Another essay from our friend Terry Boal, who grapples with schizoaffective disorder:

The world is my oyster, an odd turn of phrase, Shakespearean in fact. In one sense, it means your world’s unfolding before you.

Oysters were on my mind when I shopped this afternoon so I picked up a small container. They didn’t have the pedigree of Blue Points, Apalachicola, Cotuit or Wellfleet but would have to do in a pinch.

When I was a kid we camped on an island a stones throw from a string of oyster farms. Our beach was covered with the bivalves and I’d proceed down it oyster knife and Tabasco Sauce in hand and wrest shells open, apply the sauce and then slurp them down.

Louise is late. We’d agreed to meet here at four thirty; it is now half past five. Hash brown are simmering. They’re almost done and olive oil is spitting in the skillet. I can’t wait. So, I dredge the oysters in oatmeal and flour. Just as I’m about to drop the first one into the pan, there is a knock at the door. It’s her, of course. I apologize for not waiting. She says not to worry, just keep cooking and we can talk.

I worry I won’t be able to talk and cook at the same time. This is unfounded. I quit smoking after Christmas and now don’t know what to do with my hands. Cooking keeps them busy.

Louise is my Community Living Support Worker and so is an integral part of my safety net. I spent twenty years in institutions and have no desire to return. Louise is part of my care team along with a psychiatric nurse and a psychiatrist.

Psychotherapy is now proven to aid those with mood disorders or, like me, a schizoaffective one. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy took me out of catatonia and back into the world of the living, but in general, I’m too passive-aggressive for therapy to have much effect.

[Image: Oyster plates from MaineOyster.com]

We talk about New Country, her passion, and for me something I know enough about to hold up my side of the conversation. She works for a non-profit that administers my apartment building along with other projects. It’s been around over 30 years so some of us are getting long in the tooth. Almost weekly she lets me know who has passed on.

Why am I always the last to know? By the time I’m conscious I’m slipping into psychosis it’s too late. Thus the safety net. It is cast wide enough and is so finely enough woven that there is little chance I will slip through to the other side.

We gossip a bit and then out of right field she says, “You seem so much better this week.”

These are dreaded words, last week things weren’t perfect but I thought, all things considered, I was okay. Am I losing it? Telling someone who is schizoaffective that he seems better now than at time he thought things were going okay is the worst thing you can do. Why must I always be the last to know?

How was I not as well? I lose focus and burn my thumb. Juggling cooking and interacting with Louise becomes too much. My thoughts race and I’m only vaguely aware of what’s going on around me
Louise notices and asks if I’m okay.

I am a teen of the sixties and, then as now, being uncool is uncool. Unless it is perfectly obvious, I shrug it off and wonder if I have what politicians call plausible deniability. If so I respond “I’m cool”. Generally I can wing it, but too often it’s a losing battle. I overcompensate to the point of flat affect. I am living a lie for inside there is turmoil. One tiny event can crack the façade and then like the Wizard of Oz when the curtain is pulled back, I panic. Although I’ve never spontaneously combusted or melted into a puddle of sweat and tears, it feels like I might.

Conveniently the oysters are done and I let her know it’s time to eat. Before she leaves, she says, “Call me if anything goes wrong.” This time I know it will not take much to do better next week than it did tonight.

Posted by liz at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Posted by liz at 11:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Perhaps because I took extra Ativan last night, I'm exhausted and empty. I took it because I was congested and I get really anxious when I'm congested about the fact that I might not be able to sleep. I'm a freak, it's true.

So today, I've had nothing to say. Nada.

Posted by liz at 02:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I realize I lucked out with my parents in terms of emotional support and the like, but I think it's a good idea for college students to be treated as though their parents are a meaningful part of their lives. Parents should be alerted when their kids are in crisis or in danger. College students--no matter how empowered they feel their first year away from home, drunk on cheap wine and Take Back the Night marches--are still kids. And they still need care and counsel--yes, from their parents. We can't rely on schools to take the place of family. It's not fair to the kids, and it's not fair to the institutions.

From emaxhealth.com:

The Mental Health Cooperation Act for Families and Schools will allow schools and universities to share a student’s mental health information with their parents or guardians if the student is found to be at risk of suicide, or of committing homicide or physical assault.

"Far too often schools are too worried about litigation rather than the overall well-being of the students on campus," said Congressman Murphy, the only child psychologist in Congress and Co-Chair of the Congressional Mental Health Caucus. "The Mental Health Cooperation Act for Families and Schools will remove this fear and allow schools to communicate with parents on the best needs of their child. Parents may be in the best position to help a student suffering from significant mental illness by providing emotional support, medical history, coordinating care with various mental health and medical professionals, and long-term follow-up. They will be there for the child long after the school is gone."

Changes Urged for Student Privacy Law

[Photo: I'm too busy to put one in!]

Posted by liz at 05:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I was totally into this article, thinking it quite progressive and interesting, until I got to this sentence:

"But demon possession is not always the problem."

It's still a good article, though.

Regeneration, Deliverance, or Therapy?

Posted by liz at 02:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The latest from the angry sugar-glider camp, I kid you not:

"How horrible. Thoose little sugargliders should eat YOU alive."

So says Jen, who also says, "You are nasty."

Posted by liz at 12:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Not sure if Americans are allowed to sign the petition, but check out the below article urging the British government to confront racial discrimination in mental healthcare services. It's a very interesting look at mental health issues in the U.K.

Downing Street petition on mental health

Posted by liz at 12:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For reasons I won't go into right now, let's just say it's been a harrowing couple of months. When I'm depressed, as I've mentioned and written about several times, I take great pleasure in my pets. Frankly, I'm considered pet-obsessed, verging on weird. I know I spend waaaay too much time thinking about them and loving them and worrying about their well-being.

Apparently, it's just not enough for some people. Despite the thriving good health of my three lovely sugar gliders--who are at this moment happily chirping as they eat their mealworms, after which they'll be hopping and gliding for hours, their fur lustrous and their bellies full and their vet exams all perfect--I am being attacked by people angered by my post about sweet Little Moxie, the sugar glider who was eaten by her parents. The comments are so angry and vicious, and even go so far as to mockingly refer to my mental illness. What do they know about my life, about my reasons for my behavior?

Hey, all you angry sugar-glider people, here are some things you don't know: I have a disability. I can't stay up all night. That's not an option that's open to me. I wish I were a normal, regularly abled person, but I'm not. Don't assume that everyone is exactly as you are, and has all the resources you do--financially, physically, mentally. It's elitist to assert what a person should or shouldn't do without knowing the circumstances of that person's life.

I preferred to let the little one to stay with her mother--advice I got FROM A MESSAGE BOARD clearly populated by people who are nicer than you are--because it was unclear how this would resolve. I had never had a sugar glider baby in my care before; how many people have? Do you live in Philadelphia, by the way? In my neighborhood? Do you know the likelihood of getting someone to come to my door in West Philly at 1 a.m.? Have you been to Homicide City, USA, lately?

