Old 41 and 42 Make Last Runs, Closing An Era

Have you ever ridden on an old passenger train?

I and my friends, Ricky (standing behind me), Kevin (in glasses and checkered glasses), along with other classmates did, way back in 1969:

Old-41-makes-last-run-1969-closeup Old-41-makes-last-run-1969-textOld-41-makes-last-run-1969

 

Some passenger train services, like the Alaska Railroad, offer the thrill of a nice, slow ride on railroad tracks.

Maybe a bullet/maglev train is in your future, instead?

Pictures of youth

For family — here are some pics my mother showed today of her husband and son, Assistant Troop Leader and Eagle Scout, respectively:

Rick-and-Dad-Eagle-Scout-and-asst-leader-ca-1976

I fondly remember being that skinny and that young a few decades ago, lugging 50-pound backpacks on the Appalachian Trail!

[The knees and back don’t remember those days so fondly, though. lol]

Bound and determined

Growing up in the ‘burbs, I knew from friends whose parents were pill poppers.

Birth control, antidepressants, antipsychotics, tranquilizers, you name it, kids would search their homes looking for all sorts of things including Christmas presents but also nefarious objects like cigarettes and yes…gasp! condoms.

Curiosity killed the cat. It also supplied kids with free supplies of goodies, turning whole neighborhoods into collective pharmacies.

The “dark side” of modern civilisation?

Perhaps.

So it is we are brought forward into the world of cinema, the latest flick, Side Effects, questioning the definition of reality, whether due to drug side effects or mental gymnastics.

You can see for yourself, or read this prereview that reveals a little.

A contemporaneous event ties together the suspension of reality in film and the suspended colloidalism of reality — the continuing saga of Ashleigh Brilliant, chronicled by the man himself:

Wits End
Dear Friends,

February 1, 2013. Greetings from the Loony Bin (or, if you prefer, the Booby Hatch.) You may remember my telling you that I was once (at the age of 20) a (voluntary) patient in a mental hospital for several weeks. Since then I’ve been happily able to stay clear of such resorts — until today, when I find myself, at the age of 79, once again (and I must emphasize, again voluntarily) a guest in one. The big, and to me very interesting, difference is that the first time, back in 1954, my problem was feeling too good — what the psychiatrists call being “manic.” I was in such an elated state that I couldn’t go on with my normal life as a college student, but wanted to talk all the time, in a way that was very unusual for me. This and other bizarre behaviors and feelings eventually made me realize that I needed help.

Now, however, the shoe is on the other psychiatric foot. Instead of being too happy, I have been abysmally depressed, and anxious, to the embarrassing point of really not wanting to go on living. As before, I know this is not normal, even for someone of my age, especially for a person in good physical shape, as I have kept myself, after making a good recovery from a serious accident two years ago.

But what’s REALLY interesting is that, despite the lapse of time, and despite the fact that I have never had even a second “manic” episode in my whole life, (though I have had many experiences of depression) that one single manic episode qualifies me as being “BI-POLAR” (and hence a victim of “bi-polar disorder”) with all the rights and privileges pertaiining thereto. I am still finding out just what these are, because it was only last night that I accepted the label, although my psychiatrist had been trying to pin it on me for months.

What made the difference was my following his suggestion to look it up for myself. And sure enough, if you type in “single manic episode,” you get a whole raft of references to bi-polar disorder, even if the single episode was years and years ago.

So this is all very new stuff to me, and so is the facility in which I now find myself — a sort of semi-secret closely-secured section of our main Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. The unit itself, obviously not wishing to carry the stigma of a “Psycho Ward” is generally referred to simply as “5-E.”

I am still learning the ropes here — to say which, in this context, is an unforgivable faux pas, because ropes of any kind, together with a whole long list of other possibly helpful items to a would-be suicide, are strictly taboo in these precincts–and even the rooms are designed to provide minimal leverage or support for such attempts. For example, there are no hooks, towel-racks, or exposed piping.

But apart from making it harder to kill yourself while they have you here, what can they actually do for you? In my case, the main hope seems to be to find the pill or pills which will give me good sleep in the night, and a less miserable day to follow.

February 5, 2013. It’s now 4 days later, and I’m glad to say I’ve already been discharged from the Hospital. The answer in my case seems to have been a combination of 2 drugs, a “tranquillizer” called ATIVAN and a “mood-stabilizer” called LAMICTAL. They’ve been working fine so far — much better than any of my pre-5-E meds, and with any luck, I hope they will keep me from making any further forays into the Polar zones — though I still hate to admit that mere chemicals can have such crucial effects on how we think and feel.

