Psychopaths are running the country

I've been reading "Without Conscience," a book written in 1993 by psychologist Robert Hare, who created the Psychopathy Checklist to identify the 20% of prison inmates who are psychopaths. It's a well-written, intelligent book. The Checklist itself is not in the book; presumably that would make it too easy for psychopaths to manipulate whoever gave them the test.

It appears that many characteristics of psychopaths are desirable if one is to succeed in climbing the corporate ladder: egocentricity, grandiosity, ruthlessness, lack of empathy, good manipulative skills, lying and deceitfulness, and a generally predatory nature. Relatively few pp commit violent crimes; most of them are con men and petty criminals of various kinds. Some (like Bernie Madoff) successfully bilk hundreds of people out of their life savings, causing catastrophic suffering. From what I observe, a good number of American politicians and Wall Street banksters are definitely psychopaths.

More later, since I have to listen to Randi Rhodes' take on the current group of Republican psychopaths in Congress who are holding the debt ceiling legislation hostage.
Another characteristic: When you are caught commiting a crime, blame everyone else!

Habitual patterns and adventure

The doctor said that my progress continues to be excellent. I still can't drive, lift heavy weights (which rules out gigs) lie on my back (which rules out comfort) or wash my hair in the shower (which rules out that clean-hair feeling--yesterday I tried a no-rinse shampoo said to be used by NASA on the space shuttle, but it left a greasy residue.) I can, however, be up and around all day with no head positioning (hallelujah!)
I do have to sleep prone for 8 hours.

Being up and around has been a strange experience. Having a bandage over your eye prompts sympathetic passers-by to say things like "Oh, that must really hurt!" and offer to do things for you. I have the staggering walk of an alcoholic because I am not yet accustomed to my lack of depth perception. I have defied medical advice and carried home 10 lbs. of groceries from the supermarket because if I didn't, no one else would.
And, not to sound trite but walking around in the July sunshine feels fantastic after weeks of lying prone indoors. Yesterday late afternoon was perfect weather--not hot, but warm and dry with a light breeze. I soaked it up, knowing that the unbearably humid July New England weather would be here all too soon. And sure enough, today was sullenly humid with clouds that refused to produce the predicted thunderstorms. I stayed indoors in my air-conditioned bedroom all day because I didn't want my bangs to frizz. Yes, that's the truth, ladies and gentlemen, and I am not proud of it. It occurred to me today that my hair was a frizzy nightmare the entire 4 days I spent in the rain forest. Yet I still long to return. Once I got there, though, I would be trying in vain to make myself look presentable as I did every morning. Habitual patterns have a way of asserting themselves even in the jungle. I ended up slicking my bangs down with straightening gel which was of no use whatsoever in straightening. Then I pinned it all to the side of my head and braided my hair into pigtails. With my glasses and safari hat on, I looked like an extra on Freaks and Geeks. But it was worth it. I'd gladly go through hair hell again to be back there with the squirrel monkeys, the parrots, and the orapendulas. Even the tarantulas, boas, and piranhas. In The Catcher in the Rye Holden Caulfield says near the end that sooner or later you end up missing everybody. And it's true. I even miss my compulsions when I can't give full vent to them.

My eyes welled up with tears a week or so ago when I was about to board the T and overheard two women speaking French. I still have a terrible, lonely nostalgia for France, especially Paris. France and Ecuador. If only I had serious money I could divide my time between them. But I can only dream about it.

I can't say that I miss driving, although I have the constant nagging feeling that I need to run errands in places only accessible by car. I also don't miss teaching, which is so often an exercise in frustration and even futility. I do miss gardening and yard work, even mowing the lawn. I miss my yoga class a lot and long to ride my bike again. I really miss my Weight Watchers meetings: without them I am floundering in a sea of mental cravings for hot fudge sundaes and guilt from overeating. The predictable but comforting routine of my pre-retinal detachment life is something I yearn for even though I detested its predictability and lack of adventure. France and Ecuador have been my only forays into adventure in the past two years. I need more adventure in my life. I realize this even more now that I have been sidelined. I wish Curtiss could be my companion in future adventures--we had many in New York City and in Paris together. But I am afraid that he will never be strong enough again for the kinds of adventures I crave.

Who will accompany me? Adventures are lonely when you are alone: I am convinced that being with my son in the jungle added a richness to the experience which it would otherwise have lacked. And in writing these lines I have suddenly realized that my son was born with a sense of adventure and he communicated it to me on this recent trip. He urged me to jump into the murky river and follow the jungle trail without fear. And I felt that I was truly living for the first time in a long time. Since my last trip to France, in fact, which, although it did not require risking physical danger, did require traveling through a big foreign city alone much of the time, armed with only minimal French.

Here's to more adventures and laughing at habitual patterns.

Could I still be hot?

