Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Author: Neil Kramer (Page 118 of 187)

Two Live Reports from JFK

April 5, 2007 / / 16 Comments

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From Wired:

DANGER ROOM Editor Noah Shachtman is at JFK airport in New York where there’s been a security breach that’s thrown terminal three into chaos. Gotta love the wild ‘n crazy world of TSA, where security breaches mean you trap all the passengers in an enclosed area, leaving them completely vulnerable.

Anyhow, as Noah reports:

I’m at New York’s JFK airport, waiting to catch a flight to Los Angeles. And there’s been a major security breach here at the Delta terminal, number three.

According to TSA workers, someone ran through the security checkpoint, maybe an hour ago. No one has been allowed to pass through, since. There must be a thousand people here who can’t get on their flights.

The TSA workers have no idea what’s going on — “We know as much as you,” one told me.

Passengers are generally calm. But that could change, quick. Passengers in the “sterile areas” were just told to “evacuate the building.”

From Citizen of the Month:

Elaine Kramer, mother of blogger Neil, is at JFK airport, stuck on a Delta Airlines plane, sitting somewhere between the runway and the terminal, having just returned to NY after Passover. Since no planes can leave, no passengers can deplane.

Anyhow, as Neil’s mother reports:

“We had to fly around for an extra hour, but everyone was very nice and brought us an extra round of soda and potato chips.”

Where’s ICU?

April 4, 2007 / / 29 Comments

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Thank you for your emails and comments about Fanya, Sophia’s mother.  She is doing better, and was released from the hospital tonight.  

Fanya’s room was located in the Saperstein Critical Care Tower, which was opened last year after entrepreneur and philanthropist David Saperstein and his wife Suzanne made the largest donation to Cedars-Sinai in the Medical Center’s history.

“The Sapersteins have accepted a crucial role in the reinvention of our campus by providing us with the means to build a state-of-the-art critical care tower,” said [hospital President and CEO Thomas M. Priselac when he received the donation]. “The Suzanne and David Saperstein Critical Care Tower will combine the latest monitoring technology with staffing to provide the most fragile patients with the most sophisticated care available.”

The Saperstein Critical Care Tower is clearly important for Los Angeles.

Annual hospital admissions countywide are up 20 percent in the past 10 years and seven hospitals have closed since 2003, according to a new report funded by The California Endowment.  West L.A. hospitals have been hard pressed to keep pace with demand, particularly institutions like Cedars that draw patients from a wider area. Population growth, on top of an aging demographic more likely to become seriously ill, have only exacerbated the situation, said  Dr. Paul Silka, [medical chief of staff], noting that Cedars often has long waiting lists to schedule elective surgery.

While Cedars-Sinai Medical Center clearly has top-notch doctors and medical equipment, I was not impressed with the human aspect of the patient care.   For example, why did no one come out to tell us how the surgery went?  Why did no one tell us that Fanya was taken back to ICU half an hour earlier?  Why were nurses laughing loudly with each other all night, waking up the patients in INTENSIVE CARE?   Or why was Fanya not fed for fourteen hours?  Even though the doctor gave the order to give her food, the nurse forgot to inform the nutrition department.  It took Sophia three and a half hours of fighting with everyone to get Fanya some food after her angioplasty.  Is this the bad effect of “Grey’s Anatomy,” where the personal lives of the staff are more important than those of the sick people?  Like in many other big-city hospitals, the basic concerns of the patient and his family seem to be of secondary consideration.   

Nothing symbolizes this better than the Saperstein Critical Care Tower itself.  As you can see from the above photo, the $110 million dollar facility may be “state-of-the-art,” but someone forgot to put up a sign telling patients and their families which building it is and WHERE THE ENTRANCE IS LOCATED.

What’s Up, Cedars-Sinai?

