"If It Occurs To Me, I'll Write About It"

Click here to go to the latest entry!
Click the link at the top of each entry to go to the next entry!
Fishken's Column has been archived!  Click here to go to the archives!


January, 2005

Depression

A sense of humor to greet the new year?  I’m not sure.  It’s gotten so bad that the Middle East crisis is beneath the radar.  Korea and nuclear weapons, a mere gnat on the ass of civilization.  It is the combined effect of deaths from the Asian tsunami and the daily death count from Iraq.  The political ‘season’ was tumultuous, but this is tough to bear.  And, is it just me?  Or, does it look like our culture is in the process of collapse?  Though we are supposed to go about our daily lives, how are we supposed to deal with the depression brought on by these tragic and horrifying events?   Who do we ask for advice?

In modern western ‘society,’ we tend to look first to the medical  profession, especially it’s little helper, the drug industry, or as they would have you say, the pharmaceutical industry.  Hey, a drug is a drug.  Here’s how they would have you handle the depression you are experiencing.

The basic medications used for depression today are:

* Tricyclic antidepressants such as Elavil, Tofranil, and Pamelor are prescribed for patients who are in despair, feeling helpless, and unable to feel pleasure.
* Serotonin uptake inhibitors such as Prozac, Paxil, and Effexor, all prescribed for uncomplicated depression.
* Monoamine Oxidase (mao) Inhibitors like Nardil and Parnate: These medications are usually used when depressive symptoms are accompanied by symptoms of an anxiety disorder.
* Lithium: This is the most effective drug for manic depression. However, it can also be used to prevent recurring episodes of depression.

Not everyone likes drugs! So, for those who prefer to talk it through, there’s this:  Cognitive Restructuring (Cognitive Therapy)

Cognitive restructuring is a set of strategies designed to help you manage the "hot" thoughts and cognitive distortions that drive problems and symptoms. The goal is to identify extreme, self-damaging biases and to apply more reasonable interpretations and expectations about key areas of life, like safety and self-worth. Cognitive restructuring is not the "power of positive thinking" but rather the power of seeing more clearly and accepting life as a balance of both positive and negative experience. Steps include:

    * Identify "hot" thoughts and distortions
    * Develop reasonable, balanced thoughts
    * Develop a coaching inner voice
    * Detach from obsessive worry and anger

This sounds awfully difficult, especially compared to simply popping a pill, or a combination of pills, or pills plus a beer, glass of wine, or shooter, or the whole batch put in the old Waring Blender with some ice, perhaps some chocolate syrup and a scoop of FRENCH vanilla ice cream.  Suck on that while doing some cognitive restructuring.  Whoa, Nelly!

If neither of these approaches suits you, there are numerous ‘new age’ approaches to dealing with depression.  There’s massage, mud baths, mud beverages, various soothing sounds, extended orgasm therapy (good for any ailment, really) and the foolproof...Fragrance Therapy.  Here are some of the recommended flower essences.

ToeToe
When a person is in deep despair, feeling like they are falling. This flower essence will catch one and lift one out of a hole. Helps give one the strength to stand tall (like the Toetoe plant in the wind), and beat the adversity one believes is in one's life.

Echium
For hopelessness and despair, giving up.  The blue flowers, like the blue sky, are full of promise.  Buoyed up with hope and life.

Chrysanthemum
Feeling helpless - like the sun going down.  Brings the new dawning, full of promise and vigor.  The promise of ripeness, full of potential.

Yellow Flower Bush  
To lift people out of their depression.  A “catalyst” essence, that enables the other essences in an essence mix to work more easily and more fully.

Not bad.  All of this stuff can be purchased over the internet, or at Bath & Body, or from that old woman in your neighborhood, the one who lives in that big, dark house next to the vacant lot.

Looking back in history, we also find some advice to consider.  It is thought that ancient man saw mental illness, including depression, as possession by supernatural forces. Ancient human skulls have been found with large holes in them. The accepted theory is that it was an attempt to let evil spirits out.  (I have a large hole in my head.  The sign says, “Dad.”)

I know this is extreme, but people still practice this approach to letting the evil spirits out – gun powder, bullets, all that. Don’t try it.

