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Half Way There

As mentioned elsewhere, I graduated with my Master's in Clinical Psychology yesterday. The hat-head was bearable, and, indeed, it was a remarkably non-painful experience. And odd description, I know, but I was expecting something other than it was. What it was, was nice. Well done. Gratifying.

And I got my diploma and everything.

So now I'm off to school, as usual, and I still have way more to do than I know how to do. But participating yesterday and gathering my diploma was a nice mid-point review of my graduate school experience. I'm not sure if Tres Hombres will be around in three years, but if so, I promise to post about my next graduation. The next graduation is really the big enchalada. This one was more of a junior burrito. But anyone who knows take-out Mexican food knows that the junior burrito is plenty filling...so I am well sated for now.

The Shining

Scariest movie of all time. Every scene, every shot. And then it gets worse.

Doesn't matter that I've seen it 25 times.

Surfing.

Yes, really.

I took it up just about a year ago. A friend of mine is really into it - goes about three times a week on his way to work - and has a few spare boards, so we went out on a Saturday morning. He loaned me a spring suit and an 8 foot board and we were on our way into the water.

It was around 7am and the sun was up, but just a bit. We were at Sunset Cliffs, which is one of the truly great places on earth, and there were surprisingly few people out in the water. (It's worth mentioning here that if you hit the surfline at 5am in San Diego, you'll encounter more than just a handful of others out in the water. These people are serious about their surfing.) The waves were piddly things - maybe only 3 or 4 feet tall - but more than enough to knock me off the board.

I got out in the lineup, which is a sort of connect-the-dots line of surfers you can see a few hundred feet parallel to the shore, and waited for the waves. Most days, waves come in sets, and sometimes one can wait ten or fifteen (or more) minutes for good ones to come in. And as I sat in the lineup, just floating there on my board, I watched the sun making its way up the sky and heard not much but water.

And I was immediately hooked.

I barely ever get out - maybe twice a month if I'm lucky - and I'm terrible when I'm there. In the unlikely event that I'm able to actually stand up and ride a wave, the ride is brief. (For me, the typical ride on a wave is something like Thomas Hobbes' description of life: "nasty, brutish, and short".) I wait in the lineup until I find a good wave, paddle madly, and just as the wave starts to crest, I spring up from lying on my front to a sort of half-standing, half-squatting position...and typically fall over at that point. I'm usually churned underwater for a good five to ten seconds - which feels much longer than that underwater - when I fear that the front end of my board (9.5 feet of fiberglass) is going to crack me in the head. And then I pop my head up from underwater, grin, and let out a whoop of some sort. It is, both surprisingly and counterintuitively, great fun.

I've probably never enjoyed anything quite so much that I was quite so bad at. And I've got the gear to act like a real-deal surfer guy: a full wetsuit, a spring suit (basically a wetsuit with short sleeves and short pant legs), and a great (borrowed) longboard. There's a soft roof rack for the top of the family truckster (Subaru Outback wagon) and, importantly, a pair of flip flops.

I do this all for maybe 45 minutes, get out of the water, sit on the shore, and then watch the good surfers catch a few waves for a while. Shortly thereafter, I towel off, change out of my suit, drive down the street, and grab a burrito.

I think I need to go tomorrow morning.

A Funny Hat

I will participate in my school's graduation on Sunday to pick up my Master's degree. It's a little strange, since I'm continuing and will we toiling in school for another two or three years. But whatever. I'm walking. Why not.

So I picked up my cap and gown the other day. Here's the thing. It's the most ridiculous looking hat you could ever wear. It's a record album (remember those?) on the top of a skull cap. The skull cap is way tight. Which makes the hair near my ears stick out like bozo (remember him?). Which means I will be having a funny looking head during the 2-hour ceremony, which will be immediately followed by a funny looking head after the ceremony.

This is a no-win situation for my head.

