Doc's Place

Some time ago I wrote about various accidental, "impossible" ways to injure myself.  Until the times at which they came to pass, none would have even occurred to me.  I had not given them any forethought, and if I had, I still would have believed them to be extremely low in their probability of occurrence.  I do not believe that I am accident prone.  That would imply that I had some character flaw or an unconscious need to punish myself for my past misdeeds.  I have no such need, as I usually get caught.  No, this is a stranger phenomenon.  Accidents actively pursue me, stealthily awaiting their chance for a sneak attack.  Although I am almost always on my guard, my finely attuned senses working overtime to ward off the inherent danger they pose, they sometimes slip past my carefully guarded perimeter and get me.

Such was the case as I gathered my bags of recyclables, garbage, and cat poop.  There seemed to be little danger in this act and it would be a good thing to have accomplished and done for the day.  The fact that I am a cheapskate thrifty, eco-conscious individual enters at this point.  I have almost never purchased garbage bags.  Why would one buy something with only the intent of throwing it away?  I re-use grocery bags as garbage bags.  Granted, they are somewhat smaller and not the most attractive waste containers available, but for the most part, they serve the purpose well.  I also fill Pepsi cartons with any paper to be recycled.  The point of all this explanation is that I end up carrying multiple small bags to the garbage receptacles rather than one or two, and that this is slightly more difficult to do.  I managed to get the majority of the bags, boxes, and contents to the proper receptacles, only losing a can or two along the way.  That was easy enough to correct.

OK.  We now have Doc at the scene of the great dumpster incident of the week.  There is one further element that needs to be known before this tale will make sense (this statement presumes that I ever make much sense, a possibly unjustified assumption on my part.)  I am very nearsighted and the eyeglasses I got about two years ago have gone through a slow but steady process of falling apart.  First the nose pads disintegrated and were replaced free by the unnamed eyeglass emporium.  Last year I was called by them to come in for my annual eye exam, which I did and to which I took the taped together pieces of their deluxe frames.  They repaired the right earpiece, which had simply fallen apart at the hinge, with a vaguely matching piece from the scrap bin.  It worked, but I was informed that I was not eligible for insurance benefits for frames or lenses until this summer.  OK, the sides didn't match, but they worked.  Since that time, the left side earpiece broke in exactly the same place and manner in which the right one had previously done.  My thought was that I could wait a month or so, while looking a bit foolish and nerdy, with the left earpiece simply taped together.  This worked to a less desirable degree than had the previous repair.  They are looser and have to be bent back into shape multiple times per day.  I let this go as I was awaiting an appointment with my ophthalmologic surgeon and felt it would be foolish to replace glasses which I would only have to re-replace in a month or so.

For some reason, unknown to me, I feel compelled to look into the dumpster to be certain that the recycling bags had landed in the general area toward which I had tossed them.  Large error in judgment there (or lack thereof.)  As I did this, the aforementioned loose, taped together, spectacles followed the bags into the dumpster.  As I contemplated this development I realized that the dumpster was too tall to simply step or reach into; that I couldn't see the very object that I needed to see to retrieve; and that there was absolutely no way to accomplish this without appearing to be as odd as I actually am to the neighbors.  The lowest point close to the search area was about 4.5 feet tall and I ended up (pun intended) bent over the side, feeling around for any item that might be eyeglasses.  The good news was that I found them in fairly short order.  The bad news was that the cracking noise I heard near my left shirt pocket, as I exited the green monster, was not the plastic pen that I had briefly hoped it might be.  It was some portion of my anatomy, presumably a rib, making the sound.  This guess was quickly confirmed as I engaged in one more foolish action.  I breathed. 

Anyway, the rib thing seems to be healing as long as I don't do anything to anger the offended skeletal member – like sneezing, coughing, or hiccupping.  The green beast needs to be taught a lesson, however, and I am contemplating something appropriately vengeful.  Three bags of cat poop just doesn't seem like enough.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“Sometimes accidents happen in life from which we have need of a little madness to extricate ourselves successfully” - François de la Rochefoucauld

I have temporarily returned from my trip away from Spaces.  No, it was not the type that a youth of the 60's and 70's might have taken along with Dr. Leary.  Actually, I never did that.  I was afraid of what I might find.  Given the disproportionate amount of strangeness which I have amassed during my adult years, I believe that was a good decision.