April 4, 2007 / / 33 Comments

It’s been hectic.   My mother came to town.  We prepared for the first seder. I fought a cold.  My mother cooked a wonderful brisket, matzoh ball soup, kugel, etc.  We went over to the home of Fanya and Vartan, Sophia’s mother and step-father.   After the meal, Fanya had pains in her heart.   It was hurting her so much, that we called 911.   An ambulance came and she he was brought to the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center’s emergency room.  We sat in the waiting room for hours.  Tomorrow, Fanya is going to get an angioplasty on her heart and liver.   Wish her good luck!

Now for some bitching about the hospital:

Cedars-Sinai is a world-famous hospital.  Its proximity to Beverly Hills has made it famous as the “hospital for the stars.”  This is where Hollywood celebrities have their babies.   Frank Sinatra died at Cedars-Sinai.  Movie producers have their names on hospital wings.  So, why do Sophia’s parents always get poor service at Cedars-Sinai Hospital?  

Because of the language barrier.   

They are an older couple who can only speak Russian.  Now, I’m all for immigrants learning English, but after a certain age, it is just too difficult a task.  Sophia often works in court as an interpreter, where every defendant who needs it is guaranteed BY LAW to have a language interpreter, and from what I understand, it is the same with every hospital patient.   Cedars-Sinai says that they have interpreters on staff.  So, why are so rarely used?

I was sitting in Fanya’s ICU hospital room this morning.  Sophia left to get some paperwork for her mom.  I noticed that the reading on the EKG monitor was at zero.  I told this to the nurse, a grouchy woman who looked like she came from another country herself. 

“Don’t move your right arm!” she told Fanya.  “It makes the monitor shut off.”

“She doesn’t understand what you are saying,” I said.  “She doesn’t speak English.”

“NO ARM UP!” the nurse yelled at Fanya, lying there with tubes stuck inside her arms, as if that was going to solve the problem.

“Don’t you have a Russian interpreter on call or on the phone?” I asked.

“She’s not here now.  Don’t you know Russian?”

“No, and I don’t think it is my job to be translating for the hospital.  When will there be a interpreter?”

“Let me go see.”

She left and I never saw her again.

The entire day has been one mistake after another.   Fanya is a slight woman.  She had lost 25 pounds in the last 6 months.  She was put on a restricted calorie diet!  The staff didn’t bring Fanya any food until 3:30 PM because they “thought” there was an order not to give her food.  Then she never got dinner.  After Sophia spoke to 5 people, they eventually brought her, a diabetic, four juices and Melba toast with cheese, at 10 PM. They gave her pills for diabetes with orange juice!   This is just poor medicine, but had Fanya been able to communicate – she would have been able to point their mistakes out, before they made her drink sugary juice with a pill to lower her blood sugar!  It is scary enough to be in a hospital.  It must be terrifying for a patient to be there and not understand the language of the staff, and Sophia can’t be there 24 hours a day.    Sophia told the nurses they can call her anytime to help with the Russian, but no one ever called.  God help the person who has to go into the hospital without having a family or friends to speak up for her!

When Fanya first came to the hospital, a male nurse was trying to figure out what was wrong with another Russian patient, a disheveled elderly man who was sobbing.   The nurse was poking the man in different places on his shoulder trying to figure out what pained him.

“Baleet?  Baleet?” the male nurse asked, using the only Russian word he knew, meaning “pain.”

Eventually, Sophia asked if she could help.   She spoke to the guy in Russian and learned that he wasn’t in physical pain, but emotional pain.  His grandson had just died, so he drank himself into a stupor, and his family didn’t know what to do with him, so they drove him at the hospital.  With three Russian families in the emergency room, wouldn’t it make sense to have an interpreter readily available?

Cedars-Sinai built a a major new building last year.  It cost millions of dollars.  The medical center has the best equipment, which must cost a fortune.   But would it really cost that much more to have a few more interpreters?   The hospital doesn’t need to have an interpreter for every language on duty 24/7, but Cedars-Sinai is smack in the middle of the major Russian and Persian communities of West Hollywood and Beverly Hills.  Many of these are elderly people who don’t speak the English, and they end up getting less than mediocre medical care in a supposedly top-notch hospital.  There are Spanish interpreters in most city hospitals.  There are Korean-speaking interpreters in mid-city hospitals.   Why is Cedars-Sinai so stingy with their interpreters?  Have a donor put his name on the interpreters’ uniforms if it would help get more money!

