ADMIRAL REFRIGERATOR MANUAL

Madness on the Couch: Blaming the Victim in the Heyday of Psychoanalysis

In the golden age of "talk therapy", the 1950s and 1960s, psychotherapists saw no limit to what they could do. Believing they had already explained the origins of war, homosexuality, anti-Semitism, and a host of neurotic ailments, they set out to conquer one of mankind's oldest and fiercest foes, mental illness. In "Madness on the Couch", veteran science writer Edward Dolnick tells the tragic story of that confrontation.
It is a vivid, compelling tale that is told here for the first time. Dolnick focuses on three battles in an epic war: against schizophrenia, autism, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Schizophrenia, the most dreaded mental illness, strikes its young victims without warning and torments them with hallucinations and mocking voices. Autism claims its victims even younger, at age one or two, and locks them away, cut off from the rest of us by invisible walls. Obsessive-compulsive disorder strikes at any age and entraps its hapless victims in endless rituals.
Inspired by their hero, Freud, but bolder even than he, psychoanalysts set out to vanquish those enemies. Armed with only words and the best of intentions, they achieved the worst of outcomes. The symptoms of disease were symbols, these therapists believed, and diseases could be interpreted, like dreams. The ranting of a schizophrenic on a street corner, the retreat of an autistic child from human contact, the endless hand-washing of an obsessive-compulsive were not simply acts but messages. And the message psychoanalysts decoded and delivered to countless families was that parents themselves-- through their subtle hostility-- had driven their children mad. That verdict was not overturned for more than a generation.
Clear, dramatic, and authoritative, "Madness on the Couch" uses the voices of therapists as well as those of patients and their loved ones to describe the controversial methods used to treat the mentally ill, and their heartbreaking consequences. We see the leading lights of psychotherapy at work, including tiny, grandmotherly Frieda Fromm-Reichmann; gawky Gregory Bateson, either a genius or a charlatan, depending on whom one asked; and birdlike R. D. Laing, a slender figure with dark, deep-set eyes and the charisma of a rock star. We meet, too, scientists and family members who fought the reigning dogma of the day. Bernard Rimland, for example, set out to refute the claim that autism was caused by "refrigerator" parents whose coldness had turned their children into zombies. Rimland's only "credential" in his battle with the experts was the fact that his son was autistic.
A gripping tale of hubris, arrogant pride, and terrible heartbreak, "Madness on the Couch" combines the immediacy of superb joumalism with the depth of scrupulous history. It shows us convincingly that in attempting to cure mental illness through talk therapy, psychoanalysis did infinitely more harm than good.

You have to wonder if there's anyone left out there who dares call themselves a Freudian. Little is being written in defense of Freud and his legacy while the critiques, ever more confident and ever more damning, continue to fall from the presses like heavy Vienna snow. Madness on the Couch is one of the best.
Dolnick begins with a useful retread of the case against Freud himself, but his main argument is against a cherished principle of the master's followers. Freud always stuck to the idea that he was treating the psychological problems of the sane, but in the 1950s and 1960s, a much more grandiose idea emerged in psychiatric circles, the notion that "the talking cure" could sponge away madness itself.
One of the problems with this ambitious proposal was its vagueness. "Madness" could mean anything, including such different conditions as schizophrenia, autism, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. As Dolnick shows, analysts of various kinds had just two things in common: a systematic inability to do any good for patients with any of these conditions and a vast blindness, if not outright dishonesty, about that failure.
Like other critics of Freud's legacy, Dolnick is convinced that Freud-inspired analysis is guilty of doing its patients, and their families, great harm--by "explaining," for example, autism in terms of parental neglect. The section in Madness on the Couch on autism is especially good, concluding its discussion of all the things autism isn't (pace the wild and largely evidence-free surmises of therapists) with a balanced discussion of just how big a puzzle it still is.
Dolnick sometimes has an irritatingly sarcastic and melodramatic tone; a shame--the material he has assembled speaks strongly for itself. --Richard Farr

These signs are NOT by W. A. " Andy" Rigsby ...but they kinda belong in this set

Signs on the front of the streetcars of St. Louis
St Louis and St. Louis County, Missouri.

Vanished along with the clean green earth of the Mass Transit by Electric Trolleys.. Now we have those smelly buses.. and traffic jams.

This IS a magnet on my refrigerator...
I know, boring.... but, at the moment, I am creatively at a standstill.... Gotta think, what next, Laura !!!!!

That rosy tomato perched on your plate in December is at the end of a great journey—not just over land and sea, but across a vast and varied cultural history. This is the territory charted in Fresh. Opening the door of an ordinary refrigerator, it tells the curious story of the quality stored inside: freshness.
We want fresh foods to keep us healthy, and to connect us to nature and community. We also want them convenient, pretty, and cheap. Fresh traces our paradoxical hunger to its roots in the rise of mass consumption, when freshness seemed both proof of and an antidote to progress. Susanne Freidberg begins with refrigeration, a trend as controversial at the turn of the twentieth century as genetically modified crops are today. Consumers blamed cold storage for high prices and rotten eggs but, ultimately, aggressive marketing, advances in technology, and new ideas about health and hygiene overcame this distrust.
Freidberg then takes six common foods from the refrigerator to discover what each has to say about our notions of freshness. Fruit, for instance, shows why beauty trumped taste at a surprisingly early date. In the case of fish, we see how the value of a living, quivering catch has ironically hastened the death of species. And of all supermarket staples, why has milk remained the most stubbornly local? Local livelihoods; global trade; the politics of taste, community, and environmental change: all enter into this lively, surprising, yet sobering tale about the nature and cost of our hunger for freshness.
(20090502)