how doez zat makez you feel?
It's Sigmund Freud's birthday. He was born in 1856, which if he were still alive today he'd still be younger than Keith Richards. The stereotype of the couch and a big wing-back chair with a fuzzy-haired doctor sitting out of view of the patient has a kernal of ze truth behind it, oddly enough. Freud thought that during hypnosis and what he called "the talking cure," ("Tell me, did you lovez your muzzah?") having people tell stories about their lives, he could get to the root of their problems. The couch was there to make them feel comfortable, and the doctor sitting out of direct line of sight was to help them feel like they could talk without the feelings of self-conciousness that talking to a doctor about personal things in Victorian times would generate.
And yes, most all of Freud's ideas were later debunked, but there are still ze Freudian psychologists around, and hiz methods ztill hold zway in a zcience that iz barely over a century old.
And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but a Cuban is a SMOKE.
So that's why I went into pyschology when I was in college. Because of Cuban cigars. Or was it all those hot, uptight Baptist chicks? Aaah, I can't remember. I didn't score on either count, so it doesn't really matter, doez eet?
The drawback of holding a degree in Psychology is that you always end up trying to psychoanalyse yourself, and it never works. My grandfather used to tell me that the carpenter in town was always the guy who lived in the worst-built house, and the auto mechanic's car would never run right. Damn he was a clever old man. *lol* The funniest part of being in school for Psychology was sitting through classes like Abnormal Psych and Child Development, because you could see the entire class trying to categorise themselves as each and every new mental disturbance was discussed. I've never seen a more mentally unbalanced bunch in my life.
The other funny part of it, or maybe the tragic part, is that I was attending school at a very conservative Baptist college, so classes that might have been wildly interesting never made it to the coure curriculum. I never took a single class about Sexual/Psychological Deviance, because sex is of the Devil. No classes on The Psychology of Alchololism were offered, because alcohol is the Devil's Urine. I never attended any seminars on Dancing and Card Playing Psychology, because both of those things are Tools Of The Devil, and so I would get out of classes, find my way to the dorms and the co-ed appartments, drink heavily, try to have unprotected sex, and dance and play cards, but even that was usually monitored pretty closely by middle-aged guys with duck-tail hairdos and dark suits who would burst in suddenly and start casting out the DEH-vels.
We won't discuss the three semesters of Art classes and the matching BA I got in Studio Art trying to keep from dropping out for good with only 3 semester hours to go to a degree, nor will we dizcuzz for much longer my equally useless BA in Psychology.
So there you have it, six years of my life compressed into a few paragraphs. No telling you about the young Dr. Young, or the very old Dr. Heard, who taught Intro, Abnormal, and several other classes, wherein each and every class he taught was the same one. No mention of the professor who came from Gott In Himmel knows where, who decided that I was a slacker and failed me for the first half of Statistics and Measures, one of the few classes that I was really enjoying at the time. Other than Art History, but again, that's another post.
And the day I walked out of that college for the last time? The moment I had been waiting for for 6 and a half years? That's the day I returned to my job in sales, and it took me 14 more years to get out of it again.