I know Cedars-Sinai would rather be known as the “hospital of the stars” and promote all the A-list actors who go there after drug rehab.    I understand that UCLA Medical Center is stealing some of the “celebrity cache” from Cedars since it is located in the less immigrant friendly, more upscale Westside (oh no, Britney had her baby there!).  The truth is Cedars-Sinai is now more of a “city hospital,” which means catering to the immigrant community.  Sure, it must be an annoyance for the busy, overworked staff to deal with foreign-speaking patients (unless, of course, the patient is a member of some Royal family),  but shouldn’t effective communication be an essential part of medical care?

Update:  Fanya is doing better.  More complaining about Cedars.

Letter from Iran

April 2, 2007 / / 24 Comments

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Today is Passover.   It’s one of my favorite holidays, because of the food and the re-telling of the dramatic story of the Israelites leaving Egypt.   Who cares how true it is!  I perfectly understand weaving a tale filled with half-truths and exaggerations.  Maybe the Israelites just crossed a little river, but who’s going to see that movie OR join that religion?  Let’s make it the entire RED SEA!  And let’s give it some action, with the Pharoah and the Egyptians at their heels, racing to capture them.

Sadly, the Middle East is still a place of conflict and hatred.   Arabs hate Israelis.   Sunnis hate Shiites.   Our troops are fighting in Iraq.   Iran is creating nuclear weapons. 

I hate to sound Pollyannish, but I think we’re all basically the same at heart.  If you’re a man — I don’t care if you are from Toledo or Timbuktu — you have the same SEVEN BASIC worries as every other man.

1)  Can I get a date to the prom?

2)  Will my wife still look good in twenty-five years or will she look like her mother?

3)  Is there any safe way to make my penis even bigger?

4)  Is this the clitoris and should I ask her to make sure?

5)  Why do I make such a small salary?

6)  Why do the assholes from college always become the most successful ones?

7)  Boxers of briefs?

We think we are different culturally, mostly out of pride or nationalism, but it isn’t true.  We are all the same.  And every once in a while there is a brave hero who acknowledges that.

One of these heroes is Hedieh.    Hedieh lives in Iran.  He wrote me this email from Iran.  Af first I thought it was spam, but it is actually from Iran —

Hi,
    
I have no idea how inconvenient this might be to write you an e-mail, but I thought it might be interesting for you to know that someone reads your blog from IRAN.
    
I was once browsing through weblogs trying to find one who talks about life, women, family, tough times, a bit of politics,…. And I came across your blog.  I started reading, and before I know it, I had been scrolling down for hours. Anyhow, just wanted to let you know that I truly enjoy your writing, your ideas and your style.
    
Oh, and you are funny, really.
    
Thanx
Cheers
Hedieh

Cheers to you Hedieh.   I knew it!  Deep down in their hearts, all men enjoy corny sex jokes!   In fact, wasn’t it the great Persian love poets of the Safavid era who combined both mysticism and erotic passion? 

Can blogging create world peace?  Hedieh, please tell you friends about some of the other blogs on my blogroll.  Read them carefully.    A bunch or weirdos, right?   Neurotic.  Horny.  Confused.  But dangerous?  War-monging?   Nah.   The just want to eat hummus, have orgasms, and watch sports on big-screen TVs, just like you do!   Why can’t we all get along?

May peace come about through blogging!  Happy Passover!

(update — this post makes less sense now that I learned that Hedieh is a woman!)

Thanks for the mention about “The Secret,” Star Tribune of Minneapolis-St.Paul.   I love Minneapolis, home to such wonderful people as Voix de Michele, Not Faint Hearted, and Mary Tyler Moore.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Double Entendres and Croissants

April 12th

March 31, 2007 / / 40 Comments

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Ever since I moved back in with Sophia, she’s been trying to get me to move out of the house and into my own apartment.   I’m always telling her that I’m too depressed to go through all the trouble of looking through the classifieds, etc. 