Neither was this a literal vacation, wherein I left the apartment to travel a distance of greater than five miles.  I didn't even go anywhere with premeditated fun in mind.  I was prepared, though, with all the repairs made to the car and even having most of my laundry done.  I almost always want to go toward something rather than away from a problem or place, but in this case it started as going toward something from which I intended to return immediately, but ended staying for a while.

More important to my staying for a while was that it was simply a trip away from something before I began to dislike it.  I was beginning to feel obligated to produce an interesting, informative, humorous, or otherwise entertaining post at regular intervals here on Spaces.  Honestly it was beginning to feel like a burden.  With no payment or worldwide recognition at stake, I simply quit posting for a while.  I did not and do not want an activity that gives me pleasure (blogging on Spaces) to either cease to do so, or worse, become aversive enough that I abandoned it.  My destination was that other place to where a number of Spacers have defected on a more permanent basis.  I met many of them there.  I would not have thought of joining on my own.  I was invited to view another Spacer's photos on that other place and found I had to be a member to see them.  I signed up with basic information and no real intention of doing more than looking at the photos, writing some comments, and leaving.  Well, I think I stayed for dinner, quickly becoming used to the many posts per day and short comments.  Even more typically of me, I became engrossed in playing with an imaginary zoo to the point of attempting to get virtual platypuses (platypi?) to breed and trying to earn enough points to purchase a second unicorn.  Please don't tell anyone, though, as it might cost me a certain loss of credibility in future posts.   Thank you very much for your understanding and cooperation.  I do find that this relatively mindless activity provides a certain amount of relief in other aspects of my life as well.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“If some people didn't tell you, you'd never know they'd been away on a vacation” - Kin Hubbard

Now, I am usually not one to complain much (we know I'm lying here, don't we?) however, I must report a most grievous error in an interview conducted by none other than the newest Microsoft Most Valued Professional (MVP), Technogran.  I will simply link to her usually excellent magazine page and allow you to read for yourselves the seriousness of this situation.

Now, I'm sure you can all see why I am so upset! … You can't? … Can you not differentiate between the Queen's English and good old American spelling?  The interviewer has most clearly used a British spellchecker on the article!  One can see this for themselves as the last word in the second sentence of the final paragraph of the interview.  How could you have missed it?  Quite clearly, I have a "sense of humor," not a "sense of humour!"  Windows Live Writer even underlined the offending word in red as I wrote this sentence.

In one of my rare moments between depression and paranoia, I would like to thank Technogran for including me in her most professionally produced Round And About Windows Live magazine.  I would especially like to thank her for the work she has done to make Windows Live changes understandable to the many of us who had no clue as to what was happening from week to week, and saving us from floundering around until we gave up.  Congratulations on becoming a Microsoft MVP, TG.  You are certainly deserving of the honour.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

Mandxx; you are in trouble and I am going to get you for it! – Doc

Anniversaries

Celebrate the past

Recall a better season

Gone without reason

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

Thank you, Dr. Lindsay Bates.  Your works are good.

I am quickly coming to the conclusion that this Dell laptop is becoming as quirky as its owner.  Everyone gets their settings and preferences arranged to a configuration that just feels right to them.  There are a number of ways in which that can be done incorrectly, but mostly if it only involves poking keys without digging into system or protected files, you're OK.  It can be fixed relatively easily.  This Vostro, however, seems to be displaying some early signs of AI (Artificial Intelligence.)  It isn't as big as HAL of 2001: A Space Odyssey so I should probably give it a smaller name like AL (Artificial Lunatic.) 

Yes.  It has begun to develop odd behaviors for which I have no logical explanation.  For instance, during boot up, it has taught me to wait until it makes a small "screep" noise before I may proceed or I am doomed to a really unusual session.

