OMG: Bianca does Dr. Phil

We try, Fred and I really do. But we can't watch her all the time, and really? Why does the onus fall on us? Am I truly expected to monitor the computer use of a mumblymumbly year old grown woman, and in a place as huge as Marlinspike Hall, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé?

It happened at 3:38 in the morning. Yes, I was up but hardly felt like looking over the shoulder of a drunken Castafiore, as she picked and pecked her way across the keyboard.

She's taken to frequenting local pubs after her evening performances at the Opera House, belting out encore performances of L'air des bijoux.

The only way I could tolerate a late night, early morning onslaught of je-ris-de-me-voir-si-belle-dans-ce-miroir-oir-oir-oir? Whiskey. Stoli. The dregs of a house red.

So, out of appreciation for my liver function, I stay safely ensconced in our designated area of The Manor.

La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore decided to surf the net before passing out in her suite of rooms -- rooms that she and some of her ne'er-do-well operatic thugs refurbished last summer, in the style of François Ier. Now *that* was perhaps an episode that Fred and I might have prevented -- but she's wily, very wily, that Castafiore.

Apparently, she is a fan of this Dr. Phil person, a tall, chunky, bald man of indeterminate age -- or 59. As documented in the Dickipedia, Phil McGraw is a "doctortainer of the highest order." Still, Bianca is perhaps not the sort of fan base that The Dr. Phil Brand was designed to attract, and in that lies much of her charm and amazing ability to sour the stomachs of her interlocuteurs.

How was he to know that she idolizes Michael Vick? Still, had he known that she idolized Michael Vick, would he have curtailed the expression of his disdain for that fine, upstanding, dog-murdering human being? Probably not... but we will never know.

A docutainer who makes massive use of slapping around The Obvious with his down-on-the-farm and well-fertilized twangy wisdom, Dr. Phil wrote several blog entries on the controversial subject of animal torture, which obviously cried out for the inclusion of some Celebrity Twit as his Easy Mark, his Straw Man, his Bitch. To wit: Vick.

The doctor is a master of damning with faint praise, a trait that I've always found repugnant. As I perused his blog this morning, after discovering what La Bonne et Belle had done, I could see how Bianca's buttons might have taken a beating.

The man is brutal, despite his hominy homilies. He viciously attacked, not just people who murder animals, but "Mommies" who parent (and drive) while under the influence; He even dared to criticize the recent Gang of Gaffes -- including Serena Williams and Kanye West, though Joe Wilson got off with just a pinch of the cheek. Clearly, Dr. Phil is not afraid to wade hip deep into controversy.

Anyway, in the wee hours of the morning, The Castafiore let loose. I hope Dr. Phil is okay.

We've seized her laptop and hidden it well. The deal is that she'll get it back as soon as her behavior provides proof that she's no longer subject to the demon of stinkin' thinkin'.

She seems to have at least made judicious use of SpellCheck and her English language dictionary -- although she is typical of adult foreign language users, in that she is at her best when... well, when slightly "disinhibited":



Bianca Castafiore says:
September 22, 2009 at 3:38 am

Dr. Phil, you have begun to frustrate me.

Not because of your various (safe) opinions voiced in your blog, but because you couch some of your most interesting notions in disingenuous ways. Your tongue may get stuck in your cheek!

“I don’t drink, but…”
“I haven’t examined him, but…”

The worst of all, though? Your tacit approval of Joe Wilson’s staged and boorish behavior during a speech by the President of the United States.

He was wrong… but he gets a bit of a good-old-boy wink and a nod — because you’d never want to criticize him for being “passionate.”

Clearly, you are saying that Michael Vick is a sociopath. *That* is an interesting statement and I would love to hear you expound upon it.

Vick was convicted, sentenced, and served that sentence. He will never be free from constant public scrutiny. It doesn’t matter in the least whether he can check off as accomplished any of the things you’d like to mandate, because those mandates only exist in DrPhil Land.



In defense of La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore, there are troubling things about -- as she put it -- life in DrPhil Land:
The Doctor Is Out (of Touch)

Symptom: Two high-profile fiascoes and a career of dubious decisions
Diagnosis: Dr. Phil doesn't have a license or a clue

By Barbara Card Atkinson
Special to MSN Entertainment

Maybe it's awful to kick a walrus-mustachioed man when he's down, but I am all for the recent public backlash against Dr. Phil. His producers bailed out one of the teens jailed for (allegedly) violently attacking a Florida teenager, in exchange for an exclusive interview with her, only to backpedal in the face of public disapproval. This boundary crossing is just the latest in a string of Dr. Phil's missteps; it's high time we all admitted that the good doctor is out -- out of touch, out of step and sometimes almost out of his homily-riddled mind.

Dr. Who?
Phillip Calvin McGraw, best known as Dr. Phil, hit the airwaves as Oprah's golden boy in 1998. She seemed to enjoy his straight talk and the way her audiences responded to his no-nonsense approach. It was refreshing, at first, to listen to a shrink who gave advice free of psychobabble buzzwords; he was even a little folksy, some homespun, gingham-aproned Freud. This is the guy who said, "Sometimes you make the right decision, sometimes you make the decision right." Adorable, right? Of course, he wasn't really a shrink, and he hasn't seemed to take his own advice. McGraw has a history of not making the right decisions, nor has he done much to right them.

Doc in a Cheap Suit
It's a sad fact that, these days, many a high-profile "personality" is going to have at least one good lawsuit lobbed his or her way, but Dr. Phil seems to repeatedly provoke lawsuits. The Texas attorney general investigated him for a possible health club scam in 1973. McGraw sold expensive lifetime memberships to a health club in Topeka, Kan., and resold the contracts to a financial institution, so the members had to keep paying whether the club existed or not. According to the court papers, three different Topeka banks sued him for more than $40,000, but he never showed in court and monies were never recovered. He had moved on to Texas, where he obtained a doctorate from the University of North Texas and began to practice psychology.

In 1989, the Texas State Board of Examiners of Psychologists imposed disciplinary sanctions against McGraw for what was deemed an inappropriate "dual relationship." McGraw admitted he hired one of his clients, a 19-year-old woman, to work in his office (can you say "breach of ethics"?), but denied her claim of a sexual relationship. The board ordered McGraw to pass a jurisprudence exam, undergo a psychological evaluation, take an ethics class and have his practice supervised for one year. Did he make amends and make it right? Well, as of 2008, no. Nineteen years in, and he still hasn't met the board's conditions. His license to practice psychology was revoked and, from that point on, he has not been licensed to practice psychology at all. As the man himself has noted, "Failure is no accident."

McGraw, who said, "We teach people how to treat us," exhibited poor judgment again when he decided to feature convicted murderer Laurie "Bambi" Bembenek. Bembenek was scheduled to appear on the "Dr. Phil" show in 2002 to clear her name. It didn't go well. She later filed a lawsuit against Dr. Phil and more than 50 of his staffers for, she said, being held against her will in an apartment with no way to contact the outside world, while awaiting potentially show-stopping, name-clearing DNA results. Bembenek claims the forced confinement led to a panic attack, which drove her to escape by climbing out a window. She fell and shattered her leg, which later had to be amputated below the knee. Despite whether Bembenek was detained against her will, one wonders at the "stinkin' thinking" involved in allowing an emotionally fragile, convicted murderer to become so agitated that she felt her only recourse was to shimmy down the outside of a building on a bed sheet ladder.

In 2006, Dr. Phil was named as a co-defendant (along with CBS) in a lawsuit filed by two brothers in relation to the Aruban disappearance of U.S. citizen Natalee Holloway. McGraw hired a private investigator to interview the Kalpoe brothers. They claimed they were recorded without their knowledge and the material was doctored, but later broadcast as being a true representation, portraying them "as engaging in criminal activity against Natalee Holloway ..."

Sure, maybe McGraw's involvement would break open the case as the one tactic that had so far eluded the combined forces of the U.S. and Aruban officials -- a trained television host.

Daddy Issues
McGraw has long been an outspoken critic of pornography. Eyebrows were raised, then, when he stood as the best man in his son, Jay's, 2006 wedding to Playboy playmate Erica Dahm; the elder McGraw even hosted the wedding at his Beverly Hills, Calif., mansion. Against porn? Fine. Supportive of his son, regardless? Terrific. Altering his "Dr. Phil" Web site to remove all of his comments about porn right after the fact? Umm, "What in the hell were you thinking?"