Now I have something to admit to you.   Sophia cleverly found a way to break me out of my depression.  She threw this amazing virtual surprise birthday party for me, in which so many of you sent such lovely cards and gifts.  All your kindness and friendship worked better than Prozac!

But here is the actual surprising part, and it is a little embarrassing to reveal, but  — it wasn’t really my birthday!   The entire event was all set up by Sophia as a last-ditch effort to “make me feel good,” right before our trip to Portland,  so I wouldn’t have any excuses not to move out the house when we returned. 

Isn’t Sophia devious, but amazingly clever?  I’ve started visiting some vacancies today in Los Angeles with my mother, thanks to Sophia’s push (and with your generous help!)

Luckily, I have some other good news.  My REAL birthday is coming up on April 12th!  If you were unable to send a gift the first time, here is your opportunity to do so now!  I would also love it if everyone who sent me a card or gift for my fake birthday, does it again for my authentic birthday.  It would mean so much to me.  All of you are such good friends!

Since I’m not sure if I’m going to be living with Sophia or in my new apartment in two weeks, please send all packages to Danny.

Thank you in advance for making my upcoming birthday on April 12th the best one I’ve ever had!

Love, Neil

The Sprint Phone and the Ticking Clock

March 30, 2007 / / 33 Comments

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A year ago, I wrote about being offered a free Sprint phone as part of the Sprint Ambassador Program for bloggers.   All the service, music, TV on the phone and other special doodads were included for free for 6 months.  Sophia, being the gadget freak of the family, was extremely jealous, so much so that she convinced Sprint that she should get one too as my blog editor. 

After six months, the service was cut off and Sophia went into severe withdrawal.   She insisted that I pimp myself out on my blog so Sprint would include us in Phase II of their Ambassador Program.  What I didn’t realize was, that during the six months, Sophia had been giving Sprint extensive feedback on the phone and the various services, which explained why Sprint offered Sophia a different free phone for Phase II, but told me to go to hell and use the Devil’s pay phone.

Phase II is now coming to an end, and all week, Sophia has been acting all jittery.  She even kicked me out of bed a few nights ago, saying there wasn’t enough room for the two of us AND her Sprint phone all in the same bed.   The next morning, I found the two of them cuddling together, the flip-top of the LG Fusic phone leaning comfortably on the softness of Sophia’s right breast, singing her a love song that was a free purchase, of course, under the terms of the Ambassador Program.

Two nights ago, we were driving home from the Valley, stuck in traffic on the 405.  Sophia was reading her email on her phone.

“Oh God!  Sprint is announcing Phase III!   They’re already chosen the participants, but are leaving 100 slots for previous Ambassadors!  The first 100 people… First come, first served!  Stop the car!  We need to sign up.”

“Can’t we wait until we get home?”

“Are you crazy?  It’s only 100 people!  And it’s some brand new exciting-sounding phone.”

“Can’t you sign up ON the phone?”

“No, we have to go online.  I have the laptop in the trunk.  We need to find some place with wi-fi.”

“We’ll be home in a half hour.”

She glanced down at her mobile Yahoo account.

“Look, there’s another email for you.  They’re offering you a chance to sign up, too!”

“They are?  That changes everything!   We need to stop the car right now!”

I twirled the steering wheel, exiting the freeway, nearly causing three accidents, all that time thinking who gets to sign up for the phone first.  After all – it’s first come, first served.

Right off the freeway was a McDonald’s.

“McDonald’s has wi-fi.”

“They do?”

“Yeah, they all do.  It’s like $2.95 an hour.”

“OK, let’s do it.”

We pulled into McDonald’s.  Sophia set up the laptop as I ordered a diet Coke, not because I was thirsty, but because I felt weird sitting there without ordering something.  Microsoft Windows booted up, but we didn’t receive any wireless signal.  