I don't know if it resents my placing it on the floor when I go to the refrigerator (or elsewhere), but it will be doing something I hadn't planned on when I return.  Possibly I'm projecting if I admit to being uncertain, here.  I think it may feel abandoned and act out its anger by "doing something funny," or whether this may actually be the case.  I have pretty well ruled out cats on the keyboard, and the mouse seems unmoved.  Here I reach one of the many "I don't know" moments of my life.  Those seem to be getting more frequent lately, but I digress. 

One immediate reason I am writing about this is that I have just had to reboot to restore it to sanity.  The keyboard refused to respond while I was writing an email.  This occurred immediately after a trip to the kitchen for some water and a mixed fruit cup.  The mouse worked and any page functions related to it worked well.  It simply refused to write anything.  About two days ago, my Google gadget sidebar disappeared from the right side of the screen.  AL will let me visit it if I wish by left clicking the far right side of the monitor screen.  It then appears exactly as I left it, until anything else on the desktop is clicked, at which time it once again hides behind the right edge of the screen.

The thing that most upsets and intrigues me is its decision to unexpectedly play music.  It only does this while the Firefox browser is in use and it is always the first line of a Grateful Dead song I downloaded to RealPlayer about four months ago.  It is predictable only in that it will be the same song and always associated with Firefox.  It does not seem to be related to any particular website, to my amount of time online, using the browser while another app is being used, or any other factor I can discover.  The upsetting part that I mentioned earlier is the song it always plays; "It Must Have Been The Roses."  This is a song that I strongly associate with Annie's death and the lack of friends after her death.  It contains a line, "Nobody comes 'round much anymore," which has been true of my life since her death.  What do you think (other than someone planting a RFID chip, that is)?

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"My software never has bugs. It just develops random features." – geek24.com site.

A short while ago I wrote a post about RFID transponders being placed in credit cards and included some information and a link to a video showing how easily they could be hacked.  This week, I saw an advertisement on TV for the same type of shielded credit card sleeves to block unauthorized reading.  They were selling for $20.00 (USD) for five sleeves.  Sizes for passports, security ID badges, and the like were also available. 

Technology has gone farther than these relatively "above-board" uses for RFID over the past ten years.  The technology has developed from bar codes, to the simple RFID transponders that caused an alarm to go off if one tried to leave a store with an stolen valuable item, to inventory tracking uses and more.  Along with the furor that has come with the changes in the credit card industry, there have been several cases of people's credit limits being lowered due to where they shop (say, from upscale stores to Wal-**rt.)  The tracking of marital counseling is being monitored because it might indicate that financial problems are coming with divorce and the CC company doesn't want to get stuck with a large unpaid balance.  The same is true for people identified as having difficulty paying for their homes or who have lost employment.  This happened to me about about a year ago when the BOA-Constrictor company cut the credit limit on a card I have with them (through an auto club) in half.  It was a high limit card and I only used it for gasoline and auto services as there was a 5% discount.  My credit rating has been consistently "Excellent" with all three reporting bureaus.  I think they noticed I had sold my house.  No reason was given on the notification and I believe I recall the letter congratulating me on the change in credit limit (possibly believing I was senile enough to miss the fact that it was cut, not raised.)  Now I am being passive-aggressive with them by leaving a positive balance of $0.47 in the account.

The other side of this type of data collection about our spending habits has little or nothing to do with RFID, but rather to what is done with it.  Credit card companies, banks, debit card processors, and retail stores all may track our purchases to consolidate our spending data into a combined database to predict our future behavior.  Again, a two sided phenomenon.  If we are to be rewarded for good credit ratings, on time payments, and offered discounts on items we are likely to purchase it could be a good thing.  If it is being done to "protect us from ourselves" and inhibit our getting deeply into high interest debt it might be a good or bad thing.  The fact that it is done to us without input from us is troubling.  When information is collected about us without our knowledge and used for purposes unknown to us, it becomes very troubling indeed.  The simple answer that was proposed by investigating groups was to pay in cash.

