January 22, 2007

Every leap begins with a step

Or, if done incorrectly, every leap can be the result of an attempt to convert a stumble into a jump in the hopes of landing safely on your feet and, if lucky, with some small amount of grace. But here's the thing about leaping or jumping; I'm afraid of heights.

I'm deathly afraid of heights. I have probably written about that before. I cannot go to the edge and I dislike even thinking about it.

So, sea level is probably a safe place for me. I spent some time, a couple of hours, at sea level on Sunday all by myself. The kids did not want to come with me to walk on the beach in below 30 degree weather. I went to hunt sea glass or beach glass. Sea glass is a piece of glass, usually from a broken bottle, that has been tumbled about in the ocean where the movement tends to polish the edges and make it smooth to the touch. I wanted it either to put in a glass filled jar on the kitchen window sill where it would sparkle when the sun hits it or to glue on to picture frames as decoration along with some shells.

It is awfully peaceful to walk slowly along the winter beach. There are few people and they are mostly solitary types. The wind was blowing and the waves were gently slapping at irregular intervals against the sand. It smelled desolate but the cries of the sea birds gave lie to that impression. There were shells everywhere, the discarded former homes of sea creatures who had no further use for them. The shells crackled under foot as I kept my eyes peeled for the tell tale gleam of sea glass shards. It was terribly cold.

But I was not feeling the cold much. No, I was too involved with taking counsel of my own fears. We are resolved that my wife is going to leave her job to take care of the kids and the consummation of this resolution is fast approaching, brought about by shaken confidence in the ability of the nanny to provide safe supervision of the children. I had run the numbers before and, assuming nothing changes too badly, we can afford to take the income hit for at least a year before she would have to go back to work, again, assuming that other plans do not come to fruition as we are so devoutly hoping/praying. That is what I tried to tell myself, as I contemplated being the sole income source for my family. I tried to tell myself that I could swing this, that I had run the numbers before and I had done that exercise with full theoretical detachment. That exercise, even if it was done as a back of the envelope scrawl, is something that I have been carrying around in my bag like some sort of talisman I can use to ward off evil thoughts and fears. I reminded myself, while slowly pacing next to the water, to trust my dispassionate analysis. That was a comforting thought.

I needed some comfort, I decided. It felt too much like events were rushing towards us, that our leap into the unknown was about to begin with a stumble and not with a considered and confident stride forward into the future. And I don't like heights to begin with, you see.

We did not fire the nanny on Sunday night. Instead, in the kindest way, I told her of our unhappiness with the job performance and our unhappiness with some decisions she had made. I asked her to go away and reflect on how to either restore our trust or help us to figure out a transition so that we could part as friends. I have given up trying to guess what her decision will be; I am simply trying to plan for either eventuality.

I cannot envision how our lives are going to change as a result of this decision. It feels like the right thing to do for the children, though. I hope I can remain flexible enough to keep my balance as we stumble forward. It would be too much to hope that it looks graceful.

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January 19, 2007

Physical limits

I may not have totally reached my physical limits, but my body is telling me that the limits are in sight. And by "in sight", I do not mean something glimpsed just peeping up over the horizon. I instead mean something on the grill of the Mack truck that is looming larger in your vision with every passing second.

I am 39; not 29. I should know that the following may be too much:

Mon. 45 minutes serious cardio.

Tue. Squash, additional cardio, pilates.

Wed. Heavy weight lifting, Squash.

Thurs. Squash, additional cardio.

Fri. Squash, pilates.

The body is cramped and hurts a bit in places where I wasn't entirely aware I had places (pace, Ms. West). I will not try to slip out of the house early on Saturday morning now to go play squash at the local racquet club. I want to, mind you, but I will not. Instead, I will sink into my own decrepitude and hope that the damage I have wrought will have healed up by Monday, so I can start all over again. After all, I have a squash date that morning.

Still, I have never been one to acknowledge physical limits, at least, not happily or willingly. So to be confronted by them now is not pleasant.

I have no intention of aging gracefully.

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January 17, 2007

Read any good books lately?