The Sense Most Valued

I have sensitive ears, and the longer I live I become more and more aware at how much I value my hearing. Words truly cannot describe the value I place on hearing.

I get a plugged left ear every now and then, and I have one right now. It makes me crazy-nuts when I can't hear so well out of my left ear. I'm so disoriented and cloudy when this happens, and I get scared that this will happen more and more often.

I started playing music at six-years-old. And for whatever skill I had on the drums, it is pretty clear to me that my best asset as a musician was my ability to listen to my fellow musicians and play along with them. I was a pretty good drummer with some skill and chops...but my forte was being able to blend in almost immediately in whatever situation I played. I got that by playing all styles of music in my formative years...from pop to rock to metal to jazz to polkas to classical to blues to opera to cajun to gospel to disco to funk to r&b to bad cruise ship gigs. I did all of that and more, and the thing that allowed me to do that was not my hands--indeed, most drummers had better "hands" than I had. But I had good ears, and that got me through a lot of gigs. Got me into some incredibly magical situations, too, as I was able to hear and react and play almost any song as if I had heard it before, even though it was brand new to me. Fellow musicians have said many more good things about my ears than my hands. I was always happy with that.

And now, in my next life-act, my ears are still paramount. I'm trying to be a therapist for crying out loud. I've long felt that I like psychology and therapy because there is a creative element to therapy. Every client and sesison is different, and a good therapist needs to be able to listen, adapt, and react. Can't do that without good ears. As a practicing therapist, as I was as a practicing musician, I am interested in developing "good ears." Good ears is so far more important to me than good chops. Good ears create good chops. It's not so much about practicing as it is about listening. Practice is important. Listening is more important.

And I have a plugged ear.

Peanut Butter Update

There I am in Trader Joe's this morning, buying my hundred bucks of frozen fruit and embarrassing bachelor food. Sadly, I approach the peanut butter section, not so much to buy peanut butter, but rather to reminisce about the good times it and I once had together. Remember the good old days with Joe's peanut butter before it got all repackaged, runny, and bad? Ah yes, I remember them well.

But Lo! Behold! A sign. An actual sign. Something like this:

Runny Butter? (in large print)
This years crop of peanuts was affected by too much/too little sun (I can't remember which), which produces a more oily peanut. Also, our first run this year had the machines set on too fine of a grind, leading to the runny peanut butter. This has been addressed!

HOW GREAT IS THAT? My God. I will shop there for ever and ever and ever based on that one little stinkin' sign.

Howling

I take no credit for this, as it was posted by Megan and I found it through Betsy.

I laughed so hard I almost broke something.

Two Thoughts from Tonight's Soundtrack

1. Had Dream of the Blue Turtles playing during dinner. "Russians" came on. Who would have thought at the time that Sting's solo career would outlive the Soviet Union? At the time, the guy was fresh out of the Police with plenty of questions about his viability as a solo artist and the Soviet Union was, well, the Soviet Union. (Like USC football but with missles.) Six years after, nobody can remember what "C.C.C.P." stood for on their hockey jerseys and Sting is still only at Soul Cages with plenty of gas left in the tank.

It's delightfully anachronistic to hear him sing "Mr. Reagan says we will protect you".

2. An anagram of "Sting and the Police" is "spoil a decent thing". I promise that I'm not making that up.

Now back to the discussion about the cruise ship.

Tres Hombres

Study Breaks

When one has played drums for 30 years (ouch), it is impossible not to be an exceptionally accomplished air-drummer, especially when actual drumming in one's life is scarce and one is in dire need of fantastical study breaks where one is still convinced of the possibility of world drumming domination.

You Think You're Self Indulgent?