In January 2008, McGraw's behavior motivated a psychologist (an actual one, with a license and everything) to lodge a complaint with the California Board of Psychology, alleging that Dr. Phil was practicing illegally when he visited Britney Spears at Cedars-Sinai. McGraw was, reportedly, counseling Spears as well as inviting her to join her family on his stage for an upcoming televised intervention. After his unannounced hour-long visit, he made several long-winded statements on his show about Britney's mental state, which really chapped the family spokesperson. ..

Testing Patience
Who hasn't Dr. Phil ticked off? Thelma Box, a former business partner, alleges that McGraw sold his stake in Pathways, their self-help company (started in 1984), an entire year before he told her. Box also insists she co-created and co-authored the materials used in Pathways seminars, material that McGraw uses today in his show, but she has never been given any credit. [...]

And now this: Last week, Dr. Phil had his producers bail out Mercades Nichols, one of the six teenage Florida cheerleaders accused of beating another girl, videotaping it and posting the footage on YouTube. Nichols signed an exclusivity contract with McGraw's people, allegedly in exchange for her $30,000 bail. In light of the public outcry, producers have since announced they made an error in judgment and they have no plans to go forward with the show. Dr. Phil has yet to make his usual half-apologetic public statement, although now might be just the time for McGraw to heed his own advice: "If you want more, you have to require more from yourself." [...]

Maybe the problem isn't McGraw and his stern-talkin' daddy-tude; maybe the problem is that people are listening to him as if he's got a clue, or at least more of a clue than the rest of us. All facts point to the contrary. Just glance at McGraw's personal life (read his unauthorized biography, "The Making of Dr. Phil," for details about his never-mentioned first marriage and early company dealings); look at his business track record. Or take it from me. Just like Dr. Phil, I'm an unlicensed unpsychologist, and my advice to you, in classic Dr. Phil speak is this: "That dog really, really don't hunt."

Barbara Card Atkinson is a frequent contributor to MSN Entertainment.

the phoctor dill moderators strike again... j'accuse!

Continuing the tradition here at elle est belle la seine la seine elle est belle of journalistic integrity, I am reproducing below two posts that were removed, without explanation, by the fascist moderators over at the phoctor dill show.  Just kidding, they aren't fascists.  They're Republicans.

Yes, I am referring to the same journalistic and personal integrity that has inspired, for example the OCHOA series.  The fire in the belly feels roughly the same, though a little omeprazole might also be in order.

To  adequately set the scene for you, Dear Readers. is impossible.  This is your chance to fly by the seat of your pants -- an experience no one should miss.

I can tell you that this first post was composed, and is here reproduced unchanged, by one "yeahyoucan," aka pixikuku, C-angels14, maroonmimosabloom. recycledpap, -- she apparently switches from one moniker to another in an attempt to escape me and my sinister stalking, not understanding that she was just one of over a hundred RSS feeds in my Reader, and that the feed automatically made the switch to her lovely new names with no interference or direction from me.

The second post is my very moderate response, which she has already reduced to a self-serving mangle on her Twit Account.  She wins the Woe-Is-Me-But-Most-Of-All-I'm-Right Award and gets to bear the trinkets of her office:  a gilded plunger and and an empty amphitheater.

Grrrrrrrrrrrr.  Well, we'll just add this to the growing pile of I-hate-Phoctor-Dill posts.  Yes, thank you, I said I was done with this crowd, and clearly am not.  I went back because... a friend was in difficulty. Unfortunately, the Crazy Lady, in her own obsession, thought it had something to do with her.

Oy!

*******************************************************************************

To bully stalker who spoke to me today, here.

Replied ByX on Aug 17, 2012, 5:59PM

Please do not continue to obsess about me and since you have over a year I'd suggest you seek professional help.  You've been bullying me and stalking me for over a year and stalked me here immediately after I blocked you another place you stalk me after you attacked me again.  You even stated THE DAY you stalked me here that your presence would likely distress others and to not worry as you weren't going to stay then you stayed anyway.  Yes, being bullied and stalked by you is distressing.

You have said to me and others that you do case studies on us.  You do not have permission to document and use information about me and as a courtesy to Dr. Phil Website members should secure permission before doing so.  Lots of things not right to do can be done anyway to exploit others as your bullying, stalking and taunting Dr. Phil Website members that you are doing case studies on Dr. Phil Website members as you taunted me too.

You have said to Dr. Phil Website members that since a public forum you can collect information on Dr. Phil Website members yet that's not what Dr. Phil made these message boards for.  Dr. Phil is TOTALLY against bullying and stalking.  You have a disconnect if you'd exploit the misfortune of another to stalk someone here right after blocked you, as you did me, disrespecting both my and Dr. Phil's philosophical anti-bully boundaries.  When I blocked you you were stating to me, as you once did another Dr. Phil Website member you stalked, that you could follow RSS feed even if we changed profile name to avoid your bullying & stalking.  I and other Dr. Phil Website members aren't here for you to entertain yourself bullying and stalking us.

That's why I kindly suggested y'all chatting on board y'all said met on since mostly chatting with each other since YOU KNOW you've been bullying and stalking me and may or may not be person hacking into my computer as well.  Only hacker knows that and I've only suspected you are hacker as well since I KNOW you bully and stalk me.  I was shocked to see mean remarks to me by you on a birthday video I made because once before when you were attacking me you said you realized I was a good person and stopped.  I am a good person.  It is okay to not like me yet not okay to stalk and bully me and, in fact, it is illegal to bully and stalk as you do me.  The polite thing, when you have other ways to communicate with someone, is to not exploit that person, to stalk me here putting us all in an uncomfortable position.

That you stated your presence here could distress others when you stalked me here, right after I blocked you for being mean to me elsewhere:  The polite thing when you tell person(s) you've distressed stalking and bullying to not worry because you don't plan to stay is to not stay.  That you knew/stated here that your presence would distress others, as did me, when you popped in here... on some level you must know not right to do since isn't right to bully and stalk me then exploit someone else here, and Dr. Phil, to achieve stalking me here, too.  Since you seem unable to stop stalking, bullying & obsessing about me I hope that you will seek professional help.  That's meant sincerely and not to be insulting...

*****************************************************************************

MY REPLY:

Replied By: profderien on Aug 17, 2012, 7:04PM - In reply to x

Instead of speaking in what I assume is supposed to be legalese, why not just address me as me, prof, or,if you prefer, Evil One, Mistress of the Interwebs..


I wouldn't begin to know how to hack into a computer.


I don't stalk people.  You, I have kept an eye on, and yes, found interesting.  You've angered me more than anything, and I have said some things to get your considerable goat.  So, I was raised in a barn, perhaps, or maybe I never learned that sweet southern way of insulting people right and left with my many supposed suggestions and judgments.  I kept an eye on everyone who was involved in the incident that made me leave drphil com to begin with -- involving unfounded accusations of child abuse and threats flying back and forth -- all coming from people in *this* forum.  at the time, i was close to joyce and what i saw happening among you all, well, yes, if you like, it made you "case studies."

RSS feeds are available to everyone on the internet and I follow over 100 different feeds, so I wouldn't get overly excited about being included in that group, though it is a group of writers that I find interesting and that have all made themselves available to the technology.  There's not one iota of weirdness or illegality about it -- it is just technology.

My anger did evolve into bullying -- and since, at the moment, I am extraordinarily angry, I can only say that I'm dedicated to working on that.  "Better to say nothing..." is wise advice and I've spent my life trying to adhere to it.

You are, however, suffering from paranoia.  Or the belief that if you wish others and the world to be a certain way, that others and the world ought to straighten up and follow your orders.  I think, at times, some tendencies toward paranoia make you feel targeted when really... no one is paying you any attention, or wouldn't, if you could control yourself.

For God's sake, I tweeted something to you -- it was straightforward, a link to something or other, and you started reporting me to the Dallas police.

It's not normal behavior and I think your friends and the moderators and Dr. Phil, himself, have done you no favors by not assisting you.  It has been easier for them to put up with delusional and paranoid behavior, almost using you as a mascot -- a role that you perceive, apparently, as an appointed cheerleader.  