I would like a recommendation for a good book. I just finished Amos Oz's memoir, which I wrote about in an earlier post. I am currently reading a lot of foreign language translated into English mysteries. These can be a bit hit or miss but I tend to enjoy them just the same. Still, I feel a rut coming on. Also, I seem to be lacking the motivation or energy to begin to tackle the sizeable selection of unread non-fiction I have been accumulating like a squirrel with a pile of nuts.

Otherwise, I have been reading out loud to the kids and they have been responding very well to the old great ones, including, Charlotte's Web (finished), Stuart Little (in process), The Wind in the Willows (in process), and the Jungle Book (finished). I can't wait to start reading them Kim and the Three Musketeers, but that may be a couple of years yet.

So, what would you recommend for me? Classic or non-classic, new or old, recently read or way old favorite. Let me have it.

Thanks!

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January 15, 2007

A cake, I tell you, a cake

I made a fateful discovery this weekend and I wanted to pass it along to all of my married friends. I discovered what to do when my wife has been hit by the double whammy of a baby with dual ear infections plus her getting PMS. Sleep deprivation plus hormones and emotions running all over her body. Exhaustion plus irrationality with a dash of crying or sometimes downright anger. You get the picture, right? It was a long weekend and destined to be even longer if I didn't figure out how to make amends for all of my many, and unspecified, transgressions.

Well, I figured it out. Here's what I did and you can do it, too.

First, go to the best bakery in town. The place that makes cakes a woman would kill for.

Second, pick out the triple chocolate cake. The chocolate cake with the chocolate frosting and the chocolate mousse filling and the little bits of crushed chocolate bits on the outside.

Third, tell the baker, when she asks you what you want written on the cake to just write: Sorry!

Fourth, present the apology cake to the wife. Enjoy being excused for everything bad you have done up to that point during the weekend. Hope that she saves you a slice.

I wish I had stumbled upon this method sooner. Still, better to acquire wisdom late than never at all.

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January 05, 2007

Truth is stranger than fiction

I gave up sleeping this morning at 2:20 and probably should not be allowed near a keyboard, but, hey, no one is up to stop me.

I've been reading this interesting memoir, A Tale of Love and Darkness, by Amos Oz, an Israeli writer, inter alia. One thing he wrote (p. 32) was: "Sometimes, facts threaten truth". I've been thinking about that, off and on, as I've tried to decipher the meaning of it all. Four simple words. Four very difficult concepts.

Sometimes. Temporal issues. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't. It is not at all clear to me when it does and when it doesn't. No way to tell. But, clearly, its use means that what follows is not an absolute rule but a mutable rule, to the extent that a rule can even be mutable. I guess, if it is mutable, maybe it cannot be a rule at all.

Facts. I think facts are clear. Facts are verifiable and concrete things. Things you can look up, things you can measure, things you can rely on to always be correct, that is, until the tools you use to measure and verify improve.

Threaten. This is a scary word. And it implies that the word that it modifies can feel emotion and can discern and analyze situations, not a word that normally applies to an inanimate thing, such as the word truth.

Truth. Well, I used to think that I knew what truth was, but I am much less certain. I used to think that truth and facts were if not the same, at least living in the same apartment building and maybe on the same floor. You know, sharing the same elevator every day. For more, you can see the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. An interesting read, more or less. I no longer, anyway, think that there necessarily is one immutable truth anymore. Truth is probably more of an instinct, more of a sense as to what feels right when you measure any given set of circumstances against your accumulated storehouse of experiences from which, generally speaking, you derive your ability to form judgments -- both moral and perceptual.

So, if you take that wishy-washy sort of truth is whatever feels right approach as a definition, and I am not at all convinced you should, then the statement that truth can be made to be less true by a fact is correct. Any fact that causes you to change your judgment will have to cause you to change your perception of a truth.

Maybe, also, a fact is just a truth that is all grown up.

Not all truths are capable of being shook so easily, some of them being premised on terrifically firm foundations. But some truths are nothing more than unexamined beliefs received in the form of generally accepted wisdom and thus can easily be threatened by a fact or two. I decline to give examples right now, although they certainly exist.