There are people dying in this city's streets. I work for an organization that ministers to incarcerated people and their families and communities--people without hope, children without parents. I talk to people on the phone every day whose lives have been absolutely devastated by violence and poverty--and what are you complaining about, exactly? You know why people continue to suffer and be marginalized? Because it's far easier to get people to give a shit about sugar gliders than it is to get them to give a shit about their fellow human beings.

God forbid that should ever happen to me.

Posted by liz at 05:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

Interesting debate going on in Canada:

Psychiatrist says Despres fit to stand trial, contradicting other assessment

Posted by liz at 03:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sometimes it saddens me to read about a research study that has extremely boring results. John M. Grohol breaks down one such study on PsychCentral. Basically, researchers wanted to know if frequent self-weighing is linked to depression. The answer? No.

But they did find out that women who weigh themselves frequently tend to have a lower BMI. So go crazy, gals! Weigh away!

Frequent Weighing Not Linked to Depression

Posted by liz at 01:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

TTWS faithful have been great about sending in Cute Fixes. And I could use them because Tinsel seems to have some breathing problem, poor sweetie. I think he might have been allergic to his edible Snak Shack, but at the moment he's sleeping under a hand towel. When I lifted it up, he squinted in my direction--irritably, I thought, but I know that's impossible.

So thanks to Jennifer G., Sally and Simon for making my day.

lazy cat on a treadmill [Jennifer]

Cat vs. dog [Sally]

And the photo is from Simon, who writes, "...yup, even insects can be cute. I found this awesome little guy on flickr. What a fantastic photo." It is indeed, and if the person who took it sees this post, let me know so I can either credit you or take it down. For the moment, though, it's awesome.

Posted by liz at 09:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

File under: Stuff I could do if I didn't have to go to work...

MEDIA ADVISORY: Briefing on Civil Rights of People with Mental Illnesses

The Bazelon Center wishes to express its deepest sympathies to the families, friends and peers of the Virginia Tech shooting victims. This tragedy has raised an array of questions surrounding mental health services and the civil rights of people with mental illnesses.

WHAT: Media Briefing with Bazelon Center Executive Director, Dr. Robert Bernstein

WHEN: Thursday, April 26, 2007 at 9AM (Breakfast will be served)

WHERE: 1101 15th Street, NW Washington, DC Suite 1212

WHY: To discuss legal and policy issues surrounding mental health and the civil rights of people with mental illness.

In the wake of this tragedy, many students may suffer emotional distress. It is critically important that counseling and other mental health services be available to them and that they feel safe asking for help. Seeking help is often difficult.

The goal of campus policies should be to maximize the likelihood that students who require mental health treatment receive it and to ensure that their problems not reach crisis proportions before services become available. To that end, schools should take actions to de-stigmatize mental illness, encourage students to seek help early, remove barriers to seeking treatment, and ensure that students will not be penalized when they ask for help.

Unfortunately, some schools have created a paradox for students in need: while encouraging students who struggle with mental health problems to seek assistance, the school administration then applies disciplinary measures when students take this difficult step, in an effort to remove mental health problems from the campus. Last year, the Bazelon Center represented a George Washington University student who voluntarily sought hospital treatment for depression and then faced disciplinary action by the university administration and was suspended from school. In another suit, we represented a Hunter College student who voluntarily admitted herself to the hospital for treatment of depression and as a consequence was locked out of her dorm room by the college administration.

By responding in such a way, schools create an appalling dilemma for students in crisis: either jeopardize their education by asking for help or forego needed mental health treatment. Such approaches may actually increase the risk of harm by discouraging students from getting help for themselves or their friends. The Bazelon Center's successful representation of students who have been punished for getting mental health care is aimed at breaking down this shameful obstacle. In the wake of the Virginia Tech tragedy, the Bazelon Center urges that educational institutions do all they can to identify and to remove barriers to youths' getting help. We feel strongly that meaningful remedies rest not in abruptly diluting legal protections for people with mental health needs, but in addressing the enormous gaps in service availability

All students should know whom to call when they or their fellow students are in trouble and should have ready access to counseling and other support. Moreover, mental health programs need to work in partnership with schools to make mental health service readily available, including getting out of their clinics and reaching out to students who are at obvious risk.

One can only hope that this tragedy will focus constructive attention on how difficult it is for youth to connect with the help they need.

I wish I could be there. I wonder if they'll have coffee and donuts? We'll never know...

Posted by liz at 04:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Maybe it's just my webmail, but I received a press release whose subject line was: "Interviews available: Yeltsin." Now that's an excellent PR person.

Posted by liz at 04:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was just thinking about how I set goals for myself this year that I actually accomplished. That's quite satisfying. I think I'll share them with you. Who says mentally ill people (or people with mental illnesses) have to live abbreviated lives?

This year, I wanted to:

Grow my hair for Locks of Love
Get a poem published
Run a 5K
Do something new professionally
Win one journalism award that wasn't for my column
Surpass 250 YouTube subscribers
Take up photography
Take animal photographs professionally
Go to Spain

The things I didn't accomplish? I didn't win a Webby Award. I didn't get a dog (but I got a hamster). I didn't win shit for my column (not because the awards are stupid, but because the column wasn't good enough). I didn't lose 20 pounds, or even 10 pounds. I didn't get any better at returning phone calls. I didn't fix my links on this blog. I didn't ... Well, we all know the list of things we didn't do is the long one.

P.S. I know it's April, and thus a weird time to say all this. But one strange cognitive deficit from the ECT is that I can't keep track of time the way other people can. It's hard to explain, but it being "April" or "November" doesn't mean anything to me. It's a sort of temporal autism, if that makes any sense. So now is as good a time as any.

[Photo by me, of abandoned monks' quarters at Montserrat, in Spain.]

Posted by liz at 12:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I suspect the drug makers might change the name from NS2359 to something like Relaxia or Tonica or Joyquel. I feel like NS2359 isn't going to capture the popular imagination. After all, even my birth control pill has a lovely name: Camilla.

Neurosearch and GlaxoSmithKlein initiate second phase 2 study on depression drug [Forbes]

Posted by liz at 10:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I did, though, want to run this excerpt from WebMD. I think there's some interesting points made.

Mental Illness, Antidepressants, and Violence

Could the antidepressants that Cho was said to have been taking made him violent? No, [Robert] Irvin, MD, [medical director of a long-term residential treatment program that is part of the Bipolar and Psychotic Disorders Program at Harvard's McLean Hospital in Belmont, Mass] says.

It's not known whether Cho was taking antidepressants under a doctor's supervision, whether he was taking the medications properly, and whether he was taking some drug other than antidepressants.