You don't know Vin

My Site

My Space

Hoops

Tomorrow I take a state certification exam that will hopefully provide me with an LPC (Licensed Professional Counselor)...ah...thing. The LPC means nothing. What it does is...and pay attention here...it allows me to take another test in a few years that will get me the LCPC (Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor) thing. That's a master's level therapist. The LPC, for which I've studied for 2 1/2 months, is worthless. Literally. 'cept the $300 I sent the state of Illinois. I have to get 3,460 hours of supervised therapy under my belt...two years of full time work...in order to be eligible for the LCPC, which is the degree that means something. So, I take a test that allows me to work for free in order to take another test. But I already work for free, and I have for a year and a half. Doesn't matter. Then, here's more. I work for free this year, and then again next year. Then, after that, I'll be on Internship. It will hopefully be sometime during that year that I'll get the LCPC. During this year I will finally be paid for doing all of this, and the average salary for an intern is...and I'm not lying about this...is somewhere between $15,000 and $20,000 per year. So. Then, if all is well, I'd be licensed at the masters level. And then I'd gradiate and be a doc. Yay, right? EEEHHHHH. Wrong. Gotta do a post-doc. Gotta work for another 2,000 hours before I'm eligible to take what's called an EPPP (or an E-triple-P, and I don't know what the E and the P's stand for). After that 2,000 hours...for which I'll be paid...maybe 30 grand? I can take the E-triple-freakin-P and then I'll be done.

For those of you who did not have a pencil:
- 3 licensing exams, 1 of which doesn't really count, 'cept for the 3 months I've lost recently
- 3,460 hours MORE of free work. On top of the 1,000 I gave last year.
- Then, 2,000 hours of very poorly paid work as an intern.
- Then, 2,000 hours of poorly paid work as a post-doc, after which I can finally take the EPPP, which is a funny sounding name for a test after 6 1/2 years and 8,500 hours of working as a therapist.

They should call it the expensively, socially, emotionally, and personally debilitating hoop test.

Effing Great

This past Wednesday night I was teaching some med school students how to be "culturally competent" (whatever that means). It's one of my part time jobs.

During a role play, where I was playing a Jehovah's Witness refusing surgery even though I needed a biopsy, a student was (finally) doing well in hearing my concerns and negotiating his way through a difficult situation. I let him go on and on because he was doing well, and his classmates had been pretty bad up until then. So I let the kid go for a while.

When I stepped out of "role" and into teacher mode, I was praising the guy. Before I knew it, I said, "Man, that was fucking great!"

Not sure that the fine (?) students at Xxxxxxxxx University are used to hearing that. I'm kinda wondering if that'll get back to me.

Betsy tells a good story about saying "awesome" during some hoity toity luncheon with some premiere academic-types at one of the more prestigious universities in existence. Not sure if I topped her (my Xxxxxx University is not HER university), but I'm trying.

Wallace. Gromit. Joy.

I took the lovely Mrs. Pinata and the two little pinatas to see "Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" last night. We had an absolute blast. These days, I very rarely take the family to the movies, as we wind up blowing about $40 to see a movie we may or may not like. Generally, I'm more inclined to wait the three of four months until the DVD comes out and we can watch it at home for $5. So, we generally only go if we really want to see something.

What a hoot. I've been a fan of Wallace and Gromit for a long time - in fact, Vinnissimo and I saw one of the first ones at an animation festival when we were in college in Miami - and this only serves to further the greatness that is Wallace and Gromit. It's the sort of movie where you don't feel that guys from the marketing department were sitting around the table during the writing sessions.

Only Aardman animation could convince my kids to pretend to be rabbits this morning.

A Model For Everything

Intuitive

When It Goes, It Goes Far Away

When you are in the groove...the sleeping groove...you can just put your head down, and you are asleep in seconds and you are out all the way until your alarm goes off 7 or so hours later. When you are in the groove, you think, man, I really sleep well, I feel sorry for those people who can't. Why can't those other people just relax? 'cause I have no problem with this. I do this well. You go to bed, you fall asleep, you stay asleep, you wake up.

As if you are making some sort of decision about it.