RFID chips have continually been reduced in size and ability such that they have been implanted in banknotes, gift certificates, documents, and whole paper media.  Let me display a single picture and refer you to the source.  On the right half of the illustration the "line" is a human hair.  The microscopic sized objects are RFID chips, are 1/64th the size of those on the human finger on the left side, are 0.05 x 0.05 mm in size, and have a read only memory (ROM) capacity of 128 bits, enough to retain a 38 digit ID number or equivalent alpha-numeric characters.  Let me display a single illustration and refer you to the source, http://www.loveforlife.com.au/node/6852

You might well find the site to be too extreme or conspiracy oriented to be believable.  I did on many issues.  Take away only three bits of information.  Microscopic RFID chips exist.  They may contain 128 bits of memory.  They will fit into the bore of a hypodermic needle.  Please read the original article and follow several of the links from the text or below it.  You may not believe 98% of what you read, but I think the remaining 2% will scare your pants off.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"They want to put this on every consumer item and even every piece of money....in ID cards and everything you have...even your body!.... It is already taking place and they can hide a spy chip in the dot on the i of product label......and tell where you are, what you do, and more.....hey its fun in the new United Police States of America!...." - From: www.spychips.com [....if you don't want to sleep tonight!.....]

I believe I have met my match in genealogical research, most especially with Irish ancestry.  I took a break one evening and decided to see if I could follow Annie's mother's line back any distance.  All I can say is there was definitely a reason she was in the D.A.R.  The line had been traced by multiple people or family groups and there was so much well researched data available that within about five hours I had gotten back, in a direct patrilineal line to a married couple, the husband of which had parents born in the very late 1500's.  They weren't Irish.

Irish ancestors must be the most difficult people on earth to trace in all of genealogy.  I have come to the conclusion that there are only about a dozen surnames in all of Ireland, and roughly eight male given names, possibly less.  Further, they sort of trickled into the USA until the Potato Famine, at which time half the country emigrated.  In the 1880 US census I thought I had discovered the right Nolan family living in Baltimore.  Husband listed as M J Nolan and wife Bridget, first son John born at the right time.  The other four children were the right ages and very close to what I thought they were named, they were living near the East Coast (along with probably 87.341% of the other Irish immigrants of the time) but I remember clearly my family having a special attachment to Marblehead, MA, and at least it was fairly close.  I suppose I should have suspected something.  Of course they settled along the East Coast.  They came from that direction! 

If my estimate of the commonality of Irish male names is anywhere close, I had a 1 in 96 chance of finding an Irishman named Martin Nolan wherever I looked.  Just in case I might possibly be wrong, I started on the Indiana census for 1880 where I knew the family I was tracing eventually lived.  How odd.  Martin and Bridget were exactly where they were supposed to be in Indiana also, along with all the children falling perfectly into place.  Fire, and water from extinguishing it, ruined virtually all of the 1890 Federal Census, but there they were again in 1900, missing one or two who had married and needed to be traced independently.  In addition, there are familial connections and marriages to Ryan and Regan lines.  Nice, easily located Lithuanian names, there, huh?  I have gotten far enough afield to try to find one of the Ryan brothers through a model ship he made and named the "Peanut Vender" (sic) which was a popular song written in the late 1920's or in 1930.  He was a Lakes mariner but the model appears to be a passenger vessel rather than an ore ship.

The model was made by one Ryan brother and the house paint on wood artwork above it was done by another Ryan brother.  The photo was deliberately oversaturated to define smaller details.  The man who painted the picture was the same one that taught me much about life, like how to shoot bumblebees out of the air and to take nobody's word, even his, that it is a good idea to release a live skunk from a trap.  I am left as the final caretaker of such heirlooms as these and and as a documenter of the lives of people who had no offspring.  I must do this.  I just have a hell of a lot to learn yet before I am able to do it right.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh:  but the earth abideth forever.  The sun also riseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose." - Ecclesiastes Chapter 1

The Office Web Apps Team announced the beta launch of its free, online version of some of the component apps of Office 2010.  The announcement on the MSDN Blogs includes a 20 minute interview with Chris Bryant from Office and was posted by Nick Simmons, Program Manager, Office Web Apps.  It can be found here on the MSDN blog site.