"Certainly just being on an antidepressant does not increase your risk of engaging in violence," Irvin says. "Antidepressants causing increased risk of self-harm have been talked about, but there is much more evidence to support that they are effective in treating depression. The risk of self-harm is much greater when patients are left untreated."

Might underlying depression be to blame? Probably not.

"People who are hopeless, who don't experience any joy or happiness, their thoughts are far more likely to tend toward self-harm than harm to anyone else," Irvin says. "If they are moved to violence, they are far and away more frequently the victims."

There is a form of depression -- some think it a form of psychosis -- which doctors call "major depression with psychotic features." People with this kind of depression have delusional thinking -- such as believing everybody at their workplace is very clearly out to get them, perhaps by putting bugs in their offices in order to control them.

"If you are paranoid, perceiving you are threatened when you are not, you might be prone to violence," Irvin says. "But these are people who, if given a choice, would hurt themselves or flee before acting in an aggressive way toward others."

Victoroff agrees that paranoid individuals are more prone than others to commit violence.

"Someone who has a grossly distorted threat-perception system is more likely to commit violent acts," he says. "Humans respond to threat by flight or by fight. Those predisposed to respond with fight, who regard innocent people all around them as terribly threatening to them, will be prone to harm those innocent people."

Even so, Victoroff says, the majority of people suffering paranoia do not commit violent acts, so it's impossible to say whether a particular paranoid man or woman will become violent.

We tend to think that only mentally ill people would commit horrific crimes. But this may be false reassurance, Irvin says.

"One of the reasons we try to understand this aberrant behavior in terms of an illness is that it gives us a sense we can identify these people ahead of time. But just because the act is crazy does not mean the person suffered from a defined psychiatric illness," he says. "It is an ongoing debate whether these people need to be dealt with in the criminal justice system or the mental health system."

That's because there are two basic forms of violence: sudden, impulsive acts of aggression and premeditated violent acts.

"Premeditated aggression enters the realm of pathologic sociopathy -- and there is no good known treatment for sociopaths," Irvin says.

Sorry to make you link to Fox

Posted by liz at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Tomorrow the show on National Public Radio has a program on forced psychiatric treatment. I can't find any information beyond that, but you can find about the program in general here.

Posted by liz at 03:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I'm all goofy over my new pet. You should see his cuteness. I'm at work, and I can't stop thinking about him. This phase will pass, but at the moment I can't wait to get home to play with him. He likes to slide down things. We kept putting him up on higher surfaces, and he'd slide down, his little feet skidding behind him for traction. He also seems to like his hamster ball, which he zooms around in.

The sugar gliders, however, are less than pleased. They'd like to kill him. Rosemary won't come out of her pouch. She's pouting and nibbling reluctanly on yogurt drops. I tried to assure her that we still loved her, but she doesn't speak English. Shame.

I truly feel that animals conquer mental health problems like no drug can. Although, I say that with plenty o' Effexor, Seroquel, Ativan and Lamictal in my system, so who knows.

[This image is from Cute Overload. It looks just like Tinsel.]

Posted by liz at 03:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Brain Blogging, Seventh Edition

Posted by liz at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Salon.com's advice columnist, Cary Tennis, has some sad, weird words for a schizoaffective person who worries about being stigmatized in the wake of the Virginia Tech murders. Thanks to Masale Wallah for sending the link.

Dear Cary,

To many, the shootings at Virginia Tech are another senseless tragedy perpetrated by a mentally unstable person. This is doubly depressing for me. Not only is the specter of over 30 innocents killed by one individual depressing, but because I, too, am mentally unstable, I fear I will suffer even more stigma after events like that.

My official diagnosis is schizoaffective disorder, which, I am told, is a mild schizophrenia combined with a mood disorder. I currently take two medications for my condition and see a counselor, along with a doctor for my prescriptions. I wish I could say I got help as soon as my condition developed. From college onward, I have, on and off, behaved badly and hurt some people.

So I feel some sort of empathy with the shooter. Like Cho Seung-Hui, I've written some disturbing things, spent time in a mental institution, and been accused of stalking women. (Although looking back, it could be one of my delusions, since everyone involved has denied any accusations.) But then again, I am quite different from Seung-Hui. I'm not hostile to most people, I don't like guns, and the most violent I ever got was putting someone in a headlock. I've apologized to those whom I've hurt and for the last five years I have been trying my best to keep from hurting another human being.

My question is, though, shouldn't that count for something? Fighting to remain reasonable and pleasant is a hard thing to do when your moods are nearly uncontrollable and your perception of reality is skewed. Yet most of my old friends and acquaintances are still angry with me. When I run into them, few will greet me and most just respond with a cold glare. At times it seems like people are going out of their way to glare at me. So when a tragedy like Virginia Tech happens, part of me feels it will just give people more reason to hate me.

I know I should expect it and for most of my life I've been dealing with the stigma of being mentally ill. My father was never shy about showing his anger to me about behaving "oddly." In high school, I was known as the strange kid. Worse was the psychologist who said my attempts at self-injury were a "narcissistic effort for attention" and screamed at me for "accusing" a priest-coach of forcing players to strip to their jock straps and wrestling them. (Which was true and, by the way, the priest in question has since confessed to raping teenage boys.) I also realize that my behavior, even now, isn't easy to deal with. But that doesn't stop the hatred and anger from hurting.

So I wonder, is most of my life to be filled with anger, fear and hatred because I am mentally ill? Will I be lumped together with monsters like Seung-Hui?

--Unbalanced but Trying

Dear Unbalanced,

You are thinking about what happened at Virginia Tech.

The worst thing of all, the hardest to fathom, the most infuriating but the most important, is this: It literally means nothing. It is random, senseless, incomprehensible. We wish it meant something. It would feel better if it meant something. We try hard to manufacture something that it can mean. But it stubbornly means nothing. Literally, it is a sign of nothing, the nothing that surrounds us, the nothing we must face, the implacable end we come to.

The fact that it means nothing is the worst thing about it. We can make up meaning, and we must. But we must know we are making it up. We make up our faith. We make up our rituals. We do what we have to do to live with it without going mad.

All the while, our impossible burden is to live with the nothingness that it means. Let us try to do that with dignity and grace. Let us try not to take shelter in illusion. Our illusions are manifold, our rituals abundant. It helps to lay wreaths. But there is no safety from madness.

The universe is random and cruel. Death will come. You can't know the hour.

So live in the world now, as it is.

That is the bottom line, my friend. You have to live in your world as it is and in order to live in your world as it is you must find peace with yourself. To find peace with yourself you may need to spend your whole life taking your meds and seeing your doctors, praying, digging vegetables, swimming upstream in the river, walking alone through crowded streets, brandishing a neutral face in alleys of consternation, paying in cash, sitting zazen with the master, making your therapy appointments on time, forgiving yourself for past transgressions, expecting nothing in return, rising at the same time every morning and never missing a pill, never skipping a meal, sleeping your allotted hours, keeping your hair combed and your clothes clean and your shoes shined, exercising regularly and saying please and thank you, remembering birthdays, paying the rent on time.