Now some of you resent my light-hearted approach to dealing with the world’s events and the consequent depression.  It’s my way of dealing with it after spending day after day listening to and watching the news.  Lots of people took a similar approach during World War II.  They made up songs about that ‘stupid’ Hitler.  There were cartoons and comics and movies and comedy routines while millions of people died and the world was at risk.  Maybe the comedians went home and cried.  Who knows?

March 2005

Crying

We recently hosted a show that featured Martin Swinger, a fine performer who is entertaining, versatile, genuine, great with kids (he earns much of his living teaching kids how to write songs) and a dog owner (a terrific Corgi that is happy to meet everybody).  During Martin’s performance he told a brief story about his mother and he began to choke up and cry on stage, just a little.  He laughed it off and went on with the show.  It was a sweet moment, virtually unparalleled in my recollection.  I was touched by the ease with which he handled the emotion of the moment, and since I have been a crier all my life, what better topic than crying for my column.  Thanks, Martin.

The first thoughts that came to mind when I fed ‘crying’ into the cerebral hopper were musical, and the very first was of Johnny Ray singing “Cry.”  ‘When your sweetheart sends a letter of goodbye.’  Do you need any more lyrics to set you off?  Johnny Ray squirmed around and stoked up this torcher of a song on the Ed Sullivan Show; it was a huge hit in the 1950's.  The song was so good, it stood up to several revivals, most notably, the one by Ray Charles.  This neural cortical event was quickly followed by another, Roy Orbison’s “Crying.”  Like Johnny Ray’s performance, Orbison’s cry at the top of his range could simply not be ignored, even if you played Carter Family songs on the autoharp, or didgeridoo in the Aboriginal National Orchestra. (I just heard a very nice version by Mark Erelli.)   Now, close your eyes and hear Hank Williams sing, “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”  It’s right there at the tip of your temporal lobe.  There is plenty of crying in music.  In fact, as a trio, Richard Shindell, Lucy Kaplansky and Dar Williams are called Cry Cry Cry.  Having been married three times, you might have seen me “Crying In The Chapel.”

Yet, crying is generally not understood.  What little research there is is mostly focused on crying babies and what they are trying to communicate, hunger, irritability, pain or just annoyance by being forced to watch the Oscar awards show.  Some company has just come out with a device that translates the baby’s cry so you can attend to it appropriately.  Darn the research, full speed ahead to the cash register.

The problem we face in trying to understand crying is that it happens when we are distraught, a little bit sad, angry and even happy.  There’s controllable crying and uncontrollable crying.  My favorite is when you cry so uncontrollably that you can’t catch your breath and pass out.  This is remarkably similar to what happens with uncontrollable laughter.  You can laugh so hard that it hurts, then you break into tears.  So, what gives?  Crying seems to be associated with the broadest range of emotions we experience.

A major branch of psychology is the study of emotions, and almost all the research is about the body’s reaction to stress.  It’s all about blood pressure, the conductivity of your skin, the dilation of your pupils and the parts of your brain that turn red and blue and yellow when the brain scanner is turned on.  But there’s nothing about crying.  (There’s a lot about depression, but not much about sadness.)

People like to think that animals cry.  However, there is no scientific evidence that animals shed tears, and that includes crocodiles. Animals may howl or make other sounds upon the death of a ‘pal,’ but no tears are shed.  My dog would fall asleep when I watched The Grapes of Wrath.  I went through a box of tissues.

Crying, i.e., shedding tears, is, at least in our culture, more acceptable for females, though Frankie Valli insisted that “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”  This bothers me.  I like to cry.  I cry at the movies and even when I watch commercials.  Cheryl always glances over at me to see if I am crying ‘yet.’  I coached in a girls softball league.  The girls would cry about all sorts of things.  I wanted to, also, but it was not culturally acceptable.  I don’t know why women have more right to cry than men.  I don’t like it.  When men cry in public they are the butt of all kinds of snide remarks.  When women cry in public, it is a perfectly acceptable expression of emotion.  It’s not fair.

Generally, I like to end my columns with a moral or a universal truth or a question for you to contemplate between columns.  But all I can do is again offer thanks to Martin for giving us a fine moment.  Cry on, Martin old boy, and hand me a tissue.