The interview explains how to request an invitation to use this online service for your own Live SkyDrive.  It is there, but not completely clear for a novice.  A clearer explanation and short video of how to achieve this is available in the article, Get Access to Web-based Microsoft Office Apps Now! which is available on the Digital Inspiration web site and clearly outlines the procedure for requesting Office Web Apps.

Yes.  I'm selfish enough that I made my request and was approved before writing this post.  I don't know if there are currently different versions but Word, Excel, Power Point, and OneNote appear to be included on my SkyDrive.  I haven't played with it yet, so I'm off to explore.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"Computers are incredibly fast, accurate, and stupid. Human beings are incredibly slow, inaccurate, and brilliant. Together they are powerful beyond imagination." – Albert Einstein

Talking about: Today's Global Sound Healing Event

as originally posted by Annie B. Bond on the Care2 community website.

"This Is A Four Directions Call

Date: Sept. 21. The International Day of Peace ; and the Fall Equinox.

Where: Online at the Temple of Sacred Sound, designed by world sound healer Jonathan Goldman, or wherever you are.

When: Noon New York City time (12 PM EDT).

Who: Any and all.

How: One minute of silence at noon to honor the International Day of Peace’s moment of silence. At 12:01 p.m. we will start the toning, until 12:05 or longer if you want.

What: We’ll sound the “AH”–the universal sound of love and appreciation–or “MA,” the sound of Mother Earth–in order to assist the creation of peace and healing to the planet.

Our intentions–our feelings, visualizations and beliefs–are encoded upon the sounds we make. Sound has the power to focus and amplify our thoughts, prayers and meditations. When we project the energy of love and appreciation while sounding the “AH” on Sept. 21, we will be able to shift and raise consciousness and awareness on a global scale. –Jonathan Goldman

Sound Your Support: Sign in, sign on, join with your support, and share links!

Highlights
*Track the raising of the consciousness of the people on the planet via Princeton’s Consciousness Project.

*Honor the direction of the West before toning, with Betsy Stang’s blog.

*Sign up for Deepak Chopra’s discussion of sound and mantra the week prior in Soular Energy Daily newsletter.

*Share and discuss, find ways to help, in Care2’s Peace and Healing group.

*Read the blogs about sound healing by Deepak, Jonathan Goldman, and more, in Care2’s Global Healing/Spirituality channel.

* There will be a special Internet radio broadcast;taking place at 11 AM NY Time (11 AM EDT) one hour before the Global Sound Healing Event with Jonathan Goldman and guests.

A Four Directions Call

This is a call to all people of spirit who wish to join in a global linkage for Peace as noon rolls across the planet on the vernal Equinox. We request that you add to your observances a minute of chanting the sound of “MA” in appreciation for the Earth, her gifts and all her children.

In all traditions, “MA” is the root sound for mother, “AH” is the sound of appreciation.

The goal is to help create a wave of healing resonance that will sweep across the planet. It is a time of great peril and trauma on this fragile world. Can we, for a moment, come together with one heart, one mind, one voice and one intention in a tone of healing?

Please in whatever tradition you are gathering for this event, will you commit to a moment of global unity for all our relations.
–Betsy Stang" 

I don't generally use large portions of other authors' works, and then not without attribution.  I feel relatively safe from having any of my own words used in the order in which I wrote them.  Who would want them?  In this case, I didn't feel that I could express the ideas contained in this article any better than was already done.  Beyond that, if you follow the initial title link to the Care2 site, you will find many areas of interest which you might want to read or even become actively involved with.  I have been a member for about three years now, and have had the satisfaction of expressing my opinions to politicians, heads of corporations and agencies, signing petitions, and generally making my opinion noticed.  I don't agree with all of their causes and I'm sure they would not agree with all of mine.  That doesn't matter.  Choose what you believe and support it.  Remember to Pay it Forward.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“We did not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we have borrowed it from our children.” - Chief Seattle

I've not written this

Brains won't work on vacation

There's no haiku here

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“Cats are dangerous companions for writers because cat watching is a near-perfect method of writing avoidance” - Dan Greenburg

Assassin Synapse

Deep sulcus cover

Covert ops within the brain

Trigger memories

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time". ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

The big day finally arrived last Thursday.  I got out of the apartment for more than half a day at a time.  This day had been awaited with much anticipation and no small amount of trepidation for over three months.  It had been carefully prepared for by getting my grocery shopping done earlier in the week and a careful cost estimation such that I should not exceed my budget too badly.