Sure, I could use professional help and have sought it when I needed it.  I wish everyone would.  There's no shame in it.

In short -- hacking, no;  stalking, no (but congratulations on your healthy ego!)  bullying, sadly, yes, I think I have bullied you.  When I can honestly apologize, I'll do so.  (You would never guess how you've angered me -- a hint: a good part of it involves remarks you've made to the First Family of the United States. and a rather evil xenophobia)  Hmmm, maybe I do need help...)



Most sincerely yours,



Prof

Existential Crises in TwitterLand, v3

please be advised: if your sense of humor is on hiatus, best pass on to another post. The Castafiore wishes your visit to Marlinspike Hall to be of the pleasant, liltingly-laughtered sort.

This post will be universally condemned by its target audience, the core group of Dr. Phil fans who mainly gather under the rubric of his online Depression Board, but also show signs of life in the wider internet. Both a support group and a loose social network, it has the usual I-am-not-your-leader Leader and a squadron of four or five souls who cluck-and-bleat faithfully in her wake. They weather the odd storm and really believe that Phil McGraw is "a great man" who has the power, if only he would wield it, to change their lives.

That's an odd motif found in all McGraw's online forums -- odd because the guy repeatedly asserts that taking charge of one's life and inherent responsibilities, "owning" behavior and outcomes, is key to productive change and good mental health.

Faithful Readers {waving:waving} -- you know that I use inflammatory language from time to time, or daily, a communicative tool that's useful in our culture of SMS and information overload. We demand access to all things and people; Failing that, we flirt with a growing sensation of exile and isolation.

We wanna dance at the prom; We wanna be invited to the party. We have the red stilettos that will pull that outfit together, nicely.

We have the technology. We have Big Science.

McGraw's group of Sad Sacks decided, at some point, to follow the entertainer over to Twitter and Facebook, believing he would take note, I guess, and be proud that they were distancing their souls from the muddy puddle of luddite dystopia.

All the world is a country-fried support group for delusional depressives!

Not that I am fundamentally any different: I used to be a steady, daily contributor to the online group at the Dr. Phil homestead organized for people with "chronic pain." Yadda, and then, more yadda -- I left due to the machinations of a woman whose Bucket List is ordered around a vanity press version of the DSM.

Part of keeping a wary eye on her evolved into keeping an eye on the goings-on and busy doings of this "small fish" support group as it made its maiden fishy voyage into the big pond of the social networking world. It's fascinating to watch, as there is a whole-hearted attempt to maintain group-think and group-speak, and to keep the "rules" of the DPDB even when not posting there. What are the rules? Well, there is the Golden Rule, and then there is anything that Dr. Phil, his anointed spouses and offspring, as well as his producers and moderators... would approve. It's a vague and very evangelical Christian set of guidelines. Unfortunately, they smack of right-wing conservatism, as well. You know, like how God don't make no junk.... [except for you, and you, and you...]

There is a strong America, Love it or Leave it aroma, a stench of xenophobia, sure to be seen anytime there is an environmental or financial disaster elsewhere in the world. The wail goes up: How dare the world help them and not me?

On my worst days, I read them and hear: How dare any of you have anything, from spare change to cable TV and a functional baseline?

The DPDB, as the gang calls itself, is clueless about why I "follow" them, and Machiavelli Woman is adept at deflecting inquiries about her obsessive conduct -- as she continues her steady diet of disrupting relationships and courting one crisis after another. Should things calm to the point where the best activity might be some sober self-analysis and maybe something in a navy-blue, lighthearted banter, you can set your watch by her tweets of despair.

Indeed, one of the reasons I so enjoyed the Chronic Pain Message Board was its capacity for happiness, the courage to thumb the nose at severe physical pain with laughter. You're not going to find much of that when there is an insistance that the support space be used for "our problems," and not our life lived beyond and in spite of our problems. Anyway...

The femelle in question remains delusional (I have come to prefer *that* notion over other, more dire options), maintaining that we were "best friends" and "confidantes." Of course, that waxes and wanes with my being the devil incarnate, which is infinitely more apt.

[The truth? The beginning of this post has been completely rewritten because, in the wake of its initial publication, she waxed disturbingly poetic, yet again, about our deep and abiding friendship... and I was reminded that convoitise can turn as rancid as a fine olive oil in its thirteenth month. Also, I want to anachronistically urge you not to miss the comments to this post, as I found them to be illustrative.]

Yes, it is a merry band of folk, the DPDB. Mostly fine and good people struggling with the usual outrages of life. Mostly, they fight the good fight, and do it, mostly, well. Unfortunately, a few insist on smothering any emergent sign of autonomy in favor of waiting for Their Hero (or any other available and sympathetic Famous Person With Means) to save them. And, one can't help but conclude, do it on television, while tweeting.

So -- again, The DPDB Twitter Subset is not going to like this blog post. But I am feeling all Edith-Piaf-y and je ne regrette rien. The shame is that I am not a good enough writer to present the rotten core without tainting implications of the healthier surrounding flesh. I trust my readers understand, and should one of you need support in the midst of a transient depression, well... FOR GOD'S SAKE, STAY AWAY FROM ANY INCARNATION OF DR. PHIL!

No, seriously. I mean, if those of us who wrote under the aegis of the "chronic pain board" expected him to do anything for our pain, you'd think we were crackers, wouldn't you? How in heck is a television personality supposed to Take Care of (Your) Business? I actually saw, I kid you not, a tweet to the President of the United States bemoaning the fact that, despite asking Dr. Phil for seven years to provide her health care, said health care had not come about! Holy Toledo, Batman!

Now, I prefer to find that hilarious, as opposed to... anything else. This Good Lady remains undaunted, by the way, tweeting with alacrity, finding no disconnect in expecting Dr. Phil to address her physical ailments and complaining to POTUS about a lack of response from LA-LA Land.

[What baby? What bathwater?]


Don't worry, even as I set myself up as an easy target? I have girded my lefty loins...

[Okay, I will give you a minute to settle down. Yes, I used the L-word. We're all adults here.

Of course, Fred still falls to the floor in hysterics whenever the intro plays to Law and Order: SVU. You know how it goes:

"In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous."

No, it is not that, in my home, we laugh at sexually based offenses -- not at all. No, Fred simply finds the word "heinous" to be close to "heinie," and therefore, hilarious.

Sigh. The man I love lives in Wayne's World and thinks heinous* is a clever combination of hideous and anus.]
Where was I?

Ah, yes: My goins are lurded. Also, my loins are girded. What is the epithet of condemnation I most fear from this Gaggle of Depressed Tweeters?

What's that? You think me paranoid? {We'll skip the usual rebuttals} There is as much cohesion chez these Stalwarts as you are likely to find in any burgeoning militia, so yes, I have, if not actual fear, at least a healthy respect for their capabilities. Especially since they cannot view me, or appreciate what I write, through a legitimizing lens -- my "best friend" and "confidante" sees to that.

Oops. You almost caught me acting like I care.

And so, with that bizarre and unerring rectitude of dysthmics everywhere, they usually can be counted on to tag me as the Denizen and Maven of a "hate-filled blog." And, of course, as they pay close attention to all things Dr. Phil, so I am a Bully. {sniff}

elle est belle la seine la seine elle est belle -- hate-filled? I think not! The Castafiore, a Bully? Well, I have been known to overcompensate, but overall? No way! Mostly, they misconstrue anything that doesn't have the Celebrity Stamp of Approval as an attack on their efforts to persevere in their own being. [Tucked in the lower left corner of my medicine cabinet mirror is the famous Spinoza pronouncement: The striving by which each thing endeavors to persevere in its being is nothing other than the actual essence of the thing.]

Survivors of Various and Sundry Traumas are constantly told "to honor the way in which you survived." Unfortunately, that has tended to morph into advice encouraging the continuation of behaviors that are now maladaptive. You persevere in your being with alacrity, as I persevere in mine -- hopefully our perseverence won't take the form of the same crap over and over and over. Again. Too, and also.

So let the nabobs of negativism natter on; Now that lurded goins are in place, I can take it.