These are the things we do to get us through. Our thoughts fasten on drama like candy. We churn and churn about events beyond our ken. Meanwhile we work on the motorcycle, hoping for another hour of sunlight.

There's not a whole lot else you can do. Your thoughts will soar and dive. You have a disease of the mind. It is controllable. But it is not curable. It will have outbreaks like eczema. You take your medications and live a life of moderation. You treat people with as much respect and even-handedness as you can muster. The rest is out of your control. Occasionally you may have to go into the hospital for a while. But you will come out again. You will have good days and bad days.

What people think about all this is beyond your control. More than that: It is none of your business. What people think is their own concern. What they think of you, what they think of me: It's none of our business what they think. Let them think what they think. Their thoughts are their world. Our world is here, the waking every day, the arising from troubled sleep, the difficult interactions at the hardware store, the creeping sensation of omnipotence, the unreality on the subway. That is our world, the world of the half-sane, half-dreamer. We barely know what we ourselves are thinking. If you think you know what other people are thinking, that is your disease. Your disease is your delusion. You cannot know what people are thinking. You cannot read their thoughts on their faces. You cannot hear their thoughts.

You can believe that you can. You can say that you can. But that is your own mind telling you things.

People will pass you and give you dirty looks. They are limited in goodness. They are limited in forgiveness. They are not holy. They are just people.

They will go on the Internet and say whatever they want. That does not make it true, or meaningful, or useful. People go on the Internet and blab blab blab. Blah blah blah. Wah wah wah. Primitive, primitive, primitive. Monkey screams. Jungle sounds. Tribal dissonance. Parrot squawking.

They can say you are crazy. They can say I am crazy. That does not make it true or useful. Meanwhile we put one shoe in front of the other, making a line in the sand and following it, day after day, through the weird storms.

You and I, we are just nameless travelers. You have your problems and I have mine. You have your burdens and I have mine. The world is crazy. It always has been. What can you do? Imagine you are living in Beauvais, north of Paris, in the 12th century. A builder needs some help. Go help him build a cathedral. It takes your mind off. You cart the stones up the hill, you get paid at the end of the day.

That's how we get by. We find things to occupy us. In the end, a cathedral is built. But nobody knows your name. Nobody even knows the name of the builder.

Posted by liz at 11:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Tinsel, the newest member of the Spikol-Bertolini household. Tinsel is a Syrian hamster, and the sweetest little boy in the world. I had been looking for a hamster for a long time, but told Vince it had to be a love match.

When I met Tinsel, he ran up my shoulder and hid in my hair.

He likes to climb up the bars of his cage and hide in my shirt. Or, better said, he doesn't put up a fight when I stick him in my shirt.

Thanks to Javier and Baruchito for the inspiration.

Posted by liz at 09:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Please watch this video, and stay tuned for question No. 3:

Tina Fey speaks my name

Posted by liz at 05:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Does anyone remember that horrible song? It just popped into my head unbidden when I heard that PW won so many awards. Isn't that song about sex or something? I really wish I could just turn my brain off, particularly the part responsible for Salt n Pepa memories.

But the awards, now that's good stuff. After the Pennsylvania Newspaper Association named us the state's best
large-circulation weekly on Wednesday, this morning the Keystone Pro chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists named us "best overall weekly" in Pennsylvania.

Here's the breakdown of both sets of awards.

Keystone Press awards

Kia Gregory: column, first place
Kia Gregory: general news, first place
Gwen Shaffer: general news, second place
Frank Rubino: sports story, second place
Kate Kilpatrick: feature story, first place
Liz Spikol: feature story, second place
Steve Volk: feature story, honorable mention
Kia Gregory: news feature, first place
Kirsten Henri: feature beat, first place
Jeff Fusco: news photo, second place
Sweepstakes

Keystone Pro chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists awards:

Kia Gregory: first place, feature story
Steven Wells: third place, feature story
Daniel McQuade: second place, sports story
Cassidy Hartmann: second place, enterprise story
Kia Gregory: third place, enterprise story
Kia Gregory: third place (tie with Kirsten Henri), commentary
Kirsten Henri: third place (tie with Kia Gregory), commentary
Kate Kilpatrick: first place, headline writing
Kate Kilpatrick: third place, headline writing
Steve Volk: second place, business and labor story
Steve Volk: third place, business and labor story
Jeff Fusco: first place, photo story
Jeff Fusco: first place, feature photo
Jeff Fusco: third place, feature photo
Steve Volk: first place, health and medical story
Steven Wells: second place, health and medical story
Gwen Shaffer: first place, environmental story
Best Overall Weekly

The timing is ... interesting. An unprecedentedly award-winning year--a strange time to divest yourself of a superb product, thus potentially divesting the city of some of the best writers and editors in the state.

Oh, crap. Did I just blog that out loud?

Posted by liz at 02:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I finally got my hair cut for Lo/fL.

Posted by liz at 10:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Andy Behrman, author of Electroboy, will be on Anderson Cooper tonight at 10 p.m. EST. They'll be talking a bit about Virginia Tech.

Sadly, I don't have cable, which I know makes me a freak. So y'all have to watch it and let me know how it is. Here's a previous interview Andy did with Andy, with Drew Pinsky (my love!) along for the ride.

Posted by liz at 05:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In response to this post about Eminem, emphasis mine:

hey you guys need to give em a break any one can go down the same way he did any day but still you have the balls to say stuff about my idol you guys are just fucked up in your head so quit with the talkin and actually get the info from him u know .man! i can't even believe this you guys definatly need something to do or go get laid or something and leave eminem alone.you fat weirdos

*sniff*

Posted by liz at 04:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Now that the photos and videos and writings have been released, it's reasonable to assume that Cho Seung-Hui suffered from serious mental health problems. But it's not that simple. It would be unfair to state, without elaboration, that Seung-Hui was mentally ill. That tars all mentally ill with the ol' violence brush--a damaging and innacurate perception that contributes mightily to the problem of stigma. It's too absolutist to say that.

Would it help, then, to identify the kind of mental illness he suffered? I don't think so. Whether he was chronically depressed or had OCD or anything else, the diagnosis cannot explain what he did. Yet I suspect that people will want a diagnosis because they're desperate for answers: Why did he do what he did? What makes a person do this?

Seung-Hui's behavior was so aberrant, though, that we can't answer those questions with any certainty. He committed the largest mass murder in American history. Given the singualr nature of that act, we must also acknowledge the singular nature of his psychology.