The day was so special that I even luxuriated in a full bath, rather than the shower which I almost always take.  This unnerved Bittle and Stinky.  They are used to hearing water spraying for a few moments and then staying out of my way while I try to dry myself, remain upright, and see without my glasses all at the same time.  On this occasion, however, I simply submerged and temporarily disappeared.  When I again surfaced, there were four concerned looking eyes looking over the edge of the tub, presumably relieved that I had reappeared and the cat food supply would would not be interrupted.  They did continue to circle the general area, however, until I resumed what they considered normal behavior; cursing while shaving the area of my neck under my beard.

I donned my best pair of Levi's, a tattersall shirt, my Frye high top boots and then began the pre-flight checklist.  Wallet?  Check.  Belt?  Check.  Pants zipped?  Check.  Teeth?  (Yes, I have forgotten them.)  Check.  Cell phone?  Check.  Car keys?  Check.  Reassure The Boys that I'll be back?  Check.  Ready for launch.  Out the door and off I go to arrive at my destination at the prearranged time.  What on earth would prompt such actions and preparation by Doc, you may ask.  I had to get my front brakes fixed.  The wear indicators had been making an increasing, intermittent scraping noise which intensified with wheel speed and of which I did not approve. 

Not so interesting, huh?  Well, it interested me!  I had never owned a front wheel drive vehicle before this Cavalier and had little idea how costly a noise this might prove to be.  At the repair check-in desk I described the symptoms, complete with hand waving, pointing, and sound effects.  The repair manager seemed unimpressed.  I further explained the nature of the noise and how I thought I probably had a bent brake rotor or broken caliper assembly.  He said, "Uh huh.  Do you want anything else checked"?  The check engine light is on.  "OK.  We'll take care of it.  Are you going to wait for it?"  Yeah, unless it's going to be here over the weekend.  An altogether too blasé attitude as far as I was concerned. 

I went to set up a semi-permanent encampment in the waiting area.  I had brought a large Pepsi and a software manual to fill the tedious hours.  I may be a slow reader, but I was quite surprised when the proposed repairs and estimated costs were brought for my approval by page 18.  I maintained my usual level of suspiciousness, but after reading the materials, readily agreed to the proposal.  I signed, he left, and I went back to reading.  By the time I got to page 37, he was back with the final bill.  The problems had been repaired and the car had been test driven.  What can I say?  There were several screenshots I had to study in detail and I was distracted rather badly by the back two feet of a beautiful new yellow Corvette which I could see from my seat.  I had staunchly resisted the temptation to wander into the showroom and drool on it.

An amazing experience then occurred.  Replacement of the rotors (which were delaminating), pads, a repair of the throttle body, and the replacement of an inline fuel filter and gas cap had been been accomplished for a little over 1/3 the amount I had prepared myself for in advance.  Even though my questions about senior discounts or any from various auto club and other organizations were to no avail, I remained a happy ex-camper as I escaped the waiting room.  As I accessed the roadway and immediately exceeded the speed suggestions repeatedly as I tested the brakes, I remained very pleased.  No screeching noises were heard, no check engine light seen, and from what I could tell, throttle performance was improved.  I was so overcome with delight that I went on a spontaneous shopping spree at a local surplus store where I bought eight unique paper clips, 20 button batteries, and a cheap one-meter measuring tape.  There was no stopping me.

When I returned to the apartment complex, checked my mail, and entered my dwelling, I was greeted enthusiastically by Bittle and Stinky.  They looked at each other in a "He's back" sort of way.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz," ~ Janis Joplin.