My luck.  I picked the only McDonald’s in Los Angeles County without wi-fi.

“There must be a Starbucks around here,” said Sophia.

“Do you know how much wi-fi is in Starbucks?!”

“Now’s not the time to be chintzy.  The clock is ticking.”

I visualized bloggers around the country typing on their PCs, signing up for a free phone while some Sprint executive was sitting in Sprint headquarters counting down how many of those hundred extra phones were left to hand out first come, first serve. 

Sprint Executive:  “100… 99… 98… 97…”

It felt like we were in an episode of “24,” and the split-screen was filling up with several different events all happening at once —

1)  Sophia adjusting the laptop in different directions, hoping to steal some wi-fi.

2)  Neil asking the McDonald’s manager for the location of the nearest Starbucks.

3)   The Sprint executive packing phones into boxes, one by one —

Sprint Executive:  “91…90… 89…88…”

“I have an idea!” I told Sophia.  “We can use the Sprint phone from Phase II to help us get the Sprint phone from Phase III.”

Sophia nodded, understanding my suggestion.  The Phase II Sprint phone came with a USB cord that you could connect to the laptop, so you could use the phone as a modem.

I ran outside to the parking lot to search the glove compartment of Sophia’s Prius for the USB data cord.

Sprint Executive:  “81… 80… 79… 78…”

I “sprinted” back into the fast-food joint, clutching the cord.  We connected everything together — the laptop into McDonald’s outlet, the modem into the USB slot, the data cord into the Sprint phone.  As we were about to make lift-off, the phone started to beep and sputter.  Uh-oh, it was seriously out of juice.

“I told you to charge it last night!” yelled Sophia.

“It’s your phone.  Not mine! I don’t have the Phase II fancy-schmancy phone like you do!”  I screamed back.

As in any tense situation, the affected parties began to blame each other for the miserable turn of events.

“Wait…wait…wait….” I shouted.  “I have that emergency Energizer phone charger that Chelle sent me for my birthday!   It’s in the car, still in the package!”

If ever another blogger had saved my marriage, this surely was it.

I ran to the car again. 

Sprint Executive:  “61… 60… 59…”

By the time I rushed back in, holding Chelle’s gift, everyone in the McDonald’s was staring at us, wondering if we doing some top secret government work.

Sprint Executive:  “52… 51…”

All I had to do now was open the package, but it was impossible to do, either with your hands… or with a McDonald’s plastic fork.    I cursed Energizer and their Bunny.    Luckily, a car key finally did the job and sliced the plastic.   I extracted the emergency charger and tried to plug it into the Sprint phone, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it fit.

“Can’t you read?!” said Sophia, annoyed.  “This charger is for your Nokia phone, not for my Sprint LG Phone.”

“Why do they have to make this electronics crap so complicated?!”

Sophia and I glared at each other.  Things were getting worse by the second.  Visions of divorce papers floated over our heads, all because of our greediness for this new Sprint phone.

Sprint Executive:  “48… 47… 46… 45… 44…”

Our quest seemed hopeless.  But as “The Secret” has shown us, if you believe it, good things can happen.

“Over here!  Come over here!”  called out a Voice.  Was it God?

No.  It was some Asian guy in a UCLA shirt, sitting with his Pocket PC on the other side of McDonald’s, beckoning to us.

“If you come over here you can steal wi-fi from the 1-800-Mattress store next door!”

We quickly made the move to the other side of the McDonald’s, right next to the display for their new “Honey Mustard Grilled Chicken Snack Wrap.”   The good Samaritan’s kindness made us feel guilty for the harsh words we exchanged with each other.  We told each other how much we loved each other, and begged that the OTHER sign up first.

“You go first,” I told Sophia.

“No, no, you go.” she said.

The clock was still ticking. 

Sprint Executive:  “31… 30… 29… 28…”

“Well, one of us should sign up already!  Go.” she said.

“OK, if you insist!”