My personal assistant is 21 years old and about to graduate from a famous music college which shall remain nameless--it's the one I teach at, and I don't need any trouble from them. She is a brilliant Renaissance woman who can play jazz piano like Oscar Peterson (and I am not exaggerating) She can sing in a unique, quirky jazz voice. She writes great songs. She takes photographs like a professional fashion photographer. She paints and makes films. She does everything well. She has been helping me to give my flagging performing career a shot in the ass. She got me in touch with a web designer who redesigned my website, she designed and printed business cards for me, she took hundreds of photos, and she got a special phone number that people can call to book me--they will get her on the phone. In theory this should all work like a charm, but I have not gotten any gigs as a result of this yet and it's almost a year. It is so exquisitely difficult to put yourself on the map as a musician at any age, and if you have not succeeded in doing so by the age I am now, you are at a distinct disadvantage.
The economic downturn isn't helping things. Being a jazz musician is 3 strikes against you right there. I have heard of bands that developed a following when they got a million hits on their YouTube video. They don't play very many shows. Apparently their young fans are content to download mP3s of their music. The question is: How do you come up with the next big thing song-wise?

There is also the issue of getting tired of playing jazz, which I have been doing for 30 years. While I love free jazz, almost no one else does. Playing standards no longer excites me after 30 years. And even when I was young I didn't want to be Diana Krall. I am now over 50 and I hope it is not too late to re-invent myself. I told myself I would never sing again, but it's a fact that singers are wildly more popular than the most accomplished instrumentalist. Lady Gaga knows this instinctively. Although she can play jazz standards, she sings (and extremely well) and uses the piano as a prop. When she does play, she plays minimally. It's all about the performance with her even though she has a lot of musical talent. She has created a persona in much the same way Madonna created Madonna, the difference being that Madonna has little musical talent. Even if I were to start writing catchy soulful R&B dance tunes right now, I would still be faced with the problem that even Madonna at age 50 doesn't look that great in her underwear on stage. Photos can be morphed with Photoshop (I look like a better version of my 21 year old self) but when you are onstage, you are...well, onstage in all your glory or lack thereof. I wouldn't have to go the dance route--I could do the Nora Jones thing, or the Sarah McLachlan thing, and be the pensive singer-songwriter. I am not sure if I am ready for this yet.
Although my assistant and my BF say I look hot, I don't quite believe them. I have never thought of myself as a beautiful, sexy woman. Thinking of yourself that way is 99% of it.

Last night I was on Facebook and one of my former students, now in his mid to late 20s, suddenly popped up on chat. He was flirting with me and apologized for being "inappropriate" when he said I should wear hot outfits when I perform and I would have a huge male following. He knows that I am old enough to be his mother, and in any case I am not contemplating cheating on my BF with him. But maybe he has a point and I could still give the illusion of being hot (as I see it--that isn't what he said.)
I need to experiment with some hot outfits. I also need to compose some hot songs and maybe start singing them. Or am I abandoning my free jazz dreams? is it possible to play free jazz, be popular with millions of young people, and be hot all at the same time? And do I have the courage to go that route?

Through the Looking Glass (Bubble)

I’ve been watching the gas bubble in my eye shrink gradually since it was put there by Dr. Sang, retinal surgeon, about a month ago. It used to cover the entire field of vision in my left eye, and looking through it was very much like looking through the bottom of a drinking glass: you can tell what things are, but they are very blurry and distorted. I imagine that this was the way James Thurber (who eventually became almost totally blind) saw the world.

The gas bubble eventually gets absorbed by the body. At the moment, my left eye appears to hold a clear grayish orb which shivers like Jello whenever I move my head.
The upper arc of the orb is like the dark horizon of the ocean at night as seen from a boat.
Above the arc is a clear area through which I can see objects across the room, although they are blurry without my glasses. With glasses, my vision above the arc of the bubble is only a little less clear than it was before the operation. This gives me hope that my vision will return, although I’m told that the process takes several months.

I am now allowed to walk around all day. I am still not allowed to lie on my back, bend with my head below my waist, exercise, drive, or play the piano with “large body movements.” My piano, in any event, is miserably out of tune and cannot be tuned until July 14. I have been watching a frightening amount of TV. This can’t be good for my brain cells and maybe isn’t even good for my vision. If I attempt to read, I get eyestrain and headaches. So that leaves watching TV marathons of the Twilight Zone and Drop Dead Diva. Also the modern day Sherlock Holmes series on PBS which I have summoned onto my computer screen. Curtiss and I watched several Coen brothers movies together. And other guilty pleasures—though I hesitate to describe them thus—like Hoarders and Say Yes to the Dress (These TV reality shows are like watching a car wreck: you know you shouldn’t but you just can’t look away.) Distractions are good for warding off depression. And TV will do nicely if you can’t read a book.

Everyone tells me to get audio books, but they are as expensive as regular books and I have no income for the foreseeable future. Most of the podcasts I download end up putting me to sleep (if you suffer from insomnia, listen to the Journal of Neurology podcasts—works like a charm.) And I have had to stop listening to radio because world events depress me even more. Listening to music is OK, but makes me feel unproductive. I have certain musician friends who, if sidelined this way, would be tapping and recording polyrhythms, singing melodies, practicing their ear training, transcribing, etc. There is always something you can do if you are determined enough. But I can’t motivate myself to do anything that requires more activity than just passively sitting in a chair or on my bed. This is the first time I have defied eyestrain to type on my laptop for more than a minute or so at a time. I suppose it will get better if after I see the doc tomorrow she says I can drive and/or exercise. I need to get back to my habitual patterns.