Following on my last post about the effects of anhedonia, I would like to ask a question of anyone who feels "old".  I thank all of you for the suggestions, empathy, and kindness shown in your comments.  "Old" is to some degree, a state of mind, but it is also a reality of life with which we must deal.  People clearly perceive age in different ways and through the colored glasses of different belief systems.  There seem to be clear differences between genders, whether one has a partner, one's state of health, financial resources, and how they fill their time.  I'm sure there must be many more factors than that, but those are the ones that immediately come to mind.  Surely a couple who are both in relatively good health and financially independent will have different views and possibilities open to them than a widowed male who has minor health problems and "enough money to get by on", but nobody to share a life with or even someone to talk to.  Leaving depression and religious beliefs out of this comparison, actuarially the couple has a much higher probability of living longer than the widower.

The question I am asking is what do you do or have to make your lives happier, more satisfying, more productive, or just better in general?  Not what you think I should do, but what is actually helping you or what you enjoy doing or being.  Please feel free to respond in a message or an email if you do not wish to leave an answer as a comment.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"As I give thought to the matter, I find four causes for the apparent misery of old age: first, it withdraws us from active accomplishments; second, it renders the body less powerful; third, it deprives us of almost all forms of enjoyment; fourth, it stands not far from death." – Cicero

We see many short, popular articles about depression.  Its symptoms are paraphrased from the diagnostic manuals and then listed in modified form, usually spun to match what the author believes to be the best treatment, what cure they happen to be pushing, where they have sold their short work, or a number of other perspectives which seem to have little to do with you if you proceed to read the article.

You know what folks?  When your chronic major depression has lasted a lifetime and you're getting old, it just doesn't fuckin' matter.  You take your medication, you try to stay connected to people and get your exercise, you try to exercise your mind and maintain a positive attitude.  What do you get for this?  Nothing.  Not the sort of nothing one generally thinks of when speaking of things.  It's a different kind of nothing.  It is called anhedonia.  The inability to experience pleasure from events and experiences  due to that depression.

The nothing to which the depression I have had for most of my adult life has led me is a state wherein nothing matters very much, if at all.  I deliberately refer to it as something that is outside my control, whether it is or not.  I most assuredly did not choose to be this way, so I refuse to own it.  I can only fight against it even if it is contained within my own genes, which I am certain that it is. 

If, as you read this, you wonder about the mixture of technical terms, everyday language, and gutter speech, you may need to know one thing about me to pull it all together in a manner that makes sense.  I was a clinical psychologist.  Technically, I still am; I remain current with my license, professional insurance, and professional memberships.  When so inclined, which is most of the time, I can fairly easily convince others that I am relatively normal, bright, and functional.  It is harder to convince myself, though.  I have ceased to do any active practice as a clinician or psychotherapist.  I have for all practical purposes ceased to exist in the real world.  I have virtual friends and acquaintances in the cyber-world of computers who do not realize how depressed I become.  That's OK, though.  I'm not dangerous and having a few people react to me as if I were normal does raise my self-esteem a millimeter or two above totally bottomed out. 

What do my real-life friends think of me?  I don't know.  I no longer have any.  With mixed feelings about that issue, I can definitely state that I would like to have a couple, but beyond that, I don't care.  If I allow myself think about this, it makes me feel angry and hurt.  If I do think about it without immediately suppressing it, I know that it is as much or more my own "fault" as anyone else's.  The depression leaves me without the energy or desire to do any of the social things that normal people do (I've never been a follower, anyway), so why would they even notice that I exist.  Sometimes I don't leave my dwelling except to do necessary shopping or keep required appointments.  I was even told once that my mail would stop being delivered if I didn't get it out of the box more often.  The past few weeks have been like that for me.  I'm thinking about surfacing again, though.

