http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?jsjpymjicy0

Frankenstein – Thomas Edison (1910)

Make your own scary monster sounds to Edison’s 1910 silent classic.

Contact me for a copy of this 75.6 MB FLV file.

"Damn Yankees"

Joe Boyd sold his soul to the devil to lead his struggling Washington Senators past the perennial pennant winner New York Yankees. Yankee haters outnumber haters of other dominant teams by a wide margin. OK, my guess, but wouldn’t you think so?

The Yankees have dominated American baseball since winning their first pennant in 1921 losing to the Giants 5-3 in the last 9 game World Series. The team’s first World Series championship came in 1923 against the NY Giants. Since 1921, the Yankees have won 39 AL pennants and 26 World Series championships. The Yankees have a rich and colorful history on and off the field. They have always played in the nation’s largest media market. Stars on the hometown team became stars across the nation and eventually the world. Perhaps the only contingent in a road ballpark that rivals the Yankee haters is the local Yankee fans. Either transplanted New Yorkers or fans from afar. How infuriating is it for home team fans to hear a vocal group in their own stadium cheering for the hated Yankees?!

The Yankees have always had the most money – even in the lean non-pennant years. They offer the premier stage for a baseball player and feature the best. Small market teams cried foul. There was something fundamentally unfair in a game where a few select teams led by the Yankees have a disproportionate share of the money. Revenue sharing and the luxury tax were aimed at leveling the playing field. They did, but not nearly enough for those who resented the flashy Yankees buying and selling talent at will. The resenters forget that some of the greatest Yankee players were came up through their farm system. Don Mattingly comes to mind as well as Derek Jeter. Whether the road fans hate ‘em or love ‘em, they pay to see ‘em. Not only do they draw capacity at home but often do so on the road. Damn, they’re like America’s team or something – perennial winners like Notre Dame, UCLA, Dallas Cowboys, etc. Do you buy that? Are the Yankees your team?

So here’s how it is. If you’re not a Yankee fan all that stuff really irks the crap out of you. If you are a Yankee fan it is simply how things are in life no matter how unfair to the complainers.

I’m a Yankee fan so that’s how things are in my life. The Yankees are my home town team. I grew up with the Yankees as the only or predominant baseball team in NYC. At 8 years old I played imaginary baseball games in the back yard, batting as each of the Yankees players’ starting line up. For the afternoon I was Bobby Richardson, Tony Kubek, Roger Maris, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Bill Skowron, Elston Howard and Clete Boyer. Throwing the sponge ball to a target against the side of our house I was always a younger, right-handed Whitey Ford followed by Ryan Duren in relief.

My father was a big sports guy – both as a player and fan. He took us to Yankee games in the 1960, 1961 seasons. We went to the pre-renovated Yankee Stadium – the original configuration of 1923 in which Ruth and Gehrig played.

We watched the Mantle, Maris, Ford championship teams – a team replete with future Hall of Famers. Not that Dad was a Yankee fan – he was an angry NY then SF Giants fan ripe for the Mets’ arrival in 1962.

As a kid my summers went as did the fortunes of the New York Yankees. I remember precisely where I was while listening to the 7th Game of the 1960 World Series. I remember the devastation and silence when Bill Mazeroski hit the walk-off home run to win the Series for Pittsburgh against the Yankees. I remember where I was when Bucky Dent hit the home run that sank the Red Sox to decide the 1978 AL East.

In 1979 living in Albany outside the TV range of Yankee broadcasts, I spent game nights at home listening to The Scooter, Phil Rizzuto, broadcast the action.

I was depressed for a week after the Yankees lost 0-3 to the Royals in the 1980 ALCS. I wrote a letter to George Steinbrenner in the early 80’s ranting about his handling of the team. I boasted about Derek Jeter and Jorge Posada having lived in the apartment building next to mine.

Yankee fans are devoted, vocal, appreciative and knowledgeable. Yankee fans chant the name of each player on the field in the top of the first inning. They chant, the player acknowledges and the fans move to the next guy. Yankee fans began the practice of clapping when a pitcher has 2 strikes on a batter – a tradition started with Ron Guidry in the championship years of the ‘70’s. Yankee fans pack Yankee Stadium for every game with home attendance reaching a record 4.7 million in 2007.

I consider myself lucky to have been a lifelong Yankee fan. The Yankees are my guys – my hometown ballplayers.