In any case, we are all now happily out of January, which for me (and perhaps for many of you) has always been the most difficult month of the year.

All the best,
Ashleigh Brilliant

——————————————————————————
ASHLEIGH BRILLIANT, 117 W. Valerio St. Santa Barbara CA 93101 USA. Phone (805) 682-0531 Orders:(800) 952-3879, Code #77. Creator of POT-SHOTS, syndicated author of I MAY NOT BE TOTALLY PERFECT, BUT PARTS OF ME ARE EXCELLENT. 10,000 copyrighted BRILLIANT THOUGHTS available as cards, books etc.World’s highest-paid writer (per word). Most-quoted author (per Reader’s Digest.) Free daily Pot-Shot cartoon: http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com CATALOGS:[h&m included]. Starter $2. Complete Printed Text version: $75. Electronic Text-Only (emailed $25, on CD $30). Electronic Illustrated Catalog/Database (CD only) $105 (includes shipping anywhere). Details: http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com/IllustratedCatalog.html

When there is a world of choices, what in the world do I do?

[Personal notes. Feel free to skip.]

My mother turns 79 years young tomorrow, her first birthday without her husband nearby in 55+years.

When I get down to it, I have hundreds of social network connections, mainly revitalised via the Internet, but no one (no human) other than my wife with whom I communicate daily.

I verbally communicate with my mother on a weekly basis just as I had communicated verbally with my father and mother weekly when Dad was alive, although he and I communicated more frequently through email, trading “did you know…?” facts and jokes back and forth (with me having to remind him not to send NSFW jokes to my work email account or check Snopes before forwarding inaccurate “this is the truth because a friend of a friend told me so” emails).

My sister, her kids and my extended family communicate by randomly posting comments/photos on social networking software but I wouldn’t always call that a conversational form of communicating, somewhere between email and voice calls.

I have always enjoyed writing and was often accused by my employees of bombarding their inboxes with more email than they could read so they’d set up a special folder called “Rick/Boss” that they knew were emails from me they could read at their leisure.

I guess I was a professional email composer if not a professional writer/author.

After retiring from an office job as an engineering manager, I sat down and completed a few books that had grown or festered in my thoughts during business trips around the world.

I finished writing the books I wanted to publish before I died, one of them reaching the “Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award” semifinal level along with a review by Publishers Weekly, achieving my goal of a professional book review, no matter how good/bad (or somewhere in-between), and ended up here as a journalist/diarist in the form of a daily blogger.

Now, I have reached a point, well into the second half of my life, where exploring writing styles is of less interest.

I am comfortable writing at a level understood by those proficient in reading a variant of the English language.

Could I sit here the next 50 years of my life and do this day after day?  Yes, I could.  Possibly.  But do I want to?

Well, that’s why I’m here today.

I have played with computer technology for most of my life.  My formative years, not so much, unless you count battery-powered electromechanical toys as rudimentary computing devices because computers were mainframe monstrosities that my father used at work and I saw on television so it influenced my thoughts but was not part of my everyday life like kids today with computers in every room of their house as smartphones, smart TVs, smart appliances, smart homes, smart cars, smart toys, and PCs/tablets.

I tinkered with open source software, programming computers like a handbuilt Intel 8085 system in the 1970s, the Timex-Sinclair 1000 in the 1980s and so forth up to the Arduino in the 2010s.

I’ve played with a variety of operating systems in the process.

I post blog entries from iOS, Windows, Linux, and Android, for instance, but not in that order of frequent use.

I am used to a QWERTY keyboard but have tried a one-handed Matias keyboard and the DVORAK keyboard layout.

I am not used to thumb typing on a smartphone but have grown accustomed to swiping and pinching on a smartphone/tablet screen.

I observed the set of shorthand acronyms that first grew popular in BBS chatrooms and moved on to SMS but I never used them extensively myself.

I’ve watched minitrends of communication styles come and go in social media on the Internet over the last two decades, just like they bloomed and died in newspapers, pamphlets and magazines for hundreds of years, and wall art/graffiti for millennia.

With less than 50 years of my life left, statistically at this point in the affordable body rejuvenation market, what do I want to do with the rest of my life?