Most of the time I awake only to spend the next hour totally spaced and not knowing where the time went.  The next hour or two, after taking my regular medications and having something to eat and drink, I slowly rise to my usual slug-like level of reality.  By the fourth hour, I have either dozed off again or am beginning to hit my stride for the day, though "striding" does not accurately reflect what I do.  I just am; worried, frightened, sad, and angry with an unjust world that expects me to do something more, but gives no indication what it might be.  I know, I know, it never promised me a rose garden.  It is that symptom, anhedonia, that creates and maintains the vicious whirlpool of not caring leading to why bother and if I don't bother, why do it?  I am thankful for my living circumstances and my cats, though as I pet or care for them the thought of their death and another loss occurs to me.  Another abandonment.  That's what I get for thinking about the future.  Some days they are the only occasion for a smile on my part.

This level of depression was not present in me until several years ago.  I was so busy trying to take care of so many people and responsibilities, I thought I was normal.  I was, I guess, as far as an outside observer could tell.  For as long as memory serves, I thought of myself as better than average, high IQ, great practical sense, able to influence situations and people to effective ends.  I don't recall ever flaunting that, but did show just enough that people had confidence that I knew what I was doing.  That didn't seem wrong.  I did know.  I didn't join any societies with secret handshakes or organizations with high IQ requirements.  I never saw the point of rituals or taking tests I knew I would easily pass to associate with people I didn't much like to begin with.  That didn't feel conceited to me at the time, but perhaps it was.  Or maybe it was that quieter, deeper fear that I wouldn't be accepted or wouldn't measure up to the very rules and requirements that I told myself were silly.  Never great.  Never famous.  Never rich.  But I've had good life with friends, family, enough money, a few hobbies that I enjoyed, and though I was most definitely a statistical outlier in any group I was involved with, I could fit in as well as I chose. 

What happened?  My greatest fears for as long as I can remember have been abandonment and rejection.  These two words are very much the same except that rejection has a much stronger element of deliberate action by another person than does abandonment (which might or might not be intentional.)  As a young child, I remember praying that if my family were to die, that it would be in some manner that we would all die together and that I would not be left alone. 

For those that believe in a god who takes an active part in an individual's state of being, personally intervening in our lives, counting our misdeeds or good works, all I can say is I must have pissed her/him/it off very badly when I was young.  I'm old now.  Perhaps not by a happy, positive-thinking person's standards, but by the statistics derived from my own family's life spans, I am several years overdue.  I don't really accept those stats because I believe there is a basic flaw in their derivation, but they do fit with the way I feel.  I am alone.  I have nothing to lose.  I am free.  I can do almost anything I want.  The ludicrous situation this leaves me in is that there is nothing I want to do enough to go ahead and do it.  Nearly everything I can think of wanting was all in the past.  Actuarially, I can expect to live another ten years or so.  If I could trade that for half the number of years, make it five years, for any period in my life I chose, I would happily and gratefully make the exchange for ages seven to 11, or for ages 16 to 20.  At the moment, my choice would be 16 to 20, but they are nearly equally desirable age ranges for me in different ways.  All my needs were being met then, and I was happy.

Oh well, I'll figure it out eventually.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A Blood, Ph.D.

"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose". – Bobby McGee as sung by Janis Joplin.

Some Simple but Useful Techniques:

If you want a super simple method of screen capture, simply type aviary.com/ in front of the URL of the page you wish to capture. This will capture the page you are viewing in .png form. Some fonts are changed, but the overall quality of capture is good, though limited in size to about 11 MB.  As you can see, many image manipulation tools are available for online use.

To display the tools available to work with the captured image, I captured the Aviary.com image using the free Screengrab! add-on for Firefox.  If I had used only Screengrab, the image would look like this in .png format:

Both were set to capture only the picture showing on the screen, but I know that Screengrab will capture the whole page if that is selected.  If one wished to edit it, they would need to do so on a photo-editor that will work with .png images.

Jing is also a free screen capture app, but I have not used it.  The project has been ongoing for two years and a Pro-Version is now being produced for it.  Techsmith produces Snagit and Camtasia, both with screen capture and manipulation properties.  I was lucky enough to "Snag" a free copy of Snagit 7 when a newer version was released and Techsmith gave away a free copy of the old software as a promotion for their new Snagit 9. 

Although I am certainly missing some good, free software that is out there, the apps listed have served all the needs I have ever had for screen capture.  Enjoy.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2009, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

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