Still, we'll continue to look for reasons. We'll plunder his past, talk to everyone he ever knew, interrogate family and old teachers and gas station attendants and whoever else might have had contact with him, however brief. In our rage for accountability, we'll place blame on the university, on law enforcement, on mental health facilities, on whomever we can to exorcise the feelings of futility and powerlessness.

But the truth is that no one--not a university president, not a police detective, not the most penetrating therapist in the world--could have predicted that Seung-Hui would commit mass murder. That's what makes it so scary.

Ultimately, Cho Seung-Hui is the one to blame, but we can't hold him to account; he did that himself--another frustration. Now we are left with the awesome responsibilty of moving on in our lives without blaming the wrong people. That's going to be hard to manage.

Posted by liz at 02:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The latest TTWS reader fabulousness comes from Joe G., who is responding to an article I linked to about bipolar treatment with psychotherapy. Says Joe:

It is always worthwhile to take a look at the original article ("Intensive psychotherapy benefits bipolar patients"). The reader will note that broad groups including the estimated 30 to 60 percent of persons suffering from both bi-polar disorder and alcohol or substance abuse were excluded. This was not mentioned in the Reuters article. How might their inclusion and that of other groups representative of the greater community impacted the reported outcomes? "Patients were excluded only if they required immediate treatment for a current DSM-IV substance or alcohol abuse or dependence disorder (excluding nicotine); were pregnant or planning pregnancy in the next year; had a history of intolerance, nonresponse, or medical contraindication to paroxetine or bupropion; or required initiation of or dose changes in antipsychotic medications." The study also excluded persons who could not speak English.

Then there is the issue of fidelity to evidenced based practices. For example, how many of us can actually access CBT from a well trained practitioner "supervised by nationally recognized experts" where, "Individual CBT sessions consisted of (1) psychoeducation regarding the course of bipolar disorder, medication adherence, and stress management; (2) life events scheduling for alleviating inactivity or reducing overstimulation; (3) cognitive restructuring; (4) problem-solving training; (5) strategies for early detection of and intervention for mood episodes; and (6) selected interventions for comorbidities, if relevant. Early sessions focused on monitoring activity and challenging negative thoughts; later sessions focused on challenging dysfunctional beliefs."

I could go on.

While clinical studies are always interesting and worthwhile, what is more interesting is how they influence the care actually provided in the community in which we live and seek treatment. Frequently, the treatment we receive is represented as "evidenced based, culturally competent care in accordance with the principles of wellness and recovery," yet in practice it is often anything we can access.

[I don't know who did this illustration. I apologize to the artist.]

Posted by liz at 01:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Kristin writes in response to my column about wanting to sleep my life away:

Wow! I thought I was the only one. As I lay here writing from: yes, my bed! I wonder how many of my days have been lost to sleep. I have terrible sleep "issues." That's what I call them now. I can't think of a better term. They follow me around and nag at me. They are the biggest reason why I can't have a full-time job and why I consistently underperform in school by missing classes. I sleep a lot, or I don't sleep enough, but I never sleep 8 doctor recommended hours in one night. What I wouldn't give to be able to just sleep and rise like a "normal" person! Today I woke up around 4pm. Class started at 3pm and I was supposed to go to the art museum before that.

You're probably thinking about me setting an alarm clock or something. I burned through those years ago. Every loud awful noise you can imagine I have slept through. I turn alarm clocks off in my sleep. I talk to people when I'm sleeping and later have no recollection of whole conversations. My family tries in vain to wake me up. They've tried shaking me, poking me, dripping water on me, calmly saying wake up, loudly telling me to wake up. I still sleep through everything.

But, I also stay up for over 24 hours on a somewhat regular basis. If I don't take my medication at night I won't fall asleep, so sometimes I put it off just so I can meet a deadline or get a project done or get to an exam or work on time. I love and hate sleep. If I could stay at home every day of the year and lounge around between my bed and my computer I probably would. I would take a nap in the middle and sleep soundly at night. Well, except for all those weird nightmares and dreams I have. One time I was in that space between being awake and asleep and I opened my eyes a little and thought I saw a huge foot long spider! I was convinced of it and started screaming, but my mom said: you were asleep. I didn't even realize it. Thank god it was only a dream!

And I hate sleep, because it is my nemesis. I can't control it, no matter how hard I try. People don't understand why I just can't wake up or why I sleep for 14/18/20 hours at a time. No one quite gets why I can't wake up during normal business hours and why I'm awake at 4am most days.

Part of it is probably the psychotropic meds, but even as a kid I had sleep issues. I never had a problem sleeping until noon on the weekends and I always felt half dead when I had to wake up for school at 7am. Getting through grade school and high school was like torture. And, when I was a baby my mother would find me awake in my crib and playing with my toys in the middle of the night!

But, I love it. What kind of a half depressive/half schizophrenic would I be if I didn't love sleeping? Climbing under the covers and cuddling next to my cat is like...better than anything I can think of.

I have no cures for you Liz, because nothing works, but sleep! ;)

Posted by liz at 09:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I have just discovered a Philadelphia blog I didn't know about, and I'm sad to say that I only learned about it due to my own narcissism. The Menu Pages is a site about food, something I like but know nothing about. It's quirky, even making reference to things that aren't overtly food-oriented, like cities made from sardine cans (pictured), so ignoramuses like me can read it and enjoy it, even as I plunder another box of sugary cereal for lunch.

Of course, I wouldn't have known about it if it didn't feature ME, as it does at this moment. Me me me. It's all about me. Meow, meow, blog blog?

Posted by liz at 12:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sleeper Hit
I was too tired to write this column.

I went to Cape Cod last weekend to help a friend paint his 14-room rambler in Wellfleet. It's one of those houses built in the 19th century that seem to defy the rigor of 21st-century architecture. It has tiny nooks and strangely sloping ceilings, and you're never quite sure which staircase leads where.

The prior inhabitants left things behind—stacks of mismatched plates, empty gilt picture frames, a tiny roll-top desk the width and color of a dachshund. The tread on each step from the kitchen to the second floor is about half an inch.

I imagined I'd be covered in paint and sweat for three days, taking a sandwich break with the other workers, and then going back at it until the house was done.

Instead, I slept.

The room I stayed in had a slanted ceiling and was cozy because, anticipating Cape Cod's chill, I'd brought 15 blankets for protection. I also had sweatshirts and flannel pajama bottoms and puffy socks, and thus swaddled, was unable to get out of bed.

The first day I slept until 1 p.m. The next day I slept until noon, and then returned to the bed in the afternoon for a few more hours. I'd be roused from my slumber by clanking and hammering, and find a whole room had been painted, decorated and even photographed for potential renters while I slept.

I did finally swipe a brush around the border of a room, and forced myself to drive sleepily around the Cape so I could say I had. But mostly I stayed in bed.