And then you lose the groove. Sometimes you can't fall asleep. Other times you wake up early. Still other times you'll be awake in the middle of the night for a few hours. Confusion strikes. What is going on here? I'm tired, I'm resting, I should sleep. Can't sleep. Hmmmmm. Sometimes it's a tossy-turny thing, sometimes you are perfectly comfortable, but you are just awake. And you think, what am I doing differently? Why can't I cool off? These pillows suck! And they were expensive! 4 hours...3 hours...ackk!

And there is clearly nothing decision-like about it.

You

What's crazy is that if you blog about something like Bigfoot, your web hits go WAY up because of all the people that google things like Bigfoot.

That's right. You googled Bigfoot.

And now you're here.

Kevin Trudeau?

Anybody?

Let It Rest In Peace

It is way past time to retire my "I was in a band once called ______" joke. I mean, come on. Betsy's blog has been a victim of that bit far too many times, again today.

And it's not that I even think it's that funny. It just happens. Like a reflex. I can't help it. I'm not expecting big laughs or hilarity. I understand how mundane and even annoying that it has become. It's like a bulbous nostril in the mirror that isn't quite funny looking and you don't want to call attention to it but there is something about my own bulbous nostril and I'm stuck in between acknowledging it and ignoring it and I end up, boringly, acknowledging it. And I will not mention something about "bulbous nostril" that could be mentioned, because just becuase it has the potential to lend itself to a recently retired joke, that does not make the joke funny, which is why it is now retired.

(And I am writing more and more like Betsy every time I blog, which might be insulting to her, but I can't stop because it's fun, and I mean it as an homage rather than an insult, I hope. And it really is just kind of happening.)

Bigfoot! In the burbs! Yes!

The greatest thing to happen to the far-Chicago suburbs is here.

I saw Bigfoot once. Really. Scared me out of my mind. I was 7 or 8 years old and I was at home. He (She?) was on the Six Million Dollar Man, and Steve Austin was chasing him (her?) and Austin couldn't catch Sasquatch. If Steve Austin couldn't catch Bigfoot, then how could I be safe? And see? I was right. Bigfoot does inhabit the suburbs.

Psychology de Teodoro

Had a no-show on Thursday, so I had some time to kill. Took a psychology assessment of myself, since I have access to that stuff. I took the single most validated and researched psychological assessment instrument that exists. 567 true/false questions. It's the real deal. A very good assessment. Very complicated, and hard to fake...even if you know what the test does. Very good test/re-test reliability, since it's hard to remember 567 questions. So it didn't matter that I knew the test. I might have been able to fake some stuff, but the test is sophisticated enough that even if I tried to fake some stuff, it would nail me on others. I say this to say: I took a test.

I am:
1) psychologically well-adjusted
2) faking good
3) frankly psychotic and delusional

This is true. Those are quotes. I spiked on the "paranoia" scale, which means I make shit up. I am able to fake my way through my day so that people don't notice that I make shit up. Besides that, I'm really a pretty healthy guy. That's what that says.

I think there was also something there about being overly sensitive and brooding. No shit, right?

But isn't that how we want our psychologists-in-training to be? Overly sensitive and brooding, and with a goatee full of steadily whitening hair? Furrowed brow? Knuckles to chin?

And am I now breaking my Bonaduce-inspired stance about keeping the therapy door closed?

Oh stop. I'm just having fun and I can't sleep. (See: delusional worry in the previous sentence.)

Now that's just mean.

Somebody put caf in the decaf tonight, and since my cup was at about 7:30, that means I'll get to sleep around 4.

I'm not happy.

There oughta be a law.
Someone needs to be fined.

New Tunes

Sadly, I'm not playing much (any) music these days. Had a gig last month with a Cajun band for a Katrina benefit. Other than that? Picked up a gig in May. Before that? The previous June. Sad. My past is slipping away. Will they let a 40+ year old play rock clubs? 'cause that's when I'll be able to do that again at the earliest.