(I'm using Professional Grade Loin Girder with Asbestos, a special blend. It has low to mid-GodAwful odor during and after application. It's available in 1 quart size and 5 quart size, so it's important to do a proper loin measurement. If you mix 1 quart with 10 gallons of water, it will treat 25 linear feet of loin and last about 5years, which is about as long as you want to have a loin girded. More than that and you risk a nasty case of AssPout. If you mix 1 quart with 20 gallons of water it will treat 50 linear feet of loin and last 2-3 years. The decision whether to value Size of Loin over Length of Loin Coverage is a difficult and personal one. Most use of the 5 quart containers will be industrial: mixed with 50 gallons of water, that much Girder will handily treat 125 linear feet of loin, and will last about 5 years. Now that's an impressive amount of loin. If mixed with 100 gallons of water, Professional Grade Loin Girder with Asbestos will treat 250 linear feet and the treatment will last 2-3 years. Remember that this stuff must always be used in conjunction with good ventilation or you risk an accidental Lip Girding and Permanent Nostril Flare.)

I know these technical details can be difficult to absorb, at first, but if you'll just keep an open mind and cheerful disposition, you and your loins will thank me.

Beyond calling my writing hateful, and my blog hate-filled, the remaining forms of attack generally include at least two of the following observations and preferred chastisements:

* I am not following Dr. Phil's Rules. [Don't ask me what they mean by that. But apparently, McGraw has replaced Emily Post as Icon of Etiquette. These folks will admonish one another with Extreme Victorian Primininity, saying smarmy stuff like: Now, now, Dr. Phil would be very disappointed with that kind of language. You represent The Bald Fraud and our Board of Depressives wherever you go, so behave!]

* How dare I use Dr. Phil's name in vain. [I don't. I am rarely talking about Dr. Phil, I am talking about his Rabid Acolytes. Guffaw!]

* I am not an American. I am, somehow, Australian and have severe dental issues and brittle, frizzy hair. To quote: I am a "yellow toothed foul mouthed crazy broad from Austarilia." In her defense, this particular Rabid Acolyte is, at least, dyslexic.

I am hoping to cull some new insults this go 'round. Maybe something folksy, involving farm implements... or shades of hound dogs and people being forcibly ejected from the back of Turnip Trucks.

Honest to God, it has been years since I was last "downright tickled." If you are from the southeastern United States, or have visited That Land, you know that to be tickled is distinctly different than, say, to laugh at, or to find amusing.

Downright tickled is what makes the pews shake during silent meditation and high holiness in any given synagogue, mosque, or christian church.

Downright tickled is when you can no longer control bodily functions because Mirth has completely taken over.

Downright tickled is irrepressible and rivals sexual orgasm but, unlike orgasm, is simply impossible to fake.

The Merry Band of Depressed DrPhiloPhiles spend an inordinate amount of time seeking the help, approval, and simple notice of Dr. Phil, his producers, his wife, his children, his dog, his sons' dogs, and every possible spin off thereof (i.e. The Doctors, Oprah, etc.). Oh, and now they've the added sentimental ammunition of the First Grandchild. They've begun to address the man as Paw Paw McGraw.

Tweets, emails, and messages go out to The Big Bald Guy, almost nonstop, asking for money, health, happiness, cars, homes, fabulous dentistry -- asking for almost any favor or hand out you can imagine. My favorite posts start appearing around the time the boobtube celebrities announce the dates for their "holiday giveaway shows."

So, as you can well imagine, it is of utmost importance that the lines of communication be kept primed and open, so as to transmit the various requests/demands in a timely and effective fashion.

It's crucial, really.

Approximately every 9 1/2 days, there is a Modest Crisis of Faith, and someone will break ranks, lamenting that all this labor is for naught, as "help never comes," "Dr. Phil/Oprah/Keith Olbermann doesn't care/is ignoring us," etcetera, etcetera. This is often an ideal point for the insertion of xenophobic rants against foreign people who steal American Resources, so there is some subtle teabaggery going on in the communal subtext of these Communards! The roleplaying faithless promptly undergo 8-minute cures of reeducation and repatriation, and are busy begging pardon before nightfall. It's a neat trick. On the 11th day of the cycle, roughly 18 hours after the initial moans of the Modest Crisis of Faith, a Designated Anointed makes vague suicidal threats in a virtuoso performance that is the very embodiment of Advanced Emotional Blackmail. The Group Leader cries "Scene!" ...and the sinewy dance begins anew.

Last night, however, there was a wild break out, a revolutionary prise-de-conscience among the Twitter subgroup.

Understand, there is a rigid schedule adhered to by all -- by which a taxing pas-de-deux -- which pairs well with prise-de-conscience and other French phrases in hyphenated italics -- ensues.

Ha! Parse that, mon ami, parse that!

In short, while they keep their respective Twitter accounts fairly blistering with bons mots, these hyperactive hypomanics also must make at least three visits to the Dr. Phil Depression Depot, leaving sad but hopeful posts at the end of two of those trips. Further, points are accrued by yucking-it-up in the comment section of his blog, with extra credit for every Facebook comment logged. These are some plugged-in people!

At roughly 2000 Zulu, the thought occurred to one of the group that the reason for the lack of help forthcoming from the aforementioned Oft Beseeched Celebs was clearly that the group's tweets were... invisible.

In other words, how in the world could Dr. Phil possibly respond to the demands for instant weight loss, emotional maturity, and enough money for Spring Break in Cancun... when he hasn't even had the chance to see those appeals?

Again, because they are invisible.

Yes, suddenly all understanding of the TweetFeed and the laws of electronic communication vanished. I, at least, benefitted from this existential angst, for I happened upon this conversation, faithfully transcribed below, and I laughed the laugh of the carefree for the first time in weeks.

Of course, this person is tweeting to a specified interlocuteur but we'll not reproduce the conversation as an entire whole for fear that we will be threatened with Law Enforcement Bubbas peering around the tree trunks here on Manor Lands. Captain Haddock was absolutely pissed the last time we were under investigation, and threatened us with eviction.

We will risk providing a few of the candid retorts, for purposes of cohesion, mind, that's all. Please don't send the Internet Police to hound us!

The opening salvo finds our anonymous hero suddenly falling prey to a fit of paranoia, then deciding to put her understanding of the Scientific Method to astute use:

As seen on NEWS : All tweets on twitter R downloaded to the Library of congress???? Big Brother truly is watching us!!!!!

@JOWLS Testing testing can U see me?
{are you here?}

@JOWLS Tweet something be4 U start following me again that is NOT areply to me. then I will reply to that!

{hello?}
@JOWLS NO DON'T REPLY JUST TWEET

{hello?}

@JOWLS DON'T REPLY JUST TWEET!

{i am tweeting}

@JOWLS Now un follow to see if this reply to UR tweet is still there!

{@RealScottBaio doing a test, can you see this tweet???}

@JOWLS The only way he can see this tweet is IF UR lucky enough to have him click on UR picture as on of his 20,000 followers!

{I think this needs further testing, I think if you do an @ whoever you want to tweet they can see it if you follow them}

@JOWLS THAT's RIGHT!

{@DrPhil Doing a test: can you see this tweet???}

{testing 123}

{SO we are tweeting for help for nothing, no one can see them???}

@JOWLS THAT'S SO VERY RIGHT!

{How come I can see their tweets if they arent following me??? }

@JOWLS Because U R following them!

{Dr Phil definitely ain't following me and I got a response from him before.}

@JOWLS 4 them to see UR tweets they must be following U!

@JOWLS If U click on UR followers someone U R not following U can send them a message!

@JOWLS Dr Phil has THOUSANDS of followers. IF he happens to click on UR user ID he can respond, BUT what R the ODDS?

{odds must be pretty good, he has responded to me, and others.}

{let me go see}

{no its not on his page}

@JOWLS I also got a response from Robin about her cookie recipe. She just happened to click on my picture to see the question. LOTM!

{wow they really cant see our tweets}

@SMART1 No I don't think UR lying. I know it was the LUCK OF THE MOUSE. DO U want to try the test?

@SMART1 Just un follow me and see if my reply to to UR tweet shows up on UR page. It wont until U follow me again.

@JOWLS Okay here's what U do now. Click on Dr Phils picture U will go to his page. Do U see UR tweet where U asked if he could see it?

@JOWLS U might see it because U replied. I'll go see if it's there on my end.

{that does no good, just because we can see what we tweeted doesnt mean he sees them, they are not on his page.}

@JOWLS See? It's the luck of the Mouse. If UR lucky he'll stop on UR picture maybe once or twice.