Sprint Executive:  “21… 20…19…”

Frankly, I was really glad I was going first.  I mean, Sophia is great and all, but I AM the blogger.  I’m the one who deserves the phone, right?  I signed up for the Sprint Ambassador Program, Phase III.  It took me about ten minutes, because I had some technical problems.  I received a message that I would be under consideration. 

“My turn!  My turn!” cried Sophia, almost pulling her curly hair out.  I gave her the laptop and she signed up as well.  She got the same message:  under consideration.

Today, Sophia received an email that she was accepted.  They loved all the feedback that she has been giving Sprint.   Her new Sprint phone was in the mail. 

I checked my email.  I received nothing except for a few more spams telling me where to get some Viagra on the cheap. 

The Sanjaya of the Blogosphere

March 28, 2007 / / 43 Comments

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My mother arrived in Los Angeles today, in preparation for Passover next week.   After she unpacked, Sophia and I showed her all of the birthday cards that I received from other bloggers.

“You see, Mom, friendship is more important than actually making a decent living through writing.” 

“Well, let’s not get carried away this…” added Sophia.

My mother opened up a cutesy hand-made card from a Canadian blogger.

“And so many women!”

“Neilochka’s very popular with female bloggers.” explained Sophia.

I beamed with pride.  My mother may have once imagined me as a Jewish doctor or lawyer, but I doubt she dreamed that I would grow up to become an international sex symbol. 

“You’re like that boy on TV,” she said.

“What boy?”

“The boy in American Idol.   The boy all the girls like.  The Indian boy.”

“Sanjaya?”

“Sanjaya!” Sophia repeated, laughing.

I felt insulted by my own mother.  She just nodded.

“When I saw him the first time on TV, I knew he was going to win.  He has so much personality.  So much more than his sister.”

“Personality!?  He’s awful,” I protested.

“Oh, yeah?  I bet you five cents that he wins.” offered my high-gambling mother, her recent Mah-Jongg winnings making her cocky.

For the rest of the day, my mother’s words rang in my head, making me wonder if I should have accepted that Prozac from that therapist last week. 

While my mother was upstairs, I cornered Sophia in the kitchen.

“I’m not like Sanjaya.  Am I?” I stuttered anxiously, acting just like a person with a dependent personality structure.

“Well, maybe your mother has a point.” said Sophia.   “I think little girls like Sanjaya because he is safe and non-threatening.”

“Are you saying female bloggers think I’m safe and non-threatening?”

“Well…”

There was a silence heard around Redondo Beach.

“How can I be safe and non-threatening?!  I’m always writing about sex… about how I want to f**k them!”

“Yeah, well… sure… you write about it.   Sanjaya also wore a mohawk last night, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to be a punk rocker.”

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A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month:  The Best Teacher I Ever Had

Well-Developed Intuition

March 27, 2007 / / 14 Comments

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Sophia got this email today, supposedly from the Ukranian woman in this photo. It links to some dopey website matching American men and young Russian girls.

Hi, dear —

I can imagine that you will wonder to get today the letter from unknown, but pretty woman from such far country like Ukraine. As for me I could not yet believe that I write to foreign man whom I don’t know, but whom I do want. The reason of my letter is very simple: I want to find my love, my soul mate, that is why I am here. I decided to try to find love with you. I feel with all fibres of my soul that you are descent man and your heart is kind and is able to love. You may ask me how I know. I will tell you that I have well-developed intuition and my intuition chose you among thousands. and I want you to become the One…

I ask you not to ignore my letter and not to throw it to the rubbish bin. Read it, please, as attentively as you can. I am as serious as i have never been. I am fed up to be lonely and to feel jelous if I see loving couples. I want to scream, I want to cry, but I doing nothing I won’t change situation. If love don’t come to me, I want to invite love to come into my heart. And that is why I need to find my soul mate. If you agree to help me to find love, become my soul mate -write me, I will wait (at some website)

Waiting for your mail

Nastena

Sophia: “Isn’t that funny?”

Neil: “I dunno. It’s kind of touching.”

Sophia: “Are you crazy? It is email spam saying I’m her male soulmate!”