Oh, and I don’t root for Notre Dame, the Cowboys or UCLA.

2,008 Drummers

Chimps of the Dance

The 2008 Craigslist M4M (men for men) Dictionary

*Swimmer’s Build: Term used to describe the physique of someone who has probably never swam a lap or played organized sports in his life. Generally means "I’m not fat, but I’m not ripped and muscular, and so I must have a swimmer’s build".

*Beefy (aka husky, cub, bear): Fat ass. The prevalence of these people are the reason you can never find size 30 slacks in a department store.

*Jock: Someone who tries very hard to be manly but probably is deathly afraid of sports and anything physical outside of the Castro steam room and the Berkeley Steamworks. Most men who actually do play sports would refer to themselves as "athletic".

*Str8 (aka Str8 Acting): Man who lives in a parallel universe where jonesin' for cock is not considered gay. Deludes himself with "Pump my ass and work my dick, boy. It’s cool because I’ve got a GF". These men are a bane to those who are honest about their sexuality.

*Girlfriend (aka GF, wife): A fictitious creature alleged to be had by many men in M4M. GF’s are most commonly known to be "asleep", "shopping" or "out of town". Discussion of the GF is intended to bolster intrigue, as in "Cool, this dude usually fucks chicks but now he wants me" among gay men with low self-esteem.

*8X5 cut: A circumcised penis that is 6 inches long and about 4 inches in circumference.

*PNP (aka Party and Play): Term used to describe the combination of a drug binge (usually crystal meth or “T”) and sex. Emphasis is usually on the "party", as this is usually used as a low-grade form of prostitution and participants usually will have a hard time performing sexually. Synonymous with transmission of sexual diseases.

*Vers/Top: Person who wishes to convey the illusion that you will actually get yours without having to jack off on your own. May suck your dick poorly for about 30 seconds before becoming a greedy sex pig.

*Married: Deluded man who is intent on ruining not only his own life, but the life of a spouse and possible children through his patent dishonesty. So hot!

*BB (aka Bareback, Raw, Natural): "I have diseases that will probably kill me and you, but I don't care because I'm on a death trip and want to live for the moment until I become poz and have to take meds".

*Poz (aka HIV+): Man who deserves a medal for being honest about his potential to transmit a dangerous virus and is generally looking to have sex with other poz guys.

How to Post a Comment

At the bottom of the article click on the 0 comments link (or however many comments there may be). You will be brought to the screen-printed page below.

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You can then either preview your post or publish it directly.

Look forward to your feedback.

A NYC Welfare Office

***

Of what I’ve seen over these years, among the most striking was a NYC welfare office. A friend was eligible for welfare so we registered him for financial assistance and food stamps. The office was in a chic neighborhood in Manhattan (Chelsea) within walking distance of my West Village apartment. The office was packed with clients. As this was Chelsea in Manhattan, the crowd was not quite as dregs-of-the-earth as those found in less affluent neighborhoods. That said, it was pretty much what you’d expect to see in a NYC welfare office – nearly all Black and Spanish, a few derelict-looking men and women, a certain resignation to waiting and being treated as cattle, accompanied by sadness and desperation. Sitting pompously behind a ramshackle desk was the bureaucrat in charge of assisting the masses as they arrived and waited. There was violent fire in this woman’s eyes as she barked demeaning orders and answers to those approaching her fiefdom. Never in my life have I seen anyone in any position routinely treat people as she did. The middle aged woman took out a lifetime of anger on every welfare client in that office. Her behavior stays with me to this day. Hers was the most sadistic violation of personal dignity I have ever witnessed. Even sadder is that clients just took the abuse, having grown accustomed to such treatment.

***

The Saint

***

The Saint was, bar none, the greatest dance club in the history of the world. I do not make such a statement lightly; in fact that was a first. In the case of the Saint I make it without hesitation. The Saint was a serious dance and party club for those who loved dancing and partying. Enter the Saint and you left the rest of the world behind.