{I already knew that they probably wouldnt respond, I did however think they could see the tweets.}

@JOWLS I'm not trying to hurt UR feelings or yours either SMART1 but the fact is the odds R against them ever seeing ur requests.

@JOWLS Or mine either! If ur following someone with just a few followers UR chances R much better.

I care about ALL my friends. I see them getting depressed & feeling hopeless because their pleas are not heard. I just wanted them 2 know Y.

I hear someone who I am not following Is tweeting me right now! Telling us how to see the tweets.

I can't see her reply because I am not following her because I can't FIND her! I don't think she is following me either.

O, the humanity! I *mean* it: O! The humanity! Isn't it beautiful?





Addendum 17 April 2010: Even at a distance of days, the dialogue above continues to make me laugh and appreciate those times when we are just flat out overwhelmed but doggedly continue our efforts to make sense out of a sometimes nonsensical world. It's a classic, really -- très Abbott and Costello, don't you think?

Who's On First?

Abbott: Well Costello, I’m going to New York with you. You know, Bucky Harris, the Yank’s manager gave me a job as coach for as long as you’re on the team.

Costello: Look Abbott, if you’re the coach, you must know all the players.

Abbott: Right, certainly do.

Costello: Well, I never met the guys, so you’ll have to tell me their names, and then I’ll know who’s playing on the team.

Abbott: Oh, I’ll tell you their names, but you know strange as it may seem, they give these ball players now a days, very peculiar names.

Costello: You mean funny names?

Abbott: Strange names, pet names. Like, Dizzy Dean, and…

Costello: His brother Daffy?

Abbott: Daffy Dean.

Costello: And their French cousin.

Abbott: French?

Costello: Goofe’.

Abbott: Goofe’ Dean, oh I see! Well let’s see, we have on the bags, we have Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third.

Costello: That’s what I want to find out.

Abbott: I say, Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know’s on third.

Costello: Are you the manager?

Abbott: Yes.

Costello: You going to be the coach too?

Abbott: Yes.

Costello: And you don’t know the fellow’s names?

Abbott: Well I should.

Costello: Well then who is on first?

Abbott: Yes... [and so on, and so forth!]

*etymology of heinous: late 14c., from O.Fr. haineus (Fr. haineux), from haine "hatred," from hair "to hate," from Frankish *hatjan (cf. O.S. haton, O.E. hatian "to hate").

**I am inclined to give Spinoza the Final Word, as interpreted by Michael A. Rosenthal in his Tolerance as a Virtue in Spinoza's Ethics:

"There is widespread agreement that tolerance is a mainstay of modern liberalism. There is less agreement about what justifies it. As a starting point I want to offer the definition of toleration as 'the refusal, where one has the power to do so, to prohibit or seriously interfere with conduct that one finds objectionable.'

If we include the expression of ideas through speech or other media as part of 'conduct' then this will serve us adequately. It captures the central tension between disapproving some conduct and yet allowing it to continue that we find in the etymology of the word itself, which comes from the Latin tolerare, which means to bear or endure. This tension, however, produces a variety of conceptual puzzles and difficulties that bear on the justification and maintenance of the practice itself. Some of the problems are meta-ethical and arise from questions about the status of normativity itself. For example, one common justification of tolerance is based on skepticism about the good. If there is no objective idea of the good then enforcement of some subjective concept of it would be unjustified."

There You Go!

Man, I've had it.  There is this crazy woman in Dallas who is a Dr. Phil fanatic, and apparently, delusional as all get out.

She tweets nonstop about her need for a brain-to-ass makeover, including cosmetic dentistry (but never, you will notice, for the psychiatric services she needs most), all the while denigrating people who make sensible use of the entitlement systems that are in place for... you know, people who need those services!  No... she would rather tweet the cast of the Dr. Phil Show, any partial blood relative of his, any entertainment spinoffs, like The Doctors.

She tells these poor people about her "10/10" pain in her ribs, how she thinks she is on the verge of actual, physical death.  In a tweet.

Never mind that a 10/10 pain wouldn't allow for the formulation  of one tweet, much less the million she can produce over a single somatic symptom.

Never mind the complete assification exhibited by using Twitter as your private 911 line.

Never mind that you become a fascinating creature to watch, in terms of all sorts of anthropological data collection.

But recently, she began to sound a little...  grounded.  She was tossing around terms like "responsibility," and this morning, even compared herself to Thoreau.  I had a ridiculous moment of hope on her behalf.  Stupid me, I thought, "Hey, she's finally hit on the miracle of self-reliance!" [Yes, I often confuse Emerson for Thoreau.]

Intransigeant, ridiculously rigid , yes, I can see the reasoning in her referencing Thoreau.

Aw hell.  You know what she tweets about as much as anything else?  Her personal Paradise Lost.  Her rape.  The battering that caused the dental problems she now wants a celebrity to fix, for free.  The same dozen memories, from something she thinks people said at one of her failed childhood birthday celebrations to  verbatim quotes from 1996, when one doctor decided not to take her as a patient because she did not have health insurance.

She reminds me, God damn it all, of my Father.

Not that my father would ever tweet, I mean, at all.  Much less, tweet his personal problems in the hopes that a male power figure would swoop down into his life and alleviate all need for force of will.  No, how they are alike is in this scary affinity for backhanded "Nyah, nyah, I told you so"s.

Once, when my brother Grader Boob was all of 16, he had a rare emotional meltdown that resulted, if memory serves me correctly, from having had the distance between the end of his sideburns and the tip of his ear lobe measured with a ruler.  In order to understand this scenario, I guess you either have to be from a military family (of a certain era) or you had to be there.  Let's just say that the teenager felt oppressed, judged, harassed.  It was late in the evening, too, so add "tired."

And out of his teen-aged mouth came this:  "I wish you would stay out of my life."

My father could not quote this son, verbatim or even approaching such accuracy, on any topic of import to that son.  No knowledge of his core beliefs, no knowledge of his heartbreaks, not an inkling of how generous and kind a child he'd produced.  But -- should anyone ever suggest, say, that he throw the kid a life preserver, as he appeared to be drowning in the deep end of the pool, my Dad, without fail, would say, "You know, on X day in 1970-something, Grader Boob told me to stay out of his life. And I have, and I will continue to do so."

I can't reproduce the tone.  The tone is the clincher.  You'll just have to use your imagination.

Anyway, this Dr. Phil-crazed woman is the same way.  Someone, somewhere does something once within her sphere of knowing, and it is as if all of humanity acted in tandem, and not for an instant, but for a really boring eternity.

But like I said, I saw signs of hope.  She paid for a checkup, for example.  That may sound weird, but that was a huge step.  She needed a checkup.  She spent, I dunno, about 16 years needing one.  When she got "connected" to the world through computers, she started a campaign to guilt-out Nice People Of Means into providing her with what she wanted and needed.  All of that intelligence and creativity, wasted in needling, wheedling, whining -- like an overgrown, over-the-hill Shirley Temple, dressed all in crinoline that barely covered her ass, graying hair in shellacked ringlets.

And yes, damn it., I know perfectly well that the adult Ambassador Shirley Temple Black was a woman to be admired.

That's the only teeth-grinding allusion that will come to mind, somehow.

Hope, I was talking about hope.

Out of the blue, this woman began to say stuff about how maybe it is a good thing to do things for one's self... and we here at Marlinspike Hall burst into fits of cheering and expectations of feats of derring-do.  Not that we are a completely independent people, no, far from it.  In fact, we are about as intertwined and joined at the hip as it gets.  But should there be a pressing need for X in our world?  We get X.  We buy it, rent it, borrow it.  We finance it, we replicate it, we steal it.

Just checking to see if you're paying attention.  No, we don't steal X!  C'mon!  Captain Haddock would make of us a finely minced tartare...

This morning, I made my once a week perusal of the Dr. Phil Crazy Lady tweets -- and saw that she was back to her old habits and, well, I lost it.  I tweeted her a link to PCIP -- one of the wonderful provisions created in the Affordable Care Act.  It is the Pre-Existing Condition Insurance Program., and if you read this blog regularly, you know that it has probably saved my life.  It still is too much of a secret, so I try to spread the word however I can.