And so, I suppose, the word threaten makes sense as well since, according to the above, truth is both variable and experiential, emotional and logical, filtered through a set of experiences and prejudices and pre-existing beliefs. Although, cognitive dissonance is the mind's way of dealing with this "threat" since it allows you to reconcile contradictory beliefs and facts and truths and allows you to hold both comfortably in your mind at the same time when really doing so should drive you to total distraction. So the threat is, while compelling, not critical.

Since I am not sure where I was going with all this, I cannot be certain I have arrived at my destination. If you, gentle reader, got this far, you can let me know if I should pick my pen up once more.

In any event, it sure as heck beat watching that Amanda Peet and Ashton what's his name horrible movie on HBO at 3:00 this morning.

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January 02, 2007

That's all?

You know those moveable radar detectors the police put up? They tell you the current speed limit and then show you how fast you are going. We have one the police set up in Westport all the time.

Am I the only one who wonders how high they can get that sucker up to?

Assuming, of course, I am not driving with the kids in the car and further assuming I am in my wife's BMW.

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Beyond marketing

I was driving along the Post Road, early Saturday morning, after doing my grocery shopping (I did a lot of cooking this weekend) and I was sort of taken aback by the number of Lexus cars and SUV's on the road. They looked kind of nice and I got to wondering about whether I would want to buy one. And while I was wondering, really, no more than idly musing, I was sort of eavesdropping on my thinking not quite out loud and I heard myself, to my horror, wonder: Who drives a Lexus and do I want to be that person?

Feels like a triumph of marketing to me, that I am more concerned, at a somewhere between conscious and unconscious level, about the image or the lifestyle or the personality associated with a car than I am about whether the car is a good piece of design and will be safe and reliable. I like to pride myself on the thought that I can make decisions rationally, that I will decide on major items based on the sensible criteria. I suppose, however, that I am not immune to questions of style and image -- no matter how wonderful the Yugo may be (and it isn't), the fact is that I will not drive one. No, the other problem is that I am woefully unqualified to judge based on first hand information how well a car is made. Cars are now way beyond the ability of a shade tree mechanic to repair and maintain. So, maybe all you have left is style and image and anecdotal information such as you get from Consumer Reports.

When I related all this to my wife, she reassured me that actually this was a failure of marketing. Marketing doesn't want you to consciously think about these questions. They want to influence you in more subtle ways, in meta ways, and if you ask the questions than marketing has failed.

Scary, when you reflect on it, how marketing shapes our decision making process at a fundemental and basic level such that the decision itself is corrupted from the get go. I mean, if the way you set the process up to make the decision is faulty, than the decision has no integrity either, does it?

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New Year, new attitude?

Beats me. Like I said to a friend on the train this morning after he said something about nothing changing, same job as last year; that's true, but I cannot keep doing it with the same bad attitude.

So, here's to an attitude adjustment. I think what I need is a really good fight. Something to get the juices flowing.

What do I have? Well, besides the beginnings of a cold, thanks to the Boy Child, I have a motion in a, get this, SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD CASE in which no discovery has ever been taken. The wheels of justice grind slowly, I know, but this is a bit unusual even for New York.

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December 28, 2006

Inspiration took the long way around

I was waiting and waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead, it seems to have taken the long way around and gently pinched me behind the knee. I have had a confusing couple of weeks, packed with changes, and not a lot of time to reflect on their meanings or ramifications. In no particular order:

*As of Jan. 1, I am a partner in my law firm. I have mixed emotions about this. Very mixed. It complicates things greatly.

*My mother started chemo.

*The Boy Child, yesterday, fell and cut his face from the corner of his left eye to almost the side of his face. The plastic surgeon believes it will leave a scar. I take him back tomorrow morning for another consultation. I am simply very sad.

*The Viking Bride has decided that she wants to stop working outside the home and instead devote her considerable talents and energy to caring full time for our brood. This has consumed much of my thinking. I am concerned about the finances (very real since she is particularly well thought of at her job and compensated accordingly), about the changes for my relationship with her, about the changes she may experience, about how my relationship with the children will change (will I be more of an outsider now that she is spending vastly more time with them?), and, well, just how it all would work.