May 2005

I love listening to the old music, like those early recordings that Harry Smith put together in his Anthology of American Folk Music.  It would have been great fun taking walks, and car rides, with A.P. (Alvin Pleasant!) Carter as he searched for songs that the Carter Family could sing and record.  And it would have been a hoot to hang out with John Lomax as he collected and recorded folk songs, including some of my favorite cowboy songs.  I’d like to have been a fly on the wall when Ralph Peer set up his studio to discover talent hidden in the hills and valleys of the south.  This old music is delectably  raw sounding and simple.  We listen to this music as students, and perhaps to reproduce it as it was.

The old music comes to us in other ways.  Before these was any recording technology, performers worked from written lyrics and musical notation, of course.  Performances in music halls and parlors were interpretations of what the songwriters intended.  Songs also came to us through oral and aural traditions.  Over time, and from place to place, the melodies and the lyrics would change because memory is not perfect, hearing is not perfect and some sought to ‘improve’ the music.  No matter the method of song preservation, it’s likely that the songs were in an ongoing state of flux.

The modern recording industry seems to magnify this phenomenon.  Good songs are recorded by many artists and the result is greater variation, rather than standardization.  When musicians get together and choose a song to play, they will discuss whose version has influenced them.  Today, you can listen to different versions of a song by flicking a switch.  In the old days, you’d have to travel some to hear the different versions.  It’s even possible that the original versions of most of the old songs are unknown, even to the most serious student.

I greatly admire the musician-musicologist whose aim it is to preserve the music ‘as it was.’  This individual might recreate what is heard on the earliest known recordings, or might reproduce what was heard in the field, perhaps the end result of the oral/aural transport of a song.  But since the music is in a constant state of flux, I believe, even this expert can only play for you a snapshot of the song, what it is in that moment, for it was different before and will be different after.  A modern illustration is what happened to the song ‘Tom Dula,’ which Frank Proffitt sang to Frank Warner.  Warner recorded Proffitt’s version and later passed it along to Alan Lomax (son of John), who published it.  The Kingston Trio stumbled upon it, tinkered with it, called it ‘Tom Dooley,’ and the rest is history, as it is said.  Many of us who love the old music would never have heard the old version if the Kingston Trio had not modernized and commercialized it.

The history of many, many songs can be traced back to the earliest recordings, and even earlier if there was published sheet music, or if the song had been passed along within a family or among musician friends.  If you are a musician and wish to perform the song, you can choose your favorite version from among the variations, and/or add a variation of your own.  That’s your privilege.  You are merely following in the steps of those who came before.  However, I want to give you a warning.

There are amongst us dogmatists who say that their chosen versions  are the best because they are ‘traditional,’ implying that their version sounds like the earliest version.  (This is often impossible to know, of course.)  These people refer to themselves as purveyors of traditional music, re-creationists of the music the way it was.  I like listening to this music.  The problem I have is that some of these re-creationists want to make other musicians feel badly about not singing ‘in the tradition.’  Re-creationists insult other musicians, referring to them as  ‘derivative.’  Better to be a ‘copy cat,’ I suppose.

These critics, who in their own opinion reside at the pinnacle of their self-serving hierarchy, appear in all artistic and scientific disciplines.  Instead of nurturing members of their community, they belittle them, sometimes openly, sometimes subtly, and surely in defense of their self-appointed, lofty, hierarchical position.  These critics are out to make you feel badly about the music you are creating.  Watch out for them.  They hide amongst you.

August/September 2005

On Hurricane Katrina

It is unfair that I slept on these clean sheets last night, while others slept, if at all, amidst the mess, the stink, the wet, the heat.

It is unfair that I am home, while others are like stray dogs, seeking refuge.

It is unfair that with one flush I send the waste away, while others wade in waste.

It is unfair that I can start my car, go anywhere, while others wait for buses to take them to another place that is not home.

It is unfair that I can go to work and come home each night, while others have neither work nor homes.

It is unfair that I can call my kids on the phone, while others cannot find their kids.

It is unfair that I can choose among my pairs of shoes, while others wear the same pair every day.

It is unfair that I can sit back in my blue, reclining chair and watch TV or read my book, while others live on cots, in public, waiting, for something.

It is unfair.  It was unfair.  It will be unfair.

