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.
Self Improvement DIY: How To Make Your Very Own Intrapsychic Sith Lord For Fun And Profit
This One Goes Out To All The Little People
So if you’ve read this, you’ve undoubtedly begun to question Dr. Ding’s sanity intentions. No matter. I want to be perfectly clear…I write this blog entirely for the amusement of the wee fae folk who live in my closet and multiply my shoe collection while writing indignant letters to the editor about stuff like shoddy toadstools and weed-killer.
Okay, in all fairness, I guess this blog is really for myself plus the expansion of my ongoing bid for Global Domination, Non-Nefarious Type, Recurrent, Severe.
Back to how to assemble your very own Intrapsychic Sith Lord. I’ve probably lost you already, so feel free to slap yourself around a little, a la one of those fast-talking film noir private eyes who wear their trousers hiked up to their armpits. Better?
Saintly Advisor v. Peculiar Advisor: Saying The Same Thing?
A very peculiar advisor of mine (not Saintly Advisor) in Gradual School once told me, “Young Dingenstein, you must know this if you are to know anything of importance in psychotherapy: defend the Self, not the Ego.” I of coure was totally puzzled by this remark, as Saintly Advisor had just given me the whole importance-of-intimidation knowledge the semester before. I pegged it immediately as Crazy Talk, and filed it away under Things I Will Act Like I Understand When I’m In The Presence Of Faculty, because I was really into my Jennifer Aniston haircut and brown lipstick back then, and had a hard time focusing without the benefit of two pots of coffee, three diet Pepsis, and a pack of menthol Marlboros.
The following semester, during the course of clinical supervision, Peculiar Advisor made the same defend-the-Self speech again, only this time it started to sink in a little bit further. By the time I finished Gradual School, ninety freaking years later, I had a somewhat more encompassing idea of what he meant, but still the deeper applications of this statement confounded me utterly.
The Delicate Art Of Self-Protection
So here’s the thing. If you’re someone who might be construed as a Lightworker (read: decent, helpful person who feels guided to make the world a better place), you may at times feel uncomfortable or awkward defending yourself against the blandishments of the myriad asshats and douchebags of planet earth. This is where Darth Maul and his ilk come in.
It’s perfectly okay to defend yourself with a lightsaber parry/thrust/spin, e.g. “Your (particular action) is not alright with me” or perhaps “I said ‘no’ and I meant it so stop pissing down my leg and telling me it’s raining” and even “Hi-yah! Back, you varlet, back you knave. Back I say!” Or words to that effect. Most of us are raised to think this is effrontery. It’s not.
In fact, it is non-negotiably neccessary to have the ability to stand up for your deep convictions, to insist on your integrity, to speak out against injustice and abuses and to pierce right to the heart of things when who you are is being impugned.
It is NOT such a good idea to defend your ego in the same manner. The ego is all about maintaining the illusion of power, control, and security, and it’s pretty short-sighted. The classy move here is generally to let the force pass rather than join in the affray and make yourself look just as insecure, fear-based, and, well…douchey as the person or persons who are attacking you.
Hi, I’m Nice. Now Start Treating Me Bad
My only substantive critique of the whole Lightworker (see also: Positive Psychology) movement amongst helping professionals and their allies is that it can tend to leave a person prey to the swindlers, the charlatans, and the predators of this world. Why? I’d hazard the cause has something to do with a relentless and occasionally naïve focus on Everything Pleasant And Groovy. And trust me, having spent a great deal of time behind bars, I can assure you that there are decidedly unpleasant folks are out there, and that at some point you’re going to run into one.
This is where the Intrapsychic Sith Lord can be your best friend as you cut a swath through the bullshittery and general idiocy that can befall the Lightworkers of this world. Sometimes, in order to protect what is good and true within you, you gotta be willing kick a little ass.
So how do you deal with mean people when you’re not?
Well, let’s think about this: how did Darth Maul* get to be so fucking awesomely awesome at kicking Jedi ass?
Simple: rehearsal.