Admittedly, suggesting to someone living in Fantasy Land that she be proactive and use some of the money she spends on television and computing to buy herself some health insurance was not my most reasoned thought of late.  Particularly when she assumes that people who contact her via Twitter -- but whom she is not "following" -- are HACKING into her account!

I'd roll my eyes but I have a headache.

Basically, if I write anything at Dr. Phil's website (which usually results in a nasty, itchy, red contact dermatitis) or on Twitter, she considers herself hacked.

I imagine that if you look at her sideways, she screams that you're inflicting a bloody murder upon her person.
I've seen her be ingratiatingly cruel to people she considers beneath her -- moments when your own quick intake of breath registers the real mettle of a person.

She does not respect women, though she'd go all purple in contradiction.  She doesn't respect herself.  That's what needs to change.  There's no need to whitewash or otherwise disguise the violent episodes of her life, but there is no need to continue to proffer them as the only real examples of having lived.

Okay.  She's a lot like me, in some ways.  I know that my days would be much happier if, every time I felt the urge to launch into a litany of woes through the vehicle of an anecdote, I would stop... just stop... and explore how saying nothing feels.

The armchair psychologist in me wants to diagnose rampant anxiety as the stultifying culprit in such matters --when we with ourselves too much discuss.  But clearly there is also PTSD, and that needs treating, too.

I was at the Pain Management Dude's Place this morning, being "pharmacologically managed." In my curly head, on the way, I regaled Fred with all the witty things I planned to say to the PA -- most all of which stemmed from the fact that they failed to help me and Go-To-Guy in an hour of true need.

She came in the exam room, smiled, and said, "It's been a while.  Where have you been?"

Well, that took a while to answer.  The last time we'd communicated, she'd emailed me that Go-To-Guy should manage the Baclofen issues, and that I needed to make an appointment and come in if I needed further help.  Of course, within 48 hours, we had called 911 ("Tante Louise!") twice and I ended up in ICU, making my surgeon stomp his little foot and yell, "You almost died!"

By the time I got to signing out AMA from the LTAC, and the details about the second surgery, and the wound vac...  her brown eyes were bugging out.

I was -- and this is the absolute truth -- restrained in the manner of my telling.  Instead of making a single insinuation of dissatisfaction over their response to the whole spaz-spaz-spaz crisis?  I stated, simply, that their  failure to respond in a meaningful or helpful way had shaken my faith in them.

Her response was not what I expected.

She said, "What email?  What are you talking about?"

Oh the blows to ego!  Aren't they wonderful?  It's like someone pushing your reset button.

In the moment, I knew I could either go ballistic, as in "What the hell do you mean, 'What email?' The one where I begged you to help us find a way to treat the dystonia without overdosing on Baclofen!" -- or, I could do what I did, which was to laugh, look her in the eye, and say:

"Well.  There you go!"

It's an improvement for me, I think, don't you?

A laugh.
A look in the eye.
"Well.  There you go!" (with a lilt, mind you)

Best of luck to you, crazy Dr. Phil Lady!  There you go!

The Castafiore Takes On Doktor Phil. Again.

• 9 cups dandelion flowers (6 cups dandelion petals and 3 cups dandelion flower heads, trimmed)
• 1 11-oz can Welch's 100% White Grape Juice frozen concentrate
• 1 lb 10 ozs granulated sugar
• 2 lemons (juice only)
• 2 oranges (juice only)
• 1 tsp yeast nutrient
• ½ tsp pectic enzyme
• ¼ tsp tannin
• 6¼ pts water
• White Burgundy wine yeast

In primary, combine all ingredients except dandelions and yeast. Stir well to completely dissolve sugar. Stir in dandelions, cover primary and set aside 10-12 hours. Add activated yeast and recover primary. Stir twice daily until violent fermentation subsides. Pick and prepare flower petals and heads. For dandelion flower heads, wash and trim off stems only. Put dandelion petals and heads in nylon straining bag with 1 dozen sterilized glass marbles for weight. Tie bag and submerge in liquid in primary. Gently squeeze and dunk bag several times a day for 5 days. Drain bag, squeezing lightly only, and transfer liquid to secondary. Fit airlock and rack after 2 weeks, topping up and refitting airlock afterward. After wine falls clear, wait 2 weeks and rack after adding 1 crushed Campden tablet to clean secondary. Thereafter, rack every 2 months for 6 months, adding another crushed Campden tablet during middle racking and stabilizing at last racking. Wait another month and rack into bottles. This wine is for the long term and for winning competitions, so cellar it for 2 years before tasting.

-- From Jack Keller's Dandelion Wines:  Special Recipe Collection 

Even knowing what a squirrelly creature she can be, I confess to having been beguiled by La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore... again. *

Home at The Manor unusually early of an evening, she decided to check out the latest from her arch enemy, Dr. Make-Believe-I'm-A-Psychologist Phil.   It's not clear to us what motivates this compulsion that overcomes her, though it may be some kind of seasonal affective disorder...  or -- duuuuhhhhhh -- I reckon compulsions don't have rational motivations, anyway, huh? 

Yeah, okay, you caught me.  I was trying to show off how I probably know as much as Doktor Phil in terms of... well, terms 'n all.  You try coming up with believable crap to explain Bianca's behavior and see if you don't pick up a few felicitous funky phrases.

Or it might be the wine.  As motivation, I mean.  Or as disinhibitor, allowing for the release of wave upon wave of bright green Anti-McGraw Bile.

She got it into her pretty lacquered head to do some early taste-testing of last year's dandelion wine.  Jack Keller says that "dandelion wine is fermented sunshine."

That'd be Jack Keller, the winemaker, craggy-faced guy, recently bit by a rattlesnake.  Not the songwriter, who penned hits for everyone from the Everly Brothers to The Monkees.  Certainly not the poker player or the Marvel Comics artist.

[Don't you think we should all have our own disambiguation page at Wikipedia?  It sounds like something I *need* -- and *want*.  I need disambiguation.  I want disambiguation.  Hell, I DESERVE disambiguation.]

Right!  So after indulging in a little alcoholic sunbathing, The Castafiore scoped out the latest cutting edge opinions being proffered by that Ersatz Doctor, Phil McGraw. Her overall findings?  Dr. Phil remains an Offensive Media Whore and Con Man with a Blindingly Bald Pate -- and dandelion wine doesn't have to be a body-less sweet mess.  Jack Keller can fill you in on what he calls "body-builders" and on the use of sugar.  If you decide to go straight up with the dandelion wine and not fortify it with raisins or grape concentrate ("you could use dates, figs, apricots, or rhubarb instead") -- Jack advises that you serve it with an exciting salad or some baked trout. 

He specifies trout.  I need another 100 words on why that is so, but Jack is a tease, and doesn't say.  Then again, he doesn't divulge what kind of trout, either, does he?  Ha!  Gotcha, Jack!  (My vote was originally for rainbow... then I read that 95% of what makes it to the table is farm-raised and I just don't cotton to fish from the farm.  Yes, thank you, I *do* know that it's childish to expect my rainbow trout to have leaped and fought through clear, cold, unpolluted white waters to get to my plate.) 

Would everyone just get the heck off of my back, please?  I am trying to tell a story here.  Jeez.


Okay, so I had a lapse in judgement and told La Bonne et Belle Bianca she could use my laptop to scope out Old Shiny Pate's blog, The Turning Point.

See, I really didn't think she had it in her, especially with the dandelion wine on board, to even make it up to the Computer Turret.  You'll find me up here pretty darned often, maybe even 3-4 hours a day, and it's rare for the Turret to ever be unoccupied -- but it's downright unheard of for The Castafiore to make the effort.

[A brief explanation would seem to be in order. You're probably wondering how hard it can be to get to our state-of-the-art computer center. In a post titled l'astronave, way back in April of 2010, I tackled the task of explaining the matter thusly:

The only way in or out, up or down, the pesky turret is via a thick rope ladder, dyed caution yellow, that extends down (but mostly sideways) out to the Manor Stables -- a remarkable outbuilding that is an alarming replica, as we pointed out in our last post, of the Knoppenburg Manor Stables. The proper term today is "agricultural building." You won't catch me calling it a barn if there are any prying ears about. Of course, the last outsider who dropped by was The Technician Overlord of Our Telecommunications Bundle, which he so wisely decided was best centered in the Hobby Room at the top of the Turret Tower. We had concocted a cover story about the rope bridge ("It's more a bridge than a ladder," Fred just said), which consists of the baldfaced lie that we are a new off season venue for those Cirque du Soleil performers who are fresh out of rehab. So the hefty diameter of that hemp monster, see, is easily explained away as necessary gear for these poor, troubled acrobats.