Anyway, my best bud Eric has a new CD out, on which I played and sang pretty frequently. He just announced the CD here. Good, fun stuff. Eric is scary fucking talented on the guitar, and he's a better writer than anything else. This is a pretty eclectic combination of songs for him...and along with some of the funniest tunes he's written, some of his most beautiful work is on this, too.

New music discovery here. The dude from Soul Coughing. Cool record.

Anybody else want to turn me on to some new tunes? I need something fresh in my ears as my apartment goes stale from too much work.

Pete And I Have Very Many Things In Common

One of my all-time faves is blogging. Looks like an online novel of some sort. I don't have nearly the time to read it, but I love that it's there.

My Peanut Butter Lacks Consistency!

Trader Joe's, previously the source for the single best peanut butter on the planet, has apparently changed suppliers, and their peanut butter is now an unsatisfying mass of goo that has insufficient taste, annoying consistency, sparse crunch content, and an overall poor quality that leaves my breakfasts wanting.

Why, God? Why?

Ideology of Friendism

I think I've figured out the thing that really bugs me most about the nomination of Harriet Miers for the Supreme Court. I know very little about Ms. Miers beyond the fact that she's one of the President's cronies. And that's the rub for me. It sure seems that our President's seeming addiction to personal relationships has hamstrung his ability to effectively lead our nation. If you're his friend, he trusts you and will nominate you for an important role. And to be perfectly honest, I don't have a huge problem with that type of philosophy to a certain degree. I think that personal loyalty and relationships are really important. But it does seem to me that the meritocracy we cherish in American culture (be talented, work hard, get ahead) is being throttled by the cronyism of the Bush administration. There's a fine line between personal loyalty and nepotism, and I feel that the line has blurred quite a bit recently.

Mike Brown as FEMA chief? That obviously didn't go so well.

Karen Hughes as America's face to the Muslim world? Interesting choice. Smart lady, but what does she know of Islam and Arab culture? She's a former TV news reporter who has essentially been a spin doctor for the administration. What does that say about our sincerity in dealing with the Muslim world? She recently made the public statement that "our constitution references 'one nation under God'". Um...no, it doesn't. That's the Pledge of Allegiance, and the phrase was added in 1954. An innocent enough mistake, of course, but then she restated it a second time in an interview. That's either foolish or reckless, and haven't we had enough of both in our relations with the middle east?

Harriet Miers as Supreme Court justice? Is this just the latest in a long line of cronies? I'm betting that Ms. Miers is a very, very smart person, but it sure does seem that her primary qualification for the job is that she's a very smart lawyer who happens to be a good friend of the president. For Pete's sake, we're not a banana republic - can't we stop acting like one?

It's what I got...

I'd probably have something witty, insightful, or entertaining (believe me, those do not necessarily come as a package, and there is not a guarantee of any of them) to say about the new Supreme Court nominee that is being introduced as I type, except that it is very likely that I will have nothing useful to offer the blogosphere ever again.

I'll try for some weekend observations:

- My new favorite show to find when taking a break is Mythbusters. Way funny, way geeky, way entertaining.
- For that matter, I found this show when looking for Mythbusters. Unreal. Aaack. ...and more entertaining than you'd think. The guy's pretty funny.
- The aforementioned introduction by the prez included a promise that she "won't legislate from the bench." This is a term that I hope will be on the end-of-year lists as a phrase for 2005 that we never want to read again.
- I walked in the Ron Santo JDRF Walk To Cure Diabetes yesterday. It's a yearly event for my family. My terrific sister is a 30+ year Diabetic, so that's our deal.
- Took another practice test for my state certification exam this weekend. That exam is two weeks from tomorrow. My scores are creeping into the passing zone...but now I'm re-taking earlier practice exams. There are no guarantees that I have this in the bag.
- Midterms and papers galore over the next three weeks.

Not much else to report. Hopefully I get through some schoolwork in one piece this month and can once again manage more than a post per week. Don't give up on Tres Hombres!