The club occupied the space formerly housing the Fillmore East. Together with San Francisco’s Fillmore West, they were the premiere showcases for top talent of the 60’s, through 1971. Near the bottom of the page linked below, you’ll see the note that it became The Saint.

http://subrealities.waiting-forthe-sun.net/Pages/BeIn/HaightAshbury/Fillmore/fillmore_east_history.html

The Saint started as a secret club – membership only by referral. Guests had to be phoned in ahead of time with names left at the door. There was no sign on the corner building at 2nd Ave. and 6th St. There was nothing that would indicate that a club existed there except for the lines on Saturday nights. (It tried opening Sundays and then Fridays, but it was basically a one night club.) No matter how crowded, there was always space on the dance floor and rarely a wait for a beer or the men’s room. Members had lockers. The club was run very well, catering to its members rather than just taking their money. The service and accommodating attitude was unique in the world of gay nightlife.

I wandered in one night in its first year as I lived about a mile uptown on 2nd Ave. in 1981. Amazingly, the doorman allowed me in after giving me the once-over. I still remember walking on to the Saint’s dance floor for the first time. Other than that one visit, I didn’t start going regularly until 1983-84 with J.

Saint info & pics can be found here:

http://www.nycsaint.com/members/tour/

The lobby is a long hallway leading to double doors and the first of the three floors of the Saint.

Keep in mind that this club was the size of one of those old-style grand Broadway movie theaters as noted in the Fillmore East history. It had 3 separate staircases spanning the 3 floors. One was a really cool black spiral staircase likely from its Fillmore days. The club was huge. Open the doors and walk into the black / gray décor of the socializing, drugging and drinking floor – a marble black and white floor with gray carpeted banquettes spilling off the walls. In the center was a massive circular bar manned by the hottest bodies you can imagine. First order of business upon arrival was reserving “the spot” on a banquette. “The spot” was where we could always meet if anyone got lost. With the size of the place, the size of the crowd and the drugs we were on, some of us did get lost at times.

One set of stairways leading up to the dance floor.

The second floor was the uniquely famous dance floor – The Dome. The dome over the Saint’s dance floor was larger than the one at NYC’s Hayden Planetarium. Walking into the dome was entering yet another different world. The gigantic dance floor was also surrounded with narrow banquettes. In the center of the dance floor was a massive light machine at the bottom of which were mirrors.

The light machine rose like a tower out of the floor to various heights as high as halfway to the top of the dome. For the first time anywhere I’d seen, announcements for parties included both the DJ and the Lights designer. Acoustically, the space was uniquely perfect for a dance club. No huge speakers propped up on the floors or hanging from the ceilings. Banks of speakers were hidden under the banquettes ringing the dance floor and, well, who knows where the others were?! The result was a vibrant, space-filling, totally danceable sound with plenty of bass and crystal clear treble. But, it did not make you vibrate from the volume. You could even talk while the music was playing without shouting. The music on the Saint’s dance floor engulfed you, transporting you to a different world.

The third floor. The balcony was the only part of the Fillmore that remained. It looked down on to the dance floor (you could see through the dome). But back to the balcony. That was the sex venue. The entire balcony was packed with guys having sex pretty much all night. For the Saint, all night began at midnight Saturday night when the club opened through the next afternoon. You’d see some gorgeous men in the club, most of them eventually shirtless. Many of these guys would end up in the balcony all horned up on dancing, sweat and drugs.

The price of admission (a steep $20 at that time) was admission to a different, very special world. The Saint was the all in one place to spend a Saturday night and enjoy good drugs, drinking, socializing, dancing and sex – in other words, the complete night out in NYC.

Despite it being “secret”, its reputation spread around the world. And thus was born today’s “Circuit Boys”, doing the elite gay circuit parties around the US and the world. Each year the Saint had its special parties: Halloween, New Year’s Eve, the White Party (Pres. Day weekend) and the Black Party (3rd weekend of March). People came to these parties from all over the world. I went to most of them with my friends.

The Saint officially closed in May 1988, with “The Final Party”. It was a 2-day event, going from Saturday night through Monday night. The event made the NY Times and drew thousands from around the world. While on line there to buy our tickets a couple of weeks beforehand, I overheard one queen say to his friend, “Tuesday I’m going to need a brain transplant.” When entering the party you were given a wristband so that you could come and go during those 2 days. Other than The Final Party, once in the club you couldn’t go out and return. Local news featured the story throughout the weekend with footage of guys with the bands. That was also the first time I’d seen bands of this kind used. My friends and I were there from Saturday night through late Sunday morning. We went home, ate, slept, ate, showered and returned for Round 2 – Sunday night through Monday morning. The drugs we went through those 2 days would have had a herd of horses wired to the eyeballs.