December 2005

It’s holiday season 2005 and there are things I want, just as in years past. I feel somewhat less materialistic this year, however, and I’m unnerved by that. It could be attributable to my having found my ideal pens, notebooks and flat picks in the past year or so. Maybe it’s because I am so pleased by my new, and inexpensive, guitar. Perhaps it is owing to how well my 1996 Lumina is running, as the white paint peels from roof and doors, flicking off the windshields of cars behind me. Could it be because I am reading again as I try to wean myself from television? Or, is it attributable to my having found a job that may just be alright? Is it the wondrous Cheryl?

This year, I want a dog. A dog is man’s best friend. It is content, most of the time; see its wagging tail, happily dangling tongue, bright eyes and smile. The dog I want is white with black patches. It’s half whippet, half Labrador retriever, and half something else to get the color right. He weighs around 40-50 pounds, has short hair, and is full of energy. Like me, this dog is initially suspicious of children.  He sniffs them, runs away, and seeks my protection. At most, he tolerates children. As a mixed-bred dog, he is intelligent, able to learn complex tasks, like poker. He has trouble shuffling the cards, though. His mixed breed  translates into very good health, and a life expectancy of 30 years. By then, there may be new treatments for aging-dog maladies, and he’ll go on even longer. This pal of mine prefers me to my wife, but is clever enough to allow Cheryl to think that he prefers her. A meal is a meal, for all that. He might have one set of puppies, if I can find his female equal. His smell is bubbling brook during spring thaw. His stools are perfection, easily and wholly picked up in a plastic bag. His collar is made of hemp and his tag reads, “WOOF.” He does not give his paw to anyone but me. Woof costs $12 plus $5 for his license. His shots are free.

Ordinarily, I’d employ this ‘seasonal’ column to promote peace on earth, brotherhood, all that. Truth be told, the message is tiresome. I used to think that man’s basic nature was to be kind and honest. But as we begin to crowd each other out geographically and ideologically, hostility holds sway. Trickery and greed exist everywhere. So, it’s isolationism for me. Focus on the local. Do what I can.

Maybe it’s the Zoloft.

February 2006

It’s February 2006 and I’m not doing much of a job at keeping up a monthly column. My regular gig announcement emails seem to have taken over the role to some degree. But the Winter Olympics are coming, and that stirs me into activity.

The Winter Olympics began, formally, in 1928, although there was figure skating and other winter sports in the 1924 Olympic Carnival. There was no figure skating in Greece during the original Olympics. The Olympic committee would not approve it. In 1928, Sonia Henie was the ice-skating star. She was beautiful and talented. Everyone wanted to have sex with her; no one did. This was similar to the original Greek Olympics, when everyone wanted to have sex with Dimitri Macrodopolis after watching him come to life at the finish of the marathon. Everyone had sex with Dimitri.

Not only were the Winter Olympics about sex, they were also about methods of performance enhancement. In some countries, the threat of death was used to encourage athletes to do their very best. This method was used most recently in Iraq. It’s difficult to know if this method works. Selective breeding has also been used for performance enhancement. The fastest, strongest, most durable, most skillful, etc., men and women would be paired off to create offspring that would hopefully be Olympic-worthy. After several generations, this technique had to be abandoned; offspring had only vestiges of genitalia. Finally, experimental pharmacology in the twentieth century provided the best means of performance enhancement, drugs! The best of the bunch is steroids. They enhance athletic performance and work for several years. The athlete usually dies, but it is several years after his or her useful days as an athlete. That athlete will have been long forgotten by then.

Winter Olympic sports are a hoot. I like the biathlon, cross-country skiing and target shooting with a rifle. This year, the addition of snipers will boost the popularity of this sport. Luge is cool, too. One man, one sled zooming through the course at amazing speed. Check out the uniforms! Then there is the best of the best, women’s singles figure skating. On the one hand, look at those lovelies as they prance around the rink, scantily clad, smiling broadly, all the way. Yummy! Then there’s the drama of the competition, the gasps, the tears, joy, misery. Who can forget the misguided determination of Tanya Harding and the howling bawls of Nancy Kerrigan. All this while wearing those skimpy, little outfits. Whew!.

So, let the drugs be distributed. Let the judges collect their bribes. Let the international breeding begin. Guess what I’ll be watching.







back to top