Viva La Frida(y)!
Those of you few who knew Dr. Ding when she was but a mere shrinklette in short pants will recall my 1990s-era fascination with the art and life of Frida Kahlo. I was so taken with her mustachioed self-portraiture that I bought every book about her work I could get my pre-Starbucks-stained hands on. I found her artwork at once mystically compelling, intensely personal, unflinching, dramatic, bold, and utterly glamorous.
They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.
For years people gave me Frida switchplate covers, pins, magnets, prints, and biographies and I devoured them like neocons do natural resources; expansively, greedily, and completely without thought to issues of supply or sustainability.
Eventually, I burned out a little bit, because you can only look Frida in the eye for so long without a certain amount of spiritual discomfort setting in. After all, the woman fetishized her own pain and suffering, and much of her work is a testament to her ability to put up with an incredible amount of relationship bullshit, much of which was self-inflicted.
That armchair critique of course is offered from the fairly irrelevant sociocultural standpoint of a feminist honky headshrinker living in the 21st century with a penchant for satire, sarcasm and probably lots of other things that start with an “s” — all of which which can be safely dispensed without fear of political retribution or professional reprisal. Frida did not have those priviliges, and was poorly understood and often unappreciated in her own time.
The photograph is from a Frida Kahlo lookalike contest, and you can check out some really neat pics from it here by stephan-zielinski.com. You can read more about Frida and her life here. The site oceansbridge.com features a selection of her paintings.
Thanks to Dave
Image2
p.s. I’m fairly certain that the person third from the left is a dude, which I find absolutely delightful. This world sorely needs more outsiders, more clowns, more holy weirdness, more mystery, more dudes in drag.
Cue Banjo Music
So. Today Dr. Ding received the commentary featured below. If this keeps up, I may have to take a page out of The Bloggess’ book, and give props to commenters who excel in uh certain categories. Like wit, clarity, and deep, penetrating insight.*
Our new friend WOGG was kind enough to post his website address, and for some unfathomable reason decided to leave me an email addy as well. Most intriguing behavior from a complex, multilayered person.
*Not the sexual kind. But I totally get a I-want-to-sleep-with-Dr.Ding vibe from WOGG, don’t you? I knew someday I would have to contend with this kind of stalkingly sweet attention from a fan. A sexy fan. Le sigh.
Ladiez: Watch Out For that F-16 In Your Pants
A Friend Of Ding sent this to me earlier today. No idea if it’s real of not. But it’s funny.
This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble, regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It’s PC Magazine’s 2007 editors’ choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.
Dear Mr. Thatcher,
I have been a loyal user of your ‘Always’ maxi pads for over 20 years and
I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or
Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa
dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in
tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary
Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how
crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and
secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from �the
curse’? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my time of the month is starting
right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging
through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll
be transformed into what my husband likes to call ‘an inbred hillbilly
with knife skills.’ Isn’t the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in th e Feminine-Hy giene Division, you’ve no doubt seen
quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers
monthly visits from ‘Aunt Flo’. Therefore, you must know about the
bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood
swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s
a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer
fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George
Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was
written by drunken chimps. Crazy!
The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just
crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants… Which brings me to the
reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so
painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened
an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these
words: ‘Have a Happy Period.’
Are you f***ing kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny
middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing
happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned
above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless
you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything
‘happy’ about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and
Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the
local Walgreen’s armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your
life in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a
moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say
something that’s actually pertinent, like ‘Put down the Hammer’ or
‘Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong’, or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately,
ther e will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, f or I have chosen to take my
maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your
Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending
bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep. Always.
Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin , TX
Bad Blog Contest Results: Needless Politesse On All Y’alls’ Part
Save Me, Jeebus
Dr. Ding went to check her Yahoo! email just now, only to be greeted with the following headline:
“Holmes’ short hair makes bold statement”
Now, admittedly most of this is my own fault. I set my Yahoo email to stun “Entertainment” the other day, from “Top Stories,” and this, I suppose, is the price I am paying.
Dr. Ding believes in the diligent practice of a media diet, that is, the conscious delimiting of how much negative, crappy, and/or otherwise generally unpleasant news is ingested on a daily basis. While I believe it’s important to maintain an awareness of what’s happening in the world, I believe it’s fairly pointless and even at times unnecessarily psychologically distressing to subsist on a steady intake of horror, atrocity, and inhumanity. So, I’ll usually watch only part of the nightly news, and mostly just scan newspaper and internet headlines pertaining to all the shititudinous stuff going on outside the confines of my spectacularly-shaped cranium.
When the world is too much with me, I check out the fluffy stuff as a distraction and a way of maintaining equilibrium.
But hair? Bold?
Statement?
The ensuing Yahoo article blathered on about various important tonsorial trends and how different people look when they have (gasp!) bangs versus no bangs.
In 2005 Dr. Ding donated 10″ of her luxuriously silky mane to Locks of Love, a charity that provides natural hair prosthetics to disadvantaged kids with long-term medical hair loss. I couldn’t stop, and it eventually morphed into a Holmesianesque short haircut. And then I had it dyed it bright, Ronald McDonald red.
Now that’s a bold statement, muthafuckas. How bold, you ask?
Really fuckin’ bold. And my statement?
My statement was this: I got a fuckin’ haircut and dyed my fuckin’ hair Ronald McDonald red.
What I don’t understand is: why didn’t someone alert the media?
How To Choose A Therapist
Hell if I know, but lots of you have asked about how to choose a psychotherapist. Dr. Ding thinks you should first check out APA’s website. There are also lots of other sites, like www.PsychCentral.com, that will actually give you pretty good, serious answers.
Dr. Ding is here to give you good, non-serious answers. If you choose to glean some sort of actual understanding or clarity from them, it’s your nickel.
1. If there is an excessive amount of animal fur present in the consultation area (the room where you sit and talk), think twice. It’s Dr. Ding’s opinion that this area is to be considered sacred space. Failing that, it shouldn’t be a place where cats lick their genitals, where meals are prepared or eaten, or where you notice anything resembling a lack of confidentiality. Some therapists work from home, some from offices, some inside large agencies. It’s perfectly fine to work from home, but the area should look clean and professional.
The space where you meet should be clean, safe, and private. Under no circumstances should you engage in psychotherapy on a leaking, sinking garbage barge. There should be some sort of window covering so your confidentiality is preserved, as well as a nitrogen-rich atmosphere. A door is often helpful, as are walls and a comfortable chair or sofa. You get the idea.
2. Pay attention to your feelings. For once. For Chrissakes. If you’re feeling uncomfortable with the devotional velvet depiction of The Last Supper hanging on the wall over a couch that smells like things that are best kept inside underpants, this probably means something important.
Also: when you make that initial appointment, you’re evaluating your new potential shrink just as much as they’re evaluating you. So, if you feel hinky, remember that you don’t have to come back. Or even stay the whole 50 minute hour.
Remember — you don’t have to tell everything all at once in the first session. If you feel pressed more than just slightly beyond* your comfort zone for human interaction to reveal stuff you’d rather not deal with, you should feel comfortable saying no. If this isn’t respected, move on.
3. Do you feel listened to and taken seriously? If not, go to someone else. Psychotherapy is predicated upon the healing relationship achieved by patient and therapist, which includes stuff like trust, openness, respectful communication, blah blah. But be sure ask yourself if deep down you feel that this person is “getting” you. Sometimes it takes more than one session before this kind of rapport can be achieved, but you probably have all the information you need about this within the first 10-15 minutes. (more…)
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