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I appreciate the visit anyway, you should know, and the communication, the questions. 

It happened this week, so even though I should be making someone a lunch, I put up the Garage Sale post below, cleaned it up a little.  Has anyone ever cleaned a sixty year old garage?  It’s not pretty.

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Technically it’s a front yard sale.

My son stops by to see what’s going on, exclaims, “For sure you’re going to blog about this!”


After the smoke clears and I have a little distance, weigh all the risks, the benefits, because who can move without doing that, it seems like a good idea. 

 Once I had a patient who worked for the stock exchange.  Or was it the commodities exchange.  In the pit.  Everything about it, he said, wreaked mania.  The sheer energy, the excitement, the thrill of buy-sell.   Of course, that was when the millennium was new, the economy flourishing.  Now we all feel a little older, slower.

I never knew it, but garage sales are the real American stock market.  It never grabbed me, however, the old furniture, old light fixtures, what people called OPJ, other people’s junk.  Not that the show, The Antique Road Show  couldn’t keep my attention, it did.  But it wasn’t like browsing thrift stores turned me on, and I only bought a few things second hand — winter jackets for the grandsons.  One was for girls, apparently, so that was a huge faux pas.  Some of us need more direction than others.

Like many immigrants who come to this country, my father, after serving in a world war, had to decide what to do with his life if he expected to buy property, support a family, that sort of thing. He started setting up windows in a jewelry shop and thought, How hard is this?  I should own the shop.

And without the Internet to guide him, without a degree in business administration, he and his brother set up a business or three.  They hired someone to fix watches and Dad watched carefully.  The modest idea morphed into a buying and selling obsession.

It is an obsession, I’m learning, one that is not in the DSM, yet millions of people have it.  Most are on Ebay.  They have stores and monikers and merchandise and self-esteem, pride themselves on their packaging, their advertisements, the text of the sale, the pitch.  For now, sales are primarily online. 

Selling online, as even my father could see, is replacing the store.    My father wanted to get into it, selling online, but his illness overcame him.  That and age.  At some point you really do stop retaining new information, even old sober sharpies like my dad. 

So when he passed on he left us a lot of stuff.  Things like china, stoneware.  Random gift plates and jewelry, ID bracelets, new, in cases worth at most, $18 bucks a pop.  Clock radios.  Wallets and lighters.  Cigaret lighters!  Most of the jewelry was neither hisht nor haihr (Yiddish for neither here nor there).  Meaning not very valuable, but it might be. You never know.

Perfect garage sale stock.  Your average buyer at such an event will embrace the prospect and think about the problem for as long as you keep the tables up, as long as you attend to them.

“Do I buy it or not?”  they’re asking themselves.

Real pressure.  I had no idea that putting a few things out to make a couple of bucks for my mom would be so intense!  Each sale so meaningful, so important.  It’s like me at the grocery store.  Do I try the generic?  I want to, I really do, but will it give me a rash?  Is it worth the rash to save a couple of bucks?  Probably not.  But it might be.  (Certainly the generic Pantene is fine.  At least for me.)

The heat at the garage sale, palpable.  Do I buy it or not?  Can I get it for less?  Why won’t she come down.  And everyone calling my name, because I’m the one who sat down with my mother for days, went over the stock with the glass, weighed it, loved it.  All this work to set a fair price.

So it’s the closest thing to a family manic episode, or to being at the stock exchange on cocaine (for it’s quite common, or used to be synonymous, market and cocaine) or to working in a gift shop the week before Xmas.  And obviously, it is grief work. 

It was hot.  Being there was being in the hotbed of America.  The wonderful people of Chicago would have felt it anyway, the heat, 90 degrees in the shade.  This is an annual neighborhood gig, the neighborhood yard sale, and there are twenty-six other yards to pick over.  Why everyone seems to come back to mine is still a big mystery.

Of course there’s much more story here, but it can wait.  Suffice it to say there was jewelry, and the thing that seemed to draw shoppers to the yard was the jewelry.  And Israeli coins.  Why, when we’re in a recession that has affected every one of us in one crazy way or another is jewelry the hot ticket item at a garage sale, well, you tell me.  My hunch is that it is beautiful, and garage sales are synonymous with deals, and beautiful and deal, go together. At least that’s one of the things I learned as a child.

Anyway, this event took some preparation, and you could say it was highly anticipated, we were all pretty pumped, looked forward to hanging out in the hood on a Sunday and divesting of the junk that had moved from my mom’s basement to mine.  Had to get a city permit and everything.  This just felt important.

And we were mobbed.  All day long, the same people kept coming back.  I felt we were old friends by noon.

You’d have thought it was the California gold rush. They’re squinting at things, peering through loops.  If I had sold nothing but jewelry loops, mom would have walked away a rich woman.  They’re weighing little trinkets from one hand to the next. 

“Is it 14K?” Everyone wants to know. “14K? 10K? Any 18K? Can’t you go inside and look for more? You know you have more! This couldn’t be everything from the store!”

How do you tell people, Listen, my grandkids took all the good stuff back with them when they were here for the summer. They might be young, but they’re not stupid. 

“What we have here,” my standard reply, “you have to buy it at your own risk. This isn’t what I do for a living.”

Oy vey! Wrong answer. So what do you do?

Well, when you’re caught off-guard and you’re me, you’re honest, and let’s just say, . . . we’re off.