I'm usually not subject to such heights of embarrassment (heights, and, lately, riches) but I just don't want anyone to think that I have to zig zag my way from one Manor Wing to another, make it to the Grand Ballroom, out the entrance, patterned after Brunelleschi's bronze baptistery doors, over the drawbridge (Provided it is down! Men!), across the moat, down the lane, over the hedge, into the damned agricultural outbuilding, up the custom wheelchair ramp into the hayloft, and then, lickety-split, go hand-over-fist on the rope bridge for a good half mile... all just to get my email.

 

So just imagine the superhuman effort necessary to a drunken overweight opera diva... ]

Once she got to the Computer Turret, she wasn't about to leave without also leaving traces of her visit.  Luckily, she found McGraw's blog post on the "stoicism of the Japanese" sufficiently provocative.  This is a chunk of his prose from that post:

April 4th, 2011 by Dr. Phil
The Stoicism of the Japanese

...[D]o you know what astonishes me? It’s watching the people of Japan face their catastrophe with a kind of stoicism and, strangely, a grace. We haven’t seen any looting in Japan for desperately-needed supplies, like bottled water. We haven’t seen fistfights break out among the people waiting in line for hours to get gasoline or groceries. For years, I’ve heard about the legendary politeness of Japanese people in everyday life, but I just thought it was a cliché. How are they able to maintain such calm in the face of overwhelming disaster?

I’m hardly someone who thinks Japan’s way of life is in any way better than ours. But at the same time, I will say, there is something to be said for the ordinary Japanese citizen’s respect for order, good manners and hospitality. The other day, I was stunned to watch one elderly woman, standing in the cold outside her wrecked home, offer ABC anchor Diane Sawyer some water because she looked thirsty.

And what about the selflessness epitomized by those workers at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant, risking dangerous doses of radiation without complaint as they struggle to prevent a complete meltdown that would endanger their fellow citizens?

I’m no expert in culture, and I’m not going to pretend to say I understand why the vast majority of Japanese people are enduring these impossible hardships with impeccable dignity, but we could all learn a few lessons from their example. I also hope we’ll all say a little prayer for that country. Yes, Japan is one of our great industrialized powers, and it will someday recover. But it has a long way to go. Hundreds of thousands of Japanese who live in the northern part of the country will have to endure months of homelessness and hunger.

If you want to help, you can go to the American Red Cross website and make a contribution for the victims of the earthquake and the tsunami, as well as for those families fleeing the nuclear radiation. My prayers are with Japan.

What did Our Girl have to say to such a pious post?  Gird your loins and read on.  Maybe grab a flagon or two of ale, a few carafes of dandelion wine so as to wash it all down without too much pain.  Only Marlinspike Hall would have a resident writing in apparent opposition to praise of a suffering nation... 

Can an unannounced visit from a perturbed Captain Haddock be far behind?

Bianca Castafiore says:

April 13, 2011 at 4:16 pm

It is, of course, rude of me to be bothered by what is an expression of admiration by Dr. Phil and his fans, but heck-by-golly, I don’t care. No, in all seriousness, I just feel like a few things about stereotyping need to be said — explicitly.

When we express our admiration of the “Stoic” Asian (don’t we really mean “opaque,” don’t we really mean that old chesnut — “inscrutable”?), don’t we automatically relegate the people of Japan to an easily dealt with two-dimensionality? It is less admiration for them than relief for our lazy Western minds not to have to think too hard or work up a good head of natural empathy. How could we, when they are so different from us?

Often, our assessment of the Japanese people is most firmly based on our absolute ignorance of what is happening in front of our eyes, and our cluelessness of the language going in one 耳 and out the other. I would wager that most Americans heading for a conference in Tokyo would learn to say “thank you” but not bother with “bathroom” or “help.” (And we wonder why we have so many foreign toilet emergencies…)

So what does the realization do for you, as you notice with notably Christian approval that you’ve seen no looting among these well-behaved pagans, but rather a “legendary” politeness, including an old woman offering a non-suffering Western media figure some water? Does all that “impeccable dignity” merit more aid? Or just more prayer? Or are you thinking that maybe they require *less* prayer than one would anticipate, since they stay in line so well already? Aha! I think I am catching on.

I realize that this mostly inoffensive blog post (there are scads out there way more dominated by cultural stereotype, with much less natural sympathy) simply perpetuates our established stateside understanding — that of “the model minority.” We go with what we [think we] know.

In terms of this sad tragedy, aren’t we mostly protecting ourselves from pain and denying the Japanese their real needs and their true sufferings by doting on all that we do not see, as if — because we do not see it — it is not there?

One thought that recurs and almost makes me cry out in a different kind of pain is this: How much of the “stoicism,” how much of the delicate restraint that we “admire” in the Japanese of this post-quake period is a learned response — something, in fact, that we put in their cultural curriculum after dropping atomic bombs on the men, women, and children of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Is it stoicism and good manners — positive stereotyping, at least, eh? Or are these faces just too well versed in the suffering born of huge, massive, unimaginable (to *us*), COLLECTIVE destruction?

If there is an element of dangerous emotional repression going on… then I hope there is also much going on to which our know-all american culture is just not privy. [But I saw it on t.v.! But I saw it when I visited Tokyo with my Christian choir in 1968! But everyone knows that blahblahblah!] I hope there are all kinds of polite, stoic people blowing up, irrationally, and maybe stamping their tiny little feet; I hope there are cadres of wise, obsessively neat old men secretly wishing that some foreign media Talking Head will slip on a mandarin orange peel while on the air; I hope there is an epidemic of well-behaved, hyperrespectful (and therefore mathematically talented) Japanese teenagers snatching the last bit of rice before their fat and lazy Korean cousins have a chance…

Sometimes etiquette and behavior are superficial, sometimes they are deeply reflective, and yes, I am sure we are witnessing aspects of the very best of human nature in the news reports coming out of Japan in the aftermath of earthquake and tsunami, and as we watch the tragedy of an ongoing nuclear catastrophe.

Let’s just be sure that we are as compassionate when an occasional person cracks under the repeated strain of aftershocks and new tsunami warnings, when the murky uncertainties of a radioactive future reveal tics of anxiety, frustration, and anger — even in the most stoic of Japanese.

*****   *****   *****   *****   *****   *****   *****   *****   *****

*OMG: Bianca does Dr. Phil  [The first confrontation -- pub. 9/22/2009]

We try, Fred and I really do. But we can't watch her all the time, and really? Why does the onus fall on us? Am I truly expected to monitor the computer use of a mumblymumbly year old grown woman, and in a place as huge as Marlinspike Hall, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé?

It happened at 3:38 in the morning. Yes, I was up but hardly felt like looking over the shoulder of a drunken Castafiore, as she picked and pecked her way across the keyboard.

She's taken to frequenting local pubs after her evening performances at the Opera House, belting out encore performances of L'air des bijoux.

The only way I could tolerate a late night, early morning onslaught of je-ris-de-me-voir-si-belle-dans-ce-miroir-oir-oir-oir? Whiskey. Stoli. The dregs of a house red.

So, out of appreciation for my liver function, I stay safely ensconced in our designated area of The Manor.

La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore decided to surf the net before passing out in her suite of rooms -- rooms that she and some of her ne'er-do-well operatic thugs refurbished last summer, in the style of François Ier. Now *that* was perhaps an episode that Fred and I might have prevented -- but she's wily, very wily, that Castafiore.

Apparently, she is a fan of this Dr. Phil person, a tall, chunky, bald man of indeterminate age -- or 59. As documented in the Dickipedia, Phil McGraw is a "doctortainer of the highest order." Still, Bianca is perhaps not the sort of fan base that The Dr. Phil Brand was designed to attract, and in that lies much of her charm and amazing ability to sour the stomachs of her interlocuteurs.[click HERE to read the rest]

Dr. Phil's Moderators Unveiled (Kinda Like Romney's Tax Returns)

I've no good way to explain it, why I've returned to posting occasionally over at Dr. Phil dot com -- except that there are some people who also post there about whom I cannot seem to stop caring.