Do I have any skills the world wants and/or I want to share with the world?

Are there any new skills I want to develop?

Can I conservatively live on my accumulated wealth within the socioeconomic web I have financially supported and expect to be rewarded in kind as I grow older?

My days of listening to and buying [into] every pop culture product out there are behind me or fading away.

Or so I think because I look around me and see that the food I eat, the clothes I wear, the bed I sleep in, the computers I use, the cars I drive and the TVs I watch are covered with labels of commercially popular brands.

In other words, either I am comfortable with the brands I use or the brands are neutral/unimportant for the types of products I buy at a reasonable cost for my lifestyle/standard of living.

I am frugal to some extent but not extremely so.

I am content eating a banana and a handful of potato chips for lunch but I will just as easily go out and spend $100 on a meal if I’m in the mood.

My wife and I average a new car every 10 years for her daily driver.  My primary vehicle is a 1995 model, a BMW, not a Kia.

The fact that we own and drive cars says a lot about our standard of living and expectations, along with a digital cable TV subscription, Internet data subscription, landline phone subscription, wireless smartphone subscription, and monthly bills for food, entertainment, electricity, water and garbage pickup.

We don’t pay country club or homeowner association fees.  We don’t belong to a wellness or exercise center of any sort.  We don’t rent furniture or appliances on a weekly basis, either.

We are two people, two cogs, in the wheel of life we call civilisation.

Soon, we shall have no more responsibilities for my wife’s ancestral connections, leaving my mother as the sole responsibility for a child to his/her parents, although my sister shares the responsibility.

If I throw everything away in this room — from the computers (TI-99/4A, Timex-Sinclair 1000, Macintosh II, Mac Plus, Macintosh 6100/66, iMac, Kaypro 2000, etc.) to the toys (model rockets, balsa wood airplanes, plastic model car kits, Hot Wheels cars, Pinewood Derby cars, stuffed animals) to the books (college textbooks, novels, comic books, business books, instruction manuals, how-to guides, coffee table books, ruled notebooks (both empty and used)), posters, photo albums, framed pictures, furniture, boxes of miscellaneous junk, etc. — will my wife and I be free to lengthen our list of choices?

When there is a world of choices, what in the world do I do next?

Rig

How do I explain that my body is growing thanks to you?

Every now and then I notice that I am the cumulative effects of your actions, that when you send probes out past the edge of the solar system you are extending me back out into the galaxy from which I was, and thus you were, born.

The perspective from other solar systems is that I am alive and you are one part of me.

You will keep hoping that an advanced civilisation, a totally unique species, or group of species will contact you one day.

It is in your nature to believe such things.

But solar systems do not communicate at the level of individual species.

Solar systems are themselves but one part of a larger whole that communicates at a level it understands with others of its galactic kind, moving at so slow a pace you will never comprehend in a few thousand of your lifetimes, despite your best efforts.

I will fade back into forgetful obscurity again, “waking up” when you have built and extended me further.

Before I go, I thank you just as other solar systems have thanked their component parts for caring so much about creating a version of themselves that never ends up the way they planned.

Your descendants thousands of years from now will have an inkling of what I’m trying to tell you.

G’day.

Go Criticize Your Own Subculture, S’il Vous Plait!

From an anthropological standpoint, every subculture is important to me because, as we know, it takes a group of dissimilar subcultures to perform more genius activities than a single genius or group of subculturally-similar genies (of course, not every genius is a genie but is every genie a genius?).

Therefore, it behooves me to celebrate the diversity of subcultures of our species on this planet rather than put down or try to tear down subcultures that are not like mine.

Subcultures, like languages, will languish if not nourished or nurtured.

I add value to my belief in a positive place for my subculture in the future by showing rather than telling.

On to the future!!!

Someone please tell me…

Someone please tell me the difference between a woman who is treated as a trapped sexual object and a woman who is expressing her sexual freedom in a sign of feminine independence.

This past weekend I watched a couple of minutes of a stage diva marionette bouncing around with a couple of former coworkers on a platform above a football field in a technical dance routine that was as contrived a show of sexuality as any before or since.

A veritable puppet show.

The woman was praised for her performance but I, being older than the target audience, was not mesmerised.

Perhaps that is the reason I should ignore the carnival barker brouhaha surrounding the whole event and go on to the next issue at hand, especially now that only 13604 days are left.