*And, if she does stay home, we are kicking around the idea of her taking the kids to Norway for an extended visit (4-6 weeks) this coming summer without me. That's a long time for us all to be away from each other. And it was my idea.

*I am consumed by hope and tortured by thoughts that a certain family enterprise is going to work out such that we could afford, no sweat, to have the Viking Bride no longer contributing to the family coffers and I would no longer have to earn my bread by practicing law. These thoughts are not healthy as they depend on a million things, all outside my control, and thus verge on fantasy. Even if this fantasy flies, it ain't gonna happen before 2008. That's a long time to wait to see if a fantasy is going to come true and a lot can happen in between.

Yup, just a whole lot going on.

I cannot wait to turn the page on this year. As if the act of writing a new year on the next to do list will magically transform everything. As if.

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November 23, 2006

A Wodehouse thought for the day

I give you this, to ponder on during this most wholesome holiday:

South Kensington . . . where sin stalks naked through the dark alleys and only might is right.

Service With a Smile, 1962

I really can't say why I find this one so funny. But I do. Maybe you just have to know South Ken.

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November 17, 2006

Breast cancer operation a success, we think

Thank you all for your kind comments and supportive emails. I've read everything, be assured, even if I have not had the time to reply or respond.

I have not felt much like writing this week, truth be told.

My mom's surgery was a complete success, or so we have been informed. She is cancer free at this point and must undergo chemo as a prophylactic measure.

Monday was a long day. I spent most of it with my father who was and remains a bit of a basket case. We took a lot of walks around the grounds while my mother was under the knife. He told me that he did not know what he would do, how he would live, without her, that they had grown up together. I was a little taken aback because, well, my dad, well, let's just say I have never heard him speak this way about my mother. He also reflected on the relationship he has with my sister and the relationship he had with my now deceased maternal grandfather, who he says he knew for a longer time than he did his own father. We talked about my uncles and the family business we are trying to run. It was a long day, as I said.

I got to spend an hour and a half alone with my mother, chatting, after she came up from recovery. She tolerated the procedure remarkably well.

Now, of course, her spirits are a bit low as she says she is mourning the loss of her body part. I take a contrary view. I have told her that we should be celebrating the gain not mourning a loss, that she now has a second shot at life. I keep trying to convince her of this.

When Tuesday came, I was drained and exhausted. I had to stay late in the City for a Board of Directors' meeting. Of course, the train broke down on the way home.

Wednesday, still exhausted. My mom is released from the hospital, though. We had the Girl Child's parent-teacher conference. She is a "delight; an adept and rapid learner". We learn, on Thursday, that after the conference, the teacher's husband died that night.

Wednesday, I also learn that I have become a focal point of controversy at the Club where I have been a member for some 15 years and which I love very much. That is a shock. The support I have received is overwhelming and the critics, who went way too far, are on the short end of an investigation which likely will result in the termination of their membership for failing to act like gentlemen. Upsetting but uplifting as people have flocked to my defense.

Thursday, what about Thursday? Oh yeah, that was cool. I had a tour of an architectural masterpiece from the CEO of the Fortune 100 corporation headquartered in the building. Then the CEO and I had a private lunch in his private dining room. That was an interesting experience.

And now Friday and I am happy to look forward to a weekend with my family as I recover from my attempt to run for 30 minutes on the treadmill today to burn out some of the stress I am feeling. Running is not a good idea for your knees; unless you are being chased.

Pax tibi!

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November 10, 2006

Breast cancer update

My mother has been advised that the tumor was larger than expected. She is scheduled to have her breast surgically removed on Monday. This was decided last night.

I am having concentration problems today. Somehow, the question of whether a claim relates back for the purposes of avoiding a statute of limitation issue is hard to concentrate on.

Thank you for all your comments. I have not felt much like blogging of late but have appreciated very much all of your comments.