That trip was a metaphorical wake-up call. I realized there's something wrong with me: I don't have a sleep shutoff. Most people go to bed and, some hours later, wake up without incident. Not me. One day last week I stayed home from work and slept for 20 hours. At no point did I feel I'd had enough.

Now, I know what you're thinking. There must be something wrong. I should see a doctor. Maybe I have mono or malaria or some kind of sleep disorder. And that's certainly possible.

But even as a kid, I loved to sleep. On school days I'd hit the snooze button on my white cube Sony Dream Machine countless times until my father came in and yelled, “Up and at 'em!”—which for years I heard as “Up and Adam!” and assumed was an Old Testament reference.

I've never been good at waking up, though the issue got complicated about 16 years ago, when I started taking psychiatric medication. Since then I've spent more time in bed than out of it, partly as a result of depression, and partly because in order to quiet the demons, I've been heavily sedated.

It makes the question of fatigue complicated, and doctors tend to get tired themselves when you talk to them about it. The family doctor always assumes it's depression.

But is it?

I don't feel especially depressed. I just feel like it's mostly pointless to be awake, which I know sounds like depression but is much friendlier than the depression I'm accustomed to.

The pillow seems so smooth, so malleable and loving. The sheets are like ripples in a warm pond. The blankets enfold me like waves of honey. I stretch my foot down to the bottom part of the sheets, and dip my toes into the coolness. I pull my hair back and hug myself.

As I fall asleep, hearing the tree outside my window creaking in the wind, I look at the clock and think, “I have eight hours of doing only this before I have to wake up again.”

I don't think life is hopeless or the noises in my head are too loud or that I want to kill myself.

I like life. I think the world is beautiful. I'm happy.

I just prefer bed to anyplace else.

Is it possible that I'm not ill? That my history of sleep-love isn't pathological?

It might be a quirk of character, something that in the Paris of Toulouse-Lautrec would've made me a sexy, heavy-lidded courtesan written about by writers with nicotine-stained teeth. I'd sleep, and they'd gaze at me—at my puffy lips and fluttering eyelids—and wonder what I was dreaming about. There would be poems written about me—La Femme Sommeil—and I'd become famous, like Sleeping Beauty but with bloomers and striped cotton tights.

These days sleepiness is a liability, and I can't afford it. No one can. Even my dreams—which are incredibly vivid—are spent productively, worrying over a deadline, or categorizing tasks that need to be done. There is no true rest.

After I write about this, I'm sure there will be blood tests and medication changes and giant bottles of Melatonin. There will be space-age pillows from Sharper Image, and sprigs of mint on my night table. There will be capacious cups of coffee each morning, perhaps some NoDoz during the day. There will be letters and emails from people with remedies and theories and eventually, I guess, a temporary reprieve from the allure of the bed.

It's so exhausting to think about. Maybe I should start with a nap.

[Illustration by Jared Drew Woody for PW]

Posted by liz at 09:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

From Local10.com, emphasis mine:

HOLLYWOOD, Fla. -- A lockdown at a Hollywood high school has ended after police were able to identify a student who was threatening suicide via text messaging and sent pictures of a handgun to some students, according to police.

The lockdown by Hollywood police and the staff of the school happened just after noon at Hollywood Hills High School on Stirling Road. Students reported that a classmate text messaged them saying that he wanted to commit suicide and transmitted photographs of a handgun to some students' cell phones, according to police. Students passed the word on to high school officials of the threat, police said.

Police searched the school, but found the teen at his home in Davie. He is now in the custody of Davie police, Local 10 reported.

Posted by liz at 05:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Intensive psychotherapy benefits bipolar patients

Posted by liz at 05:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In response to my earlier post on the subject, S. writes:

Liz, I live in a rural area, have done so all my life. I have farm animals and they, in turn, attract predators. I grew up with guns, in fact my mother gave me a .22 rifle for my 14th birthday. It would be the most natural thing in the world for me to own a .22 for predator control. But I do not, for the same reason you do not. I believe it would be totally irresponsible of me to increase my suicide risk by allowing myself easy access to a gun. My "right" to do so ends where my responsibility to my loved ones begin. With my history, well, it's just not a good idea to put a gun in my hands. Thank you for this posting. I'm sure it took some courage.

And thanks to you, S., for doing the same (though I'm not using your name just in case you don't feel comfortable exposing yourself in this way. I'll append your name and email if you like).

UPDATE: From the Associated Press: "The gunman was identified as an English major whose creative writing was so disturbing that he was referred to the school's counseling service. ... News reports also said that he may have been taking medication for depression, [and] that he was becoming increasingly violent and erratic."

Posted by liz at 02:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

A press release from Mental Health America:

ALEXANDRIA, Va. (March 27, 2007) — "The Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University shootings today will impact students, parents and educators across the country," says Dr. David Shern, president and CEO of Mental Health America. "The media coverage of this tragedy brings the issue of school safety to the forefront for all Americans. However, students may feel most at risk and may experience the most acute feelings of anxiety and fear."

To guide discussions about the Virginia Tech shooting, Mental Health America offers the following suggestions for teachers and parents as they communicate with young people across the nation:

* Talk honestly about the incident, without graphic detail, and share some of your own feelings about it. It is important that students feel informed.
* Encourage students to talk about their concerns and to express their feelings, and validate the young person’s feelings and concerns.
* Limit television viewing. It can be difficult for to process the images and messages in news reports.
* Empower young people to take action about their own school safety. Encourage them to share their concerns about school safety with university officials.
* Recognize what may be behind a young person’s behavior. They may minimize their concerns outwardly, but may become argumentative, withdrawn or allow their school performance to decline.
* Keep the dialogue going even after media coverage subsides. Continue to talk about feelings and discuss actions being taken to make schools and communities safer.
* Seek help when necessary. If you are worried about a young person’s reaction or have ongoing concerns about his/her behavior or emotions, contact a mental health professional at their school or at your community mental health center. Your local Mental Health America Affiliate can direct you to resources in your community.

The Mental Health America Resource Center can help students, teachers and parents find community resources and information. For information, please call 800-969-6642 or visit www.mentalhealthamerica.net.

Posted by liz at 01:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I have been seething for a full 30 hours that Bush had his spokesperson Dana Perino (pictured) use the tragic occasion of the shootings at Virginia Tech as an opportunity to reiterate the president's support for the right to bear arms. As a friend moaned when I pointed this out: "What did we do to deserve such a president?"

From the Mirror.co.uk:

GEORGE Bush last night defended America's love affair with guns in the wake of the massacre.

White House spokesman Dana Perino said: "The president believes there is a right for people to bear arms, but that all laws must be followed."

What a brilliant thing to say after children are slaughtered. I'm sure the parents are grateful for the clarity. Bush would probably have been more sensitive if the 32 dead were unborn fetuses.