Practice saying “no” to people who don’t have your best interests at heart. Practice a few short but polite phrases when you’re confronted with something you find repugnant. Learn to defend your own honor instead of waiting for somone to rush to your aid. Borrow some verbal jiu-jitsu joint locks if you have to, or make some up. You can borrow them from film, from someone you admire, from wherever, but get them. And make them yours.
And now that I’ve got all that out of my system, here’s a little extrapsychic Sith Lord action for youse:
* Yeah about that. I know I totally could have used a Jedi Knight as a metaphor for appropriate psychological self-defense, but that dude who played ole Darth Maul could fight like a some kind of awesome Bruce Lee banshee and I totally dig that. Plus, I sometimes throw random topics into Jeebes’ bowler hat and force myself to write about the first two I extract just to keep The Force strong within me. Go big or go home, I say.
Dear Dr. Ding
Dear Dr. Ding,
I just wanted to get your opinion. Recently I was scheduled to attend a
large family dinner over the Memorial Day weekend. Along with the dinner a
trip into the country to visit various family graves in small cemetaries
located out in a field was scheduled without my knowledge. I had to travel
several hours to get to this family function and stay with those who still
reside in the home town area. After driving for several hours I then had
to ride around in a car for another four hours. Would it have been
inappropriate for me to excuse myself from this part of the family holiday
plans? Along with the grave site tour we spent a great amount of time
touring down gravel roads stopping to see places where relatives had once
lived. Some of my cousins insisted on getting out of the car at each site
to take pictures of holes in the ground where a house used to stand or
barns leaning to one side with only half a roof. I myself do enjoy things
like studying family history but to me this did not seem to be informative
at all. I would much rather sit at the actual family dinner and listen to
the elders in the family tell stories about each other and what it was like
to live through their experiences. Am I a bad member of the younger
generation?
The BAD Daughter
Barf, Barf Again
Dr. Ding is proud as hell to regale you with more boring news of her innards. Although I’ve managed to stop barfing now for a few days, I still feel decidedly oogey†. The Eyetalian Beef Paradox did not live up to its initial promise, sad to say, for I am still subsisting primarily on crackers, diet 7-Up, and chicken noodle soup.
It’s a rich tapestry I’m weaving here, people. So riveting and multifarous that it’s difficult to concentrate my attentions on the ever-bemusing Snarkweatherville, USA‡. Population: one puling, puking shrink.
†clinical term denoting a state of general malaise, barfaliciousnes, and metaphysical ennui, often accompanied by sub-par wardrobe choices
‡someone humor me….is anyone out there getting the whole “Headline: Snarkweather” reference?
My New Favorite Quote
Due to my bout of food poisoning, my body is definitely not a party place right now and is in fact more of a siesta, but I adore this quote anyway.
The church says: The body is a sin
Science says: The body is a machine
Advertsing says: The body is a business
The body says: I am a fiesta
~Eduardo Galeano
They Call Me Barferella
Land o’ goshen, peeps. Dr. Ding awoke at 1:00 a.m. this morning to the overwhelming urge to throw up in the bathroom sink, as other ceramic basins proved a bridge too far. Retching ensued for approximately the next 8 hours straight, accompanied by a veritable panoply of truly unspeakable gastrointestinal sequelae.
For the non-science nerds out there, Dr. Ding is really fucking sick from food poisoning. Not 100% sure what brought it on, but I’ve called in several CSI teams to investigate. Normally healthy adult people shouldn’t have to contend with this sort of insult against their intestinal flora, so I’m assembling a crack team of analysts to bring the matter to justice. It shouldn’t be long now.
Victory shall be mine.
The really crappy (pun intended) part? The Beyonce and I were supposed to be throwing ourselves a birthday bash tonight, as our respective birthdays are 3 weeks apart and tonight would be the geometric center of that timeframe. I even went out last night to Target and bought a goddamned table runner, folks. A table runner! Not to mention tons of food and drink. Feeling a little oogey just thinking about it.
I suppose I should be grateful for just being able to sit upright this long without puking. It really is the little things.
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