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The wonderful mint julep

As my thoughts turn southerly, as the days grow colder, I remember fondly my time living in New Orleans where I quaffed more than my fair share of mint juleps. PG Wodehouse, in 1929, had this to say about that lovely drink:

"Insidious things. They creep up to you like a baby sister and slide their little hands into yours, and the next thing you know the judge is telling you to pay the clerk of the court fifty dollars." (from Fish Preferred).

I've always liked that description and thought you might enjoy it, too.

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November 03, 2006

Still, there i sroom for hope

I took the day off today to read to my son's preschool class and to visit my mother who was in the hospital to have a lump removed from her breast. The doctor thought that she was in stage zero breast cancer; stage zero really being pre-cancer. She was not, as it turns out. One of the lymph nodes was involved. This means that instead of stage zero, she jumps to stage two. Mortality rates change and treatment becomes very different.

Still, there is room for hope. And still, I will hope.

Her mother, my grandmother, died of breast cancer when she was just 59, you see.

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November 01, 2006

Today is my birthday

I am not feeling greatly celebratory but I have friends who are not prepared to accept that. My college room mate is taking me out for a big lunch. Other people have been ringing me at work to send their best wishes and I have gotten a number of emails. Of course, I did have to remind my father when we spoke this morning to wish me a happy birthday. That is simply par for the course from the man who bought my mother a St. Patrick's Day card for Valentine's Day one year.

I am going to take myself off after lunch and buy myself a happy birthday tie and a very nice half bottle of something yummy to drink on the train on the way home tonight.

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October 31, 2006

Sort of a review

The nanny is on her way out -- tomorrow is her last day with us. I have no intention of telling her that she is leaving on my birthday. Why give her the satisfaction?

She abbreviated her notice period. That was very uncool. I asked her, "You are not working out your contract, you are not working out your full notice period, when the Viking Bride and I have been nothing but kind to you, even offering to assist you in returning to college, how is this honorable behavior?" She replied that she was leaving us with a totally clear conscience. I told her, "That simply means you are not very self-reflective." It ain't ending on a nice note, I'll tell you. At least, not from my perspective.

The Mother of Viking Bride has flown in to visit and otherwise be of assistance. That's nice. Super nice, actually.

The new nanny will begin on Monday.

* * *

In the meantime, thanks to the nanny shenanigans, the Viking Bride and I have begun the maybe-she-should-stay-home-with-the-kids conversation. She'd like to and I would like her to. It may be a question of how we can make it work financially as her salary is quite nice and we have all grown used to regular meals. Still, this question has been in the forefront of our discussions of late. Hopefully, by the summer, we will have sorted all of our thoughts out about it and be in a position to implement a decision, assuming we decide that she will leave work.

In that regard, I gather that I am going to be made partner at my firm. That will ease things somewhat but only somewhat. At least, it will be enough for us to think about how to move forward.

* * *

This weekend I attended my 20th high school reunion. It was somewhere between amusing and odd and sad. As an officer of the Alumni Association, I had to lead the Annual Meeting of the Alumni Association. At least turnout was nice and low due to the inclement weather. Turnout for our reunion was high; some 40 out of 90 showed up. We have a cohesive class.

Still, getting together after a 20 year gap was strange. We left as children, we have returned as adults with our own children. We left looking to conquer the world, we returned as lawyers and doctors and hedge fund managers; teachers and Marine Corps officers and stay at home moms; and, at least one of us did not return at all -- leukemia.

I wonder what the next twenty has in store for us?

* * *

The nation is in good hands, going forward. That is my assessment after spending an evening with the 20 top ranking cadets from this year's senior class from West Point. I am involved with the Military Academy and help the cadets prepare for Rhodes and Marshall scholarship interviews. These are an impressive and articulate group of kids; born two years before I graduated from high school (see above). I felt old at the conclusion of the event but at least no one offered to help me to the elevator or asked if I needed assistance finding my walker. There must still be something very good about this nation if we are able to attract the best and the brightest into her service.

* * *

In the midst of all this craziness, my mother has received a bit of bad news -- pre-malignant breast cancer, kind of a pre-cancer diagnoses. The lump will be removed on Friday. I am not worried in the slightest; possessed of an unshakeable belief that this will amount to no more than an inconvenience. She, however, is a basket case and reminded all the time of the death of her mother who died from breast cancer. I am concerned for her and sad that she is so upset but I absolutely refuse to consider any other possible resolution other than a complete and total success.