Neil: “Maybe it’s my new poetic sensibility. I feel her yearning for love.”

Sophia: “It’s fake!”

Neil: “What is “fake” after all? Isn’t all writing “fake?” On the other hand, maybe life itself is an illusion? And language is the reality. Do we even know if the material world exists outside of language?”

Sophia: “Yes, we do. And I STILL want you to clean the guest bathroom before your mother shows up for Passover.”

Neil: “Wait, wait… poetic inspiration —
“Ah, graceful toilet, porcelain throne,
Sitting in the corner, yet all alone…””

(THE REST OF THIS POST WAS DELETED ON THE ADVICE OF THE BLOG EDITOR AND THE SUBJECT COMPLETELY CHANGED)

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I have a lot of bad qualities. I can be vain. I can be passive-aggressive. I sometimes stare at cleavage a little too long. But I DO KEEP MY WORD. For my birthday, a few bloggers sent me scratch-off lottery tickets from other states and Canada. In a previous post about my birthday, I said that if I won something, I would share the winnings with my fellow bloggers. Well, good news! Indiana’s own Oospy Daisy sent me a “9’s in a Line” scratch-off from the Hoosier Lottery, and we’ve hit the jackpot. Three nines in a row! Ten dollars!

Who wants in? Just tell me and once I work out the long division, I will mail you a check with your share of the winnings. It’s the least I could do to repay your for all of YOUR kindness.

By the way, Danny has been in New York, so I still haven’t seen some of your birthday cards and gifts, which are still in his living room. So, if I haven’t thanked you yet, don’t blame me, blame Danny.

Quiz

March 27, 2007 / / 27 Comments

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For which website am I LEAST likely to have written a post today?

A) ebony-ivory.oregon.gov — African-Americans Who Love Portland

B) do-svidanya.ru — The Self-Help Site for Separated Men with Foreign-Born Wives

C) members-only.biz — A Forum for Co-Dependent Men and Their Co-Dependent Penises

D) poetrythursday.org — An online project that builds community by encouraging bloggers to read and enjoy poetry, as well as sharing it with others.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Teacher of the Year

Mama’s Boy

March 25, 2007 / / 38 Comments

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Dear Mom,

I think it’s great that you coming to visit on Wednesday.  I know you think you’re coming for Passover, but before we have any seder, we have one with little matter to discuss —

You see, on Friday, I went to my very first therapy session.   The doctor seemed like a nice enough guy, although all his Peruvian and Asian vases gave off a pretentious vibe.  I would have felt more at ease chatting with him if his office was decorated like a Denny’s coffee shop. 

The doctor asked me several questions while reading from a little red book and making notes on his computer.

“Do you ever feel anxious?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Do you wake up in the middle of the night, feeling anxious?”

“No.”

“Do you ever wake up wanting to harm yourself?”

“No.   Uh, unless you’re using that as a euphemism for “playing with yourself?””

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Just joking.”

“Do you feel depressed?”

“Right now?”

“No.  In general.”

“Not really.”

“Do you sometimes not want to get out of bed in the morning?”

“That’s depression?!  I thought that was normal?”

After forty five minutes, he told me that I should see someone else, mostly because he was a psychiatrist who dealt primarily in medications, while what I really needed was THERAPY.  And, yes, he did say “really needed.”  He offered me some Prozac and said I should look for a good cognitive behaviorist therapist.

“So, no Thai massage therapists?” I asked.

“No.”

Therapy = not funny. 

Oh, and what does he think is wrong with me?   Well, he didn’t give me a definitive diagnosis, but he thinks I have a “dependent personality structure,” or as Sophia immediately called it – Mama’s Boy Ailment (M.B.A.)

In other words, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, MOM!

So, Mom, I thought of buying the Streit’s matzo for the seder before you show up, but it just tastes so much better when YOU buy it.   See you soon…

P.S. — 

Sophia’s funny tagline of the day:

“Finally, I got a husband with an M.B.A!”

A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month:  The Racist Cabbie

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