Andrew Foster Altschul says on Huffington Post of Bush's declaration:

Truly sickening. Maybe the president thought this kind of disgusting knee-jerk right-wing orthodoxy would go down well in Virginia, where gun culture has a strong and historical hold, where the "pry it out of my cold dead hands" line is still a sure crowd-pleaser. But I'm betting it won't. I'm betting that the parents and siblings and partners and teachers of those thirty-three students are appalled by this disgraceful excuse for a national figurehead, whose first instinct in the face of tragedy is - as it has always been - to cover his own political ass.

The rest of the world thinks we're nuts.

A look inside America's gun culture [Australia]

Virginia Tech Massacre Raises Gun Control Issue [Korea]

So what does this have to do with mental health? I'm guessing we'll learn that the gunman had mental health problems that weren't properly addressed. And will someone in the NRA then explain to us why it's a good idea for such people to own firearms? If I were king of the world, as James Cameron once was, I'd actually make a policy that Liz Spikols are not allowed to own guns. I don't see why it's my right given my history of being suicidal and mentally unstable, the fact that I require mood-altering psychotropic medications to survive and that there are numerous hospitalizations for delusional thinking in my past.

But this takes us down a different road--one that could get me into lots of trouble.

UPDATE: To be fair, it should be noted that Dana Perino didn't raise the issue of gun control herself, without any prompting. She responded to a question about it, which you can see here. I think what got people so angry was that she would consider the question at all. Clearly, the White House has decided that her doing so was a mistake, and have changed their tune so as not to seem to be grandstanding or insensitive. From today's New York Times:

White House spokeswoman Dana Perino deflected any questions about Bush's view of needed changes to gun control policy, saying the time for that discussion is not now. ''We understand that there's going to be and there has been an ongoing national discussion, conversation and debate about gun control policy. Of course we are going to be participants in that conversation,'' she said. ''Today, however, is a day that is time to focus on the families, the school, the community.''

Yesterday, however, it was fair game.

I will say this, though: It's a hard job being press flunky for President Bush. I don't know that I would have done any better than Perino in that moment.

[Image courtesy of Wonkette, which titled the photo Dana Perino Hot Hottie Spokeswoman]

Posted by liz at 09:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

I just read this entry on my colleague's blog about his brush with death, and it triggered a strange memory.... (cue woogly music and wavy lines)

I was walking down that very block one sunny summer morning, wearing a blue and white checked skirt (among other garments). It was my first day at a new job, and I was nervous and rushed. As I walked down lovely tree-lined Clinton Street, and felt optimistic about my new adventure (which was misplaced; the new workplace turned out to be a racist nightmare), I spotted two gentlemen of a certain age sitting on a stoop together. They were looking at me closely, but not in an unplesant way. I surmised they were gay, so I wasn't worried they were scoping me sexually or anything, but their gaze was so intent.

Finally, one of them said, "Um, hon, do you know that your skirt is see-through?" Of course I didn't know! They told me they could see everything, and when I said I was starting a new job, they practically jumped off the stoop and turned me toward home. Yet another example of the kindness of strangers in our beleguered city. I remain grateful to those men to this day, and hope it wasn't their car that was damaged by the tree.

Posted by liz at 01:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm so depressed by what's going on in Philly. Working for a prison-reform organization probably doesn't help foster a sunny disposition, but this is heartbreaking. Each story is sadder than the next. I felt an especial stab of sadness when I read that one of the murder victims, a Vietnamese immigrant, used to go up and down his street carrying incense to bless the block.

I'm sorry, too, for our police officers, who are putting themselves in danger every day. Their families must be so worried every time they walk out the door. Confidential to Southwest detectives: Take care of yourselves out there. You have to eat cheesesteaks with me and make me laugh soon.

Violent weekend puts homicide toll at 114

Posted by liz at 12:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A man who's paralyzed from the neck down after a suicide attempt is suing Sydney, Australia's health service for not more effectively treating his depression. He climbed a tree in his backyard in order to hang himself, but apparently had second thoughts. Unfortunately, they came too late; he fell from the tree and fractured his spine. (Note to self: When attempting suicide, do not jump out of a tree.)

The case almost seems like a parody. From the Sydney Morning Herald:

He had a history of depression and isolation, and in the years before the accident had "developed a bizarre theory that all adult males were smelly." ... In the five days he spent at the unit, Mr Walker was not given any medication and his request to see a medical practitioner on a daily basis was not met, the court heard.

Although Mr Walker had attempted suicide twice in the five days before he was admitted, staff noted he "showed no signs of depressive illness" on his second day at the unit.

No signs of illness? Wow. That was fast. In less than two days, an acutely suicidal man was apparently cured without any medication or medical attention. To Sydney!

Quadriplegic sues over depression care

[Image of Sydney's skyline from Sydney Media.com.au]

Posted by liz at 10:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

First of all, I want all you to know it's snowing here in Philly. That's right--snow. In April. Lots of schools are closed. The wind kept me up all night, and I had nightmares about Katrina. They're not uncommon. I dream I wake up and my street is covered in water and I have to climb on top of the house to keep dry. How lucky for me that it's just a dream. Many people weren't that fortunate.

Secondly, and decidedly unrelatedly, comes news that despite the Zyprexa scandal, Eli Lilly is turning a fine profit, thank you very much. Perhaps the negative-PR trickle-down has yet to make problems for them. From CNBC:

Drug maker Eli Lilly reported first-quarter earnings and sales ahead of market expectations Monday and also boosted guidance for the year, thanks to strong sales of drugs for schizophrenia and depression.

For the firs three months of the year, Lilly said it earned $913.3 million, or 84 cents a share, excluding charges related to its acquisition of Icos, up from $835 million, or 77 cents per share in the year-ago period.

Sales rose 14% from the same quarter a year ago to $4.23 billion. Sales of schizophrenia treatment Zyprexa gained 10% to $1.1 billion and sales of depression drug Cymbalta jumped 89% to $441 million.

Analysts surveyed by Thomson Financial predicted a profit of 79 cents a share on revenues of $4.12 billion.

For 2007, Lilly now predicts sales to rise in the low double digits, compared with previous guidance of the high single digits to low double digits. Profit is expected to be $3.30 to $3.40 a share, higher than earlier guidance of $3.25 to $3.35 a share.

Posted by liz at 08:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Some say that the bipolar among us are more creative, and that schizophrenics have a brilliance and understanding of the world that so-called normals do not. In my case, I'm sad to say that mental illness has not in any way collided, meaningfully or otherwise, with artistic talent. When I was taking handfuls of Desoxyn every day, I was pretty inspired and did art projects, but no more.

This illustration, Midsummers Night, is by Suzanne Drolet, whose work is being shown in an art exhibit put together by the Canadian Mental Health Association (CMHA) and the Mental Illness and Family Support and Information Centre. I think it's really beautiful. I'd hate to think someone with that kind of talent ever feels badly about herself, but I know that's ridiculous to say.