* * *

I hope you all have a lovely Halloween. I will be out early to take little ones out to beg for candy.

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October 26, 2006

You poor dear

I know I've been neglecting you. I'm sorry. I have been under a lot of pressure at home and at work. I have not intended for you to wither from lack of attention, but, just the same, that seems to have happened. Well, I'll be back soon. Promise!

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October 16, 2006

Today, my stress levels go to eleven

Stress one. The nanny gave notice last night. She has also given what amounts to a truly insufficient notice period. Three weeks. As I explained to her, when one of our nannies resigned in the past gave notice because her grandmother was dying, she stayed with us for a month, which was the quickest we could get a new nanny. I am concerned. Mighty concerned. In fact, I have done little all day but try to figure out a solution. Oh, and our nanny agency tells us that we should not expect to see a new candidate from them until Christmas is over. The kids, I bet, are going to be devastated.

Stress two. I am a private banking client of my bank. My bank has transferred most of its branches and thus the retail accounts in those branches to another bank. I discovered today, when I called to transfer money from private banking to checking that my original bank has kept my private accounts but mistakenly sent my retail accounts to new bank. This is unacceptable. It gets more unacceptable. To transfer funds, old bank now has to send a wire to new bank and new bank will charge me $30. Old bank agreed, in response to my delicate question, that yes, old bank will eat those fucking charges. To reunite my private and retail accounts once more might mean having to go and open totally new accounts with old bank, with all of the annoying documentation demands that entails with opening SIX NEW ACCOUNTS for four different people. As I said to private banking person, if that's the case, why should I bother? Wouldn't it be easier to simply open one new private account at a new bank? Audible gulp on the other end of the line as she began to realize that our 30 year relationship may have reached its natural termination.

So, to recap, no nanny, no cash (my extravagant $5.43 lunch went on my Visa), no sleep.

At least I have a clean desk.

That will be a consolation when they come and take me away, I assure you.

And by the way, I have managed to already reduce my stress from the time I began writing this by having an hour conversation with a new potential nanny.

Still. You know? Just, still.

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October 15, 2006

An unveiling

I took the day off of work on Friday to attend the unveiling of my grandfather's head stone. Or, what should have been the unveiling, if the monument maker had not messed up the date or the delivery. So, instead, the family gathered around the hole in the ground where the headstone was supposed to be. And we had a small service, led by my uncle. One of my cousins said something quite lovely afterwards. She said that while it was too bad not to have a headstone, the marker was really not all that important. All the marker would have on it would be his birthdate and the date he died and a couple of small words. The important thing wasn't the two dates but what he accomplished in between those dates and he really did accomplish an enormous amount.

I held it together the whole day. No problem. Actually, it was the first time I had ever left that place without crying, although it used to be tears for my grandmother who died when I was in third grade. Not this time. No, I was ok up to dinner when the Boy Child, in all the innocence of 3.5 years, leaned across the table and said to my mother:

"I are sad because I can't see my friend, Grampa H., laugh anymore."

From the mouths of babes. . .

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October 06, 2006

Go to jail. And I mean, now!

When I was in law school, I learned about when a shrink had to, by law, violate doctor-patient confidentiality. If the shrink learned, during the course of treating the whacko, that said whacko was an imminent danger to society, that said whacko was actually planning to harm someone, then the shrink had to blow the whistle. Failure to do so by the shrink might lead to the imposition of criminal penalties. That is my recollection.

Therefore, I have to say that the shrink who helped Barbara Streisand overcome her crippling case of stage fright, the stage fright that has largely kept her out of public appearances for the last 12 years, should go to jail right now. That shrink had an obligation to keep us from harm and by us I mean all of us, each and every one of us. He or she knew that Babs might get out on a stage and entertain, i.e. subject us all to that revolting mix of her naive and terribly righteous political views and her schmaltzy songs.

We must find this shrink and put him or her in jail now before this person can heal anyone else.

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