But let’s not talk about me. What’s really interesting is that there is a garage sale culture, the ecosystem that has passed many of us by.  We can’t do everything, can’t have our hands in everything.  We have to miss, on occasion, an awesome ecosystem or two.

Sometimes people come to therapy and they haven’t got hobbies, haven’t got a social niche or a social system they’re comfortable in, or haven’t  things to do during their discretionary time.  Many people, these days have a lot more of that than they wish they had, discretionary time.  Discovering how to develop an interest in everything, maybe even old things, collectibles, or free things, like the exoskeletons of the cicada (see previous post) is the cure. It’s called personal growth, learning who you are, what you like, doing it, and convincing others, this is good to do, this is good to have.

Who knew I would have liked the stock exchange?  Never in a million years would have thought such a thing.

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Here at Shrink Rap, we get a pretty steady flow of email from book publicists, publishers, and other media sources looking to get some attention for their books, blogs, TV programs, conferences, and causes. Suddenly, we’re faced with questions from our own publisher about where our book should be promoted, do we have any personal media contacts, where should review copies go? Clink and Roy did their forms, and I’ve obsessed. If you’ve hit us up for publicity and your name had CBS, or Simon & Schuster, or some major publication anywhere near your name, you made it to my list. Clink, bless her, listed the name of a forensic psychiatry journal and moved on. I’m thinking Slate, Psychology Today (Roy put that on his list, too), Huffington Post…. so now that I’ve spent the morning looking up contact information for the alumni magazines at Clink’s college and med school (and mine, and Roy’s), I thought I’d do what I always do when I want to make sure I didn’t miss anything obvious: ask you.

Shrink Rap: Three Psychiatrists Explain Their Work–

Our one-sentence description reads:

Three psychiatrists give a candid and understandable insiders’ view of the modern practice of psychiatry.

So where do you think we should suggest the publisher should market our book? And if you happen to be the book editor for the LA Times, would you please send us your contact info?

This has gotta weirdest book writing process ever.

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Listen to our latest podcast at mythreeshrinks.com or subscribe to our rss feed. Email us at mythreeshrinks at gmail.

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I like texting. It’s a fast and efficient way to exchange information, and I’m a bit prone to yakking, so this allows for a no-nonsense exchange without all the gabbing about how the kids are doing or the latest on someone’s ingrown toenails, or the usual assortment of small talk items. Running late, order my salad. Yes, Bobby can get a ride home with us. Or, if you’re Roy: “do you have triple sec for the mango margaritas?” Roy makes surprisingly good mango margaritas without using any triple sec. Just so you know– and I don’t mean to brag– I’m fast with the thumbs.

I text with patients as well. Do other psychiatrists do this? It works well for “Need to cancel my session this week, see you next week.” Or “Running 10 minutes late, traffic.” Once in a while I’ll even text a reminder to someone who misses appointments frequently. I was happy to hear that there is a dentist in town who also sends text message reminders.

Here’s the problem with texting patients:
People have taken to texting me with problems. “I feel horrible and like I might want to end it all right now.” (This did not really happen). I’ve done a few back and forths and realized that I’m not good at psychotherapy via text. Usually problem texts get met with “Come in at…..” and if …. is not Very Soon, or if the patient says that’s not good, I call, or text “call me.” I’ve been texted insurance information, drug reactions, appointment changes, negative biopsy results, “will you call refills in to my pharmacy?” and most notably, “Your office door is locked” after I haven’t responded to the knocking, only to find my patient sitting on the hallway floor.

What’s good about it? Somehow it feels less intrusive than a phone call, and the time taken up is more predictable. I’m prone to ramble and so are many of my patients– texts messages take seconds and phone calls can take minutes and involve many phone-tag back-and-forth exchanges. When someone texts their pharmacy number, I can click on it and get through–if it’s on voicemail, I often have to re-listen when I have a pen available, and often the number is at the end of a long message. It seems to me that texting is no less documentable than a phone conversation, so I can’t come up with any legal reasons it’s not kosher.

What’s bad? I have taken to telling patients that while I’m happy to try to negotiate appointment times via text, or “running late” messages, that it’s not a good way to negotiate problems– for drug reactions and symptom changes, we should start with the phone. My biggest concern is that if I’m on vacation, there’s no way to set a coverage text message, and my voicemail has the names and numbers of covering doctors. I’ve been pretty clear with people that I’m not blowing them off, and that if they don’t get quick reply to a text message, they need to CALL the office.

What do you think? It’s a different take on the shrink when there’s nearly instant access a good deal of the time.

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Listen to our latest podcast at mythreeshrinks.com or subscribe to our rss feed. Email us at mythreeshrinks at gmail.

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~from Lanny-Yap

Last week’s article in Science looked at the effects of the anesthetic/dissociative drug ketamine (”vitamin K” or “Special K” on the street) in brain cell function in rats, concluding “that ketamine might be useful in treating depression because it increases brain activity instantly – so there is no need to wait weeks or months for the drug to take effect.“

Another article from Nature Reviews Neuroscience reviewed the state of the art in psychedelic science and found that “countless studies show that hallucinogens promote healthy neural activity in the brain. The researchers also created a chart to show what test subjects’ states of mind are, according to studies, when under the influence of various substances.“

Go to Lanny-Yap (great site!) for links to the articles.

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Listen to our latest podcast at mythreeshrinks.com or subscribe to our rss feed. Email us at mythreeshrinks at gmail.

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