The Saint re-opened for one night: New Year’s Eve 1988. That was huge news! It was the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had being out rather than at a party. We were at the Saint until 3-4 PM New Year’s Day. I swear – I lost touch with reality – the Saint became my entire world, my reality. It was a unique experience remembered well today 20 years later.

The Saint evolved into “The Saint at Large”, holding their big parties at various venues including Roseland (mostly), the South Street Seaport in Lower Manhattan, The Palladium on 14th St., and one New Year’s Eve at Studio 54 (not a good choice). Roseland was the most popular venue. As you may know, it’s also a huge space famous for decades as one of NYC’s premier straight dance palaces. But a few times a year they rented out their space to the Saint.

The music for the night (and the next day) was designed to bring people down from the super high energy music at peak hours – like until 6 AM or so. At some point the DJ blended into what was called “sleaze music”. It was the somewhat slower, lower key yet highly danceable music. Examples that come to mind are Erasure’s “Oh L'Amour” and Georgio Moroder’s “Together in Electric Dreams.” Two of our friends usually didn’t arrive until sleaze time – after 6. We knew the DJ’s, sometimes personally from the Fire Island Pines, and knew who we liked and didn’t.

Going to the Saint was a “religious-like” experience among my friends and me - J, MB and whoever else joined us for the night. It was a ritual. We all met at J’s apt. on Bleecker St. just west of Broadway. We hung there for a couple of hours slowly getting fired up on coke and then taking our drug of choice (usually ecstasy – back when it first hit the US) hoping that we’d get into the club before it kicked in. We also did coke and crystal, depending on availability and plan. When properly “prepared”, usually by around 2-2:30 AM, we walked to the Saint – a 10 minute walk by a specific, traditional route that included 2 blocks along the Bowery past CBGB’s.

Upon arrival we chose “the spot” then got beers. The Saint was the only club I’ve known that allowed drug use out in the open. No sneaking to the men’s room. Just sit on the banquettes with a beer and snort away. Vials and joints were flying so fast at times it was tough to keep up. Traditionally we spent maybe 90 minutes or more at our spot on the banquette just hanging and listening to the music. It was almost like an endurance contest as to who couldn’t wait anymore to go upstairs and dance. Once upstairs, you were so totally transported, sitting and chatting downstairs wouldn’t be an option for many hours. We often danced near the mirrors at the base of the light machine – “meet you in the middle” often the last words as one of us headed out to the dance floor.

“Together in Electric Dreams” was our song – J, MB and I. When it was played (and it always was), the 3 of us always danced together. Even if we were at different ends of the club, upon hearing Electric Dreams we came from all directions and met on the dance floor (usually "in the middle").

Together in Electric Dreams

[Uploading .mp3’s via podcast are presently beyond me. The “no video stream" video converted from MP3 is the only way I could get the music up.]

I never had a bad or even mediocre time at the Saint. It was degrees of “incredible”. We all loved going out dancing – anywhere. A Saint night, though, was always a special night. Dancing, friendship and drugs were the essence of our days at the Saint. Some of my fondest memories are of nights at the Saint with my friends.

[On a personal note, my days of speedy drug use have been behind me since 1996.]

***

That Pixel in MSNBC Broadcasts

Apparently I’m not alone in noticing a pixel in MSNBC broadcasts, usually appearing on the screen to the left of the MSNBC logo. Also guessing I’m also not alone in wondering if it was a defect in the TV or my cable provider’s transmission. Finally an explanation by MSNBC’s David Schuster found on WikiAnswers.

“MSNBC is participating in Olympic coverage and the odd pixel located just to the left of the MSNBC logo is a part of the technical component of coordinating NBC, MSNBC, CNBC, and Bravo. While I don't understand exactly the ‘what or how’ part, I do know that it is something that is designed to help prepare for the Olympic coverage.”

David Shuster explained it:

“The little pixel dot will let cable operators know they will be getting the proper Olympics feed. All of the networks of NBC will be bringing you Olympic coverage but some sports will be on MSNBC, others on CNBC, others on Bravo, etc., so again, the pixel dot is part of the technical effort with our cable operators to ensure that you see the sports here on MSNBC that you've been promised in Olympic programming guides.“

Just in case you were wondering :-)

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/Why_is_there_a_strangely_colored_pixel_on_MSNBC