Artists break image barriers

Posted by liz at 03:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Sadly, a group of schoolchildren found the body of Mary L. Pastirik, 47, who committed suicide by jumping off an observation tower at Gettysburg National Military Park in Pennsylvania. The children were visiting the United States from Quebec, and were at Gettyburg to see a civil war battlefield.

According to the Associated Press, "The 76-foot Longstreet Tower has an open deck and provides a panoramic view of the battlefield as well as the Eisenhower National Historic Site, the retirement home of President Dwight D. Eisenhower."

I wonder if they'll close it now.

Annapolis woman, in Pa., jumps, dies

Quebec men more likely to commit suicide than women

Posted by liz at 01:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

A few days ago, I mentioned that someone I knew and liked very much passed away. This morning I got an email (as did many other people) from Jay Schwartz, who runs various film and music projects in Philly. The email kind of says everything about why Rick was so beloved. Here's an excerpt:

I forget if I met Rick at Upstairs at Nick's or the Firenze Tavern, two earlier venues Rick did booking for. I got to know him much better at a bar called Bennie's, which he and partner Dave Rogers soon bought and transformed to Tritone. That's where Rick let me do more or less whatever I wanted. First I booked a couple of Secret Cinema movie screenings (the features RECORD CITY and BUCKTOWN), and later, music events, with me and/or my wife Silvia spinning various themes of obscure music, both with and without bands. If I said I wanted to devote a whole night to "sunshine pop" music (a genre which was the polar opposite of the punk and garage rock that Rick favored) or to Spanish '60s records (even before Silvia moved here and she'd discovered a group of Spaniards living in Philly, i.e., before there was any logical reason to do such a thing), Rick said go ahead, and never batted an eyelash. If said musical experiments were occasionally less popular than we'd both hoped, he encouraged me to try something else down the road.

Years before, a friend with a band told me that Rick D. was the only nice guy to deal with when trying to book his group. While I had some connections through Secret Cinema and did deal with a few other clubs then, I later realized what my friend meant. After years of doing these semi-vanity productions at Tritone mainly because Rick was so nice to deal with, it only just dawned on me that at this point I don't even know who currently is booking the other clubs in town.

Rick was a cult movie fan himself, and used to run video screenings at the Firenze. I never approved of video screenings of movies, but Rick did it in a low key way, and always had interesting taste, with lots of obscurities form the Something Weird video label. He also used to have these running sometimes while bands played. I still wish I had asked what the title was of this one weirdo Japanese sci-fi thriller that was one of the strangest things I'd ever seen. I now wished I'd asked him lots of things...I never even learned what his real last name was until he died (I thought I knew it, but it turned out there were whole extra syllables that I didn't know about!)

If I ran a d.j. night at Tritone ... when everything is boxed up and on the handtruck, I would be more than ready to head home and get to sleep, right after waving goodbye to Rick and thanking him for the gig.

However, that last step never went as fast as I planned, because it inevitably led to a multi-branched conversation with Rick about anything and everything that popped into our heads, peppered with Rick's famously laconic wit. Five minutes became 10 became 20, 30, and sometimes more, and when I finally left I knew I would be that much more tired the next day, but I never cared because talking to Rick was always interesting and fun. Rick loved talking to people and really thrived running a bar. Now I'll have all that time back in my life, but I don't feel like I'm gaining anything in the bargain. I feel cheated.

Today I attended Rick D's memorial service, along with what seemed like hundreds of other people. I knew many, but most I did not know. That crowd contained people of every walk of life, of every race, every age group, from several different eras of Philly underground music history and people far removed from the music scene. That he touched so many people and so many kinds of people in his short time on earth is the best testament to his character, his warmth and his generous spirit.

Our sympathies go out to his family and to his friends, which probably includes everyone who ever met him.

Posted by liz at 09:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

After seeing headlines for a few days about mice and bipolar disorder, I thought I'd find out what the research really means. Given that I don't know my multiplication tables and am baffled by relativity, I find it challenging to read scientific writing. This mouse thing has been no exception. First I turned to a blog written by a self-described "Red-State Serbian Jewish atheist liberal PhD student with Thesis-writing block and severe blogorrhea." I was so overwhelmed by that description, I had to flee to Living the Scientific Life, which was recommended by the Serbian blogger. There, Grrlscientist put things into context, though I still don't really understand what it all means.

So I'm posting this cutie photo by ieatstars. What a love!

Posted by liz at 12:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Thanks to Joe G. for sending in this New York Times editorial on parity legislation, but I have to say, I find the conclusions in it baffling. The argument, so far as I can tell, is that because mental health treatment is not sufficiently evidence-based, we should put our money into better research and not commit to parity.

The author relies quite heavily on the example of treatment for alcoholism, even citing a TV show about intervention. That seems oddly beside the point. While it's true that mental health treatment can be misguided and is too often profit-driven, what about those of us who feel we're getting appropriate treatment? For me, the bottom line is this: Right now, I can barely afford my psychiatric treatment, and I am constantly worried about the cap on hospitalization. Parity would change my life dramatically, and the lives of many people I know who have severe mental illnesses.

When the Cure Is Not Worth the Cost

Posted by liz at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Study Finds Guns in Households Affect Suicide Rate

Posted by liz at 02:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Andrew from New Jersey takes me to task for my post about Imus. He writes:

Re: your comment about Imus: "What if he'd said something similar about Jewish people? He'd be out on his ass." I only hear or see Imus occasionally, but my understanding is that he has in fact made what may be considered offensive comments about Jews in the past--so your premise is wrong. Your premise, unfortunately, also suggests this: that if people make remarks about Jews, they're history, but not so, regarding other people. It taps into a "Jewish power" myth, and it is unfortunate that, being Jewish, you would fall into that kind of thinking. There have been plenty of people who have made offensive remarks about Jews, and are still going strong despite their repugnant remarks.

I see what Andrew's saying, and I of course don't mean to imply that Jews rule the world and control the media. What I meant is that we seem to have reached a societal consensus that some things cannot be tolerated. Making anti-Semitic remarks, unless you're Mel Gibson, tends to be condemned outright. If MSNBC had an anchor who said something that stereotyped Jews--like that all the girls playing basketball for Brandeis were "big-nosed JAPS"--that anchor would be dismissed immediately. I think that would be the case even for a shock jock like Imus, though the standards are different there, I admit. I don't think we're as knee-jerk P.C. (in a good way) about racist remarks--not because Jews have power, but because our society as a whole is not as evolved as it should be.

This is, I realize, taking us a little far afield from mental health issues. So to appease the purists, here's a link to an article about a Brit celebrity (pictured; no more Imus photos, thanks) who suffered postpartum depression and is speaking out about it.

Posted by liz at 01:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)