Man, that sounds stilted.  There are some people there I can't seem to stop caring about.

But I am hated, because I don't disguise my disgust for Phil McGraw and his Brand.  Because I get angry -- really, really angry -- when the "moderators" censor every word, pull posts seemingly at random, have a first trimester barely-there sense of humor, and especially when they underwrite those people whose mental health status is circling the drain.  They encourage people who are frankly delusional and paranoid, instead of intervening or supplying the "best in the world" type of assistance that only a Phil McGraw could.

Anywho... (Did you know that I've recently been introduced to a woman whose real name is Cindy Lou Who?  I kid you not!)  Anywho... several other posters have been miffed by the censorship and have hesitantly spoken up about it.  Yes, I AM criticizing the hesitancy of their "J'accuse..." -- In case you haven't noticed, I'm lately a huge fan of "manning up" and clanging your brass balls, whether you have to purchase them or whether they're organically all yours.  I've had it with temerity.

Temerity kills people.

Go ahead, ask me how I know.  I dare ya.

Oops.  I am transferring the anger that fuels my writing over yonder onto my Gentle Readers here, safe within the daub-and-wattle of Marlinspike Hall (it's mostly stone masonry, actually), here in the Western regions of the Lone Alp, all wrapped up in the phenomenal Tête de Hergé.  Here, where we exhale evil humours out of our nares and inhale the sweet end products of the algae in The Moat.  It is, in fact, the prevalence of our choleric, melancholic, sanguine, and phlegmatic contributions that form a protective ring of basic rarefied sputum around The Manor.  We're still working on the algae.

The four temperaments (Clockwise from top right: choleric; melancholic; sanguine; phlegmatic).

There is probably some rule, maybe even some law, some Terms of Usage bit of blather that should prevent me from republishing the stuff below.  "Ha!"  I say.  "Ha!"  I take the risk for one reason, and one reason alone. One of the moderaters deigned to respond to my moaning, groaning post... and tried to use MOLIERE against moi!  Oh, the joy in MoiLand!

Anyway, this is how twitty, twittified, and ridiculous things are in Phil Territory.  Oh, and would one of you be so kind as to be in charge of collecting money for bail?  Thankyouverymuch. Please note, Lawyers of Doctor Feel, that I have protected all identities but my own.  Also, La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore and her Lover Sven, along with Sven's quite costaud young studly son, Cabana Boy -- they all know where you live.  Yeah, that's right... 

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Surprise, Surprise

Replied By: X on Oct 5, 2012, 9:53PM

Wow, big surprise, another post disappears..  If you cant post about your feelings, about depression then why have a board on depression????
If the mods feel that somewhere in the post there may be inappropiate things, take it out, I am sure you can edit, but why remove the whole entire post???    And if the post is erased then we should be offered the courtesy of an email (because you have everyones in their profile) explaining why it was inappropriate and erased.

Mary:: Made a post earlier this evening, expressed my sorrow at the loss of your neighbor but big surprise, it disappeared...

Mods, what's going on?

Replied By: Z on Oct 5, 2012, 11:23PM

Posts are disappearing. Is there a glitch in the system or something? While it's understandable that some posts may need to be deleted it is VERY upsetting for some. It makes it very hard to support someone when the posts they write gets deleted.Is it possibly because our board is being featured?


I do get the fact that you want people to stay on topic but when we take the time to type posts only to come back here to find them missing it actually CAUSES depression because it's like we are being told in OUR safe place that what we think is NOT important. Please put yourselves in our place? Please put yourselves in the new people's place? How would you feel if you came here seeking support only to find your post was deleted? How can I help others when I can't see their posts? Depressed people usually cannot stay on one topic at a time. Depressed people give up easily (sad but true). Perhaps if at all possible should you feel the need to delete a post you could reply to the post first to give the poster a chance to edit it before you do? Otherwise we could lose even more members or potential members.You never know what someone who is depressed might do. Er DON'T worry I'm NOT talking about me! I'm just curious because I've seen a couple of posts disappear that were not offensive at all. 

"what's going on?" is a good question      

Replied By: profderien on Oct 6, 2012, 7:59AM - In reply to Z

i join (once again) voices with mary and joyce -- moderation seems almost like a game, a catch-as-catch-can kind of endeavor.


on the one hand, there is the impression that the moderators are overwhelmed with work.  i imagine they are, since it has been decided that every word, every inference, every emotion, every vent needs to be vetted by... whomever these moderators are.  so occasionally, we write something, it appears, then disappears, we bark and complain, and then, "poof" -- it reappears.  because the mods are so weighed down with the work of censorship.


on the other hand, there is what i *know*.  when i am critical, i don't get published.  when i am too direct, i don't get published.  should i suggest that the mods/drphil are coddling some mentally ill people who need help instead of coddling?  shazaam!  my posts are in the outer atmosphere.  should i simper, kiss butt, write a poem, light a candle?  no problem!


but this is a place for people with problems.  so stop censoring the problems, they're real!  it is kind of funny, since you have, in the past, let people go on and on for months, even years, scamming other support group participants with sob stories that the moderators apparently ate up with relish.. i would refer you to a post about that on the old chronic pain board, but that board has been eliminated. (if people would just buy all of frank lawlis' books, get tested for heavy metals, there would be no chronic pain, right?)

the users can tell who is real and who is not, and eventually can work it out amongst themselves -- better than can the moderators?  why?  because we have an investment.  these are our stories here, this is our life splayed out on the screen.  dr. phil is not the one taking any risks, we are.

so... yeah, the mods are busy with the busy work of vetting every written word -- which at the very least is a waste of their talents.  and yeah... they are engaged in senseless censorship.


i am posting this at 10:59 am, my time.  let's see how long before it's pulled.


"the truth? you can't handle the truth..."

Moderation

Replied By: Y on Oct 6, 2012, 8:12AM - In reply to profderien

Emoting anger and rage might "feel good" in the short term, however, developing more constructive tools and skill sets might be more helpful in navigating life.
In the 17th Century, Moliere advocated the philosophy of moderation which is as pertinent today as then.
There is a marvelous place for anger and rage...it is called Therapy.

View Replies

"Oh how fine it is to know a thing or two!" -- Molière      

Replied By: profderien on Oct 6, 2012, 8:43AM - In reply to Y

it speaks!  thank you, moderator.

emoting, emoting..what possible role could that have on this site, do ya think?  have you noticed the leitmotif running through most of your adherents' lives -- that of not having enough money to buy the tools you so blithely suggest?  might that not explain the instense begging that breaks out like smallpox from time to time?  for make-overs, for money to get to hospitals, money to keep the internet available for access to helpful sites like... this one.

"constructive tools and skills" -- as far as i can see, the ones that you are advocating fall under the rubric of 'sublimation.'  or is dr. phil wishing us all to be subsumed by some skinnerian device, and our rewards and disincentives come through whether or not the moderators will publish our over the top emoting or our oppressed/suppressed pollyanna acts?

i gotta give you the brass balls award, male or female, for mentioning molière to me.  give Le Médecin malgré lui a read.  and no, molière was not exactly an advocate for moderation... or at least, he was about as much as was rabelais.

i've had therapy. it was great.  they tell me i don't need any more.  but if you don't want me to emote anger and rage, kindly delineate what it is okay to emote.  i mean, heck, if i suppress that, won't that morph into depression and grief...?

in reply to moderator's comment:

"Emoting anger and rage might "feel good" in the short term, however, developing more constructive tools and skill sets might be more helpful in navigating life.
In the 17th Century, Moliere advocated the philosophy of moderation which is as pertinent today as then.
There is a marvelous place for anger and rage...it is called Therapy."

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Actually, hmmmm.  I've no idea if the person to whom I was responding was a moderator or not.  Oh, well, I got to emote all over the page (it'll be hours of cleaning for some poor crew working at or below minimum wage....).

Speaking of which, I'd best at least put our small apartment here in the East Wing in some sort of order before I get hauled off to debtor's prison for "stealing from DrPhil.com's website."

It's been fun... Try to carry on without me.  Go Joey!  Go Hannah!  Go Kate!  Go Ashley!  Oh, dear God, I was not cut out for incarceration.  I'm much too pretty.